I was having drinks with my neighbour the other night. In this part of the village the houses are close together with only narrow lanes between. From our neighbour’s highest terrace, she has two, you get a good view of the village below – and, as it turned out, of the other neighbour’s bedroom window.

We were chatting, four of us, and I was facing across the table with the view of night time over the village behind Jo, who was facing me. Below and behind her was the house of out neighbour Manolis, who I knew had two sons. I don’t know their names but I do know that one is away in the army and the other has just finished his first year at university and was back on holiday. He is a tall nineteen year old and spends a lot of his time hanging out with the other lads at one of the local bars. I have also seen him in the house and courtyard as, from my own house, I look down over the front of their house.

From Jo’s terrace, however, I could now see the side of the house and the large window that looks out. We were chatting about nothing in particular, drinking far too much ouzo and trying not to get too loud when I noticed the light go on in Manolis’ house behind. Up until then it had been in darkness and I supposed they were out. My attention was drawn to look inside the room that was now lit. I saw a bed against the furthest wall and the corner of a table. Nothing remarkable. But then I saw the lad, the university student, walk across the room topless. He was wearing only shorts. Then he walked back and, judging from the change in light, had turned on a television.

Sure enough the lighting in the room started to change. He turned out the overhead light and the room became a dull grey. Then the image on the TV must have changed as the room became blue, then grey and then dark. What I could see changed regularly as the TV switched images. All the while I was trying not to look as if I was looking – my friends were chatting and didn’t seem to notice that I was looking beyond them. Or if they did they probably thought I was just watching the late night view: darkness and street lights. And the lad now lying down on his bed wearing only a pair of white briefs. The material caught the light from the TV like white does in neon and contrasted against his tanned, slim body.

I could not see his head, the top of the bed was shielded by the window casement, but I could see the rest of his body stretched out, right down to his feet. I was only about six meters away from him and yet it could have been miles. I wished, right then, that I lived in Jo’s house. I could creep up and spy night after night during the summer when people sleep with their windows and shutters open and it is too hot for sheets.

The lad just lay there with his furthest knee, his left one, raised up and his leg bent. He was watching something on the TV before sleeping I guess. I could make out the mound of what was inside those white briefs quite clearly; perfectly rounded, the highest part of the mound running down the middle. His cock was limp, I guessed – no reason why it should be otherwise – and lying over what looked like a pretty impressive pair of balls.

I imagined what it would be like if I could be invisible. Haven’t we all done that? I could have crept over the roof of the outhouse that separated the properties and stand in the window – closer. I could silently climb through, stand next to his bed and look closely at the youth starting to doze on his bed. When he was fully asleep I could kneel down, brush my fingers over that full pouch and gently start to tease it into life. Would he respond by waking up? Would he turn over?

No, he would drop his left leg and be stretched out for me, his young cock rising against the touch of another man’s hand. He wouldn’t know what was going on, he would be dreaming of his girl, dreaming that at last the two of them were having sex. She was feeling his heavy balls, his long thin cock and it was she who was making it so hard. So hard that it would start to push up the front of his briefs, turn itself looking for escape until it found the waistband. Then the dark skinned head would slip from the material, the slit dribbling just the slightest amount of virgin pre-cum as his length stretched towards his belly button. The juice would drop into the faint mat of soft dark hair that had not long grown there and his foreskin would roll back with the strain of his erection.

And then what would I do? What would you do? I would very carefully put one hand under his hot balls, cupping them, playing with them. While my other hand would stretch out a finger and lightly start rubbing the underside of his cock head. I would use his own juice to lubricate it, rubbing his tip with my thump; very softly, very gently. I want him to dream this. As I rub I feel his balls tighten, I squeeze them carefully. I smell his scent, innocent breath, sleeping youth.

I would continue to rub so calmly on his cock head, on just that point that is most sensitive, rubbing my thumb on the underside as he swells even more. Pressing a little harder now on his cock head as I continue the friction, I feel it twitch. I know that in the dream of his first sex it is not me who is doing this, but I don’t mind that. Seeing him dream of his first orgasm with his girl is enough. I continue my slow, deliberate rubbing of my thumb. His back arches a little and I hear him gasp in his sleep. And still I rub slowly, driving him to orgasm while he sleeps. Still I continue carefully, this is not a moment to rush, I want him to dream the whole, slow build up.

Until he gasps again and I suddenly feel the rush of cum through his shaft. I feel it leave his balls and swirl and rush towards his inflamed, sensitive head where my thumb still rubs so, so slowly. Until his slit opens and the come of youth gushes in silent spurts. Up onto his smooth chest, up onto his flat stomach, into the mat of downy hair and then finally in one last attempt, dribbles into his belly button. His breathing slows, he moans softly. His hands travel down and I remove mine – I just watch now. He places his hand on his stomach, still sleeping. His hands slips in the still warm cum, his fingers explore himself before he raises them to his mouth.

Suddenly I was aware of where I was. Luckily no one had noticed me staring directly into his room. No one at the party that is. I realised, with a little shock, that the lad was no longer on his bed. The TV was still on, the lights in the room still flickering. But he was no longer lying down.

He was standing at the window staring back at me. I made to look away and then stopped. He was naked now. Just standing there looking back at me, showing me his dark slim body, his long flaccid cock and the perfectly matched and rounded balls that hung beneath it.

I stared back.

He smiled. I smiled back.

He winked and took hold of one shutter. As he closed it I saw him wag one finger at me. I shrugged – ‘why not?’

He took hold of the other shutter and was about to close it when he stopped. He smiled and shrugged - ‘why not?’ I smiled back.

He left one shutter open and took two steps back into the room. From there only I could see him. If anyone else at the table turned to see where I was looking they would only see the house and the closed shutter. He was safe there.

Safe to do what he did: he reached down with one hand and cupped his balls. With the other hand he slowly started to wank his long cock until it was hard. And he carried on doing this to its natural conclusion, all the time looking at me and smiling.