[Don't] Let Sleeping Dicks Lie

"He's soft," Joanne whispered, in what I took to be a disappointed tone.

"I bet not for long," I whispered back. "Why don't you give him a little touch?" I arched my eyebrows and Joanne got an evil look on her face.

She reached down careful-like, like she was going to pet a cobra, and gave his prick a little caress. Steven moved immediately, shifting position. She jumped back about five feet and I had to keep from laughing out loud.

But, I swear to God, that was all it took to get started.

We stared as his cock inflated by itself over a couple minutes. It went from totally soft, to a little harder, to fully erect, although not ramrod hard. It was a kick-and-a-half to see it develop inside his drawers, gradually pushing the fabric taut until the outline was obvious. We couldn't keep our eyes off him as his cock-head inched its way up his body.

So I judge Joanne to be a little gun-shy after her first touch, and resolve to take the next step. This ended up being an experiment, something I had thought about before but had never tried. I stroked his penis a little, watching its hardness increase, taking quick looks at Steven's face for signs that he was waking.

When he didn't, I super-carefully raised the top of his jockeys up a couple inches and then edged it down over his cock, until the top of the elastic seam was right underneath the ridge of his prick-head. Joanne gave me the lewdest look of enjoyment and we took a step back to admire the sight.

Clear outline of a hard cock and his balls in some snug underwear, with the head of his penis sticking out like a gopher poking his snout out of a burrow. He was circumcised, the head engorged and lovely to see.

I stroked some more, both along the cotton-covered length of his shaft, as well as around the bare ridge of his cock-head. He shifted a few times and actually ground his teeth together but didn't wake.

Joanne couldn't help herself and elbowed me aside for her own turn. She used real soft fingertips along the shaft, then tentatively touched the smooth, turgid head.

She glanced up at me suddenly, a guilty look on her face, thinking that maybe I would not be appreciating her touching the bare penis of someone else besides me, but I waved a hand and gave her a "go-ahead" smile.

She went back to work, and pretty soon Steven had begun to leak a little fluid out of his tip. Joanne stood back and we admired the sight. Steven's prick would twitch on its own now, even if we weren't touching it, and his hips were moving about a bit. We were sure he would awake at any moment.

It was beautiful.

I started on him again, my pulse-rate ratcheted way up with excitement. I smeared the fluid around his cock-head, gave it a lovely bit of wet rubbing. I even drooled some of my own saliva down onto this prick-head, which had emerged a bit further from the edge of his underwear. Joanne gave me an evil smile.

A little more stroking, some serious hardness now, with increasing hip movements.

Steven moved more abruptly and I stepped back. His hand drifted down to his crotch, and to our astonishment, he put his own hand on his balls and the root of his penis. Sweet.

I moved forward, gave his prick-head another couple strokes and then the gusher commenced. I stepped back and a good pile of sperm came rushing out his cock-head onto his belly, his prick visibly pulsing with each spurt. We were entranced.

Steven's eyes shot open, and he looked at us in wild-eyed bafflement while his penis continued to discharge semen. Joanne and I stood there like a couple gawping idiots, as the crisis finished itself.

Steven looked at me, then Joanne, who saved the day.

"Sorry. We couldn't help ourselves." She offered this up with an awkward smile. I wasn't sure how much she was going to confess, what else she might say.

"Clay and I had come into the room looking for his sunglasses. We were going to go out for a walk," she lied.

"But you..." she halted, feigning embarrassment.

"You looked so nice, your ah..." she pointed at his prick. "It was hard and you had been touching yourself in your sleep." The fact that his hand was still on his crotch lent some weight to this deliberate misrepresentation.

"And then, well, I guess you probably had a good dream or something, and sorry, we couldn't help noticing how it all ended. It must have felt good at least..."

Her smile of apology was sufficient, although Steven was obviously a bit undone. But once again, I noted how disoriented a guy was when he awoke with an ejaculating penis. This knowledge was to prove immensely helpful.

Anyway, we escaped that one, although we talked about it the rest of the weekend. Joanne's eyes shone when she later shared her observations in staccato bursts. "That was a lot of sperm! Did you see how much came pouring out? And the look of surprise on his face? Getting his cock-head free from his undies was brilliance on your part! You did a terrific job. Such a good up-close view!" She was tickled to pieces.

So Joanne and I had those few adventures while we were together. I have caught up to her a few times in our afterlives many years later, we're still in contact, and from what she has said, this little practice continues to be something she indulges in from time to time. I envy her husband, I bet he gets some lovely early morning wake-up calls from her superb fingers.

Not all of my partners since have heard about this absorbing, illicit interest of mine, and a few have reacted with rather intense aversion when I have relayed my actions. My first wife, Christine, in particular, was stunned, disgusted, and came a bit unglued when I told her the story about Dean and subsequent experiments.

I guess I should have known from her reaction then that communication between us wasn't always going to be our strong suit - a lot of judgment in there. Luckily my present wife isn't nearly so appalled, even finding it quaint and "boyish," although I can tell she would rather I just called it a day and ended this "phase" of my life. So this makes things a bit difficult, anytime you have a habit or behavior that doesn't exactly resonate with your partner.

Like all good obsessions, I don't get to indulge it nearly enough. At this point in my life it is maybe a once every few years or so occasion. The situations that were so much more common then when I was younger, when everyone was so itinerant and someone was always visiting on whim, are much less common. Almost all the times I could indulge my "interest" were circumstantial, a guy crashing on my couch, or the place were I was also staying for the weekend, a couple camping trips. Always had to be hot weather, covers off or nearly so.

So what sorts of things have I learned by exploring this compulsive little interest of mine?

I have mentioned the first and primary aspect, without which I would be in serious trouble by now. A guy whose penis explodes while he is sleeping will awake in a disoriented state, and if you are quick-witted and/or lucky, you can take advantage of this.

I have only been caught red-handed, as it were, a few times. More than once it has even been a positive development.

Jockeys or close-fitting shorts (or better, nothing, although that has been rare for me) are best for your intended victim. Boxers (or pajamas) are far less amusing, and if you want to be a good victim, please pull your unit out through the fly and let it free. I'll know what to do.

Semen can force its way though all manner of fabric (especially satiny stuff: Speedos, synthetics), sometimes amazingly so. Particularly if the cloth is tight against the tip of the penis.

If a guy's eyeballs are rolling around underneath his eyelids (what they call REM, Rapid Eye Movement, sleep) while you are stroking his penis, he is invariably having a dream.

That you cannot do this with a female. The female sleep-cycle seems to be far more hair-trigger in operation, and everyone I have tried, no matter how light or gentle my touch, has woken up long before climax. I experimented with just about all my partners, with widely varying success. The best outcomes are when my companion's eyes fly awake in an extended state of arousal, and she is eager to continue things consciously.

But there have been times when someone gets annoyed at me for playing with them "without permission." Like I am "taking advantage" of them or something. I have no interest in doing this. More than once my innocent bit of experimentation has led to a quarrel. I am not sure you can bring a female to orgasm this way. I certainly haven't been able to.

If you are a male sleeping in my house (or whenever we both have the same roof over our heads), consider yourself warned.

I have never engineered one of these adventures, never set somebody up for my obsession. But I certainly have been an opportunist and looked for an opening, whenever it presented itself.

I have done friends, acquaintances, people I barely know. Here is the latest, so currently my favorite:

A nearby neighbor, Roger, is an occasional hiking buddy, and we would sometimes do day hikes at nearby mountain trails. He's a normal middle-aged guy with strong shoulders and the beginning of a gut. We live in a relatively rural area in New England, the houses too far apart to make it suburbs, too close together to have any real claim on rusticity.

He's married, like me, we are causal friends. He has broad middle-European features, heavy eye-brows, wears plaid shirts on the weekend, and does a lot of work around his home, he's good at building things. I borrow a lot of tools from him when I need to do some home project.

It turned out one weekend both our wives were going to be away, I suggested we do a hike up Lone Mountain, and he agreed, probably more out of boredom than anything else.

We drove fifteen minutes to the trail-head, and hiked though a variety of terrain, past fields, into forest, getting views sometimes but mostly just forest work. It took a good hard couple hours before we got to the top. It was a hot day, we had both taken our shirts off on the last stretch.

But it was windy at the summit, and although we had planned to take a break and eat lunch there, instead we came back down a ways to more comfortable surroundings. The map indicated a watery place off the main trail, Hunter's Pond, and we followed a side-trail to what turned out to be a gorgeous little setting, a blue body of water maybe fifty yards across. We skirted to one side, found some flat rocks in partial shade and had our sandwiches and took in the view.

Out of the wind, it had warmed up again, and by the time we were done eating our shade had disappeared. I had begun to sweat and saw Roger's forehead was moist too.

"Should we take a swim maybe? Water sure looks nice," I suggested. Roger nodded and we looked at each other.

We of course had not brought swimming trunks, towels or any of that.

"The old skinny-dip thing?" Roger arched his eyebrows in amusement. "Haven't done that in ages."

He looked around the pond, scanning for anyone else, but we were alone.

We just laughed and peeled our clothes off and had a quick plunge. The water was cold enough we didn't last long, so we pulled out back on the rock to air-dry off still naked.

We laid down, grateful for the warmth of the sun on our skin, feeling rather free and boyish, and chatted. We were far enough from where the trail hit the pond that if anyone arrived, we would have a chance to at least slip our shorts on. Talk gradually grew more desultory, and Roger eventually drifted off into nap-time.

I propped myself up on my elbows, looked around at the scenery. Quiet pond, no one in sight, the trail exit empty. Sky blue, air warm and clean.

But of course Roger was sleeping two feet from me, and I eventually couldn't help looking at his body, his soft cock just sitting there flopped out on his left thigh. Big barrel chest, marked tan line at his waist, his lower body bone-white. He was breathing heavily, in the midst of his nap.

So, you guessed it, while I wrestled with my thoughts for a little bit, the temptation was way too strong to resist.

It had been awhile. I kept staring at it, all soft and laid out on his left thigh, just a few inches long. Roger had two grown boys, so his sperm had done its job at least twice. This thought made me look at his balls, nice heavy ones nestled there between his spread legs.

He looked real nice. But he was a neighbor, hardly even very far into friend territory. We were just here on a chance.

I looked away. The risk seemed substantial. If he woke up with my fingers on him, all manner of things could go wrong.

On the other hand, I had navigated these waters plenty of times before and escaped, most of the time.

I looked over again. The cock was bare, beckoning, right in front of me.

My qualms were shoved aside the more I thought. Like I say, these chances don't come along too often anymore, and here was one right on my doorstep.

I held my breath and leaned over for a good look. Beautiful penis, just resting on his thigh. He was circumcised, a soft head just sitting there.

Couldn't stop myself, I had to let a finger drift over his cock-head. A few more touches, so soft and smooth, and the natural, normal things that a penis is good at, started to happen.

I paused, and laid back, propped up on my elbows so I could look like I was just gazing at the pond and hills beyond if he woke.

Just like I had witnessed dozens of times before, the beast slowly came to life. A little touch, and the serpent had begun to grow on its own. Enchanted, I saw the soft head gradually enlarge, the shaft slowly begin to inflate, filling its ballast tanks with the fluid that would soon make it a manly tool of pleasure.

This last notion prompted the strangest train of thought for me, one that had never occurred before, which brought me up short. The penis has its own life cycle, of course, I knew this intimately. But it occurred to me that it was perhaps a microcosm of life itself.

Roger's cock in its relaxed state was like a baby. Small, helpless, soft and just about useless itself. But give it some life experience (like a stroke or two, or the sight of someone alluring) and it turns into a teenager, filling out, gaining confidence.

And then, damn, before you know it, it turns into a man - hard, defiant, focused and ready for some action, ready to spill its guts no matter what.

I looked off in the distance. What the hell kind of thinking was this? I shook my head, the metaphor, like all others, began to break down the more you considered it. Although maybe it meant that my obsession was just an aspect of "parenting?" My head hurt with this digression, so I looked back to the situation at hand.

To that penis sitting there.

It had stiffened enough that it now lolled out on his thigh, semi-hard. I touched it again, the head so soft and smooth on the surface skin, although firmer now beneath. I traced fingertips along the shaft, marveling in the smooth skin, the veins becoming more visible as the stiffness increased, until it gained enough internal tension to point up his belly, towards Roger's head.

Now that was a manly penis.

His balls had started to draw up as the erection gained momentum. Unlike mine, which gather in one mass, Roger's testicles stayed in their respective corners, as it were, one large, well-defined egg on each side of the main-mast. I ran my fingers over them, large and heavy, oscillating in their scrotal sac, eager, I imagined, to furnish their fluids to The Man. I salivated and swallowed hard.

If I could manage to pull this one off, it would be my best chance ever for witnessing a sleeping cock go off.

His penis had grown quite hard by now, stiff enough that the head hovered in the air, an inch or two above his belly.

I ran a finger along up along his sperm tube, pausing at the junction of the head, that lovely locus of sensations I knew very well myself.

Fingertips along his shaft, then feeling his lovely smooth head. I couldn't keep my fingers from grazing his balls, the hairs softening my caress.

I stopped again, just to admire the sight.

Taut, I knew his prick was anxious, release maybe just moments away. What could Roger's unconscious be thinking at the moment? I didn't care.

I cautiously wrapped my hand around his cock, thumb right underneath his head, my palm and fingers aware of the smooth skin, the firm hydraulic pressure underneath.

Up and down slowly, a delight. I wanted this to go on forever, but at this stage it was just a few strokes when his hips started to contract.

I watched as his sperm shot out, making a couple pretty good-sized puddles around his navel. His eyes flew open, and you could tell he was trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. His penis was still pulsing out sperm when he finally looked at me.

I had anticipated the ending well enough to have laid back, but with my elbows supporting me so I was half-way reclined. His eyes met mine and he knew I had witnessed his spermal eruption.

Sheepish is the word I would use to describe his expression.

"You must have had a pretty good dream there," I offered, innocently. The look he gave me was puzzled, wary.

Roger looked at me, then down at his sperm, then back to me.

"I haven't jizzed in my sleep in ages," he murmured.

He looked hard into my face. "Did you catch the whole thing? Or just the end?"

I stayed close to the truth, although of course omitted the most important parts.

"I did see you cock grow hard. Not something that I witness all that often except for myself." I hoped my smile was sincere enough.

"And then your balls contracted up and your legs got stiff. The tension you built up was obvious. Your cock sure did its number nice. That was a lot of sperm."

He looked down at his seminal lake. "Yeah, it has been awhile," he said ruefully. "Not getting much action at home these days. Bizarre."

It occurred to me then, way too late, that one of the huge advantages of this particular experience, the complete absence of clothes and a chance to see a naked aroused orgasmic cock explode, also for me meant there was nowhere for my own penis to hide.

I was aware that I was also erect, my own excitement had grown as I played with Roger, but the stiffness of my penis now as it pointed up my belly was as obvious as a tomato-sauce stain on a white shirt.

Roger noted this as well, I could tell by his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided not to.

How was I going to handle this?

I decided to play it mostly straight.

I looked down at my excited prick, trying to conjure up a somewhat sheepish expression.

"Sorry. I am not sure of the last time I saw an erection besides my own. When your penis grew hard, I guess mine did too." I paused.

"You know you have a handsome tool there," I said this with authentic admiration.

Roger looked evenly at me.

"Thanks."

I asked him about his dream but he didn't want to talk about it. I didn't press him.

Finally, he looked down at his semen puddles. "No towels, don't want to use my tee-shirt," he grunted. "You have a handkerchief or tissues or something?"

"No, sorry," I replied. "Just take a quick plunge in the pond. That'll do it. Maybe even your spawn will drift off in the water, like for the fish or frogs, and will inseminate some pond-life eggs or something. Who knows what creatures might result?"

He laughed harder at this witticism than it merited, but a quick swim, a tee-shirt dry-off, and we were good to go, hiking out shirtless. No worries.

But the movie reel kept rewinding for me the whole way home. His prick getting hard under my finger-work. His balls, so firm and eager. The jets of sperm that flew out of his cock-head. This was the first time I had been able to do this in such optimal conditions, in broad, sun-soaked daylight. My mind hummed.