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I overdid it, I know, but I snuck out of my house, walked around the block so that it appeared I was coming from the opposite direction, and tugged on a ski mask as I reached Phil's sidewalk. The gate to his backyard was cranked ajar. I pushed it further open and it squeaked, effectively announcing my presence.
As promised, the lights in Phil's backyard were off. There was a faint glow from a nearby streetlight, plus some moonlight, so it wasn't pitch dark. My eyes adjusted quickly and I found Phil under a pergola beside his back patio. He leaned against the column and watched me approach. He had on sweatpants, a form-fitting t-shirt, and sandals. He looked a bit anxious and wary.
"Fuck, that mask is scaring the shit out of me," Phil said. "I didn't think you'd actually wear it."
I wasn't about to let him hear my voice. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to communicate that I wasn't a threat. Phil was trying to study my eyes under the mask. I looked down and unzipped my jeans, slid them to my knees, and pulled my pecker out of the front slit of my boxer shorts. Phil wrapped his hand around it, warming me up with some soft tugs, and had me rigid in a matter of seconds. I stood like a cop, with my feet wide apart, my hips thrusted forward, and my hands on my waist.
"Damn, you grow nicely," Phil said, as he used his free hand to untie his sweatpants. "I could use both hands on you, Mike, but I want to get off, too."
Phil's sweatpants were at his ankles. He had no underwear on and he was stroking himself as he pulled on me. He let go of me for a moment, picked up a bottle of lube from the ground behind him, and squirted a handful into his palm. It was the kind that warms upon impact, heating my skin along with the friction from his hand. Phil was pretty good at it. I guided his hand lower, toward my base in my pubic hair, where stroking usually felt the best. Getting direction and seeing my response turned Phil on even more. He began furiously jacking himself, breathing hard, watching his hand on my manhood. I bent my knees, slightly, and put a hand on his shoulder. He liked that, too.
"Oh damn," he groaned. "I can't hold back. I'm gonna pop."
Phil groaned loudly, bucked his hips into his hand, and dribbled out all over himself. He let go of his cock, switched hands on me, and by doing so carried his own semen onto my shaft. I let him do it. He rubbed it in. It mixed well with the heating lube. His fingers glided easily and brought me right to the edge. Now both of my hands were on his shoulders. Phil sped up and I blasted away, shooting a series of spurts that landed on his bare knees and thighs.
When my last pulsation subsided, Phil released me from his grip. He looked past the mask, into my eyes, and smiled.
"I'd do that again," he said.
I nodded my head. I pulled up my jeans, zipped them, and tousled his hair with my hand.
I should have removed the mask, at least by then. But I didn't. I patted Phil on the arm, turned, and left his backyard. I closed the gate behind me and thought about him muttering my name. Did he know for sure it was me? If he did, so what? At that moment I felt ridiculous. I wrenched off the mask, went inside my garage, and tossed it in the trash.
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