My Night Out

by Cole Parker

It was very dark. The moon was one of those fingernail-clipping-sized tiny crescents, and in the back yard, the street lights glow didn't reach. At the rear of the yard there were several rows of tall, wide-trunked leafy trees separating us from the houses on the street behind ours. The house right behind ours was dark in back, and the lights were out in our rear-facing rooms, too, so our back yard was simply and totally black, and so was the yard behind us, which I knew because any light would have at least filtered a little through the trees.

The night felt like black velvet to me. It was probably 80, 82 degrees with mid-range humidity, the kind of night that felt like it just wrapped itself around you, cuddling you.

I was 13. It was late summer. And I was alone.

They tell us boys that our bodies are changing when we reach this age, that we'll feel things we haven't before, and we'll adjust to them, it's all part of growing up. They went into detail about some to the things we'd feel, which was pretty sexy talk, and a lot of us, at least in my class, threw boners hearing them talking about us having them and all. They tried not to make the talk erotic, I could hear that, hear them trying to be strictly factual and dry, but it didn't take much, much at all, to make me hard. Those changes they spoke about, yeah, I'd noticed!

I stood in the back yard, feeling the air surrounding me, feeling my youth, feeling the sexy feelings I felt all the time now but even more on nights like this. My parents were in the family room in the basement, watching a movie they said was great, some sort of romance film made way, way back, centuries ago—I think Mom said it was called An Affair to Remember. Looked really sappy to me, and I was happy to escape. Happy they were so involved in it, too.

I moved to the back of the yard, to where three rows of trees separated our back yard from the one behind us. I walked into the trees far enough to see into that other yard. It was deserted and black. Standing just inside the rows of trees, my heart speeding up, I slipped off my tee shirt.

A warm air seemed to caress my chest and back, and while I was already hard, the feel of the air seemed to add to my stimulation. I twirled where I was, holding my arms out, feeling the air, feeling the night, feeling my body react to it.

I walked a little, walked among the trees, feeling their protection and safety, staying within them, my burly cloaks, till I was behind the house next to ours. Their back yard, and the one behind them, was black, too.

No one was around. I unbuttoned the top button on my jeans and in one motion, pulled them and my underpants down. I left them both puddled around my ankles, knowing if I suddenly had to run, I wouldn't be able to. That just added to the excitement.

I turned entirely around, seeing I was totally alone and unobserved. I felt so alive at that moment, totally exposed, totally at risk. I allowed the feeling to wash over me, to consume me. My breathing was faster now, deeper.

I wanted to walk, not stand still. I was too fired up, too edgy to stand still. I put my hand on the tree next to me to steady myself and reached down to pull my shoes off, then my jeans and underwear off one foot, then the other. I replaced my shoes, then picked up my clothes and held them in my hand. I was totally nude except for my sneakers and socks.

I couldn't have gotten any harder.

I began walking back towards my property, still in the trees, feeling the air move with me, caressing not only my chest now but everything. Air passing over my boner was a thrill. Air was passing over and around and between parts that were never exposed to outside air. It was all more than thrilling. My senses were so alive, it was as though I had super-senses. I swung my arms as I walked, trying to be bigger than I was, trying to use up more space, trying to actually be as large as how being in the blackness around me was making me feel.

I stopped and started to compete with the air, rubbing myself, my chest and stomach, feeling the contact with my skin much as the air was. My touch was light, as light and sensual as the air. I lightly rubbed myself all over, teasing my skin, which enabled me, almost unconsciously—though there was nothing unconscious about it—to brush my hands repeatedly over my hardness. Each time I did, my hips seemed to flinch.

I got back to where I'd dropped my tee shirt. I collected it and thought about whether this was enough, whether I should stop now, or if I should keep exploring.

It felt too good, too sexy, too enticing, to stop. I put all my clothes in a box that had been left behind our garage, ready to be tossed on trash collection day. I didn't want anyone coming outside for any reason and seeing my clothes lying there without me anywhere in sight. The thought gave me chills.

My clothes now hidden, I walked in the other direction, still in my back yard, near to the trees but not shielded by them. Anyone looking out our back window could have seen me. Probably not seen more than a shadow, or something just a bit lighter-colored than a shadow, unless they had night-vision goggles.

I moved back into the trees and kept walking. Every now and then I'd take hold of my erection. It felt wonderful to hold it, but wonderful to let it bob and wobble unsupported while I walked, too. There was a feeling of freedom about what I was doing that was totally unexpected. I thought I'd just feel overwhelmingly sexy, doing this. I did, but felt even more, too, a strong sense of adventure, of risk. I thought of being seen, not recognized but seen. Glimpsed quickly. Did I want that? No, but it was an exciting thought.

The night was still pitch dark. I passed the next house to us and kept going. The farther from home I got, the more excitement I felt. I could imagine being caught, or imagine being seen and chased, and how far I might have to go, all the while still nude. I surely didn't want to get caught. How could I ever explain myself? I'd be ridiculed. But that fear of being found out simply ratcheted up the excitement.

My excitement was immense. As I walked, I occasionally thrust my hips forward, feeling like I was plunging myself into the blackness of the night, into the air around me, more substantial than it actually was.

I kept walking. I was three houses down now and was touching myself more than allowing my boner the freedom to bounce. There's something about being my age and touching yourself. Once you start, it's very hard to stop. It's like your brain isn't running you any longer and your more basic instincts now have their hands on the controls.

I stopped. That is, I stopped walking. My hand and arm were still moving, moving slowly, the night air encouraging me, being outside and nude throwing in their support, the excitement I was feeling pushing me to continue. And I heard a sound.

It was a voice, speaking low. It was coming from the yard I'd just passed. Then I heard it again, almost a whisper, but there were no other night noises to mask it. "I'm sure, yeah. Someone was there, and damn, I think whoever it was, well, I don't think they had any clothes on. I mean, as dark as it is, I think I saw something light-colored, white or light gray, and it was moving in the trees, headed towards the Parkinsons'."

OH MY GOD! I was standing in the trees behind the Parkinsons' house right then!

"Let's go see," another voice said. "Wait a second. I'll grab the flashlights from the kitchen. Won't take a moment."

What could I do?! I had to move, and I couldn't try to get back home; to do so I'd have to pass right by where the voices had come from, and maybe the man—the first voice had been a man's, the second a woman's—had moved into the trees by now.

I thought about going into the Parkinsons' back yard and then making my way home staying in the back yards but on the other side of the trees from the adults, but that seemed too exposed, and right now, exposure was no longer exciting. It was scary, and not a good scary.

I had to keep moving, keep going farther from home. How far? I had no idea. How far would I be pursued? Would they give up after having passed only a house or two?

At some point, I'd probably come to a place that was lighted, maybe the entire back yard, maybe just a spotlight or two, but that would be the end for sure. Still I had to move.

I moved farther into the rows of trees where only one row separated me from the Parkinsons' yard, and staying behind that row, I moved as quickly as I could, past the Parkinsons', past the next house, and kept going, moving as furtively as I could, not stopping till I was behind the next house. I couldn't hear anyone following me but could catch an occasional glimpse of flashlights throwing their brightness far ahead of them. They were coming.

I was no longer hard. Too scared. This wasn't fun or sexy at all. If the night hadn't been so warm, I'd probably have felt chilly. Of course, if it hadn't been warm, I'd never have been in this situation in the first place. I kept wondering what I'd say if caught. What would I tell my parents? What could I say? How could I even face them? They still thought I was their innocent little boy. Now they'd realize I was a sex fiend, a pervert.

The light flashes were getting more frequent. The two adults were moving closer. What could I do?

I moved on so I was behind the next house. It was still too black to see much of anything, but my night vision was at its fullest, and I could see outlines of shapes. This yard was as dark as the rest, but their unattached garage was deeper than most. It came within ten feet of the tree line, and I saw what could have been a rear door—there was some interruption of the line of the back wall. Quickly, I stepped into their yard and scuttled to where the door might have been. It wasn't a door. It was simply a recess where they kept their trash barrels. And there was no room to hide there. I had to keep going.

I stepped out into the yard again, checking for flashlight glare, feeling a spark of panic, and I heard a giggle.

I froze. I was next to the garage but out in the open in that back yard. Then the bright spot of the flashlight showed briefly, only a half yard away and coming closer.

"Psst. Come here." It was a voice that sounded quite a bit like mine. Not changed yet. Breathy. High. Maybe about to change. There was an urgency in it, too, probably what mine would sound like right now if I had any reason at all to speak. Which I didn't.

But then I did. Another flashlight flickered and, "Where?!" I asked, breathing the word as much as speaking it.

"The front of the garage. Hurry!" Still a whisper, but loud enough for me.

The light from my pursuers was now close by, too close, and it moved closer, deciding me. I scampered quickly alongside the garage, never forgetting I was naked but feeling it might be better to be seen by a kid than by the adults pursuing me, and that voice that had spoken to me did sound like a kid's voice. I was operating now on hope more than anything else. And I was thinking this—my nakedness—might be more explicable to another boy than to adults. Embarrassing, sure, but perhaps not life changing.

I reached the front corner of the garage but was still standing in the yard when the light from the flashlights began playing over the grass behind me. A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the yard and onto the driveway right in front of the closed garage doors. No one could see us from the trees now.

"Shhhh!" came the voice again. It was way too dark for me to see who it was, but the shushing sound from it came from a figure about my size. I could barely see something else as well. As much as my body was barely lighter that the dark shape of the garage, so was his, too. Could it be? Could he also be naked?

I heard that giggle again. He was realizing I was naked just as he was. But wait a second. I'd heard the giggle before. Maybe he'd seen me long before I'd seen him. Well, if he had, he might have seen I was naked, but not much more than that. It was still black as it would be a mile inside a cave at midnight.

"Come on," I heard him whisper, and still holding my arm, he had me follow him across the front of the garage to the other side. There was a door there, a people door rather than a car door, and he opened it silently and pulled me inside, shutting the door behind us.

My heart was still racing. I was still breathing like a race horse nearing the finish line. And him? He giggled again.

I couldn't really speak. I was in recovery mode, and all the adrenaline I'd been producing seemed to be befuddling my brain. He was able to, however, and did.

"I thought I was the only one," he said. "I thought there was something wrong with me, walking around out here nude. It really feels good, finding out I'm not the only weirdo sex deviant in the world."

He'd been speaking softly, but not whispering, and I was stunned. "Eddie?" I said. I'd recognized his voice.

"Yeah. And I know who you are, too. I knew you lived close by, and there aren't any other kids anywhere near. So it has to be you. Devon. Actually, I'm glad it's you."

"You saved me," I said. My heart and breathing were both slowing down. But something else was happening. I'd been soft for a long period up to then, but now I was alone in a garage in the dark with a boy I knew, a boy who was also nude, and he was a boy I liked to look at both in school last year and in the park and swimming pool this summer. It sounded like maybe he liked to look at me, too. I didn't think I was near as cute as he was, but I'd let him be the judge of that.

He moved to the rear of the garage and peered out a window that looked out over the trash barrels. "They're leaving," he said, his voice still soft, still high pitched and breathy. "I can see the lights going back."

We waited for another minute or so, just to be sure, and then he opened the door and we went back out into the yard. I followed him back to the trees. There he stopped and turned to me. Standing right there, next to him, I could just see his smile, his eyes, his eagerness. "Let's walk around together; might be more fun that way."

He was talking softly, standing so we were almost touching, and when he turned, his hand brushed against my leg.

He giggled.

The End

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My Night Out

by Cole Parker