The Lomaxes moved in next door at the end of summer and I immediately liked Mr Lomax, a big friendly guy in his late 50s with a beard and a ready laugh. He liked tinkering in his garage and sometimes I strolled over while he worked on the old car he was restoring. We’d chat about cars and girls and stuff for 20 minutes or so then I’d move on so as not to be in his way. It happened after a few weeks that Mrs Lomax’s mother became ill and she went to nurse her. I was over at the garage and Mr Lomax said, hey, how about a cold coke. It was my first time inside their house. He sat me down in their living room. There was a photo album on the table and he pushed it towards me as he went to get the cokes. Take a look, he said. Whatever I expected, what I found inside were dozens of photos of Mr Lomax fully nude, in the house and garden or his car or at the beach, always looking very relaxed as if being naked were the most natural thing in the world. I was astonished he wanted to show me this but he was also very relaxed when he came back with the drinks. Hope I didn’t shock you he grinned, nodding at the book. Moira (that’s Mrs Lomax) and I have always been great nudists although me rather more than her. She does the photographs. He flicked through the album himself, completely unfazed by his nudity. I can’t say he was some sort of Mr Atlas. The pictures showed his hairy, saggy breasts, a pronounced beer gut and a small penis for such a big guy. You sure you don’t mind, he asked, still grinning.  When I told him I didn’t (and surprised myself by meaning it) he said let me show you some even better stuff. He slotted a disc into the TV and dropped himself down on the sofa beside me with the remote. What came up on the screen was a video of Mr Lomax sitting naked on the same couch in the same room and masturbating. We watched side by side as he played with himself and stroked, his hard on surprisingly big compared to his soft penis, grunting with pleasure and an intent expression on his face. I’d never seen a grown man masturbating before, wasn’t even sure they still did it. It was unbelievably sexy to see. We were both breathing hard and I couldn’t think what to say so I said nothing. When I became aware of Mr Lomax leaning toward me and whispering that he wanted to be nude and was it okay, I nodded. Still seated, he slipped off his t-shirt and slacks and I saw he was naked underneath, big, hairy and slack bodied like on the screen. His strong body odour of sweat and prick filled my nostrils as he gather his hardening cock in his right hand and clicked the disc off with the other. The real thing now, he said. He slipped on to the carpet on his knees and, flicking his t-shirt on to the floor in front of him, began to masturbate, pounding himself hard and fast end emitting louder and louder groans until big gobs of sperm suddenly shot from his penis and soaked the shirt. It kinda sounds ridiculous to say but I thought it was beautiful, the whole thing, this out of shape, older guy masturbating in front of me as if it were completely natural and now kneeling there, his dripping cock still in his hand, grinning with sated pleasure. He stood up, still holding and squeezing himself. I had a feeling you wouldn’t mind, he said, and it was so good for me. You can’t guess how grateful I am to you for letting me do that. I guess you’d better be going now but maybe you’d like to do it again, maybe together next time. Well, next time was the next day but that’s for another chapter.