Dr Tuggs Story Winner!

We read and reread, and perhaps read them all again just for fun all of your entries into our Dr Tuggs Alone Time Location competition.

You all seem to have some great locations, the Staten Island Ferry was cool, but only gives you a certain amount of time, one of my favorites was the soccer practice changing room, again you have to be quick to not get caught, but maybe you do want to get caught!

But the best written story was by far is “Suburban Self Care – the Shed” a true story from Justin Vines. We can’t help but picture the location, the scene, and of course Dante – read on dear reader and grab some tissues, and some Dr Tuggs Gentlemen’s lotion, you are going to need it.

Suburban Self Care – The Shed – By Justin Vines.

I was eager to get out of bed on one particular Saturday in May a couple years back and get to the nursery. My house in the suburbs was new for me, and it needed dressing up. 

It was one of those May days that acted like it belonged to the height of the summer and I wound up filling the yard with marigolds, plenty of herbs, and some milkweed for the pollinators. With the sun making its appearance well known that day, I worked up a steady sweat. 

I contemplated taking my shirt off but was feeling modest. What will the neighbors think? I thought, as I had not yet met all of them. If there was skin exposed, it held a smattering of dirt, and by the end of the day, I was in desperate need of a shower and a beer.

Pondering what would be for dinner, I picked up my shovel from the front lawn. Upon standing up, I locked eyes with an absolute stud. 

He was probably in his mid-20s with an olive complexion that I couldn’t quite place. His dark hair and beard must have been recently cut, and he had eyes I can only describe as deep. 

He was wearing black gym shorts and a royal blue tank that really showed off his assets: massive arms, constructed over many hours at the gym, rounded shoulders, and a hairy chest – a gift to any earthly garden. 

Seriously, I didn’t know what I wanted more, to wear that pelt for myself or to get my face lost in it for hours on end.

Without thinking, I blurted out to this prize of a man whom I have never seen before, “Oh, hey. How’s it going?” like we were old friends bumping into each other. He chimed back with an expressionless face, “Good, man. Good.” We held eye contact for a moment while he strutted across my portion of the sidewalk. 

I should clarify, when I say “eye contact,” I really mean an all-consuming trance that didn’t allow me to move from where my feet were standing. The rational part of me wanted to develop this conversation further, but my inner pre-teen, forever pining over anyone who would so much as glance at me, froze. 

At that moment I wasn’t sure of any number of things; was it apparent to him that I thought he was unbelievably hot? Was that feeling at all mutual? Did he actually hold that eye contact? Was I just so dehydrated that I was imagining it? What made him punctuate his statement with an extra “Good”? So much uncertainty, I stood there, shovel in hand, wondering what in the magnetosphere actually just happened.

I turned my head in his direction several times as I started toward my backyard. Two houses away by that point, I could tell his ass looked delicious, too. How can anything be so tight and so juicy at the same time?

In my backyard stands a 10-foot by 12-foot shed that holds all of my gardening tools. Opening its double doors that late afternoon, the urge to bust one out was completely undeniable. 

That day I learned that if I close one of the shed doors, I can stay out of the line of view of the neighbors and enjoy whatever nature has to offer that day, a light breeze, birds chirping, the neighbor’s wind chimes.

Carefully putting the shovel away for the day, I indulged that primal feeling and started to rub my dick from outside my shorts. Still under the spell of the beautiful man in the blue tank top, imagining his body under that shirt (and for that matter, his shorts), it wasn’t long before I was fully at attention and throbbing. 

I looked around once more to make sure I wasn’t in the line of view of any hypothetical nosey neighbor. When I ensured the coast was clear, I dropped my pants and let my mind run. I envisioned this man, let’s call him “Dante,” rubbing his own cock next to me. 

As I stroked my musky hard cock with my dirt-stained right hand, I envisioned using the left one to pleasure him.

“How’s that feel?” I fantasized asking with his response of course, “Good, man. Good.”

Hearing the wind chimes and feeling a breeze enter the shed, I pictured his cock: large with perfect mushroom head, low hangers, and a bush as nicely kept as his beard. 

I thought of how it would fill my mouth when I got on my knees to service him, each hand firmly grasping one of his steel glutes. Imagining what it might be like to lick his dick from its base all the way to his throbbing head, I was rubbing myself pretty vigorously at this point.

I thought of how it would feel to grip his bulging biceps and shoulders, of how I would beg him to open up his arm so I could get a good whiff of his musk. He was so hot that the scent just had to be intoxicating. I felt his chest hair on my face while I jerked myself off.

Losing my own shirt, I knew the big moment was upon me. Listening to the birds calling outside, thinking of Dante’s beautiful hairy body, I came so intensely. The climax ran through me with ferocity. I shot rope after rope, holding back any sound that might alert the neighbors.

After an exhale, I cleaned myself up, got dressed, locked up the shed and went inside for a shower. 

Unfortunately, I haven’t seen Dante since that day. But, thanks to him, my garden has seemed a little more lush ever since – and the shed is now a regular spot for an invigorating solo session on a nice day.

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