It was a late, balmy summer’s night and I was returning home from the pub after a swift couple of pints with my mates. Ambling at a snail’s pace along the pavements to my home destination, I was subjected to the most terrific urge to have a pee.

Struggling for a while to hold it in, I had no other option but to relieve my aching bladder over somebody’s prize roses bedded within their front garden. I mean, what else could I do? There wasn’t a phone box available for at least another 500 yards.

Combat style, I jumped over the small boundary fence of the garden. Taking great care not to be seen, I crept hurriedly across the neatly trimmed lawn, over toward the roses. Standing bolt upright with my back to the world, I hurriedly undid my fly and pulled at the fireman’s hose hidden within.

Just as the golden liquid started to flow, the owner of the house grabbed me by the shoulder and cried out, “What do you think you are doing?”

Mid flow now, I turned to meet her gaze and apologised most profusely for the predicament I now found myself in. I must say though, that as soon as our eyes met, I was immediately bowled over by her beauty. To say I was embarrassed then would have been the understatement of the decade. But things rapidly went from bad to much, much worse.

Within seconds of clapping eyes upon her feminine charms, I could feel myself rapidly stiffening up. I was trapped. Still mid flow, there was absolutely nothing I could do to hide my growing shame. I knew she could see all of what I was desperately trying to conceal.

“Is that thing real?” She asked me, “I’ve never had one that big before.” Maybe things were looking up, I thought to myself.

“Mind if I hold it?” were the next words to leave her cherry red, succulent, inviting lips.

In for a penny and all that, two taps later, I turned to her full frontal and assured her, “Sure.” And before I even finished saying it, she had me firmly planted within her hands. Her probing fingers were gently inching their way downwards towards my wanton balls. I was loving every minute, as our eyes met once again and she said “May I?” as she gently cupped my balls, one in each hand.

“OOooh I like these,” she said, “they’re like apples.”

“Good enough to eat?” I enquired, pushing my luck to the limit.

It was then that her grip tightened somewhat. One in each hand, she slammed my balls together like a pair of Salvation Army cymbals as she sternly replied....

“If.... you ever.... wee.... In my garden. Ever again! These....  will not be any part of you! Now piss off out of my garden, and don’t you ever come back!!!”

Not even Viagra could have maintained that erection, and I slinked off into the night with my battered, aching balls. You could say... I spent the night, with my tail between my legs, not hers.