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You know, I didn't think much about architecture before. Never really gave a shit, and I guess as an ordinary teenage Collie trying mostly to survive the slings and arrows of outrageous highschool, I had no reason to. Now though, every time I see some modern building covered in shiny glass, I can't help but break into a big shiteating grin. My parents have no fucking idea what is behind it, and it's probably got to stay that way for a bit. But I know; and it is the best feeling in the world.

Let me explain.

My best mate Jackson lived in a nice, old style house, next to another, nice old style house. I never thought much about it I guess, what teenager ever does? Houses are just places to distribute your shit around and wreck on a Saturday night when you get on the piss at someone's birthday party and their parents are stupid enough to allow booze.

So I never thought what it could be like when someone buys the place next to yours to turn it into townhouses and you suddenly have to deal with construction shit right outside your bedroom window all the fucking time.

My mate looked a bit haggard at school, and I ribbed him about it. That made me realise how serious it was, the way he bit back. Jacko didn't do angry, he was this big dreamy colt most of the time, but here he was getting shitty with me over a bit of good natured ribbing and trying to beat my muzzle in.

After we both calmed down, and the teachers managed to separate us and gave us both detention, he finally fessed up to what was going on, and it sucked.

"Every fucking day. First they were demolishing the place next door, then the building works, sawing, hammering, yelling. It's fucking constant, from 6 am to 6 pm. I get woken up early every fucking morning, can't sleep in on a weekend, it fucking sucks!"

I had to sympathise. Like most teenagers, we were both night owls, but come the morning, that was time for sleep. I had to be roused from sleep with a cattle prod by my mother most school mornings about 7:30, and on a Sunday...well, if I surfaced before about 10:30 my parents assumed the apocalypse was incoming and it was time to hide under the kitchen table.

We were good mates then already, though not real close. I could see my mate was doing it tough though, and I came up with a perfect solution. He could come over for the weekends, and stay at my place. We both had basketball on Saturday mornings anyway in summer, so it would be easy for my dad to just take us both. I sold my parents on the idea of a mate to help me with homework, a study buddy. Little did they know I had ulterior motives, of course.

Ok, so I was a teenager. Of course I had fucking ulterior motives. They were about as endemic as zits.

You see, I had a little crush on my mate. I knew it, deep inside in places that made me go all gooey when I talked to him late at night when we were gaming instead of studying, or when we shared over the top stories at lunchtime at school while ignoring the girls talking about celebrities and cellulite.

And for a teenage male, that was a seriously bad thing to have.

But I couldn't resist the chance to see more of him, I guess, and he seemed thrilled at the prospect of getting away from the building site, so we were on. My parents were a little unthrilled, what with the whole detention thing and all, but I managed to sweet talk them into it and that Friday night, my mate joined me for the first time.

The plan backfired on a couple of levels. One was the whole sleep thing; when we finally fell asleep around 3 a.m. it was mostly from pure exhaustion. We had no spare room, so my parents set up a camp bed in my room. I let Jackson take my bed, and we sat up and talked and shot the breeze and played every game on my Xbox and generally ignored the rest of the world in the sheer exuberant pleasure of each other's company.

I woke again at about 6, dazed and groggy, and needing a piss real bad, but something stopped me, something well...pretty hot.

My mate was awake also, I realised. The poor bastard probably had become conditioned to a 6 am start, and here he was, awake if not exactly bouncy. He wasn't out of bed though, and he was trying to be quiet. I realised why soon enough.

The blanket danced. Not like Gangnam style, this was a sexy dance. I couldn't see anything under it, he was too careful, but I knew what he was doing. And the size of the tent he had in the bedding...keeping it discrete was going to be tough.

I watched through eyes slitted tight, my morning piss hardon now aching like fuck, as I watched the dancing blanket, and the look on his face. My mate was an equine, a tall lean quarterhorse with chestnut coat. He had a white blaze on his face, and the cutest pink muzzle, and his nostrils had flared and he had screwed up his eyes and his forelock had fallen over his eyes anyway and plastered down his white nose with sweat.

"Ohhhh..."

He let out a soft little sexy groan, and I saw him open his eyes just once, sparkling and green, staring at the ceiling. He looked down to make sure he was still 'under cover', then went back to the task, one I knew pretty well. The action sped up, and the bed began to creak a little.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

I heard his climax, and then caught a whiff of it too. The sharp tang of teenage colt sperm. He came down off the high, and I heard him scrabbling about under the covers. He must have had a towel under there or something, because I heard it afterwards, when it hit his bag over by the wall after he threw the evidence of his self-pleasuring out of the bed.

That seemed to do the trick for him, and he turned over and went back to sleep. I heard his gentle breathing turn to snores, and tiptoed out of the bedroom to the bathroom.

It took only three strokes of my cock to spray a mammoth load of doggy cum. I was just an average Collie, nothing special in the cock department, but I could definitely cum buckets. I guess that was my special sex skill. Even for me though, this was a monumental cum. I tried to get it all in the bowl but lost my aim and sprayed the wall, the window, the floor. Clean up in aisle three required.

He was almost impossible to wake when it came time to head to basketball, but a Red Bull and a couple of rounds of toast got him going. We won, but I felt that I had already won that morning even without the game. I had days of awesome masturbation material for my lascivious mind to savour.

He repeated the performance a couple more times in the coming weeks. I got used to waking up at 6 a m just like my stud mate, on the off chance I could catch him. I had become a dedicated voyeur, a follower of one teen stallion at least. As much as I enjoyed the spectacle, as time went on I found myself wanting more. Rather than imagining what was happening under the blanket, I wanted to see it. I wanted more than just the sound of that cum-laden towel hitting his bag.

I had a little bit to keep just for me, in any case; I found my bedding had a slight scent of colt jizz, when I tested it with my sensitive collie nose. I refused to let mum change it, much to her disgust, and I would jack off sniffing the sheets and filling my mind with his scent.

I wanted more though. I wanted to watch him doing it, all of it, open and there for me, and deep inside, I wanted him to watch me too. I wanted him...

But that was a fantasy of my fevered masturbation world, and not the real world. In the real world, guys don't do that with their mates.

So I kept waking at 6 am, to feed my fantasies afresh, and catch the awesome tang of colt sperm and see his ultimate pleasure written on his cute face and then sniff my bed like a total loser once he headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Then fate took a hand, but first I had to suffer disappointment. There was a lesson there somewhere, or at least my mum would tell me so if in some brainsnapping parallel universe I actually told her stuff instead of grunting at her in monosyllables.

My mate had to spend a Saturday at home, in order to be there when an Aunt came down from Sydney. His morning would involve dutiful attention, and not a crafty wank in my bed. I swallowed my disappointment, and decided to see if I could have his afternoon anyway.

It was a perfect hot day, with the sky as blue as a robin's egg and barely a cloud. My top dripped with sweat, and my rough Collie coat matted nicely and I stank and tried to cover my teenage uncertainty with half a bottle of deodorant. I rode my bike in the heat while the sun beat down and felt like it was trying to fry me like an ant under a magnifying glass. By the time I got to Jackson's place, I was dripping, and for once, not from my cock.

I rang the front doorbell, but there was no sound. It looked like the useless piece of shit had failed, but it didn't matter. The construction next door had given me another option. The side fence had been removed, to be replaced once the townhouses were finished. I could walk through the building site and around the side of Jack's place and right to his window. I could just knock and see if the stupid colt would let me in.

Leaving my bike by the front door, I padded through the bare earth and construction waste. The townhouses were taking shape, a modern glass and steel edifice with huge windows along the wall beside my mate's place. He would have to get some blinds once they were occupied, but for now nobody was there to see...

Except one Collie, of course, and as I came to his window, a smile on my muzzle and a greeting on my lips, fist raised about to knock on the glass, I stopped, stunned.

Jackson was sitting at his desk, naked. He complained about how hot his room was in summer, and it seemed he had taken the simple precaution of wearing no clothes to battle the heat. I guess he had a nice chestnut coat, so he was never totally naked.

He was naked enough for me though, and as I watched, taking in more details, I had to slam my paw over my muzzle to stop myself crying out and giving the game away.

He was jacking off, nice and slow too. His cock was magnificent, even better than my fevered imagination. Long, not too thin, tapered, with a big fat flare and obvious medial, pink and black mottled, pink at the tip, black at the base. His fist worked it with an expert touch, and I watched fascinated, examining his technique with the practiced eye of a teenage male. He could give me some tips, I realised, as I watched him make love to his own cock.

He was fisting it slow, starting just under the flare, then up and down, every now and then bucking his hips to thrust his cock through the clenched gip of his hand. The tip pulsed with life, and I watched droplets of precum emerge from the urethra and drizzle over his flare to be spread across his flesh. Oh God it was beautiful.

His other hand was busy, typing something on his laptop, but he stopped that soon enough, and reached for his left nipple. As I stifled a whimper, I watched him grip the erectile flesh, pink and fat, and twist roughly while he cupped his flare in his palm and rubbed in circles.

"Ohhh..fuck....yes...yes...yes..."

He had his eyes closed now, not even watching the screen, his deep voice cracking with emotion and arousal. I could see he was close, agonisingly close, and I was in agony too, my cock trying to batter its way through my shorts.

Then, just as I thought he was about to cum, he stopped, his cock straining, upright and twitching.

Oh fuck...he was edging!

He kept working his nipple, and sweat coated his chest, dripping between his pecs and down his abdomen. He huffed, trying to blow his unruly forelock from his eyes, but it was plastered there with sweat, and he had to flick it with a slightly annoyed gesture so he could see the screen now.

I turned my attention reluctantly to the laptop, and had to stifle another cry. There, on the screen, I saw what he was watching. A couple of guys, bulls as far as I could make out, big and buff, were wrestling. As we watched, separate and yet connected by the moment, I saw one of the bulls win, his erection straining, and he mounted the loser from behind and fucked him without ceremony.

"Ohhh yeah...fuck yeah...so hot..."

I had to agree with Jack, even though my brain couldn't comprehend what I was seeing.

The action on screen was heating up, and the action in the bedroom was as well. My colt's fist moved faster and faster, and his cock twitched and strained. He had left his nipples alone for now, probably hurting after his rough treatment, but his other hand wasn't idle. He was fondling his balls, and I got an awesome view of his heavy horsey sack, a pair of huge fat balls in a dark leathery sack with the skin so tight as he hefted them and squeezed.

"Oh yeah...close..."

His tip was leaking like a tap, so much liquid I could believe he wasn't cumming yet. Then he broke my mind even worse. Sliding forward on his seat, he slid a finger up, under his balls, and I heard him grunt and realised with increasing shock that he was fingering his own ass.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He shot, never pulling his finger out, instead plunging it harder. I watched his flare seem to spread and blossom, then the first eruption of thick cum, shooting up and across his shoulder, describing a perfect ballistic arc to splatter on the carpet and discarded clothes on his floor, followed by a second mammoth spurt seconds later.

His balls danced, and his cock jerked, and he let loose a third shot of cum, this time coating his body, from his sternum across his left pec and shoulder, with one big droplet hanging to his swollen nipple for dear life. Then another shot, this time straight up and into his lap, all over his coarse chestnut colt pubes and his balls, then a few smaller shots that welled up from his piss slit and drooled down his shaft.

He had closed his eyes for this, the look of bliss mixed with almost pain and concentration. They remained closed as he gasped for breath in the aftermath of his shattering orgasm, and then he slowly pulled his finger from his ass. He blew a long breath, enough to blow his forelock over his left eyebrow, opened his eyes and looked down, almost surprised by the look, at the line of cum across his chest and the hanging line of stud milk from his nipple. He reached for it, tentatively, taking the glob on his fingertip, a fingertip that had been up his ass only seconds before.

Then, while I watched awe-stuck, he brought it to his muzzle and licked.

"Ohfuck!"

I realised, a little late, that the sound had been made by me and not the colt. It was followed by an almost painful feeling in my cock, and I looked down to see that I had somehow pulled out my doggy cock and cum was beginning to well out of the tip even as I looked up and through the window at my mate. His ears pricked up in warning.

I managed to roll sideways, back plastered against the brick wall of his house, inches from the window. My cock spurted, and I bit my paw to stop me moaning loudly and jacked it and shot the biggest load of cum in my life. I christened the building site next door, and I didn't care. My cock was in control and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Hello? Who'se there?!"

"Ohhh shit..."

I bolted, tucking my cock back in my shorts, around to the front door, on my bike, and I rode like the wind, forgetting the heat and anything else but the sight of my stud colt fingering his ass to orgasm and eating his cum. And the sight of what he was watching while he did it.

I should have been elated I guess, but my mind was too messed up by the rapid turn of events. That my stud could be into guys was too much like my dreams coming true. I managed to make myself not believe it, and over the rest of the afternoon talked myself into a hundred reasons why it didn't mean what I thought it meant.

Maybe he had found it by accident.

Maybe he was just curious.

Maybe he was but wouldn't be into me.

He texted me a couple of times and tried to skype but I ignored him, but it took it's toll anyway. Sleep eluded me until I gripped my unruly cock and jerked off remembering the sight of my stud ejaculating like some sort of equine fire hydrant, every muscle on his perfect body standing out as he surrendered to his passion. And my sleep was seriously disturbed even then.

Sunday and I couldn't hold him off any longer, and I tried not to think about what I had seen as we joked about as if nothing had happened. We ended up in my garage, lifting weights, pushing each other to greater heights. I liked that; I could concentrate on how much my pecs and biceps hurt and try to forget the dream of my stud colt.

Unfortunately, God is a bastard, and of course a semi-naked colt straining to bench press is not the least erotic sight in the world. He was laid nicely on the weightlifting bench, shirt off, wearing only a pair of footy shorts, and I could see every muscle in his body and the nice big bulge of his groin and the lines of his jockstrap visible under sweat-coated fabric and...yeah, poking from his sheath, the bulge of his flare against the pouch.

I was supposed to be spotting, but I couldn't hold it together at all. My tongue was out, drooling, as I watched sweat pour from his body, his furry pits where I wanted to bury my muzzle, the furrow between his pecs, his abdomen, the crook of his neck...

I never wanted to be a bead of sweat as much as I did that moment.

He lifted the weight one more time, grunting in exertion, and I ate him up like a visual banquet. The bar clattered into the brackets, and he let out a long sigh.

"Nice boner, mate."

I blinked a couple of times, not registering the words at first, then reaching for my bulge in obvious and guilty confirmation. Oh God I was hard, my shorts were tented, and right over his muzzle...

"S...sorry..."

"Just like yesterday..."

He chuckled. I looked down, finally, at his eyes, with his head resting casually on the bench just below my groin. They sparkled with mischief, and zeroed in on my obvious bulge. I stepped back a pace and stuttered.

"N...n..no...um...um..."

In one graceful motion, he went from the supine to standing, straddling the bench, and placed his hands on the bar next to mine. They edged inwards, little fingers against my thumbs, just resting there, and he looked into my eyes, still smiling, but also with an air of regret.

"Dude...you realise that townhouse next door is covered in glass."

"Yeah?"

"I heard a noise, right after I...well, you know when. And I looked out the window. And what did I see, but my Collie mate, reflected in the glass..."

"Oh shit!"

"Never thought I would be grateful for the big ugly building. You know, you look amazing when you cum..."

I was caught, and he knew it. His muzzle split in a grin.

"Plus, you left like a gallon of jizz behind. I think you shot it into the next postcode..."

"Hey! You came just as much..."

Well, there was no reason to pretend any more. He had me. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

I didn't have long to wait to find out.

"Been waiting for this way too long Carter..."

His hands moved that last, crucial inch, gripping mine, and he leaned his muzzle forward. I met him half way, as a mate should. Our kiss wasn't that hot, more like a homecoming, sweet, more gratitude than longing. That didn't last though.

He pulled me closer, arm around my back, one hand cupping my ass and up to stroke my wagging Collie tail. I was self conscious about that tail, thinking it was too curly and stupid, but his touch cured me of that. Then the next touch made me gasp.

He reached into my shorts and pulled out my erection. I was so hard, and so needy. Leaking already, I couldn't be far from shooting. And all the time we kissed, like teenagers are supposed to I guess, and I tasted fresh hay and spearmint and 7-Up.

When we came up for air, I sucked in great lungfulls of air and tried to recover my composure. That was long gone though, especially with Jackson's hand on my cock. He cupped my sheath next and slid it back, exposing a swelling knot to his touch. I almost buckled, legs turning to rubber.

"So...do you only like to watch mate? Or can you do stuff as well..."

He said it with a twinkle in his eye, and waited. I couldn't form the words.

"I want...oh fuck...I mean...yes but...I don't know what to do!"

Now that was an admission. I bit my lip, embarrassed, expecting him to laugh. He kissed me instead. Love is built on such moments of compassion.

"Well...let me try something then."

"Ok!"

"Pity...I guess you don't have any lube, do you?"

"Um...no?"

I had no idea what he intended. I hadn't needed it to jack off, and I had been too terrified to get a dildo or anything. The thought of my mum finding it or worse...my sister...

"Well...maybe watch a little longer then..."

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts. They were straining to take his cock already, which had swollen and was trying to poke above the fabric. He just shucked them down effortlessly, and his cock sprang forth like it was springloaded, slapping his belly with a resounding splat that we both found unintentionally hilarious.

He gripped his erection, stroking slowly, and with the other hand gripped mine, not moving, just cupping and squeezing. Then he brought his cock to mine, rubbing the flare on my head, and jacked off while rubbing my cock with his own magnificent length. I could feel every twitch in his cock, every rub, every stroke, every moment of pleasure transmitted into my own overheated flesh. My balls drew up tight, pleasure building but never quite shooting, the stimulation beautiful and maddening and the view from close up so incredible.

I watched his face screw up then, head leaning back, and heard the sighs, and saw the muscles tense. He abdomen was the best of all, each muscle on his six-pack twitching individually as he came to the brink.

"Ohh yes...ohhh yes...Carter...Cart...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

He shot off, all over my cock, my pubes, the torrent of colt cum dripping from my belly button, a sticky sheen all over my red raw cock, and down to my sheath and scrotum. I had been coated in colt.

He gave me a wink, still not sure what he intended, then he turned around, taking up a position straddling the far end of the workout bench, on all fours, with his ass pointing to me. Then he lifted his tail, ostentatiously, and turned around to fix me with a determined stare.

"Best I could do for lube. Time to show you can do more than just watch mate..."

"Y...yes...yes...yes...ohhh fuck..."

I moved with jerky, uncoordinated movements, kicking the upright, almost tripping over, somehow fumbling with my shorts and managing to get them down and over my paws after hopping on one leg and almost tumbling. He tried not to laugh, but I saw. I think it made me love him more nonetheless.

When I knelt behind him, my cock slick with his cum, his tailhole looking so vulnerable and so hot at the same time, and I pressed my tip to his opening, he shuddered, and gave me a last look and a nod.

"Be gentle mate...please?"

I was. And though I only lasted three strokes once I had finally hilted inside him, I was still hard, and still buried in that magnificent ass, and we had all the time in the world. And as a teenager, I knew that practice made perfect, and unlike shooting baskets or kicking a football, I really was motivated to be good at it.

So I became a passionate supporter of the pleasures of doing, as well as watching. And found I didn't mind modern architecture after all. I honestly didn't know if I could have got up the courage to make a move on Jack, without my presence outside his window having been betrayed anyway by that expanse of double glazing. It got me over the barrier in my own mind; and the rest was down to us.