“You must be baking,” Sally said, glancing up from her book. She was sat beside me on the bench seat.

I shrugged. “It’s not too bad,” I replied, although the afternoon sun was beating down hard on our concrete balcony. It was an unusually hot summer’s day, but it felt just as hot inside as out. At least there was some air movement out here.

“Who on earth wears socks on a day like this?” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

She had a point. I put my book beside me, bent down and hooked first one sock and then the other off of my feet and tossed them through the open door into the main room. Sally looked down at my feet and smiled her approval.

“Nonsense, I can see your shirt sticking to you,” Sally told me. I glanced down and saw what she meant. For her part, she was wearing a light summer dress that flowed around her and barely seemed to touch her delicate skin.

“Why don’t you take it off?” she suggested.

“My shirt?” I asked in surprise.

“No, that big hat you’re wearing… of course your shirt,” she said sarcastically.

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

“Okay, I won’t phrase it as a question,” she replied, “Because you’re not the one who’ll need to get the salt stains out. Either get rid of it or go inside out of the sun.”

I made a grumbling sound but began unbuttoning my shirt. Sally went back to her book, although I noticed her glance over at me as I leant forwards, pulled the sleeves off my arms, bundled the cotton into a ball and tossed it back inside.

“Better?” she asked me with a half-smile. I shrugged, not wanting to admit she was right. I could feel the sun was warm on my chest, but the air moving across me was more than enough to make me feel cooler already. I turned to reach for my book again.

“And don’t you have any shorts you could wear?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “They’re all in the wash, I think,” I replied. It had been a warm couple of weeks and I didn’t own many pairs. She took a deep breath as if in frustration at my lack of initiative.

“You’re wearing boxer shorts, I guess?”

I nodded.

“No wonder you look so hot then,” she told me, “Why don’t you chuck your jeans inside? It’s not like anyone can see us up here.”

She was right there: we were eight floors above the nearest buildings. And suddenly, I felt the first stirrings of something inside my boxers. Maybe it was the way Sally’s eyes sparkled a little.

She watched my fingers as I unfastened my belt, popped open the button on my jeans and slid the zip down. I lifted myself off the bench a little as pushed my jeans over my thighs and down my legs. It was some effort to get my feet out of them as they were slightly clammy from the heat. I tossed the jeans inside with my shirt.

I sat back on the bench, suddenly conscious that I was only wearing my boxer shorts. Sally looked radiant in her dress beside me. She rested her hand lightly on my thigh and I felt my pulse quicken and a bulge growing in my shorts. Sally was studiously reading her book, but I didn’t feel like I could concentrate on mine for a minute or two.

“Are these things cotton too?” she asked me, rubbing the back of her fingers up the side of my shorts.

I nodded. “I think so,” I said.

“Then no wonder they’re sticking to you,” she said, and she gave the waistband a tug as if to emphasise the point.

I knew what was expected of me. I slipped my fingers into the waistband and pushed down, lifting myself again and then letting my boxers slide down my calves. I flicked them to one side with my feet. I glanced sideways at Sally, who I noticed was half looking at her book and half looking at my penis standing to attention.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked me as I sat naked beside her. Her fingers returned to rest on my thigh and I felt my penis wave in the gentle breeze.

“It is,” I said meekly.

There was no way I could concentrate on my book now, but Sally went back to reading hers. But, as she did, her fingers gently stroked up and down my thigh. They felt cool on my warm, bare skin, and then, as she turned in her seat, I felt the ripple of her soft dress flowing against my legs.

Her hand slipped down my inner thigh and I tried not to tremble in the seat. Then it slid upwards, and her fingers gently caressed the underside of my testicles. I let out a small gasp of air. Sally’s hand was taken away and I ached for it to return. She turned the page of her book and then it did, the palm and fingers cupping the tip of my penis.

I couldn’t contain my body’s reaction as I trembled. As if absent-mindedly, her fingers ran up and down the shaft of my cock. It strained to push itself against her touch, but no matter how hard I tried to reach I was stroked by only the lightest of touches.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensation, savouring each caress of my shaft, each playful rub on my tip, the teasing exploration around my ball sac.

I whimpered as her hand was taken away again and I heard another page being turned. I tensed in anticipation of its return, and I was rewarded by a firm stroke of Sally’s palm up the length of my cock. My breath shuddered as I exhaled and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer.