I’m in my 40s, male, married for 15 years. We have no children due to my wife’s hysterectomy soon after a miscarriage early in our marriage. We tried maintaining a normal s** life but she no longer enjoyed it. So, when I’ve gotten h**** I just jack myself off…but even that sort of tapered off and I gave up on that, too. I guess I became asexual.

We moved recently to a neighborhood on the edge of the city that is pretty rural and wooded. It’s not remote or anything but there is a lot more privacy here and we enjoy the nature. We only have one neighbor close by that lives in a small cottage. He’s an older man, seemingly retired, and other than a casual wave in greeting we really didn’t interact – at least until last summer. I retired from my job early but wife decided to keep working. Suddenly I was home alone a lot and began wandering the several acres with my dog, just to stay busy doing something.

I walked near his home several times and although I didn’t go out of my way to notice I came to realize he was kind of an artist, always working on something – either painting or carving things. After a time I began going out of my way to say hello and inquire about his art, etc. Sometimes we’d have a beer and chat. Some of his art was…racy, but I wasn’t offended or shocked.

One morning my wife answered the phone and told me to run over – something was wrong. I’d been in his living room before but no further. I found him in the hallway where he’d fallen off a ladder and luckily happened to have his cell phone in his pocket. He was conscious but acting strangely and I called 911 and rode with him. He’d broken his clavicle and had a pretty good head wound, so they kept him overnight. I made sure he was settled, taking his keys to make sure his place was secure before heading home. He was drugged and couldn’t tell me if I needed to call anyone for him, but figured I could find an address book the next morning.

After my wife left for work, I walked over to his place and let myself in. I’d always been impressed with how clean he’d kept his place, organized, well furnished despite the small size, and much of his art displayed throughout. I didn’t find an address book in the living room or kitchen.

I surmised he’d been trying to hang one of his paintings in the hall when he fell, so I went ahead and hung it, stowing the ladder in a small utility closet off the kitchen. Though he had never invited me to the back of the house, I thought I’d have better luck elsewhere. There were only 3 small bedrooms and a bath, similarly decorated but one bedroom seemed more comfortable and lived in. I opened one of his bedside tables and was shocked to find several carvings – I recognized his style by now but the subject matter threw me. They were intricately carved c**** of various sizes, extremely lifelike. There were also latex dildos, all the same size, and seemed to be homemade. In a lower drawer I found buttplugs, lubricants of various brands, and several cockrings. I was ashamed of snooping and realizing he must use them on himself. Was he gay?

There was a small desk with an iMac computer and I thought possibly he might have some contacts for family or friends. Luckily there was no password protection, but I wasn’t familiar enough with macs to find anything useful. I managed to find his main documents but was embarrassed to find it full of p********** – much of it of him, using the homemade dildos on himself. Some video as well.

I shut everything down, feeling that I’d violated his privacy. I decided to go to the hospital and check on him since it was nearly time for visiting hours. I’d just ask him if there was anyone I could contact. Also, I’d not mention what I’d stumbled across. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him or reveal that I’d snooped.

Luckily I found him awake and in good spirits. Other than the broken clavicle he was ok. He was in good shape for his age and the staff wasn’t concerned so they were releasing him. I’d asked him if anyone needed to know what had happened and he brushed me off. His remaining family lived on the other side of the country and he didn’t have any close friends since retiring, preferring the solitude of his small home.

He was happy to return home, and thankful to us for getting him help. He was thrilled id hung his panting since he wouldn’t be doing anything requiring two arms for awhile. I got him settled and made him a sandwich and soup for lunch. I realized I’d left his bedroom door open and he noticed when he used the bathroom. He asked me if I’d gone in, looking a little sick. I explained I’d looked around for an address book but didn’t find one.

While we ate he talked a little about his family and how they fell out of touch after a falling out. He finally revealed he’d had a gay affair and when they found out they shamed him, which he never forgave. He finally asked if I’d seen the carvings and I said yes, I had, complimenting him on their realism and beauty.

When I left he insisted on hugging me and I found myself thinking about him differently now, knowing what I knew and seeing the photos he’d taken of himself engaged with his toys. I left, but he remained on my mind and I found myself thinking of him s*******.

I’m ashamed of myself for these thoughts, but I’m excited also, to have any s***** feelings at all after all this time. I’ll need to keep an eye on him, feeling a little responsible for his welfare now knowing that he doesn’t have anyone to rely on.

Should I tell him I find myself curious about him s*******?