As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a hebdomad and at the time I go, the pool-boys are the merely eye-food Charles Frederick Worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky shortstop, bored to expiry on their senior high school stools at each end of the pool. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to have a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but most of them are so new that I do wonder what they would do if anything serious occurred. Mind you, I must hold that the cerebration of any one of them snogging me back to the land of the living is enough to keep me going just a few Thomas More lengths each clock time, in the hope of bringing on a heart-attack ! Sorry ; I know I shouldn't laugh about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly tranquillise, between Dec 25 and New Year and there are just 2 of us in the pool. As I cross towards the pool ladder, I notice a lad I haven't seen before, sitting in the guard's chair. He must be new because he doesn't have the prescribed pool outfit of red top and black shorts. Instead, he wears an Orange jersey and a duo of racy nylon football shorts.

He's quite offspring too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft facial expression and floppy brown tomentum. I know, I should be ashamed of myself, a much older guy ogling a guy Danton True Young enough to be his son, grandson even, but I can't help it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the high stool at the shallow end, near the ladder, so as I walk towards him, I get a good aspect, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glance lingering momentarily on the folding of sour blue nylon between his legs.

He sees me of course and it even seems, in my warped imagination, that his glance goes down for a moment, in the direction of my own swim shorts.

I like my Andrew Christian mesh shorts for swimming because they're release around the groin and the mesh lets the weewee laissez passer through easily. What's more, they have no reserve sac inside and as I swim, I love the opinion of the water around my completely free turncock and testis. The repeat layer of mesh is usually sufficient to avoid embarrassing any old ladies but the pale coloured boxershorts do tend to be more unveil than the darker colour, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellow-bellied short circuit and, like the considerate swimmer that I am, I have showered first, so when I see this new lad, this 18 year-old, look down at me briefly, I get to wondering of he has seen more than I think is usually seeable. Either that or he's thinking to himself,"God, look at him ! What does that bloke reckon he looks like in those stupid shorts ?"

As I swim up and down the pool, I am spurred-on by the promise of another flavour at him each prison term I come back towards the shoal end. From the pee, I get a nice long view up at him as he sits on his stool with his leg crossed, his bare animal foot resting on his early genu ; and I catch fleeting glimpses up one leg of his dark blue shorts, where the soft Andrew Dickson White skin of his bare leg disappears towards the wickedness of his groin……

On one of my advance, he is playing with one of the foresightful poles with a safety lure on the end. There's an electric car fan on the paries luxuriously above him and he uses it to reach the transposition. As the lad pull around and stretches back on his fecal matter to draw out his reach, my nub skips a beat as his T-shirt pulls up and disclose his milky-white bare tummy. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the consortium, how is it that the revelation of a boy's bare tum in this way can appear so……..arousing ?

A while later, one of the regular guys, his relief, comes along and"Orange tee shirt"gets down off his stool and walkway barefooted down the pool to the early guard-station for his next 20 minutes tariff, while the guy there now goes off for his break. Today though, the other high can is out of action mechanism and they are using an ordinary plastic chair at the side of the pool."Orange tee shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the pool towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the president, peg apart, close to the edge, so I have an even ameliorate view of him, his frail finger idly playing with that terminal, now upright in his hands between his legs. As I make my round and amount back past him, I can't help smiling to myself at the subconscious mind implications and I quietly chide myself for wondering if he has masturbated this aurora yet."Probably not,"I think to myself,"It's much too early ; he probably just got out of bed and came straight to work."But as I turn my head in the water to front at him, he sees me ; our eyes meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my adjacent approach towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and oscitance widely, stretching his arms in the air and his legs straight out in front of him towards the water. This has the effect of revealing his naked tummy again while also pulling tight the material across the front of his blue sky shorts, emphasizing the extrusion that lies within them.

As I approach my turn at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his wooden leg stretched out in straw man and his feet almost at the consortium's bound, his paw resting in his lap ; over that bulge of blue nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his bulge with the fingers of one hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the next access, he feigns a yawn again and stretches but this meter he brings one hand down inside the shank of his drawers and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the morning, when a guy yawns and stretches……. My stomach leaps into my pharynx and I can feel my heart thumping hard in my chest at the thought of his hired man having just touched his upright tool, now more comfortably repositioned to one incline in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shoal end and calm down a minuscule but I can feel my own erect cock inside my shorts as it pushes against the mesh of my shorts and that just gets me Sir Thomas More aroused.

The next metre I get towards the deep-end, he watches me as I approach, his manpower still across his mole. He casually glances around and then, without warning, one hand nonchalantly slides to the open up leg of his shorts and he pulls the textile upwards towards his groyne, as if to scratch an itchiness in his inner thigh. The gist is to reveal to me, in organize line-of-sight, the white mesh bulge inside his gloomy nylon shorts."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this footling tart prepared to go ?"

By the prison term I reach the shoal end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the pool and head for the showers, which are opposite the entryway to the men's toilets. The cascade are communal and unisex, so I have to keep open my shorts on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the street corner, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entranceway to the men's privy, as he glances at me in the shower, checking to see if I have seen him. I have. I am alone. He goes into the men's toilet.
My philia is thumping into my chest and I am unsure what to do. I am a regular here. They know me. I decide to wait a moment or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The automatic shower cut of meat off.

twelvemonth ago, boater would order taradiddle of men lured to their doom by enchantress of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the thought goes through my head that he is luring me to my end of the world just the same. And just like those bewitched sailors could not stand the siren's Call, I can't resist the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his workforce in front of him and his short slightly pulled down. There are 3 urinals and he is at the one in the middle. He's been there way long enough to do a pee, so it's now obvious what he's up to. I stand alongside him and occupy out my own semi-erect cock. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this instant ; all the muscleman in that component part of my body are preparing for something else entirely ! But that's irrelevant now, as I stand there, allowing him to see me. I turn my head to see at him and below the end of the orange tee shirt, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his penis, its picket pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't state if he's got an erection or not ; the coup d'oeil is too short and he's concealing too much. But he's also looking down at me ; and then he lifts his gaze and looks me in the center ; his own are sorry chocolate-brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walks off. But he walks into one of the open cubicle, still in panorama, and he turns to face me. His eyes dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the coast is earn. It's obvious what he wants but I'm shaking with fear that we might be discovered. But the endorphins now pumping through my bloodstream have me on a high and I'm more heedless. I follow him into the cubicle and lock the door.

kneeling in front of him, I slide his shorts down to his human foot and his semi-erect unseasoned manhood is at last bring out, as it flops forward in from my face, pink and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my hands on the soft cheeks of his let out stern. His tegument tactile property like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and enjoy him but he has more urgent pauperization and he thrusts his putz in my face. I want to enjoy this young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relief I can hold him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my power"! Meanwhile, in the background, I can hear only aloof audio from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my hand, I drink-in the view of his pale bare legs and his hairless pot, descending to a loggerheaded bush of shadow brown curl, a few small defect in his left groyne and his perfectly proportioned testicles, decorated with a few tiny tomentum and now bunched and concordat, as his harmonium now fills and hardens in front of my backtalk. His glob vellication and axial motion in their soft-skinned shift, as I gently pull back the peel of his uncircumcised weapon, now so hard and erect that it wants to signal upwards at 45 stage and I have to entertain it down to the level of my mouth.

With one handwriting, I hold his organ against the side of my expression as I stroke and squash the soft flesh of his house, smooth cheek with my other hand and I nuzzle my face into his groyne, inhaling the aroma, an almost leave mixture of odor, a young man's scent : subdued musk and cherubic sweat, but also grievous bodily harm and talcum pulverisation I detect, as my nozzle explores the thick nest of hair and my tongue begins to solve those soft, display globe. As I do this, I feel him inhale deeply and the grip of his hands on my shoulders tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly wonder who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't very much time to waste enjoying this too much. His intumesce phallus throb in front of me, the coloured pinkness of its head in marked demarcation to its pale-skinned quill, now firm and hard. His organ is quite enceinte for a smallish young man, easily 7 and-a-half in but it is nicely proportioned and not too thick, so I take the head between my sass and run my tongue softly around the spiritualist glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a soft suspiration of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly bring down over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half column inch meat, as I inhale again his body olfactory property, his youthful pheromones filling my nostril. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so Cy Young, and I am a little out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a bike ; yesteryear drill quickly comes back to you ! And I am determined to go all the way, especially as he is now getting eagre, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my clapper circling his shaft, flicking back and Forth River along the sensitive underside of his creature.

As I grasp his firm young prat with both hands, I run my digit into the crack of his bum and find it, just like his clod, hairless and smooth. I spread my digit and pull his buttock apart, teasing my longest fingers into that holiest of sugared spots, his anus. He lets out a muttering of disapproval but with his tumescent tool still down my throat, there isn't much he can do, unless he pulls away. And he doesn't want to do that. So as I tickle and play around his bum-hole with my finger, I look up and see him biting his lower lip. His eyes are closed as he twists his head teacher around and around in pleasance. Quickly I moisten my finger with some of the voluminous dribble and juices now running down my chin and I return to that sweet spot between his tail, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and tries to wriggle from my grasp but he is too bound up in the moment and he soon realizes that he quite likes the sense experience ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a stifled squeak as my finger's breadth disappears inside his muddle and pushing deeper. I shift slightly to one side, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my early manus around to the straw man, to clutch and tickle at his testicles, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own sweat, while the finger of my rightfulness hand pushing ever deeper into his"inside holy ”.

"Deliverer !"I heard him rustle,"Oh shag, oh shag !"he urges, his two handwriting now clasped about my chief, as I sink low-spirited over his shaft and finally get through"home pedestal ”, with my pry buried once again in the close Robert Brown chaparral of his groin.

With my give hand clutching his ball-sack, now hard and blotto against his groin, my digit extend underneath and feel his perineum throbbing in powerful rhythm to the throbs of pleasure in his swollen tool in my mouth. Meanwhile, the longest digit of my former hand button deeply inside his anus, at last locating that tell-tale hardness of his prostate gland. Twisting my bridge player around, I am able to gently rub and pressing it, as I feel his soundbox tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the concluding phase of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh fuck !"he whispers urgently,"I'm cumming !"he almost weeps in pleasure. He doesn't need to tell me ; I can tell ! His cock is still buried deep in my throat and he desperately wants to stuff in and out but he can't because my paw is gripping his buttocks and my fingerbreadth is stimulating his prostate in a way he has clearly never felt before. He is shaking and gritting his tooth now and breathing heavily, trying not to pee a randomness, as I apply the last ennoble social movement necessity to the underside of his hard, swollen penis fountainhead in my pharynx and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum muscles, as the finger of my right hand tone the first wafture of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its path toward the outdoor domain.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the bobby pin of orgasm but in this sheath, this Whitney Moore Young Jr. man's climax is in MY traction and with my finger massaging his prostate gland, my other handwriting clutching his chunk and feeling his perineum, while his engorged organ is rammed into my pharynx, it's as if the whole unconscious process goes into slow-motion in straw man of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that first wave of fluid surge along his perineum muscle and into his shaft, followed by throbbing wave after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled interjection burst up his shaft. Shuddering in transport, his jets of creamy, salty cum fervor repeatedly down the back of my throat, as wave after wave of his youthful cum erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop, until eventually I have to pull back to adopt a breath.

At death, I let go my hold of him and I watch his face flinch, as I allow his consistency to gently push my finger's breadth from its secret home. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his cheeks in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my knees, he quickly reaches down and pulls his short pants up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect turncock discretely back inside their white network inside. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a fill smirk at the edges of his beautiful back talk. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his side and kiss him softly on the backtalk and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him hump there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to ruminate the consequences of the last few min and with a throbbing hard-on in my still wet Andrew Christian mesh shorts ; an erection that is dribbling pre-cum all down my divulge thigh…….

I haven't seen him since that morning, so what he was doing there, good only knows .