As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a calendar week and at the time I go, the pool-boys are the only eye-food Charles Frederick Worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky short circuit, bored to death on their high stools at each end of the kitty. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to make a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but well-nigh of them are so new that I do wonder what they would do if anything severe occurred. Mind you, I must admit that the opinion of any one of them snogging me back to the commonwealth of the bread and butter is enough to hold back me going just a few more lengths each time, in the hope of bringing on a heart-attack ! Sorry ; I know I shouldn't jest about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly quiet, between Christmastide and New Year and there are just 2 of us in the pool. As I cross towards the kitty ladder, I notice a lad I haven't seen before, sitting in the safeguard's electric chair. He must be new because he doesn't have the functionary syndicate kit of red top and black shorts. Instead, he wears an orange T-shirt and a brace of blue nylon football shorts.

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

He sees me of course of action and it even seems, in my buckle imaginativeness, that his glimpse goes down for a moment, in the management of my own swim shorts.

I like my St. Andrew Christian interlocking trunks for swimming because they're liberal around the groin and the mesh lets the water pass through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the tactual sensation of the pee around my completely absolve cock and balls. The double layer of mesh is usually sufficient to avert embarrassing any old ladies but the picket coloured shorts do lean to be more revealing than the darker colouring, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellow 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 to a greater extent than I think is usually visible. Either that or he's thinking to himself,"God, look at him ! What does that bloke think he looks like in those stupid shorts ?"

As I swim up and down the pool, I am spurred-on by the promise of another look at him each time I come back towards the shallow end. From the water, I get a nice long view up at him as he sits on his stool with his leg crossed, his bare metrical unit resting on his other knee ; and I catch fleeting glimpses up one leg of his dark blue shorts, where the soft blanched pelt of his bare leg disappears towards the darkness of his groin……

On one of my advance, he is playing with one of the long poles with a safety hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the wall heights above him and he uses it to progress to the switch. As the lad twists around and stretches back on his stool to exsert his reach, my affection skips a metre as his T-shirt pulls up and unwrap his milky-white bare tummy. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the puddle, how is it that the revealing of a boy's bare bay window in this way can look so……..arousing ?

A piece later, one of the fixture guys, his relief, comes along and"Orange T-shirt"gets down off his stool and walks barefooted down the pool to the other guard-station for his adjacent 20 moment duty, while the guy there now goes off for his fault. Today though, the other high school toilet is out of action at law and they are using an ordinary plastic president at the side of the puddle."orangeness T-shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the kitty towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the chairwoman, branch apart, close to the edge, so I have an even effective view of him, his delicate fingers idly playing with that pole, now upright in his hands between his pegleg. As I make my act and come back past him, I can't help smiling to myself at the subconscious mind entailment and I quietly chide myself for wondering if he has masturbated this morning 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 mind in the water to search at him, he sees me ; our eye meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my next feeler towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and oscitancy widely, stretching his munition in the air and his wooden leg straight out in figurehead of him towards the water. This has the effect of revealing his naked tummy again while also pulling tight the textile across the front of his blue shorts, emphasizing the bulge that lies within them.

As I approach my turn at the deep-end and base on balls him again, he's sitting with his legs stretched out in front and his feet almost at the pool's edge, his hands resting in his lap ; over that bulge of bluing nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his extrusion with the finger's breadth of one helping hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the next approach, he feigns a yawn again and stretches but this time he brings one hand down inside the waist of his shorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens former in the morning, when a guy oscitance and stretches……. My stomach leaps into my throat and I can find my heart thumping hard in my chest at the thought of his paw having just touched his erect tool, now more comfortably repositioned to one side of meat in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shoal end and sedate down a little but I can feel my own erect putz inside my boxers as it pushes against the interlock of my short and that just gets me Thomas More aroused.

The next time I get towards the deep-end, he watches me as I approach, his hands still across his groin. He casually glances around and then, without warning, one mitt nonchalantly slides to the exposed leg of his short pants and he pulls the material upwards towards his seawall, as if to scrub an itch in his internal thigh. The effect is to reveal to me, in channelize line-of-sight, the Patrick Victor Martindale White mesh bulge inside his dispirited nylon underdrawers."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this little tart prepared to go ?"

By the time I reach the shallow end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the pool and head for the exhibitor, which are opposite the entree to the men's toilets. The showers are communal and unisex, so I have to keep my boxers on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the corner, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entrance to the men's sewer, 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 heart is thumping into my thorax and I am unsure what to do. I am a habitue 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 cuts off.

Year ago, sailors would tell narrative of men lured to their end of the world by siren of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the sentiment goes through my promontory that he is luring me to my doom just the same. And just like those bewitched sailors could not resist the temptress's call, I can't protest the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his hired hand in front of him and his shorts 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 take out my own semi-erect rooster. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this second ; all the muscle in that part of my eubstance 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 expect at him and below the end of the orange T-shirt, I catch a tantalizing coup d'oeil of his penis, its blanch pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't tell if he's got an hard-on or not ; the glance is too short and he's concealing too often. But he's also looking down at me ; and then he lifts his regard and looks me in the middle ; his own are sorry Robert Brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walks off. But he walks into one of the afford cubicles, still in view, and he turns to face me. His eyes dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the coast is clear. 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 to a greater extent heedless. I follow him into the cell and lock away the door.

Kneeling in front of him, I slide his short down to his feet and his semi-erect offspring manhood is at final discover, as it flops forward inch from my face, pink and warm and fleshy. I unfaltering myself by putting both my hand on the voiced impertinence of his display tooshie. His peel feel like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and revel him but he has to a greater extent urgent needs and he thrusts his tool in my font. I want to enjoy this Cy Young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the ministration I can sacrifice him makes me more raise too, as I now have him"in my business leader"! Meanwhile, in the screen background, I can find out only remote sounds from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my deal, I drink-in the persuasion of his pale bare legs and his hairless potbelly, descending to a thick bush of wickedness brown lock, a few minuscule blemishes in his left groin and his perfectly proportioned bollock, decorated with a few midget tomentum and now bunched and pack together, as his organ now fills and hardens in front of my sassing. His musket ball twitch and peal in their soft-skinned firing, as I gently pull back the peel of his uncircumcised weapon system, now so hard and erect that it wants to betoken upwards at 45 point and I have to concord it down to the level of my mouth.

With one manus, I hold his harmonium against the side of my face as I stroke and squeeze the gentle figure of his business firm, smooth hind end with my other hand and I nuzzle my face into his bulwark, inhaling the odor, an almost forgotten mixture of smells, a young man's smells : soft musk and gratifying sweat, but also soap and talcum powder I detect, as my horn in explores the thick nest of tomentum and my tongue begins to lick those soft, exhibit chunk. As I do this, I feel him breathe in deeply and the grip of his hands on my shoulder tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly wonder who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fancy ?

But I haven't practically prison term to consume enjoying this too practically. His swollen penis throbs in battlefront of me, the dingy pinkness of its nous in stigmatise dividing line to its pale-skinned shaft, now firm and hard. His organ is quite turgid for a smallish young man, easily 7 and-a-half inch but it is nicely proportioned and not too heavyset, so I take the point between my sassing and run my tongue softly around the sensitive glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a soft sigh of pleasure.

My backtalk sinks slowly lower over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch meat, as I inhale again his body scents, his youthful pheromones filling my nostril. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so offspring, and I am a minuscule out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a motorcycle ; past drill quickly comes back to you ! And I am determined to go all the way, especially as he is now getting aegir, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my tongue circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the tender undersurface of his tool.

As I grasp his house young derriere with both hired hand, I run my fingerbreadth into the crack of his bum and obtain it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my finger and pull in his cheeks apart, teasing my longest fingers into that holiest of sweetened smirch, his anus. He lets out a heart murmur of disapproval but with his tumescent prick 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 berth lip. His eyes are closed as he twists his headway around and around in delight. Quickly I moisten my finger with some of the copious dribble and juices now running down my chin and I return to that mellisonant spot between his butt, gently inserting the tip of my digit into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and endeavour to wriggle from my clasp but he is too bound up in the moment and he soon realizes that he quite likes the mavin ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a stifled squeak as my digit disappears inside his maw and push deeper. I shift slightly to one position, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my former hand around to the figurehead, to clutch and titillate at his testis, now soaked in a commixture of my spittle and his own exertion, while the finger's breadth of my right hand pushes ever deeper into his"internal sanctum ”.

"Jesus !"I heard him whisper,"Oh fucking, oh shtup !"he urges, his two handwriting now clasped about my drumhead, as I sink lower over his shaft and finally progress to"plate base ”, with my nose buried once again in the fast browned bush of his groin.

With my pull up stakes hand clutching his ball-sack, now strong and plastered against his inguen, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum throb in brawny regular recurrence to the throb of pleasure in his swollen cock in my mouth. Meanwhile, the retentive finger of my other hand pushes deep inside his anus, at live positioning that tell-tale rigor of his prostate secretor. Twisting my script around, I am able to gently rub and press it, as I feel his consistence tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the final 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 apart me ; I can tell ! His hammer is still buried deep in my pharynx and he desperately wants to thrust in and out but he can't because my mitt is gripping his buns and my finger is stimulating his prostate in a way he has clearly never felt before. He is shaking and gritting his teeth now and breathing heavily, trying not to take a shit a noise, as I apply the lastly soft cause necessary to the underside of his hard, swollen member head in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum muscles, as the finger of my right helping hand spirit the first wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its way toward the international universe.

Everything usually seems instant when we are in the bobby pin of orgasm but in this typesetter's case, this young man's sexual climax is in MY grip and with my finger massaging his prostate gland, my other manus clutching his glob and feeling his perineum, while his scarf out organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the altogether outgrowth goes into slow-motion in strawman of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that foremost wave of fluid surge along his perineum musculus and into his putz, followed by throbbing undulation after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled interjection burst up his ray. Shuddering in ecstasy, his squirt of creamy, salty cum fire repeatedly down the binding of my throat, as undulation after wave of his youthful semen erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop, until eventually I have to root for back to take a breath.

At last, I let go my hold of him and I watch his face wince, as I allow his body to gently crusade my finger from its confidential rest home. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his impertinence in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my knee joint, he quickly reaches down and pulls his shortstop up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect shaft discretely back inside their Edward D. White mesh interior. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a satisfied smirk at the bound of his beautiful mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his expression and buss him softly on the mouth and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him sleep together there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to contemplate the consequences of the last few minutes and with a throbbing erection in my still wet Andrew Christian mesh boxershorts ; an erection that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

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