As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a week and at the time I go, the pool-boys are the sole eye-food Worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky shorts, bored to Death on their high-pitched stools at each end of the kitty. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to birth a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but to the highest degree of them are so untested that I do question what they would do if anything serious occurred. Mind you, I must take on that the intellection of any one of them snogging me back to the res publica of the living is sufficiency to observe me going just a few more lengths each clock time, in the Bob Hope of bringing on a heart-attack ! Sorry ; I know I shouldn't gag about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly quiet, between Christmas and New Year and there are just 2 of us in the puddle. As I cross towards the pond ladder, I notice a lad I haven't seen before, sitting in the sentry go's president. He must be new because he doesn't have the prescribed pool outfit of red top and blackened short. Instead, he wears an orange jersey and a span of depressed nylon football shorts.

He's quite young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft font and floppy browned haircloth. 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 assistant it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the eminent can at the shoal end, near the ravel, so as I walk towards him, I get a effective look, you know, up and down, the way you do, my coup d'oeil lingering momentarily on the plication of dark aristocratic nylon between his legs.

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

I like my Andrew Christian net shorts for swimming because they're loose around the breakwater and the network lets the water flip through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the feeling of the piss around my completely free putz and balls. The double layer of engagement is usually sufficient to avoid embarrassing any old lady but the pale coloured shorts do tend to be more reveal than the darker people of color, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellow shorts 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 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 kitty, 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 au naturel understructure resting on his other knee joint ; and I catch fleeting glimpses up one leg of his night blue angel shorts, where the delicate white pelt of his bare leg disappears towards the darkness of his groin……

On one of my coming, he is playing with one of the long rod with a safety hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the paries high above him and he uses it to progress to the switch. As the lad twists around and stretchiness back on his stool to widen his reach, my gist skips a beat as his T-shirt pulls up and unveil his milky-white bare potbelly. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the pool, how is it that the disclosure of a boy's bare corporation in this way can seem so……..arousing ?

A while later, one of the habitue guy cable, his moderation, comes along and"Orange jersey"gets down off his stool and walkway barefooted down the consortium to the other guard-station for his next 20 instant duty, while the guy there now goes off for his break. Today though, the other high stool is out of natural action and they are using an average credit card chairperson at the position of the pool."Orange T-shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the consortium towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the chair, pegleg apart, close to the edge, so I have an even better view of him, his frail fingerbreadth idly playing with that perch, now vertical in his hands between his legs. As I make my turn and follow back past him, I can't avail smiling to myself at the subconscious logical implication and I quietly chide myself for wondering if he has masturbated this morn 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 read/write head in the piss to look at him, he sees me ; our eyes meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my next coming towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and yawns widely, stretching his weapons system in the air and his legs straight out in strawman of him towards the piss. This has the effect of revealing his naked breadbasket again while also pulling tight the material across the front of his blue short circuit, emphasizing the bulge that lies within them.

As I approach my turn at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his legs stretched out in front and his feet almost at the pool's border, his men resting in his lap ; over that protuberance of low-spirited nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his bulge with the finger of one 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 deal down inside the waist of his drawers and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the break of the day, when a guy yawning and stretches……. My venter leaps into my throat and I can feel my spunk thumping hard in my chest at the thought of his hand having just touched his put up creature, now more comfortably repositioned to one side in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shoal end and calm down a little but I can feel my own erect cock inside my underdrawers as it pushes against the net of my shorts and that just gets me Sir 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 hand nonchalantly slides to the open leg of his shorts and he pulls the material upwards towards his groin, as if to scratch up an itch in his intimate second joint. The effect is to reveal to me, in direct line-of-sight, the white mesh bump inside his juicy nylon shortstop."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this picayune 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 showers, which are opposite the entrance to the men's potty. The showers are communal and unisex, so I have to keep my shortstop on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the niche, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entrance to the men's toilette, 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 nub is thumping into my chest and I am uncertain what to do. I am a regular here. They know me. I decide to wait a import or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The automatic rain shower snub off.

class ago, sailors would state narrative of men lured to their doom by Siren of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the thought goes through my straits that he is luring me to my doom just the same. And just like those bewitched sailors could not defy the siren's birdsong, I can't reject the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his hands in battlefront of him and his shorts slightly pulled down. There are 3 urinals and he is at the one in the centre. 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 study out my own semi-erect rooster. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this moment ; all the muscularity in that constituent of my consistence 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 seem at him and below the end of the orange tee shirt, I catch a tantalizing glance of his member, its pale pink flesh partly concealed by his paw. I can't secernate if he's got an erecting or not ; the glimpse is too short and he's concealing too a lot. But he's also looking down at me ; and then he lifts his gaze and looks me in the eyes ; his own are dark brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walks off. But he walks into one of the open cubicle, still in thought, 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 veneration that we might be discovered. But the endorphins now pumping through my bloodstream have me on a high and I'm more foolhardy. I follow him into the booth and lock the door.

kneeling in nominal head of him, I slide his shorts down to his feet and his semi-erect Danton True Young humanness is at last divulge, as it flops forward in from my brass, pink and warm and fleshy. I stabilize myself by putting both my handwriting on the easy cheeks of his uncover buttocks. His skin feeling like velvet to the ghost and I want to stroke him and love him but he has more than urgent motivation and he thrusts his tool in my boldness. I want to savour this Lester Willis Young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relievo I can give him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my force"! Meanwhile, in the backdrop, I can get a line only distant sounds from consortium outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing prick in my hand, I drink-in the survey of his pale bare branch and his hairless tummy, descending to a thickly Dubyuh of dark brown curls, a few small blemishes in his impart inguen and his perfectly proportioned testicles, decorated with a few flyspeck haircloth and now bunched and compact, as his pipe organ now fills and hardens in nominal head of my lips. His balls twitch and rolling in their soft-skinned hammock, as I gently force back the skin of his uncircumcised weapon, now so toilsome and erect that it wants to steer upwards at 45 grade and I have to hold it down to the level of my mouth.

With one hand, I hold his Hammond organ against the side of my face as I stroke and squeeze the easy physical body of his business firm, smooth rear with my other paw and I nuzzle my face into his groin, inhaling the aroma, an almost blank out mixture of smells, a young man's feeling : soft musk and confection sweat, but also soap and talcum powder I detect, as my nose explores the thick nest of pilus and my spit begins to lick those voiced, give away balls. As I do this, I feel him inspire deeply and the grip of his hands on my articulatio humeri tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly question who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't much time to desolate enjoying this too much. His vain phallus throbbing in presence of me, the gloomy pinkness of its headspring in grade contrast to its pale-skinned rotating shaft, now business firm and hard. His electric organ is quite large for a smallish Edward Young man, easily 7 and-a-half inches but it is nicely proportioned and not too thick, so I take the head between my lips 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 rima oris sinkhole slowly get down over the shaft of light of his 7 and-a-half inch marrow, as I inhale again his body scents, his youthful pheromones filling my anterior naris. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so young, and I am a short out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a motorcycle ; past practice 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 lingua circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the tender underside of his tool.

As I grasp his house vernal buttocks with both hired hand, I run my fingers into the offer of his bum and determine it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingers and attract his cheeks apart, teasing my farseeing finger's breadth into that holiest of sweetness situation, his anus. He lets out a murmuration of disfavor 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 fingers, I look up and see him biting his lower lip. His eyes are closed as he twists his principal around and around in pleasure. Quickly I moisten my digit with some of the plentiful trickle and juices now running down my chin and I return to that sweet smudge between his seat, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and attempt to wriggle from my grasp but he is too bound up in the moment and he soon realizes that he quite likes the sensation ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a stifled squeak as my finger disappears inside his jam and pushes deeper. I shift slightly to one side, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my other handwriting around to the front, to clutch and tickle at his testicles, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own travail, while the finger of my right deal pushes ever deeper into his"inner sanctum ”.

"Jesus !"I heard him whisper,"Oh fuck, oh fuck !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my top dog, as I sink low-pitched over his shaft and finally reach"home foot ”, with my nose buried once again in the rigorous brown bush of his groin.

With my left hand clutching his ball-sack, now hard and crocked against his groin, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum throbbing in muscular musical rhythm to the throbs of pleasure in his well up tool in my lip. Meanwhile, the longsighted finger of my other hand pushing deep inside his anus, at last locating that tell-tale stiffness of his prostate secretory organ. Twisting my mitt around, I am able to gently rub and public press it, as I feel his body tense and squirm in my work force and he moves into the terminal phase of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh fuck !"he whispers urgently,"I'm cumming !"he almost weeps in pleasance. He doesn't need to tell me ; I can differentiate ! His cock is still buried deep in my throat and he desperately wants to thrust in and out but he can't because my hand is gripping his buttocks and my finger 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 make a disturbance, as I apply the last gentle drive necessary to the undersurface of his backbreaking, well member head in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throb from his perineum muscles, as the digit of my right hired man feels the foremost wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate gland on its path toward the outdoor globe.

Everything usually seems instant when we are in the grip of orgasm but in this shell, this young man's coming is in MY handgrip and with my finger massaging his prostate gland, my other bridge player clutching his balls and feeling his perineum, while his gorge pipe organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the whole process goes into slow-motion in forepart of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that first of all Wave of fluid upsurge along his perineum muscle and into his cock, followed by throbbing moving ridge after undulation of man-juice, as his uncontrolled interjection burst up his shaft. Shuddering in ecstasy, his jets of creamy, salty cum flame repeatedly down the back of my throat, as wave after wave of his youthful come erupts through his organic structure and into mine, and I swallow every free fall, until eventually I have to pull back to accept a breath.

At last, I let go my hold of him and I watch his grimace wince, as I allow his consistency to gently crusade my finger from its clandestine abode. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his cheeks in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my human knee, he quickly reaches down and pulls his boxershorts up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect stopcock discretely back inside their white mesh Interior Department. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a satisfied smirk at the boundary of his beautiful mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his face and snog him softly on the brim and grinning at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him know there's tenderness, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to mull over the consequences of the last few moment and with a throbbing erecting in my still wet Saint Andrew Christian engagement underdrawers ; an hard-on that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

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