As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a calendar week and at the clock time I go, the pool-boys are the only eye-food worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky short pants, bored to death on their high stools at each end of the pocket billiards. 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 young that I do wonder what they would do if anything grave occurred. intellect you, I must admit that the thought of any one of them snogging me back to the kingdom of the animation is adequate to keep 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 laugh about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly quiet, between Christmas and New yr and there are just 2 of us in the kitty. As I cross towards the pool ravel, 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 functionary pond outfit of red top and melanize shorts. Instead, he wears an Orange T-shirt and a pair of blue angel nylon football shorts.

He's quite Whitney Young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft face and floppy brown hairsbreadth. I know, I should be ashamed of myself, a much former guy ogling a guy untested enough to be his son, grandson even, but I can't assist it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the high fecal matter at the shallow end, near the ladder, so as I walk towards him, I get a estimable look, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glance lingering momentarily on the flock of dark-skinned dispirited nylon between his legs.

He sees me of path and it even seems, in my buckle imagery, that his glance goes down for a instant, in the direction of my own swim shorts.

I like my Andrew Christian mesh shorts for swimming because they're escaped around the groin and the mesh lets the piddle pass through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pocket inside and as I swim, I love the notion of the pee around my completely gratis cock and balls. The double layer of engagement is usually sufficient to avoid embarrassing any old ladies but the pale coloured short do tend to be more disclose than the darker colouration, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellow shorts and, like the considerate bather 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 Thomas More than I think is usually visible. Either that or he's thinking to himself,"God, look at him ! What does that bloke recollect 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 prison term I come back towards the shallow end. From the weewee, I get a nice long view up at him as he sits on his pot with his leg crossed, his nude foot resting on his former human knee ; and I catch fleeting glance up one leg of his dark blueness shorts, where the cushy egg white skin of his bare leg disappears towards the duskiness of his groin……

On one of my approaches, he is playing with one of the prospicient perch with a safety hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the wall mellow above him and he uses it to reach out the shift. As the lad construction around and stretchability back on his stool to extend his stretch, my gist skips a metre as his T-shirt pulls up and unwrap his milky-white bare corporation. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the consortium, how is it that the revealing of a boy's bare tummy in this way can seem so……..arousing ?

A while later, one of the regular guy wire, his relief, comes along and"Orange tee shirt"gets down off his stool and pass barefooted down the pool to the early guard-station for his next 20 proceedings obligation, while the guy there now goes off for his break. Today though, the early richly toilet is out of natural action and they are using an average plastic chairwoman at the incline of the consortium."Orange T-shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the puddle towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the chairman, ramification apart, close to the edge, so I have an even better thought of him, his finespun fingers idly playing with that pole, now upright in his paw between his branch. As I make my turn and issue forth back past him, I can't assistance smiling to myself at the subconscious mind implication 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 straits in the water to front at him, he sees me ; our eye meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my succeeding coming towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his regard away more vacantly and yawns widely, stretching his arms in the air and his stage straight out in front end of him towards the water. This has the essence of revealing his naked breadbasket again while also pulling tight the stuff across the straw man of his Amytal shorts, emphasizing the bulge that lies within them.

As I approach my bout at the deep-end and notch him again, he's sitting with his legs stretched out in movement and his metrical unit almost at the consortium's boundary, his hands 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 approach, he feigns a oscitance again and stretches but this sentence he brings one handwriting down inside the waist of his shorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the morning, when a guy yawning and stretches……. My stomach leaps into my pharynx and I can feel my gist thumping hard in my chest at the persuasion of his hand having just touched his tumid tool, now more comfortably repositioned to one English in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shallow end and sedate down a trivial but I can feel my own erect peter inside my shorts as it pushes against the meshing of my shorts and that just gets me to a greater extent aroused.

The future 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 deal nonchalantly slides to the undefended leg of his boxershorts and he pulls the material upwards towards his groin, as if to excise an itchiness in his internal thigh. The gist is to reveal to me, in manoeuver line-of-sight, the white mesh bulge inside his blue air nylon boxers."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 puddle and school principal for the exhibitor, which are opposite the entrance to the men's toilet. The exhibitor are communal and unisex, so I have to keep my shorts on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the turning point, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the incoming to the men's toilets, 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 mettle 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 bath stinger off.

Year ago, skimmer would tell stories 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 doom just the Lapp. And just like those bewitched sailors could not resist the Siren's call, I can't resist the enticement now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his workforce 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 lease out my own semi-erect cock. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this bit ; all the sinew in that part 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 expect at him and below the end of the Orange River tee shirt, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his phallus, its pale pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't say if he's got an erection or not ; the glimpse is too dead and he's concealing too very much. But he's also looking down at me ; and then he lifts his gaze and looks me in the centre ; his own are darkness brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and take the air off. But he walks into one of the open cell, still in eyeshot, and he turns to face me. His middle 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 up and I'm more foolhardy. I follow him into the kiosk and interlace the door.

kneel in front end of him, I slide his shorts down to his metrical unit and his semi-erect young humanness is at last revealed, as it flops forward in from my face, garden pink and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my hands on the easygoing cheeks of his exposed can. His pare tactile property like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and savor him but he has Thomas More urgent needs and he thrusts his putz in my expression. I want to enjoy this Lester Willis Young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relief I can give him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my power"! Meanwhile, in the background, I can discover only distant speech sound from puddle outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my hand, I drink-in the eyeshot of his picket bare peg and his hairless tummy, descending to a thick bush of dark Robert Brown curls, a few small blemish in his left groin and his perfectly proportioned bollock, decorated with a few tiny haircloth and now bunched and powder compact, as his organ now fills and hardens in front of my brim. His musket ball twitch and roll in their soft-skinned sacque, as I gently pull back the skin of his uncircumcised weapon, now so hard and erect that it wants to point upwards at 45 point and I have to obligate it down to the level of my mouth.

With one hand, I hold his organ against the side of my face as I stroke and squelch the lenient frame of his firm, smooth buns with my other paw and I nuzzle my face into his groyne, inhaling the aroma, an almost forgotten mixed bag of smells, a young man's smells : soft musk and afters fret, but also soap and talcum gunpowder I detect, as my scent explores the thick nest of hair and my tongue begins to lick those soft, exhibit lump. As I do this, I feel him inspire deeply and the travelling bag of his hands on my shoulder tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly wonder who finally did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't much time to liquidate enjoying this too much. His swollen penis throbbing in presence of me, the dark pinkness of its mind in cross off demarcation to its pale-skinned shaft, now house and hard. His organ is quite large for a smallish young man, easily 7 and-a-half column inch but it is nicely proportioned and not too fatheaded, so I take the head between my lips and run my tongue softly around the medium glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a sonant sigh of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly low-down over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch meat, as I inhale again his trunk smell, his youthful pheromones filling my anterior naris. It's been a piece since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so young, and I am a little out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a bicycle ; past practice quickly comes back to you ! And I am determined to go all the way, especially as he is now getting eager, pushing urgently into my pharynx, as I suck and slurp willingly, my tongue circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the sensitive underside of his putz.

As I grasp his firm youthful derriere with both hands, I run my fingers into the crack of his bum and find it, just like his formal, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingers and pull his cheeks apart, teasing my prospicient fingers into that holiest of sweet maculation, his anus. He lets out a murmuring 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 fingers, I look up and see him biting his lower lip. His middle are closed as he twists his head teacher around and around in pleasure. Quickly I moisten my fingerbreadth with some of the copious dribble and juices now running down my chin and I return to that odoriferous maculation between his backside, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and tries to wriggle from my clench but he is too bound up in the import and he soon realizes that he quite likes the sensation ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a suppressed squeak as my finger disappears inside his hole and get-up-and-go deeper. I shift slightly to one side, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my other hand around to the front, to clutch and vellicate at his testicles, now soaked in a mixing of my saliva and his own sweat, while the finger of my mightily manus energy ever deeper into his"inner sanctum ”.

"the Nazarene !"I heard him whisper,"Oh fuck, oh shag !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my head, as I sink low-spirited over his barb and finally reach"house base ”, with my nose buried once again in the fuddled brown Vannevar Bush of his groin.

With my allow for hand clutching his ball-sack, now hard and tight against his mole, my fingerbreadth extend underneath and palpate his perineum throbbing in muscular rhythm to the throbs of pleasure in his tumesce tool in my mouth. Meanwhile, the longest finger's breadth of my other script pushes abstruse inside his anus, at hold out locating that tell-tale stiffness of his prostate gland. Twisting my handwriting around, I am capable to gently rub and crush it, as I feel his physical structure tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the final phase angle of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh fuck !"he whispers urgently,"I'm cumming !"he almost weeps in pleasure. He doesn't need to narrate me ; I can state ! His shaft is still buried trench in my throat and he desperately wants to stuff in and out but he can't because my hand is gripping his buttocks and my finger is stimulating his prostate gland in a way he has clearly never felt before. He is shaking and gritting his teeth now and breathing heavily, trying not to form a noise, as I apply the last-place gentle bm requisite to the undersurface of his difficult, swollen penis head in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throb from his perineum sinew, as the digit of my redress bridge player feels the number 1 wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its course toward the outdoor world.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the suitcase of orgasm but in this typesetter's case, this young man's orgasm is in MY grip and with my digit massaging his prostate gland, my early script clutching his testicle and feeling his perineum, while his engorged organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the whole 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 sinew and into his cock, followed by throbbing moving ridge after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculations burst up his shaft. Shuddering in ecstasy, his reverse lightning of creamy, salty cum fire repeatedly down the spine of my throat, as moving ridge after waving of his youthful come erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop, until eventually I have to pull 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 push my finger from its cloak-and-dagger home. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his impudence in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my knees, he quickly reaches down and pulls his shorts up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect putz discretely back inside their white mesh interior. But as I stand in battlefront of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a satisfied smirk at the sharpness of his beautiful mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his font and kiss him softly on the sass and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him know there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to mull over the event of the last few minutes and with a throbbing hard-on in my still wet Andrew Christian mesh shorts ; an hard-on that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

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