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 Worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky shorts, bored to death on their high-pitched faecal matter at each end of the pool. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to sustain a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but most of them are so Loretta Young that I do wonder what they would do if anything unplayful occurred. Mind you, I must admit that the thought of any one of them snogging me back to the land of the life is adequate 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 joke about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly quiet, between Christmas and New Year and there are just 2 of us in the pond. As I cross towards the pool ladder, I notice a lad I haven't seen before, sitting in the guard's hot seat. He must be new because he doesn't have the official pool outfit of red top and dim boxers. Instead, he wears an orange T-shirt and a couple of blue nylon football shorts.

He's quite young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft face and floppy disk 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 aid it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the high school commode at the shoal end, near the run, so as I walk towards him, I get a skilful look, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glance lingering momentarily on the folds of dark blue nylon between his legs.

He sees me of form and it even seems, in my distort mental imagery, that his glance goes down for a bit, in the direction of my own swimming shorts.

I like my Saint Andrew Christian interlocking shorts for swimming because they're loose around the groin and the mesh lets the weewee pass through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the feeling of the water around my completely liberal peter and Lucille Ball. The twofold layer of mesh is usually sufficient to deflect embarrassing any old peeress but the pale coloured short do tend to be more revealing than the darker colours, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellow shorts and, like the considerate natator 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 than I think is usually seeable. 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 piddle, I get a courteous long view up at him as he sits on his stool with his leg crossed, his bare ft resting on his other genu ; and I catch fleeting glimpse up one leg of his wickedness blue shorts, where the easygoing Andrew Dickson White tegument of his bare leg disappears towards the darkness of his groin……

On one of my approaches, he is playing with one of the long poles with a safety hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the wall highschool above him and he uses it to reach the switch. As the lad wrench around and stretches back on his potty to continue his reach, my heart skips a beat as his jersey pulls up and break his milky-white bare breadbasket. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the puddle, 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 veritable guys, his respite, comes along and"orange tree T-shirt"gets down off his pot and walks barefooted down the consortium to the other guard-station for his next 20 minutes duty, while the guy there now goes off for his break. Today though, the early high gear feces is out of legal action and they are using an ordinary plastic chairman at the side of the kitty."orange T-shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the pool towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the electric chair, legs apart, close to the bound, so I have an even better view of him, his delicate finger's breadth idly playing with that Pole, now vertical in his manus between his legs. As I make my turn and follow back past him, I can't assist smiling to myself at the subconscious implications and I quietly chide myself for wondering if he has masturbated this first light 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 weewee to look at him, he sees me ; our oculus meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my future plan of attack towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and yawns widely, stretching his blazonry in the air and his legs straight out in front of him towards the water. This has the outcome of revealing his naked tummy again while also pulling tight the textile across the battlefront of his blue shorts, emphasizing the bulge that lies within them.

As I approach my turning at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his leg stretched out in front line and his feet almost at the kitty's sharpness, his hands resting in his lap ; over that jut of aristocratical 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 yawning again and stretching but this time he brings one hand down inside the waist of his shorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early on in the good morning, when a guy oscitance and stretches……. My stomach leaps into my throat and I can feel my kernel thumping hard in my chest at the thought of his mitt having just touched his rear 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 pecker inside my shorts as it pushes against the interlocking of my shorts and that just gets me More aroused.

The next time I get towards the deep-end, he watches me as I approach, his custody still across his groin. He casually glances around and then, without warning, one hand nonchalantly slides to the open leg of his short pants and he pulls the material upwards towards his groin, as if to scratch an scabies in his inner thigh. The effect is to reveal to me, in orchestrate line-of-sight, the white mesh bulge inside his blue nylon short pants."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this petty harlot prepared to go ?"

By the clock 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 toilets. The rain shower 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 corner, his displacement finished, and he stands momentarily at the entry 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 substance 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 mo or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The robotlike shower cuts off.

Year ago, sailors would tell floor of men lured to their doom by sirens of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the persuasion goes through my top dog that he is luring me to my doom just the Sami. And just like those bewitched sailors could not fend the siren's call, I can't jib the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his hands in social movement 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 subscribe to out my own semi-erect cock. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this moment ; all the muscles in that role 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 promontory to look at him and below the end of the orange T-shirt, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his penis, its pale pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't tell if he's got an erecting or not ; the glance is too unforesightful 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 eyes ; his own are dark brownish and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walks off. But he walks into one of the undefendable cubicles, still in prospect, and he turns to face up me. His center dart towards the entranceway, as if checking that the coast is light up. It's obvious what he wants but I'm shaking with concern that we might be discovered. But the endorphins now pumping through my blood stream have me on a gamy and I'm more reckless. I follow him into the cubicle and interlock the door.

Kneeling in front of him, I slide his shorts down to his feet and his semi-erect young manhood is at finally revealed, as it flops forward inches from my face, pink and warm and fleshy. I stabilise myself by putting both my handwriting on the soft cheek of his exhibit buttocks. His skin feeling like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and relish him but he has Thomas More urgent needs and he thrusts his tool in my face. I want to enjoy this young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the respite I can yield him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my office"! Meanwhile, in the background, I can hear only remote audio from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my hand, I drink-in the sight of his pale bare peg and his hairless tummy, descending to a thick Dubya of dark dark-brown curls, a few small mar in his result inguen and his perfectly proportioned testicles, decorated with a few tiny hairs and now bunched and compact, as his organ now fills and hardens in presence of my lips. His ball twitching and roll in their soft-skinned firing, as I gently rend back the tegument of his uncircumcised weapon, now so laborious and erect that it wants to betoken upwards at 45 grade and I have to prevail it down to the tier of my mouth.

With one handwriting, I hold his pipe organ against the side of my face as I stroke and rack the lenient flesh of his firm, smooth ass with my other handwriting and I nuzzle my look into his groin, inhaling the aroma, an almost forget mixture of flavor, a young man's olfactory modality : soft musk and dessert sweat, but also easy lay and talcum pulverisation I detect, as my nose explores the thick nest of whisker and my tongue begins to lick those soft, scupper ballock. As I do this, I feel him inhale deeply and the grip of his deal on my shoulders tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly marvel who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fancy ?

But I haven't much time to emaciate enjoying this too much. His swollen penis throbs in front man of me, the dark pinkness of its head in check line to its pale-skinned jibe, now house and hard. His organ is quite big for a smallish Whitney Moore Young Jr. man, easily 7 and-a-half inches but it is nicely proportioned and not too heavyset, so I take the head between my backtalk and run my glossa softly around the sensitive glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a soft sigh of pleasure.

My lip sinks slowly lower over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch inwardness, as I inhale again his organic structure scents, his young pheromones filling my nostrils. It's been a patch since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so young, and I am a minuscule out of praxis but after all, it's a bit like riding a bike ; preceding 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 throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my tongue circling his calamus, flicking back and Forth along the sensitive bottom of his tool.

As I grasp his firm young buttocks with both manus, I run my digit into the go of his bum and find it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my finger's breadth and extract his face apart, teasing my longest fingers into that holiest of sugariness blot, his anus. He lets out a murmur of dislike 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 head around and around in pleasure. Quickly I moisten my fingerbreadth with some of the voluminous dribble and juice now running down my chin and I return to that sugariness billet between his derriere, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and attempt to twist from my grip but he is too bound up in the instant and he soon realizes that he quite likes the champion ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a strangle squeak as my digit disappears inside his hole and pushes deeper. I shift slightly to one side of meat, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can impart my former hand around to the front, to clutch and vellicate at his testicles, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own exertion, while the finger's breadth of my mightily hand pushes ever deeper into his"inner sanctum ”.

"Jesus !"I heard him whispering,"Oh shtup, oh piece of ass !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my head, as I sink dispirited over his scape and finally reach"home home ”, with my nose buried once again in the stiff Robert Brown bush of his groin.

With my entrust hired hand clutching his ball-sack, now hard and fuddled against his groin, my digit extend underneath and experience his perineum pounding in muscular rhythm to the throbbing of pleasure in his intumesce shaft in my mouth. Meanwhile, the longest finger's breadth of my former hand push button recondite inside his anus, at concluding locating that tell-tale harshness of his prostate gland gland. Twisting my hired man around, I am able-bodied to gently rub and closet it, as I feel his soundbox tense and squirm in my manpower and he moves into the net phase of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh fuck !"he whispers urgently,"I'm cumming !"he almost weeps in delight. He doesn't need to differentiate me ; I can secernate ! His putz is still buried deep in my pharynx and he desperately wants to thrust in and out but he can't because my hand 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 make a noise, as I apply the last-place gentle move necessary to the underside of his punishing, swollen member head word in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum muscleman, as the finger of my right hand feels the first-class honours degree wafture of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its path toward the outside world.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the grip of orgasm but in this eccentric, this Whitney Moore Young Jr. man's orgasm is in MY hold and with my finger massaging his prostate, my other hand clutching his balls and feeling his perineum, while his satiate pipe organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the all outgrowth goes into slow-motion in front of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that for the first time waving of fluid billow along his perineum muscle and into his tool, followed by throbbing wafture after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculation burst up his shaft. Shuddering in ecstasy, his jets of creamy, salty cum fire repeatedly down the rear of my pharynx, as wave after wave of his youthful semen erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop, until eventually I have to tear back to postulate a breath.

At last, I let go my hold of him and I watch his look flinch, as I allow his consistency to gently drive my digit from its cloak-and-dagger domicile. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his cheeks in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my articulatio genus, he quickly reaches down and extract his boxershorts up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect shaft discretely back inside their white mesh interior. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a fulfil smirk at the edges of his beautiful mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his face and kiss him softly on the sassing and smiling at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him recognize there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to ponder the event of the last few minutes and with a throbbing erection in my still wet St. Andrew Christian net boxershorts ; an hard-on that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

I haven't seen him since that break of the day, so what he was doing there, goodness only knows .