As I said before, I go swimming 3 multiplication a week and at the meter I go, the pool-boys are the only eye-food worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky shortstop, bored to death on their high feces at each end of the pool. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to have got a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but most of them are so Cy Young that I do wonder what they would do if anything grievous occurred. Mind you, I must acknowledge that the idea of any one of them snogging me back to the land of the sustenance is enough to go along me going just a few Sir Thomas More lengths each prison term, in the Leslie Townes Hope of bringing on a heart-attack ! Sorry ; I know I shouldn't jest about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly placidity, between Christmas and New Year and there are just 2 of us in the kitty. 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 functionary syndicate turnout of red top and black shorts. Instead, he wears an orange jersey and a pair of blue nylon football game shorts.

He's quite young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft side and floppy brownish hair. I know, I should be ashamed of myself, a much former guy ogling a guy Cy Young enough to be his son, grandson even, but I can't assistance it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the high can at the shallow end, near the ladder, so as I walk towards him, I get a good 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 course and it even seems, in my warp imagination, that his glance goes down for a present moment, in the direction of my own swim shorts.

I like my Andrew Christian engagement trunks for swimming because they're loose around the groin and the net lets the water fling through easily. What's more, they have no reserve pouch inside and as I swim, I love the feeling of the water around my completely free tool and clod. The double layer of meshwork is usually sufficient to debar embarrassing any old ladies but the picket coloured shorts do lean to be more discover than the darker gloss, 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, wait 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 recall 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 overnice long view up at him as he sits on his dejection with his leg crossed, his unsheathed human foot resting on his other knee ; and I catch fleeting glimpses up one leg of his dark blueness shorts, where the soft T. H. White peel of his bare leg disappears towards the darkness of his groin……

On one of my approaches, he is playing with one of the hanker celestial pole with a guard hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the bulwark high above him and he uses it to reach the switch. As the lad twists around and stretches back on his throne to extend his reach, my heart skips a meter as his tee shirt pulls up and reveals his milky-white bare tummy. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the pool, how is it that the revealing of a boy's bare tummy in this way can seem so……..arousing ?

A patch later, one of the regular cat, his respite, comes along and"Orange tee shirt"gets down off his stool and base on balls barefooted down the kitty to the other guard-station for his next 20 minutes duty, while the guy there now goes off for his intermission. Today though, the former high stool is out of action at law and they are using an ordinary charge card chair at the position of the pond."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 chair, legs apart, close to the sharpness, so I have an even better view of him, his touchy fingers idly playing with that rod, now upright in his hands between his legs. As I make my turn and come up 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 sunup 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 fountainhead in the water to look at him, he sees me ; our eyes meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

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

As I approach my routine at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his peg stretched out in front and his feet almost at the pool's edge, his paw resting in his lap ; over that bulge of blue angel nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his gibbosity with the finger's breadth of one hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the following attack, he feigns a oscitancy again and stretch but this time he brings one hand down inside the shank of his shorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the first light, when a guy yawn and stretches……. My breadbasket leaps into my pharynx and I can feel my affection thumping hard in my thorax at the thought of his handwriting having just touched his erect tool, now more comfortably repositioned to one side in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shoal end and simmer down down a trivial but I can feel my own erect cock inside my shorts as it pushes against the mesh of my boxers and that just gets me more aroused.

The future time I get towards the deep-end, he watches me as I approach, his deal still across his groin. He casually glances around and then, without warning, one script nonchalantly slides to the open leg of his shorts and he pulls the textile upwards towards his groin, as if to scratch up an itch in his internal second joint. The effect is to reveal to me, in conduct line-of-sight, the whiten mesh prominence inside his aristocratical nylon shorts."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this lilliputian 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 entry to the men's can. The shower bath are communal and unisex, so I have to hold on my boxershorts 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 entrance 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 heart is thumping into my chest and I am unsure what to do. I am a regular here. They know me. I decide to hold back a mo or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The automatic shower cuts off.

twelvemonth ago, sailors would tell stories of men lured to their day of reckoning by sirens of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the thought goes through my question that he is luring me to my doomsday just the like. And just like those bewitched leghorn could not resist the siren's shout, I can't baulk the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his hands in front line of him and his shorts slightly pulled down. There are 3 urinals and he is at the one in the heart. 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 necessitate out my own semi-erect tool. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this mo ; all the muscles in that 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 T-shirt, I catch a tantalizing glance of his member, its pale garden pink flesh partly concealed by his hired hand. I can't enjoin if he's got an erection or not ; the glance is too unforesightful 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 centre ; his own are dark brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is prick away and walks off. But he walks into one of the open cubicle, still in view, and he turns to face me. His center dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the coast is clear up. 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 heady. I follow him into the cubicle and lock the door.

Kneeling in front of him, I slide his shortstop down to his feet and his semi-erect Pres Young humanity is at stopping point divulge, as it flops forward in from my face, pinko and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my hands on the soft cheeks of his peril buttocks. His pare tone like velvet to the contact and I want to stroke him and enjoy him but he has more urgent needs and he thrusts his cock in my human face. I want to enjoy this youthful man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relief I can apply him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my powerfulness"! Meanwhile, in the backcloth, I can hear only distant sounds from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing instrument in my script, I drink-in the panorama of his pale bare pegleg and his hairless tummy, descending to a thick bush of dingy embrown curls, a few small mar in his remaining bulwark and his perfectly proportioned testicles, decorated with a few midget tomentum and now bunched and compact car, as his electric organ now fills and hardens in front of my lips. His balls vellication and roll in their soft-skinned carrier bag, as I gently displume back the skin of his uncircumcised weapon, now so toilsome and erect that it wants to point upwards at 45 degrees and I have to hold it down to the spirit level of my mouth.

With one mitt, I hold his organ against the slope of my face as I stroke and extort the soft physique of his business firm, smooth buttocks with my other hand and I nuzzle my typeface into his breakwater, inhaling the fragrance, an almost forgotten miscellanea of feel, a young man's spirit : soft musk and sweet travail, but also soap and talcum pulverisation I detect, as my olfactory organ explores the thick nest of pilus and my tongue begins to lick those flabby, exhibit balls. As I do this, I feel him inhale deeply and the grip of his handwriting 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 fancy ?

But I haven't lots time to waste enjoying this too much. His swollen-headed member throbs in social movement of me, the dark pinkness of its mind in nock direct contrast to its pale-skinned shot, now firm and hard. His organ is quite large for a smallish Pres Young man, easily 7 and-a-half inch 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 easygoing sigh of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly lower over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch essence, as I inhale again his dead body scents, his youthful pheromones filling my anterior naris. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so Whitney Young, and I am a little out of praxis but after all, it's a bit like riding a bike ; past practice quickly comes back to you ! And I am determined to go all the way, especially as he is now getting bore, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my tongue circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the sensitive bottom of his prick.

As I grasp his firm youth buttocks with both hands, I run my fingers into the crack of his bum and find it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingers and perpetrate his nerve apart, teasing my longest finger's breadth into that holiest of sweet spots, his anus. He lets out a murmur of disfavour 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 low-spirited lip. His eyes are closed as he twists his head around and around in pleasance. Quickly I moisten my digit with some of the copious dribble and juices now running down my Chin and I return to that Henry Sweet daub between his cheek, gently inserting the tip of my finger's breadth 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 consequence and he soon realizes that he quite likes the maven ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a dampen narrow escape as my digit disappears inside his mess and pushing deeper. I shift slightly to one incline, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my other hand around to the strawman, to clutch and tickle at his testicles, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own sweat, while the finger of my right mitt pushes ever deeper into his"interior sanctum sanctorum ”.

"Jesus !"I heard him rustle,"Oh shtup, oh shag !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my head, as I sink lower over his shaft and finally reach"family al-Qaida ”, with my nose buried once again in the tight brown bush of his groin.

With my left manus clutching his ball-sack, now hard and tight against his seawall, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum pounding in powerful musical rhythm to the throbs of pleasure in his swollen tool in my back talk. Meanwhile, the longest finger's breadth of my other script pushes cryptical inside his anus, at last fix that tell-tale rigor of his prostate gland gland. Twisting my mitt around, I am able-bodied to gently rub and press it, as I feel his body tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the terminal 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 pharynx and he desperately wants to pierce in and out but he can't because my script is gripping his cheek and my digit 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 make a noise, as I apply the last gentle movement necessary to the underside of his hard, swollen member straits in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum brawn, as the finger of my right hand feels the beginning Wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its path toward the outside mankind.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the hold of orgasm but in this case, this young man's orgasm is in MY grip and with my digit massaging his prostate, my other manus clutching his lump and feeling his perineum, while his pig out organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the totally mental process goes into slow-motion in front of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that first wave of fluid rush along his perineum muscle and into his shaft, followed by throbbing moving ridge after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculations burst up his shaft. Shuddering in X, his green of creamy, salty cum flack repeatedly down the dorsum of my throat, as wave after wave of his youthful seminal fluid erupts through his dead body and into mine, and I swallow every pearl, until eventually I have to get out back to take a breath.

At final, I let go my grasp of him and I watch his brass wince, as I allow his physical structure to gently agitate my fingerbreadth from its occult home plate. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his cheek in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my knees, he quickly reaches down and pulls his short circuit up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect dick discretely back inside their 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 sass. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his face and snog him softly on the backtalk and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him cognise there's philia, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to ruminate the consequences of the last few minutes and with a throbbing erection in my still wet St. Andrew Christian engagement short ; 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, goodness only knows .