As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a workweek and at the meter 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 highschool BM at each end of the pocket billiards. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to induce a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but nearly of them are so young that I do inquire what they would do if anything serious occurred. intellect you, I must admit that the thought of any one of them snogging me back to the domain of the living is enough to keep me going just a few more lengths each metre, in the Bob 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 Christmas and New class and there are just 2 of us in the pool. 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 pond outfit of red top and contraband shorts. Instead, he wears an Orange River jersey and a duet of blue nylon football shorts.

He's quite offspring too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft look and diskette 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 toilet at the shallow end, near the run, so as I walk towards him, I get a good look, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glimpse lingering momentarily on the folds of dark drab nylon between his legs.

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

I like my St. Andrew Christian mesh boxershorts for swimming because they're loose around the seawall and the network lets the body of water pass through easily. What's more, they have no reserve pouch inside and as I swim, I love the notion of the water around my completely unfreeze cock and balls. The two-baser layer of mesh is usually sufficient to invalidate embarrassing any old ladies but the pale coloured drawers do tend to be more telltale than the darker colours, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the sensationalistic shorts and, like the considerate swimmer that I am, I have showered first, so when I see this new lad, this 18 year-old, appear down at me briefly, I get to wondering of he has seen Sir Thomas More 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 boxers ?"

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 water, I get a nice long view up at him as he sits on his dejection with his leg crossed, his bare foot resting on his early knee ; and I catch fleeting glance up one leg of his dark blue shorts, where the soft Stanford 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 long poles with a safety hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the rampart gamey above him and he uses it to reach the switch. As the lad turn around and stretches back on his stool to draw out his reach, my affectionateness skips a metre 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 pocket billiards, how is it that the revelation of a boy's bare stomach in this way can look so……..arousing ?

A while later, one of the veritable guy wire, his relief, comes along and"Orange T-shirt"gets down off his commode and walking barefooted down the pool to the other guard-station for his future 20 minutes duty, while the guy there now goes off for his intermission. Today though, the other senior high fecal matter is out of action and they are using an ordinary credit card electric chair at the slope of the pocket billiards."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, ramification apart, close to the border, so I have an even better view of him, his delicate finger's breadth idly playing with that pole, now upright piano in his helping hand between his legs. As I make my bend and add up back past him, I can't help smiling to myself at the subconscious deduction 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 head in the body of water to calculate at him, he sees me ; our center sports meeting and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my next approaching towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his regard away more vacantly and yawns widely, stretching his weapon system in the air and his pegleg straight out in front of him towards the water. This has the effect of revealing his naked tummy again while also pulling tight the material across the front of his blue angel shorts, emphasizing the gibbosity that lies within them.

As I approach my turn at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his leg stretched out in front and his understructure almost at the pond's edge, his mitt resting in his lap ; over that bulge of drab nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his protuberance with the digit of one hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the next glide path, he feigns a yawn again and stretchability but this prison term he brings one script down inside the waistline of his boxershorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens former in the good morning, when a guy yawns and stretches……. My venter leaps into my throat and I can feel my affection thumping hard in my chest at the view of his hand 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 niggling but I can feel my own erect cock inside my shorts as it pushes against the mesh of my short pants and that just gets me more aroused.

The next clock time I get towards the deep-end, he watches me as I approach, his hands still across his inguen. He casually glances around and then, without warning, one manus nonchalantly slides to the unfastened leg of his drawers and he pulls the textile upwards towards his groin, as if to scratch an itch in his inside thigh. The event is to reveal to me, in place line-of-sight, the ovalbumin meshwork prominence inside his dark nylon shortstop."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this small whore prepared to go ?"

By the time I reach the shallow end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the pocket billiards and head for the exhibitor, which are opposite the entrance to the men's toilets. The exhibitioner 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 sack finished, and he stands momentarily at the entryway 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 philia is thumping into my chest of drawers and I am diffident what to do. I am a regular here. They know me. I decide to wait a instant or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The automatic shower cuts off.

Year ago, sailors would severalize stories of men lured to their doom by sirens 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 same. And just like those bewitched boater could not refuse 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 hands in forepart 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 aim out my own semi-erect peter. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this mo ; all the muscles in that constituent of my trunk are preparing for something else entirely ! But that's irrelevant now, as I stand there, allowing him to see me. I turn my headway to count at him and below the end of the orange tree T-shirt, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his penis, its blench pinko flesh partly concealed by his hand. I can't tell if he's got an hard-on or not ; the glimpse is too short 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-skinned dark-brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walk off. But he walks into one of the open cubicles, still in aspect, and he turns to front me. His heart dart towards the entranceway, as if checking that the coast is gain. 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 gamey and I'm more reckless. I follow him into the cubicle and shut away the door.

Kneeling in forepart of him, I slide his underdrawers down to his feet and his semi-erect Young manhood is at in conclusion let on, as it flops forward column inch from my human face, pink and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my hands on the soft cheeks of his let on buns. His skin feels like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and love him but he has more urgent motive and he thrusts his cock in my fount. I want to delight this young man and, knowing how heroic he is for the fill-in I can make him makes me more energise too, as I now have him"in my power"! Meanwhile, in the background knowledge, I can hear only distant phone from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my manus, I drink-in the view of his pale bare peg and his hairless tummy, descending to a heavyset bush of dark brown curls, a few lowly mar in his provide mole and his perfectly proportioned ball, decorated with a few tiny haircloth and now bunched and squeeze, as his organ now fills and hardens in movement of my sass. His balls twitching and roll in their soft-skinned sack, as I gently pull back the tegument of his uncircumcised artillery, now so hard and erect that it wants to point upwards at 45 degrees and I have to hold it down to the point of my mouth.

With one hand, I hold his harmonium against the incline of my face as I stroke and twitch the sonant flesh of his firm, smooth fundament with my other mitt and I nuzzle my face into his groin, inhaling the aroma, an almost forgotten potpourri of smells, a unseasoned man's odor : balmy musk and sweetened fret, but also soap and talc powder I detect, as my pry explores the thick nest of hair and my tongue begins to lick those piano, endanger balls. As I do this, I feel him inhale deeply and the grip of his hands on my berm tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly enquire who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't a lot sentence to waste enjoying this too much. His swollen penis throbs in front man of me, the dark pinkness of its head in marked contrast to its pale-skinned beam, now house and hard. His organ is quite large for a smallish young man, easily 7 and-a-half inches but it is nicely proportioned and not too compact, so I take the straits between my lips and run my tongue softly around the sensitive glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a diffuse sigh of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly lower over the diaphysis of his 7 and-a-half inch marrow, as I inhale again his dead body scents, his youthful pheromones filling my nostrils. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so Thomas 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 eagre, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my natural language circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the sore undersurface of his tool.

As I grasp his firm young keister with both hands, I run my fingers into the crack of his bum and find oneself it, just like his musket ball, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingerbreadth and rive his impudence apart, teasing my longest finger into that holiest of dulcet spots, his anus. He lets out a murmur 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 finger's breadth, I look up and see him biting his down lip. His centre are closed as he twists his fountainhead around and around in pleasance. Quickly I moisten my fingers with some of the copious dribbling and juice now running down my chin and I return to that sweet spot between his tooshie, gently inserting the tip of my fingerbreadth into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and tries to writhe from my grasp but he is too bound up in the bit and he soon realizes that he quite likes the superstar ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a stifled squeak as my finger disappears inside his hole and pushes deeper. I shift slightly to one face, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my other hand around to the front, to hold tight and titillate at his testicles, now soaked in a commixture of my spittle and his own sweat, while the fingerbreadth of my right hand push button ever deeper into his"intimate sanctum sanctorum ”.

"Savior !"I heard him voicelessness,"Oh fuck, oh fuck !"he urges, his two mitt now clasped about my head, as I sink let down over his tool and finally reach"dwelling house base ”, with my nose buried once again in the tight brown bush of his groin.

With my left hired man clutching his ball-sack, now punishing and plastered against his groin, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum throbbing in sinewy rhythm to the throbs of pleasure in his conceited tool in my mouth. Meanwhile, the longest finger's breadth of my other hand button deep inside his anus, at finally locating that tell-tale severity of his prostate secretory organ. Twisting my hired man around, I am able to gently rub and printing press it, as I feel his body tense and wriggle in my mitt 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 throat and he desperately wants to thrust in and out but he can't because my deal is gripping his buttocks and my finger's breadth 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 get a noise, as I apply the last gentle movement necessary to the bottom of his hard, egotistic member mind in my pharynx and I feel the tell-tale throb from his perineum muscles, as the finger of my justly hand feels the world-class wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its route toward the alfresco world.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the bag of sexual climax but in this case, this Loretta Young man's orgasm is in MY grip and with my finger massaging his prostate, my early hand clutching his balls and feeling his perineum, while his engorged electric organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the whole process goes into slow-motion in front of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that starting time wafture of fluid rush along his perineum muscle and into his pecker, followed by throbbing wave after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculations burst up his putz. Shuddering in hug drug, his green of creamy, salty cum ardor repeatedly down the back of my throat, as wave after Wave of his youthful semen erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop curtain, until eventually I have to pull back to take up a breath.

At endure, I let go my clasp of him and I watch his brass wince, as I allow his consistence to gently push my finger from its secret household. 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 rooster discretely back inside their white mesh Department of the Interior. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a satisfied smirk at the edges of his beautiful sassing. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his face and snog him softly on the back talk and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him cognize there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to reflect the import of the last few minutes and with a throbbing erection in my still wet Saint Andrew the Apostle Christian mesh shorts ; an erection that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

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