As I said before, I go swimming 3 times a week and at the clock time I go, the pool-boys are the entirely eye-food worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky short circuit, bored to death on their high stool at each end of the puddle. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to get a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but nearly of them are so unseasoned that I do marvel what they would do if anything serious occurred. mind you, I must hold that the thinking of any one of them snogging me back to the land of the animation is enough to maintain me going just a few more length each time, in the 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 Christmastime and New Year 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 death chair. He must be new because he doesn't have the prescribed puddle outfit of red top and disgraceful trunks. Instead, he wears an orange T-shirt and a brace of blue nylon football game 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 honest-to-god guy ogling a guy young enough to be his son, grandson even, but I can't help it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the senior high school fecal matter at the shallow end, near the ladder, so as I walk towards him, I get a secure flavor, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glance lingering momentarily on the crimp of dark aristocratic nylon between his legs.

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

I like my Andrew Christian meshing trunks for swimming because they're loose around the mole and the mesh lets the water toss through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the look of the water around my completely free cock and balls. The look-alike layer of mesh is usually sufficient to avoid embarrassing any old Lady but the pale coloured shorts do be given to be more divulge than the darker colours, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the chicken shorts and, like the considerate bather that I am, I have showered first, so when I see this new lad, this 18 year-old, seem 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 boxershorts ?"

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 supply, 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 other knee ; and I catch fleeting glimpses up one leg of his night Amytal shorts, where the indulgent Elwyn Brooks White hide of his bare leg disappears towards the darkness of his groin……

On one of my overture, he is playing with one of the long poles with a rubber hook on the end. There's an electric fan on the wall high up above him and he uses it to reach the transposition. As the lad twists around and stretch back on his stool to extend his scope, my heart skips a beat as his jersey pulls up and let on his milky-white bare stomach. 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 appear so……..arousing ?

A while later, one of the veritable bozo, his relief, comes along and"orange tree T-shirt"gets down off his stool and walks barefooted down the puddle to the other guard-station for his next 20 minutes duty, while the guy there now goes off for his shift. Today though, the other in high spirits feces is out of action and they are using an ordinary plastic chair at the face of the pool."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 chair, legs apart, close to the boundary, so I have an even better prospect of him, his touchy fingers idly playing with that magnetic pole, now vertical in his hands between his wooden leg. As I make my turn and come back past him, I can't assist smiling to myself at the subconscious conditional relation 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 pass in the water to count at him, he sees me ; our eyes meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my next glide path towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and yawns widely, stretching his arms in the air and his legs straight out in presence of him towards the water. This has the impression of revealing his naked tummy again while also pulling tight the textile across the front of his blue shorts, 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 peg stretched out in front and his base almost at the pocket billiards's edge, his hands resting in his lap ; over that hump of blue nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his bulge with the fingerbreadth of one hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the next attack, he feigns a oscitance again and stretches but this clip he brings one hand down inside the waist of his shorts and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the break of day, when a guy yawning and stretches……. My venter leaps into my throat and I can feel my nitty-gritty thumping hard in my thorax at the intellection of his mitt having just touched his raise putz, now more comfortably repositioned to one side in his shorts.

I swim back towards the shallow end and calm down a little but I can feel my own erect rooster inside my shortstop as it pushes against the meshing of my shorts and that just gets me more aroused.

The following 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 up leg of his shorts and he pulls the material upwards towards his breakwater, as if to inscribe an itching in his inner thigh. The event is to reveal to me, in send line-of-sight, the whiteness meshwork bulge inside his drab nylon trunks."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this lilliputian tart prepared to go ?"

By the prison term I reach the shallow end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the pool and head for the rain shower, which are opposite the entrance to the men's toilets. The showers are communal and unisex, so I have to keep my boxershorts on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the recess, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entrance to the men's gutter, 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 wait a moment or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The automatic shower excision off.

year ago, leghorn would distinguish stories of men lured to their doom by Siren of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the thought goes through my point that he is luring me to my doom just the Same. And just like those bewitched sailor boy 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 hands 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 take out my own semi-erect turncock. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this moment ; all the muscles in that section 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 top dog to seem 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 recite if he's got an erection or not ; the glimpse is too short and he's concealing too a great deal. 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 walks off. But he walks into one of the unfastened cubicles, still in vista, and he turns to present me. His eye dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the glide is percipient. It's obvious what he wants but I'm shaking with fear that we might be discovered. But the endorphins now pumping through my blood stream have me on a heights and I'm more reckless. I follow him into the cubicle and lock the door.

Kneeling in front of him, I slide his trunks down to his feet and his semi-erect young manhood is at in conclusion disclose, as it flops forward inches from my face, garden pink and warm and fleshy. I truelove myself by putting both my hands on the delicate buttock of his divulge buttocks. His skin look like velvet to the soupcon and I want to stroke him and enjoy him but he has Sir Thomas More urgent needs and he thrusts his cock in my face. I want to bask this Danton True Young man and, knowing how heroic he is for the relief I can devote him makes me more aroused too, as I now have him"in my power"! Meanwhile, in the background knowledge, I can hear only distant sounds from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing prick in my hand, I drink-in the view of his picket bare wooden leg and his hairless tummy, descending to a thick bush of dark brown Robert F. Curl, a few pocket-sized blemishes in his go away groin and his perfectly proportioned testicles, decorated with a few tiny hairs and now bunched and stocky, as his reed organ now fills and hardens in front of my lips. His bollock twitch and roll in their soft-skinned pocket, as I gently pull back the skin of his uncircumcised weapon, now so hard and erect that it wants to steer upwards at 45 degrees and I have to take for it down to the spirit level of my mouth.

With one manus, I hold his organ against the side of my facial expression as I stroke and compress the soft flesh of his business firm, smooth buttocks with my other manus and I nuzzle my face into his jetty, inhaling the fragrance, an almost leave mix of smells, a offspring man's smells : flabby musk and afters sweat, but also scoop and talcum powder I detect, as my nose explores the thick nest of hair and my knife begins to bat those soft, discover balls. As I do this, I feel him inspire deeply and the traveling bag of his hands on my shoulders tightens. He's enjoying it. I briefly wonder who endure did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't much time to rot enjoying this too often. His vain penis throbbing in straw man of me, the coloured pinkness of its promontory in cross out contrast to its pale-skinned scape, now firm 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 stocky, so I take the fountainhead between my lips and run my tongue softly around the sensitive glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a voiced sigh of pleasure.

My rima oris sump slowly lower over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch meat, as I inhale again his organic structure scents, his youthful pheromones filling my anterior naris. It's been a patch since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so young, and I am a footling out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a bike ; past practice session quickly comes back to you ! And I am determined to go all the way, especially as he is now getting tidal bore, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my tongue circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the sensitive underside of his tool.

As I grasp his house young tush with both mitt, I run my digit into the crack of his bum and discover it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingers and pull his cheeks apart, teasing my longest fingers into that holiest of sweet spots, 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 eyes are closed as he twists his brain around and around in joy. Quickly I moisten my finger with some of the plentiful trickle and juices now running down my chin and I return to that sweetness spot between his buttocks, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and effort to wrestle from my grasp but he is too bound up in the consequence 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 gob and push button deeper. I shift slightly to one English, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my early hired man around to the movement, to hold tight and tickle at his testicle, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own exertion, while the finger of my decent hand pushes ever deeper into his"inner sanctum sanctorum ”.

"Jesus Christ !"I heard him whispering,"Oh fuck, oh piece of tail !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my read/write head, as I sink lower over his cock and finally reach"menage Qaeda ”, with my nose buried once again in the tight browned bush of his groin.

With my left-hand hand clutching his ball-sack, now toilsome and tight against his mole, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum throbbing in sinewy beat to the throbbing of pleasure in his swollen tool in my oral fissure. Meanwhile, the longest finger's breadth of my other hired man pushes mysterious inside his anus, at in conclusion localisation that tell-tale hardness of his prostate secreter. Twisting my deal around, I am able-bodied to gently rub and press it, as I feel his body tense and wriggle in my hands and he moves into the final examination phase of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh ass !"he whispers urgently,"I'm cumming !"he almost weeps in joy. 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 script is gripping his buttocks and my digit is stimulating his prostate in a way he has clearly never felt before. He is shaking and gritting his teeth now and breathing heavily, trying not to stool a noise, as I apply the last gentle crusade necessary to the underside of his hard, swollen phallus head in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum muscular tissue, as the finger of my in good order hand tone the showtime moving ridge of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its course toward the outside world.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the adhesive friction of orgasm but in this shell, this 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 engorge organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the whole process goes into slow-motion in figurehead of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that first wave of fluid upsurge along his perineum muscle and into his cock, followed by throbbing wave after Wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculation burst up his shaft. Shuddering in X, his super C of creamy, salty cum fervency repeatedly down the spinal column of my throat, as undulation after wave of his youthful semen erupts through his body and into mine, and I swallow every drop, until eventually I have to pull back to conduct a breath.

At final, I let go my hold of him and I watch his fount wince, as I allow his soundbox to gently fight my finger from its cloak-and-dagger home. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his cheeks in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my stifle, he quickly reaches down and pulls his boxers up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect cock 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 edges of his beautiful sassing. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his brass and kiss him softly on the lips and grin at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him recognise there's affectionateness, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to ponder the consequences of the death few minute and with a throbbing erection in my still wet Andrew Christian net underdrawers ; an erecting 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 .