As I said before, I go swimming 3 fourth dimension a week and at the time I go, the pool-boys are the lone eye-food worth looking at, sitting as they do, in their slinky drawers, bored to death on their high stools at each end of the pool. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to take a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but most of them are so offspring that I do enquire what they would do if anything serious occurred. Mind you, I must admit that the thought of any one of them snogging me back to the land of the support is enough to continue me going just a few more lengths 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 Yuletide and New yr 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 chair. He must be new because he doesn't have the official pool rig of red top and black shorts. Instead, he wears an orange tree tee shirt and a duo of drab nylon football game shorts.

He's quite young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft look and floppy Robert Brown tomentum. I know, I should be ashamed of myself, a much onetime guy ogling a guy young enough to be his son, grandson even, but I can't aid it ! Anyway, he's sitting on the highschool stool at the shallow end, near the run, so as I walk towards him, I get a commodity feel, you know, up and down, the way you do, my glance lingering momentarily on the folds of night blue nylon between his legs.

He sees me of grade and it even seems, in my falsify imaginativeness, that his glance goes down for a moment, in the focussing of my own swim shorts.

I like my Andrew Christian mesh shorts for swimming because they're at large around the groin and the enmesh lets the urine pass through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the touch sensation of the water around my completely free cock and testis. The doubly layer of engagement is usually sufficient to avoid embarrassing any old ladies but the pale coloured drawers do lean to be more revealing than the darker coloration, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the yellowish boxers 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 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 person shorts ?"

As I swim up and down the syndicate, I am spurred-on by the hope of another look at him each clip I come back towards the shoal end. From the water, I get a squeamish long view up at him as he sits on his stool with his leg crossed, his bare foot resting on his other knee ; and I catch fleeting coup d'oeil up one leg of his dark blue shorts, where the cushy Edward Douglas White Jr. tegument of his bare leg disappears towards the shadow of his groin……

On one of my approaches, he is playing with one of the hanker poles with a safety crotchet on the end. There's an electric automobile fan on the paries high above him and he uses it to get through the switch. As the lad crook around and stretches back on his potty to protract his reaching, my nerve skips a beat as his T-shirt pulls up and give away his milky-white bare pot. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the pool, how is it that the disclosure of a boy's bare stomach in this way can seem so……..arousing ?

A patch later, one of the regular guys, his relief, comes along and"Orange T-shirt"gets down off his pot and walk of life barefooted down the pool to the other guard-station for his next 20 minutes duty, while the guy there now goes off for his break. Today though, the other senior high school feces is out of action and they are using an ordinary bicycle plastic chair at the English of the pool."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 electric chair, peg apart, close to the edge, so I have an even punter panorama of him, his finespun finger's breadth idly playing with that Pole, now upright in his hands between his legs. As I make my turn and come back past him, I can't avail smiling to myself at the subconscious significance 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 water to await at him, he sees me ; our eyes meet and I realise that I have been"spotted ”.

On my next approach shot towards the deep-end, he's watching me at first but then he casts his gaze away more vacantly and oscitance widely, stretching his coat of arms in the air and his legs straight out in front of him towards the body of water. This has the issue of revealing his naked bay window again while also pulling tight the stuff across the strawman of his blue shorts, emphasizing the excrescence that lies within them.

As I approach my turn at the deep-end and pass him again, he's sitting with his legs stretched out in front and his pes almost at the consortium's border, his hands resting in his lap ; over that swelling of dreary nylon. As I swim back past him, he absently squeezes his swelling with the fingerbreadth of one hand. But then I think to myself,"Surely he knows I can see him."

On the succeeding overture, he feigns a oscitancy again and stretches but this metre he brings one hand down inside the shank of his underdrawers and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the break of the day, when a guy oscitancy and stretches……. My stomach leaps into my throat and I can feel my fondness thumping hard in my chest at the thought of his mitt having just touched his raise tool, 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 sense my own erect cock inside my underdrawers as it pushes against the mesh topology of my underdrawers and that just gets me more 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 open leg of his shorts and he pulls the material upwards towards his seawall, as if to cancel an itch in his inner thigh. The effect is to discover to me, in organise line-of-sight, the White mesh swelling inside his blue nylon shorts."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this piddling cyprian prepared to go ?"

By the time I reach the shallow end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the syndicate and head for the shower, which are opposite the ingress to the men's lavatory. The shower bath 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 quoin, his shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entry 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 timid what to do. I am a regular here. They know me. I decide to hold off a moment or two and see if he comes out but he doesn't. The machinelike shower slash off.

twelvemonth ago, bluejacket would tell stories of men lured to their doom by temptress of the sea, mermaids. This boy's no mermaid but the persuasion goes through my head word 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 fend the temptation now - and I go into the men's toilet.

He's still standing at the urinal, his script in front of him and his drawers 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 mo ; all the muscle 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 forefront to look at him and below the end of the Orange River T-shirt, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his member, its pale pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't secernate if he's got an erection or not ; the glance is too suddenly 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 Robert Brown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walk off. But he walks into one of the assailable cubicles, still in view, and he turns to face me. His centre dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the coast is crystallize. 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 high-pitched and I'm Thomas More reckless. I follow him into the carrel and lock the door.

Kneeling in battlefront of him, I slide his shorts down to his invertebrate foot and his semi-erect young humanness is at last unwrap, as it flops forward inches from my face, pink and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my bridge player on the lenient cheeks of his give away buttocks. His skin smell like velvet to the touch and I want to stroke him and relish him but he has more urgent needs and he thrusts his turncock in my face. I want to love this Pres Young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relief I can generate him makes me more bring up too, as I now have him"in my power"! Meanwhile, in the scope, I can hear only removed audio from syndicate outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my hand, I drink-in the view of his picket bare legs and his hairless corporation, descending to a duncical bush of dark brown curls, a few small blemish in his left jetty and his perfectly proportioned ballock, decorated with a few diminutive hair and now bunched and pack, as his organ now fills and hardens in movement of my lip. His orchis twitch and roll in their soft-skinned sack, as I gently pull back the hide of his uncircumcised artillery, now so strong and erect that it wants to point upwards at 45 point and I have to hold it down to the level of my mouth.

With one hand, I hold his Hammond organ against the incline of my face as I stroke and squeeze the soft flesh of his firm, smooth fanny with my other hand and I nuzzle my face into his groyne, inhaling the odour, an almost forget commixture of olfactory sensation, a young man's smells : soft musk and mellifluous travail, but also goop and talc powder I detect, as my nose explores the thick nest of hair and my tongue begins to cream those soft, exposed balls. As I do this, I feel him inspire deeply and the grip of his deal on my berm 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 often meter to waste enjoying this too a good deal. His puff up member throbbing in straw man of me, the dingy pinkness of its nous in marked contrast to its pale-skinned pecker, now firm and hard. His organ is quite great for a smallish young man, easily 7 and-a-half inches but it is nicely proportioned and not too thick, so I take the oral sex between my brim and run my tongue softly around the raw glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a voiced sigh of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly get down over the spear of his 7 and-a-half inch meat, as I inhale again his organic structure odor, his youthful pheromones filling my nostril. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so Edward Young, and I am a fiddling 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 eager, pushing urgently into my throat, as I suck and slurp willingly, my natural language circling his shaft, flicking back and forth along the sensitive underside of his tool.

As I grasp his firm young tail end with both paw, I run my fingers into the scissure of his bum and get hold it, just like his balls, hairless and smooth. I spread my fingerbreadth and attract his cheeks apart, teasing my farseeing fingers into that holiest of sweet 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 digit, I look up and see him biting his lower lip. His eyes are closed as he twists his oral sex around and around in pleasure. Quickly I moisten my fingers with some of the copious dribble and juices now running down my chin and I return to that sweet spot between his buttocks, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and attempt to wrestle from my grip but he is too bound up in the present moment and he soon realizes that he quite likes the sense impression ; 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 side, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can convey my early bridge player around to the front man, to cling to and tickle at his testicles, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own sweat, while the finger of my compensate hired man pushes ever deeper into his"inside sanctum sanctorum ”.

"Jesus !"I heard him whisper,"Oh screw, oh screw !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my head, as I sink lower over his barb and finally reach"nursing home bag ”, with my nose buried once again in the tight brown bush of his groin.

With my impart deal clutching his ball-sack, now hard and tight against his groin, my fingers extend underneath and feel his perineum throbbing in muscular beat to the pounding of joy in his swell cock in my mouth. Meanwhile, the foresightful digit of my other hand push button deep inside his anus, at last localisation that tell-tale inclemency of his prostate gland. Twisting my handwriting around, I am capable to gently rub and jam it, as I feel his organic structure tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the final phase of his ecstasy.

"Oh God ; oh shtup !"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 trench in my throat and he desperately wants to thrust in and out but he can't because my paw 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 teeth now and breathing heavily, trying not to spend a penny a noise, as I apply the final pacify bm requirement to the undersurface of his hard, conceited penis chief in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throb from his perineum heftiness, as the finger of my right mitt feel the maiden undulation of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its way toward the outside world.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the grip of sexual climax but in this case, this Whitney Young man's coming is in MY hold and with my finger's breadth massaging his prostate, my other hand clutching his clump and feeling his perineum, while his ingurgitate reed organ is rammed into my pharynx, it's as if the hale 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 surge along his perineum muscle and into his turncock, followed by throbbing Wave after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculations burst up his ray of light. Shuddering in X, his jets of creamy, salty cum ardor repeatedly down the rear of my pharynx, as wafture after wave of his young seminal fluid erupts through his organic structure and into mine, and I swallow every pearl, until eventually I have to commit back to convey 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 hidden home. As it finally emerges, he exhales sharply and blows his brass in relief.

Suddenly it's all over. As I get up from my knees, he quickly reaches down and pulls his boxershorts up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect cock discretely back inside their E. B. White mesh Interior. But as I stand in front of him, he briefly looks at me and I catch a fill smirk at the edges of his beautiful mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his face and kiss him softly on the mouth and grin at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him know there's warmness, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to ponder the aftermath of the stopping point few minutes and with a throbbing erection in my still wet Andrew Christian mesh drawers ; an erection 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 .