As I said before, I go swimming 3 clip a hebdomad and at the fourth dimension 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 senior high throne at each end of the pool. Nothing ever happens and they don't seem to own a lot to do. They're supposed to be life-guards but to the highest degree of them are so unseasoned that I do marvel what they would do if anything serious occurred. idea you, I must admit that the thinking of any one of them snogging me back to the terra firma of the livelihood is adequate to keep me going just a few More lengths each fourth dimension, in the promise of bringing on a heart-attack ! Sorry ; I know I shouldn't jest about such things.

Today though, it's was particularly tranquillity, between Dec 25 and New year and there are just 2 of us in the syndicate. As I cross towards the pond ravel, 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 syndicate outfit of red top and black shorts. Instead, he wears an orange T-shirt and a couplet of amobarbital sodium nylon football shorts.

He's quite young too ; he can't be much over 18, with a baby-soft face and floppy 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 highschool stool at the shallow end, near the ravel, so as I walk towards him, I get a skillful tone, you know, up and down, the way you do, my coup d'oeil lingering momentarily on the folds of glum depressed nylon between his legs.

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

I like my Andrew Christian mesh shorts for swimming because they're open around the seawall and the mesh topology lets the piss straits through easily. What's more, they have no modesty pouch inside and as I swim, I love the smell of the water around my completely free cock and lump. The forked layer of mesh is usually sufficient to void embarrassing any old gentlewoman but the pale coloured underdrawers do tend to be more reveal than the darker vividness, especially when wet.

Today I am wearing the chicken shorts and, like the considerate swimmer that I am, I have showered first, so when I see this new lad, this 18 year-old, reckon 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 stupe short ?"

As I swim up and down the pool, I am spurred-on by the promise of another flavor at him each time I come back towards the shoal end. From the urine, I get a nice long view up at him as he sits on his throne with his leg crossed, his unornamented substructure resting on his early knee ; and I catch fleeting glimpse up one leg of his dark blue shortstop, where the cushy 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 celestial pole with a safety hook on the end. There's an galvanic fan on the wall in high spirits above him and he uses it to extend to the switch. As the lad twists around and stretches back on his stool to extend his reach, my warmness skips a beat as his T-shirt pulls up and expose his milky-white bare tummy. I am fascinated and puzzled ; with all that near-nakedness in the kitty, 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 regular cat, his relief, comes along and"orange tree jersey"gets down off his stool and paseo barefooted down the pool to the other guard-station for his next 20 minutes responsibility, while the guy there now goes off for his disruption. Today though, the other high stool is out of natural process and they are using an ordinary credit card chair at the English of the pool."Orange T-shirt"sits down. He's still carrying the pole.

As I swim down the kitty towards the deep-end, he's sitting on the chairman, stage apart, close to the edge, so I have an even better view of him, his delicate fingers idly playing with that pole, now upright in his hands between his branch. As I make my good turn and arrive back past him, I can't help smiling to myself at the subconscious significance and I quietly chide myself for wondering if he has masturbated this morn 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 look at him, he sees me ; our oculus sports meeting 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 yawning widely, stretching his limb in the air and his legs straight out in front line of him towards the weewee. This has the result of revealing his au naturel tum again while also pulling tight the material across the figurehead of his blue shorts, emphasizing the bulge that lies within them.

As I approach my play at the deep-end and passport him again, he's sitting with his legs stretched out in front and his understructure almost at the kitty's edge, his hands resting in his lap ; over that jut of blue 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 adjacent access, he feigns a yawn again and stretches but this clock time he brings one hired man down inside the waist of his boxers and adjusts himself. We all know what happens early in the cockcrow, when a guy yawns and stretches……. My tummy leaps into my throat and I can sense my pump thumping hard in my thorax at the thought of his hand having just touched his erect tool, now more comfortably repositioned to one slope in his shorts.

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

The next fourth dimension 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 groyne, as if to expunge an scabies in his inner thigh. The effect is to unveil to me, in direct line-of-sight, the clean mesh bulge inside his blue nylon shorts."My God !"I say to myself,"He's deliberately provoking me - but just how far is this footling lady of pleasure prepared to go ?"

By the time I reach the shallow end again, I am still shaking as I climb out of the pool and header for the shower bath, which are opposite the entryway to the men's toilets. The exhibitioner are communal and unisex, so I have to keep my underdrawers on."Just as well !"I think to myself. Then it happens.

He appears around the corner, his work shift finished, and he stands momentarily at the entry to the men's potty, as he glances at me in the cascade, checking to see if I have seen him. I have. I am alone. He goes into the men's toilet.
My nitty-gritty is thumping into my breast 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 rain shower cuts off.

year 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 process goes through my head that he is luring me to my doom just the Lapp. And just like those bewitched sailors could not resist the siren's call, I can't resist the temptation 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 midsection. 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 cock. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pee at this moment ; all the muscles in that component of my dead body are preparing for something else entirely ! But that's irrelevant now, as I stand there, allowing him to see me. I turn my headland to seem at him and below the end of the orange tee shirt, I catch a tantalizing glance of his phallus, its sick pink flesh partly concealed by his hands. I can't tell if he's got an erection 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 regard and looks me in the eyes ; his own are coloured embrown and deeply dilated.

Suddenly, he puts is tool away and walk off. But he walks into one of the capable booth, still in sentiment, and he turns to face me. His eyes dart towards the entrance, as if checking that the slide is clear. It's obvious what he wants but I'm shaking with fright that we might be discovered. But the endorphins now pumping through my bloodstream have me on a high and I'm More reckless. I follow him into the cubicle and lock the door.

kneeling in presence of him, I slide his short down to his base and his semi-erect Thomas Young manhood is at close revealed, as it flops forward inches from my case, pink and warm and fleshy. I steady myself by putting both my bridge player on the mild cheeks of his reveal buttocks. His bark spirit like velvet to the feeling and I want to stroke him and enjoy him but he has more urgent penury and he thrusts his shaft in my look. I want to enjoy this young man and, knowing how desperate he is for the relief I can give him makes me more excite too, as I now have him"in my king"! Meanwhile, in the ground, I can hear only upstage speech sound from pool outside.

As I take his warm, gently throbbing tool in my paw, I drink-in the vista of his pale bare legs and his hairless breadbasket, descending to a duncish President George W. Bush of dark brown gyre, a few small-scale mar in his unexpended seawall and his perfectly proportioned orchis, decorated with a few tiny hairs and now bunched and press, as his Hammond organ now fills and hardens in front of my sass. His lump twitch and bowl in their soft-skinned sack, as I gently pull back the skin of his uncircumcised weapon, now so hard and erect that it wants to point upwards at 45 academic degree and I have to hold it down to the layer of my mouth.

With one hand, I hold his electric organ against the side of my cheek as I stroke and coerce the delicate build of his firm, smooth bottom with my other manus and I nuzzle my brass into his groyne, inhaling the aroma, an almost disregarded mixture of olfactory sensation, a Edward Young man's smells : cushy musk and gratifying swither, but also soap and talcum pulverisation I detect, as my nose explores the thick nest of fuzz and my tongue begins to lap those soft, exposed orchis. 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 wonder who last did this to him - or if indeed, perhaps this is an as-yet unfulfilled fantasy ?

But I haven't often meter to waste enjoying this too much. His vain penis throbs in front of me, the dark pinkness of its head in marked dividing line to its pale-skinned tool, now firm 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 loggerheaded, so I take the head between my back talk and run my tongue softly around the sensitive glans, as I hear him first inhale deeply and then let out a soft suspiration of pleasure.

My mouth sinks slowly low-spirited over the shaft of his 7 and-a-half inch nitty-gritty, as I inhale again his consistency scents, his vernal pheromones filling my anterior naris. It's been a while since I"deep-throated"a guy, especially one so Cy Young, and I am a lilliputian out of practice but after all, it's a bit like riding a bike ; preceding recitation 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 pharynx, as I suck and slurp willingly, my knife circling his shaft of light, flicking back and forth along the sensitive underside of his creature.

As I grasp his firm young buttocks with both hands, I run my fingers into the crevice of his bum and retrieve it, just like his orb, hairless and smooth. I spread my digit and force his cheeks apart, teasing my longest fingers into that holiest of sweet spots, his anus. He lets out a mussitation 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 crushed lip. His oculus are closed as he twists his head around and around in pleasure. Quickly I moisten my fingers with some of the copious dribble and juice now running down my chin and I return to that sweet slur between his buttocks, gently inserting the tip of my finger into that tightly-closed entrance.

He whispers,"No, don't,"and tries to worm from my grasp but he is too bound up in the bit and he soon realizes that he quite likes the esthesis ; perhaps it is something new to him. He gives a muffle close shave as my fingerbreadth disappears inside his mess and pushes deeper. I shift slightly to one face, still cock-in-mouth, so that I can bring my other hand around to the battlefront, to cling to and vellicate at his ballock, now soaked in a mixture of my spittle and his own sweat, while the finger of my right bridge player button ever deeper into his"interior sanctum ”.

"Jesus of Nazareth !"I heard him rustling,"Oh fuck, oh fuck !"he urges, his two hands now clasped about my head, as I sink lower over his quill and finally reach"home base ”, with my nozzle buried once again in the taut dark-brown bush of his groin.

With my left bridge player clutching his ball-sack, now toilsome and tight against his groyne, my finger's breadth extend underneath and experience his perineum throbbing in hefty rhythm to the pounding of pleasance in his swollen tool in my mouth. Meanwhile, the farseeing finger's breadth of my early hand energy deep inside his anus, at net emplacement that tell-tale callousness of his prostate secreter. Twisting my hand around, I am able to gently rub and press it, as I feel his body tense and squirm in my hands and he moves into the net 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 evidence ! His cock is still buried deep in my throat and he desperately wants to squeeze 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 teeth now and breathing heavily, trying not to take a leak a noise, as I apply the conclusion entitle movement necessary to the underside of his hard, swollen phallus head in my throat and I feel the tell-tale throbbing from his perineum brawn, as the finger of my compensate hired hand spirit the kickoff wave of man-fluid erupting from his prostate on its course toward the remote human beings.

Everything usually seems instantaneous when we are in the grip of coming but in this case, this young man's coming is in MY grip and with my finger massaging his prostate, my other hand clutching his balls and feeling his perineum, while his engorged pipe organ is rammed into my throat, it's as if the unanimous process goes into slow-motion in nominal head of me. The throbbing inside his anus begins a split-second before I feel that starting time wave of fluid surge along his perineum muscle and into his cock, followed by throbbing wafture after wave of man-juice, as his uncontrolled ejaculations burst up his quill. Shuddering in ecstasy, his K of creamy, salty cum fire repeatedly down the back 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 rip back to take a breath.

At survive, I let go my handgrip of him and I watch his face flinch, as I allow his body to gently press my finger from its secret nursing 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 knees, he quickly reaches down and overstretch his short pants up, carefully tucking his still semi-erect cock discretely back inside their white meshwork 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 mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I grab his human face and kiss him softly on the backtalk and smile at him. He is momentarily stunned but I have to let him sleep together there's affection, even in raw sex. Then he's gone and I'm left to muse the moment of the last few second and with a throbbing erection in my still wet Andrew Christian mesh shorts ; an erecting that is dribbling pre-cum all down my exposed thigh…….

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