it-started-at-the-swim-meet

8 Ağustos 2022 0 Yazar: sexhikayeleri

Asian

Subject: It started at the swim meet My friend was at the pool all day because he had three kids in a swim meet. By all day, I mean a solid eight or nine hours. He needed some adult, non-swimming company. I wasn’t able to get there until afternoon, and I found him hunched over an old laptop inputting race results into a spreadsheet. He was glad I was there, but really couldn’t get away; my job was to cheer his kids since he couldn’t. Swim meets otherwise include lots of down time for all concerned, and I wandered about aimlessly waiting for the next event that mattered to me. To my delight, I bumped into a boy I knew, Leo Chance. Part of my good work in the world is serving on a few boards and committees, and this high schooler was the student representative to one that worked on healthy cafeteria food (which really does feel like as futile a goal as it sounds). Leo was a high point in those meetings, all bright smiles and thoughtful contributions; he also was as beautiful as a work of art, blond and slender and smooth in a way that may my heart flutter just a bit whenever we made eye contact. Seeing him dressed for swimming, however, nearly stopped it dead. Boys all around me, aged anywhere from about six to sixteen, were dressed alike: form-fitting trunks that covered them from waist to mid-thigh, in team colors that were usually dark enough to somewhat hide the bulges those skin-tight suits otherwise accentuated. There were girls wearing something appropriate for their anatomy, but I don’t look at girls. Most of these boys were not interesting to me: too young, or hairy, or chubby, even though they were swimmers all. Leo, however, wasn’t wearing anything standard. “Hey, Tom,” he said as I was passing, a hand extended to shake mine. As I took it, I appraised him, having only before seen him in long pants and button-down shirts. He was sixteen years old, I knew, and his blond hair now had goggles atop it. His lean form was every bit a delight to my eyes, all creamy smooth skin pulled taut over lean, hard muscle. His nipples were small, pink as his lips, and hard from the cool pool water; he still had a droplet below those hard abs and above that impossibly-skinny waist. I watch it skirt his navel and followed its trek down until it was absorbed in the waistband of his suit, which was a disappointingly dark blue, but more tinier than what anyone else was wearing. “That’s not regulation,” I said, pointing to his suit to cover for my staring. He laughed, which is a musical sound that told me something about what his voice was like before it changed. “We don’t actually have to wear the uniform, and I’ve shaved seconds off my times since I stopped,” he said. “You can see for yourself; my heat is almost up for 100 fly.” “Great, I’ll root you on!” I said. With that, Leo pulled off the suit I thought was so much skimpier, and handed to a friend he’d been standing with. Underneath it was something smaller, much tighter, and absolutely WHITER than anyone was wearing. There couldn’t have been more than an inch and a half of fabric between the top of his thigh and the waistband over his hip, and I could now plainly see the curve of his young manhood within. I heard Leo snort, and looked up to realize that this time I hadn’t covered my tracks. He’d definitely seen me looking. Then he turned and headed to the pool for his race. I remained where I was, stomach queasy, until he looked over his shoulder and said, “Come one, I’ll show you the best place to stand for my heat.” Confidence that I was safe returned, but I tried not to stare at his tight little butt as I followed him. Swimming races are kind of strange; you only get little glimpses of the faces of the athletes, and they can only hear fragments of the cheering as their ears break the surface. They are also very quick, compared to the minutes and hours of standing around waiting to compete. Leo was soon by my side again, toweling off his hair; he was carrying bursa escort a bag where I presumed he kept his street clothes and gear. “What did you think?” he asked. “It was . . . exciting . . . but I have no idea who won. You all look alike in the water.” He laughed again. I could listen to that all day. “Mine was the only white one in the pool!” he said. “Were you watching the right race?” I shrugged in resignation, and he went on, “Well, maybe you can make it up to me. Do you think I could get a ride home? I’m done for today and my parents won’t be home for hours.” I looked at my watch. “I’m actually here to keep my friend company while his kids swim, but he’s been doing data entry all day. I should probably at least wait until all their heats are done, though.” “I’ll check. What are there names?” I told him. There was only one more race that fit the criterion, the 12 and under fly, and Leo agreed to stick around with me for it. “Still gets me home about three hours earlier,” he said. “Besides, with my help maybe you’ll actually know who you’re rooting for.” When I explained my situation to the friend I had intended on spending time with, he was actually apologetic for being roped into working. The kids had their friends to hang around with, and probably didn’t know if I was there cheering or not. Swim meets confuse me. I said as much to Leo, and he just laughed. “It’s definitely got a lot of down time,” he said. “Honestly, we could probably leave now if you want,” I told him. “Sure, let me put on my shoes,” he said, He slipped a pair of crocks on his feet, hitched his string bag over his shoulders, and wrapped his towel around his neck. Wearing that white speedo and not much else, he looked incredibly hot. When we got to my car, Leo carefully wrapped the towel around his waist before entering. “I don’t want to get your seat wet,” he said. I would have put up with him doing in the ice bucket challenge in my car if it meant I’d get to see the speedo all the way to his house, but such is life. As I pulled out onto the road, Leo leaned forward to get his string bag from the floor and I noticed a tuft of blond peeking out from under his arm. “I thought swimmers shaved everything,” I said. He looked at me quizzically, and I explained, “You’ve got hair under your arms. Isn’t that supposed to slow you down?” He laughed. “Actually, it’s debatable if shaving does anything for speed. I do keep my legs smooth,” he said, lifting the left one for my inspection, “but my pits I leave as-is because shaving them definitely hurts my performance as a pole-vaulter.” “Really?” I asked, slightly incredulous. Leo nodded. “Oh, yeah. Without hair, there’s a lot more friction. It’s really noticeable where the limbs meet the trunk. Even if it was scientific fact that no hair is better for swim times, I’d keep mine. I just love pole vaulting.” I opened my mouth to ask more about that, but it remained open: Leo’s next trick was to slide his speedo down off his slender hips without disturbing the towel whatsoever, and place it in a ziploc bag he’d produced from his gear. He noticed me splitting my attention between him and the road, and laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I forget not everyone is as casual as athletes.” “I guess your neighbors are pretty casual, too,” I said. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that,” he replied, then sniffed his armpit. “Do you think I could get a shower at your place? I realized I don’t have my keys, and I don’t mind waiting for my parents but I really hate smelling like chlorine.” “Well, you’re certainly dressed for a shower!” I said. “I’m just glad I have a garage entrance.” Leo laughed. “No one would give me a second look unless I did this,” he said, flipping his towel open and closed quickly. As I was driving, I only caught it out of the corner of my eye, and did a double-take. Leo laughed again, more loudly this time. It was a beautiful sound. “Eyes on the road!” he bursa escort bayan exclaimed. I gave him a faux-dirty look, which got him laughing again. His abs really popped and became more defined as he chortled. “You’re the one who wanted a second look,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Yeah, but you can’t give a second look until you give a FIRST one, right?” he said. Ah, I thought to myself, he definitely knows I was checking him out earlier. So much for subtle, but it’s not like he seemed to mind. I won’t deny that I had some discomfort in my pants at that moment, and was glad that I was taking the final turn before reaching my driveway. I triggered the remote garage-door opener and parked inside. Leo got out, slinging his string bag over his shoulders again. As I was still seated inside I couldn’t see above his shoulders, allow me to appreciate how his muscles rippled under his alabaster skin. Leo entered the house proper with me leading the way. He’d never even bothered to put on his shoes, and I was well aware of the fact that his towel was the only garment in play at the moment. “Bathroom’s upstairs,” I said, pointing. “I’ll show you.” Thankfully the bathroom was clean; I try not to be the bachelor slob because one never knows when a visitor may arrive at one’s door. “I’ve got shampoo, soap, body wash, and here’s a fresh towel,” I said. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the towel while loosing the current one with a shrug of his hips. Leo did nothing to hide his nakedness as it slid to the floor, but I was a mass of confused feelings and afraid to look. Teenagers don’t seduce adults for sex, that much I knew; whatever happened next would be my responsibility. I bent down to pick up his towel. “Can you tell me something, Ben?” he asked. I looked up, eye level with his penis, which was fat and getting fatter fast. I swallowed, my mouth dry, struggling to look him in the eye, not the cock. It took a lot of will to look up. “Yeah?” I croaked. “Am I small? In the dick department, I mean.” “M-more than a mouthful’s a waste, right?” I said, with a nervous laugh. “That’s what they say, anyway.” Leo wasn’t laughing. I felt paralyzed, unable to rise. His dick had risen plenty, though; I kept trying to look at the boy’s face, but his cock was hard to miss. My throat convulsed, and my dry mouth now watered with anticipation. “How big is a mouthful, though?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Can you show me?” He took a step closer, and put his hand on my shoulder. “Please?” Leo was not more than a mouthful. Leo was every bit a man in his desires and ability, but he was proportional to his lean, diminutive frame. I fell on him like a starving man on a loaf of bread. Abandoning any attempt at foreplay or teasing, I took him in one swallow. He smelled of chlorine and crotch, but tasted like nothing but cock. As my nose settled into his blond bush, I clutched his ass with both hands. The boy’s glutes were harder even than his dick; no one would ever get between them without his express permission, I could tell. I could practically wrap my two hands around his waist, but what he lacked in size he made up for in muscle. It was the muscle around front which he flexed as I opened myself to his need. From between Leo’s parted lips emerged a wordless sound, a mix of vowels and desire. I could feel the head of his young dick, hot and hard and soft all at once, moving from lips to throat and back again as he gently placed his hands upon my shoulders. “You’re sucking my dick,” he said, panting. “You’re really sucking my dick! Oh my fucking god, you’re sucking my dick!” His balls swung freely before me, and I took them in hand as I worked him. I could feel a few hairs sprouting from the scrotum as I stretched and kneaded the tender organs within. Looking up, my eyes roamed from his pubic triangle to his navel — flatly embedded in a smooth washboard — to the gem-hard nipples above, each pillowed escort bursa on a firm pectoral muscle. His abs rippled as he flexed and thrust into me, as did his biceps as he clenched his fingers to grip my shoulder blades. From my vantage point, I could see wisps of blond under each of those lean arms, and the ridge of ribs that led from those clefts down his tight body to where I swallowed the sexiest organ of all. Leo had again given up words, replacing them first with little grunts from behind closed lips, which were now reaching a crescendo of open-mouthed moaning. I could feel him digging into my shoulders as he slammed into my throat as hard as he could. I was grateful he hadn’t tried to grab my head; no matter how turned on, I don’t find force at all sexy. What I do find sexy is a beautiful teen cock sliding into me, making my mouth water as if it were a vagina lubricating itself. Leo was doing that for me, and it made me so hard I longed to service myself, but I wouldn’t dare distract my attention. If a statue of Adonis had some to life and begged me for fellatio it would not have been a more sacred moment than being the center of this boy’s world. My attention was on the flex of his muscles, the tell-tale tremble accompanied by a catch of his breath, the vocalizations which rumbled from his chest down to where I steadily brought him to climax. As he moved into and out of me, my nose was filled with the musk of his scrotum, which was not entirely eliminated by the chlorine in the pool. “C-cumming!” was the only warning I got, and that as he fired his first shot over the bow. I was ready for his cannon to fire, and swallowed most every volley. In those final moments he did clutch my hair, but I was still felt in control as he shuddered through his orgasm. When it was all over, I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with my sleeve. “You even let me come in your mouth,” he said, incredulity in his voice. He was still hard, still naked, and still causing every one of my sex neurons to fire at once. I just croaked. Showing a level of awareness I wouldn’t have expected, he helped me stand up, and put his hand to my crotch. I tried to say, “Only if you want to,” but lust stole my voice and I just let me unzip and free my meat. I don’t know how I didn’t just cover his hand with semen the instant I felt his fingers, as I was already past the point of no return by then. Not that Leo had much work to do, though; as soon as he rubbed me against his abs it was all over for me. I grabbed him by the waist and ejaculated thrusting against his washboard. My legs shook so hard I don’t know how I remained standing. “Damn!” he said. “You really needed that!” His voice held a tone of admiration. “Guess I REALLY need that shower now. Want to help?” ————————————————————— If you enjoyed the preceding work of fiction, please consider donating to Nifty. Every dollar goes a long way. I am delighted to be listed as a prolific net author; you can find a current list of my Nifty contributions by visiting https://www.//authors.htmlpaternalwatcher. 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