The Pool Boy Read online

  He lay on the raft, naked, with his dick pointing at the full moon. His legs were spread ever so slightly apart and his balls hung between his thighs, twice their normal size because of the heat. He told me, “I’ve been watching you, Robert. Just like you’ve been watching me this summer.”

  I wanted to tell him that we didn’t need to talk, that I was ready for an evening alone with him and no speaking, just the two of us, and that I wanted to watch him swim back and forth in the pool, to and fro, over and over again, to and fro, to and fro. I also wanted to tell him it was time for our bodies to mesh together on the patio like real men, like adult men, and that I wanted to have his solid cock inside me, or vice versa. I wanted to be dirty with him at the pool, drinking Zinfandel, fucking around with him, naked and at play with the man, no longer having a wall between us titled Employer and Employee.

  It didn’t happen that way, at least not yet in the dream.

  Every muscle on my body was tense and hard, though. I couldn’t move next to the pool. My heart pounded within my chest as nervousness consumed me.

  He called from the raft, floating in the center of the pool, “Bring the wine out here. Come in the water and join me. It’s quite warm if you want to know.”

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  “Don’t be long. My dick’s hard for you, Mr. Fine…so fine so fine so fine.”

  A dream come true. I listened and dropped the robe to the side of the pool. Tacoma treaded water in the deep end of the pool with his extended arms positioned over the raft. He started to near the shallow end. In doing so, he said, “You’re handsome. A good find. I can’t wait to have you in my mouth…and elsewhere.”

  I poured two glasses of wine at the edge of the pool, carried them into the pool by using the three steps, handed him one as soon as he floated on the raft to the pool’s shallow side.

  He took one of the offered wine glasses and gulped the liquid down. Then he climbed off the raft and it floated away. Tacoma kissed me on the lips before I could reply, or move. The pool boy tugged on one of my nipples with his free hand and said, “Why don’t I show you some of my swimming strokes? You love to watch me swim. Isn’t that one of the reasons why you’re here this evening?”

  I didn’t argue with him, agreed. “Of course. Show me your worth. Show me anything you want to show me.”

  The wine glasses became lost somewhere within the dream. We stood in the blue-blue pool water up to our waists. He shoved his tongue down my throat, kissing me again, harder this time. He pulled on both my nipples. He cupped my bare balls in one of his palms and provided the pair with a gentle squeeze. And then he whispered, “This is what you want, isn’t it? This is really why you’ve come to the pool, Robert. You can’t fool me. This is why you’re here.”

  I said, “Yes. I can’t fool you.”

  “I won’t stop until you get enough. I’m here to please you. Is that what you want?”

  I pulled away, felt dizzy from the wine or Tacoma’s intrusive touching. I stuttered, “I…I…I hope you don’t stop.” And then I touched his smooth abs and nipples, sucked on one and then the other, and listened to him moan in the night like some kind of animal in heat. I felt my hard rod slip against his. I felt the two of the erections dance and linger for the longest moments together in the water, gliding, grazing, touching, growing in the pool’s warm liquid.

  “Follow me,” he instructed.

  I did. I wasn’t about to argue or contemplate where he was taking me, I trusted him. I ignored our professional relationship, realizing our new roles. Everything from that moment on was going to be nasty, dirty, and unprofessional.

  We waded through the water to the edge of the pool. As Tacoma collected protection and lube from under a nearby towel, I sat on the side of the pool with a rock hard cock between my legs. The meat touched the top of my navel. There, waiting for his return, I peered into the glimmering blue and dreamy pool, thinking, He’s a legal drug for my needs. He’s sinister. He’s sexy. He’s mine.

  He came back to my side, kissed both my nipples, my mouth, and touched the head of my mushroom-shaped cock with two fingertips. “Time to be dirty, Mr. Fine…so fine so fine so fine.”

  I thought, Time to be nasty with him, pig-like.

  I lay back and pressed my shoulders against the concrete patio, resting my head on a cotton towel.

  He told me, “It’s time to act out the scenes that I’ve read in Ready For You Now and Do Me More Favors. Are you ready, Mr. Fine?…so fine so fine so fine.”

  I stared up into the night’s starry heaven and felt his throat wrap around my dick as he sucked me off. I felt him split my legs apart and find the center of my soul. I felt…felt him use his tongue on my bottom as he pushed my ass up for his use and he pressed, pressed, pressed his tongue inside me, spreading my rump-hole.

  He pulled off and away from me. His words: “Breathe now…One big breath. It’s going to hurt what I plan to do with you.”

  I lifted my head from the towel.

  Our eyes met, danced.

  I thought: He’s between my legs and I can see his sculpted body there, V-shaped, muscular, so fit, willing itself to enter me, his dick swollen and ready, pumped and purple, upright. Tacoma is ready to press himself inside me, the man I like, the man I could fall in love with, my employee, my lover, my friend, my new companion.

  “Close your eyes, Robert. Enjoy the ride.”

  I listened to his instruction. I felt his action as his rippled and lower abs touched my balls, as his lengthy cock entered me, and pushed inside, pushed, pushed, and left me in a deep state of pain and numbness, penetrating me with his steel-like rod, fucking me with his dick.

  Fucking. Fucking. Fucking.

  The water god, Neptune, because he was Neptune that summer, and in that dream. Tacoma continued to bump into me, thrust his cock inside my deep hole, and created a tempest. Our hearts beat as one as he dove inside me with his erection, pulled out, and dove inside again and again and again. He reached down for my nipples and tugged on both, one, and then the other. He grabbed my dick and tugged on its length. He pulled on my balls, continuing to bang my rear as he said down to me, “Naughty, dirty you, Mr. Fine…so fine so fine so fine.”

  He said he would perform butterfly strokes and backstrokes with me as he pushed his dick inside me.

  Fucking. Fucking. Fucking.

  He called us Water Gods as he built up a rhythm with his thrusts.

  “We’re mermen, Robert!” he called out in the evening, as he pounded me, and made love to me, kept my legs spread apart, and swam with me.

  “More,” I groaned. “More, Tacoma. Please, don’t stop.”

  And he listened. He listened. By damned did he listen!

  “Never,” Tacoma moaned from atop me, pumping and pushing inside me as glistening sweat dribbled down and over his glowing cheeks and defined chest. He huffed and pumped and grunted like some unknown water creature that used the pool when I wasn’t looking, hiding from me. A fantastical beast. I felt Tacoma push his ex-Navy meat into me, held my thighs apart with his strong grip, and will me to blow my load, “Come, Robert. I want to see you come for me. It’s why you’re here.”

  As he spread me apart even more, I told him, “You can never leave me.”

  He said in return, banging my rear, “I’m the pool boy now…and I’m not going anywhere. Yours to keep.”

  Sweat flew off his brow as he pushed harder inside me, spread me apart with all his might and muscle.

  One thrust. Ten thrusts. Twenty or more thrusts.

  “We’ll blow together,” he said, and finally pulled out of me, ripped the condom off his cock and tossed it aside on the patio. Tacoma leaned into me, pressed his slick dick against my shaft and kissed the two together. With his right hand, he grabbed my left hand, and then he placed the two hands around the two cocks, binding them together in a marriage. “Like this. We’ll create an eruption. What do you say? We’ll do it as a team.”

  Pump, r
ush, pump, our hands moved up and down. His hips and my hips thrust together. Fingers mixed. And our aligned cocks rubbed in synchronized action, up and down, prepared to shoot loads in sync.

  I imagined (dreamed?) we were together and underwater again. I saw algae and seaweed with unfamiliar names. I saw naked mermen surrounding us, cocks as hard as iron scepters. All of us were coming together, stroking and chanting, underwater music from the most beautiful male Sirens vibrated around us. It was nothing less than euphoric. Pure bliss. Drowning. Swimming. Dreaming. Coming. I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, couldn’t help from pumping and thrusting my body into Tacoma’s hand, into my hand.

  Again he said, “It’s time to come, Robert,” adding my name this time.

  I listened. I would always listen to him.

  Warmth spread through my entire body. A buzzing sensation rippled through my core. I felt splattering ooze over my fingers and on my chest, coming. I moaned and groaned as the release occurred at the tip of my dick. I became weak and numb.

  Tacoma chanted something in his confused and Nirvana-like state, coming with me, and on my fingers and hand. Creamy, white rivulets of ooze leaked out of his cock. Like an eruption. Like lava.

  We arched backs together.

  We kept coming together.

  We pumped our dicks in linked action again and again, emptying the pair.

  We huffed and puffed at the pool.

  We moaned and…

  * * * *

  I couldn’t remember waking up in that small library, but I did. Sweat dripped over my entire body, down the plain of my chest, and between my legs. I felt an erection between my legs, and sticky come dampened my thighs. Bubbles of the ooze seeped inside my underwear, along my dick’s shaft and even on my balls. The dream felt very real, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. No way. I lay spent, drained. A smile rested on my face as I thought of the pool boy, our summertime relationship, and my unending lust for him. Never had I felt so exhausted. Completely depleted.

  Chapter 29: Sunbathing

  The urge to spy on young Tacoma felt like an endless thumping sensation that found its way into my cluttered and infected mind, and my lower regions where I stored my ejaculate for him to taste and swallow. With utmost skill, I snaked the pathway along the East Garden that led to the majestic blue-blue pool by the lake. And from a short distance, with trembling and nervous hands, and arms at my sides, I stayed hidden behind a bunch of oaks, pines, and tall maples, watching him yet again; an action no different than what I had accomplished in the secret camera room.

  As expected, he was on the cement patio surrounding the shimmering pool, this time sunbathing. Tacoma lay in the heated afternoon, shiny and golden-bronze, still and silent, his back positioned to the sun. His yellow towel was snugly positioned under his brown skin. And nearby, not so very far from the reflective water, there sat his cell phone, which played a popular song by Lizzo. As a soft wind spun up from the lake and blew over his masculine and July-ripe body, I began to tremble where I stayed hidden, unsure of my everlasting and infatuated stares directed at his unmoving frame. And, as the caressing wind blew softly across the aqua-niceness of the pool, creating fairy tale-like waves, its soulfulness begged me to leave my hidden position and move down the pathway to become poolside next to Tacoma, willed to touch his sun-burning flesh with my fingertips, against the nape of his back or one of his buttocks; an uncalled for and uncivilized action on my part, completely bothersome. I stayed where I was, unseen.

  I could not object to the fact that he was a mouthwatering sight that caused a firming package between my unsteady legs when, and where, I watched him. He flipped over on his back, and I enjoyed more of his succulent body in the steeping sunshine: tight, little nipples on a broad and well-developed chest; bronze shoulders with pumped triceps that glowed in the afternoon heat; small specks of black hair around and beneath his collapsed naval; smooth pecs and solidly lined abs; and the limp outline of his delicious-looking cock in a navy blue swimsuit that clung to the man’s waist. How superior he looked in the yellow-red rays of fibrous sunlight. How god-like and immortal. So like Zeus, minus the long beard and gray hair. Before me, Tacoma was a replica of golden steel that caused every muscle within my still body to pound and throb. How unnatural it seemed to be so hard for the same sex, craving the pool boy. How unethical.

  I couldn’t help myself any longer. Because my dick grew throbbing-hard, and because I was a man who had lusted after the most beautiful and well-bred creature on the planet. I shifted my stern inches of pole within my boxers and khakis, carefully to the right, then to the left, pushing and pushing its inches, playing with the thing, and felt a vibration linger from the base of my spine to the back of my neck. My body trembled in the shade. And an uneasiness fell over me that felt nothing less than hard-joy, if there was such a thing.

  Because I was an experienced lover by nature, unable to help myself among and behind the oaks, pines, and maples, I became overwhelmed with Tacoma’s sunbathing and the pulsing fragment of erection within my khakis. Skillful with my right hand, I tugged down the khaki’s zipper, pushed my hand through the boxer’s piss-hole, and rubbed the extended stem of pulsating need inside. Fingers touched veins, erection, and pubic hair beneath. Two balls firmed at my touch, and my fingertips became wet because of the afternoon perspiration that built up there.

  I grew hard and harder by the passing seconds; my concentration still locked on the chiseled man by the pool. An Olympic-strong heartbeat felt as if it were carrying out a race between my lungs. My breathing stopped, charged, and stopped again. I almost fainted. I continued to toy with myself, desiring nothing less than to buck a hot and sappy load of spew on the cobblestone walkway, enjoying a private moment alone in the shade, releasing my pent up aggravation and lust for none other than the sunbathing pool boy.

  It seemed almost necessary to pull and flop the hardened erection out of my boxers and into the palm of my right hand. Why not? I felt the skin against my lifeline, began to stroke the piece of veined need up and down. Quickly. North and south. A heated and fixated passion took over my hands. And my gaze stayed glued to the pool boy in the sun. My breath caught, loosened, and caught again. But the sporadic breathlessness didn’t prevent me from jerking off, not in the slightest.

  Sun-drenched, Tacoma lay still as if he were sleeping or dreaming, as if he were in some kind of movie, on set, where a handsome, blondish me needed to come along and wake him with a life-changing kiss against his narrow lips.

  As God intended, he looked radiant in the light, a mystery, hard and dashing. My kept pool boy. A passion I only longed to touch, lick, hold, fuck, devour, and wished to keep forever at my side, and under me. The man of my dreams, among other splendid titles.

  Still masturbating among the trees, sweating, gyrating, I couldn’t help myself any longer. Every molecule seemed to be ready to burst with an erotic pulse, splitting into tiny other molecules, reproducing and dancing inside my body. I clung my right hand around the sweat-slick piece of meat between my legs, bucked my hips forward, backward, forward again, backward again, and kept an unending view, perhaps hypnotized by that point, on the young man by the pool. Hot, so hot. And pre-droplets of goo leaked out of my shaft’s head and into my silky palm; the beginning of spew-contained ending. I huffed. I puffed. Thrust my hips. Jacked my dick. Then more of the ejaculate shot in one large burst to the ground and melted into clear liquid against the summery and hot cobblestone.

  While exploding my load, I stared at Tacoma, and imagined my body resting next to his, or on top of his, or inside his, wishing us together, bucking and fucking me, as I continued to throttle my come, emptying myself.

  How greedy I was to want to wrap him in my arms, press my hard pecs against his, and lock my mouth to his mouth, abandoning all thoughts and processes of how a younger man was to love a somewhat older man such as myself. I wanted to caress his body with an extended tongue, lick the head of his prick, rub his balls with…

&n
bsp; I gritted teeth and felt the cords in my neck tighten as I finished coming. “Tacoma,” exited my throat in a whisper as a vibration of everlasting lust spread throughout my body like fire, or how a storm moves quickly over the lake being escorted by bolts of lightning and the horrendous noise of thunder. After bolting my hips to and fro, rolling a quick hand up and down on my erection, I closed my mouth for fear of Tacoma hearing me where I stayed hidden, huffed, puffed, shook my dick, stared at the pool boy in silence, and realized how much I could not contain my movements, needs, or desires, emptying my nuts, spraying the last of my seed droplets between my feet, drained.

  A line of spew hung from my dick, post-jerking off. Eventually it fell to the cobblestone, almost landing on one of my sandals. Exhausted, out of breath, I felt perspiration drip down from my forehead to my shirt, and then along my flesh and a leather strap.

  There and then I realized that what had occurred on the pathway was something that happened on its own and caused me to burst my load uncontrollably. I could only blame Tacoma in part, of course. Not every man could control such desires for pool boys. Not every man could pull himself away from such appealing sights like a sunbathing and chiseled pool boy, and find privacy in their bedrooms for erotic and solo moments. I didn’t have an excuse for my actions. Certainly not. Frankly, I was out of control, on edge, lust-driven and in a state of sexual no return. How could I not have realized such passion? How did I let the pool boy control me like that? How did I lose myself in those few moments, hidden from him? And why? What was happening to me that summer? Had I become the pool boy’s puppet? Was he playing me?

  I thought so.

  Honestly, I did.

  How humiliating.

  Chapter 30: Biting Mosquitoes

  Having my right hand marked with white, creamy ejaculate, I pushed my still-hard dick back into their boxers and khakis, zipped myself up, and then walked down to the pool boy in the sun; as if I hadn’t gotten enough of him already.