The Pool Boy Page 19

  Watching: I couldn’t help myself. As I observed Kent Tacoma with his palm on his inflated tool, I pushed my underwear and shorts down to my knees and began to pound my own extension of meat, up and down, in a fierce action. Our movement became synchronized, man with man, both of us secluded and hidden, working our erections. We huffed, puffed, and cranked beef at the same time, speeding our hands up down. He moaned, but I didn’t, keeping quiet, choosing to stay hidden and silent. We thrust our hips using the same tempo, forward and backward, fast, without stopping. One identical bolt to a fist looked like another bolt, but…

  I didn’t shoot my cargo into the garden around me, decorating the petals and vines. I didn’t explode my guy-goo on the tree trunks around me, or the cobblestone at my feet. That didn’t happen. No it didn’t. Rather, I stopped bolting my hips and released my flag. I quickly pulled up my underwear and shorts, and pushed my hard and long shaft away against my lower torso, making it deflate. And slowly, hot and sticky in the sun, thinking my erection away, I found my way down to the pool, over the cobblestone pathway, keeping an intrusive eye on the pool boy and his afternoon hand-fun. I caught Tacoma in his jacking act. Exactly what I wanted to do.

  Caught. Caught. Caught.

  Chapter 63: Drowning

  Moving out onto the patio by the pool could only cause disaster. Warning him, I called out his name, “Tacoma!” but I still caught him off guard. He was completely unsuspecting when he looked to his left and saw me. His busy hands stopped pumping the veined and popping erection between his legs, and his hips seized their thrusting. The man’s jaws seemed to tighten, which caused an unsmiling look to appear on his face, a look of shock and surprise. I continued approaching him in the blistering sun.

  He stood about six inches from the reflective pool: mouth open, wide eyes, hands at his sides, dick like a telephone pole at his center. His chest was doused in a thick, summer perspiration.

  I called out his name a second time and he blushed, embarrassed at being caught at his jerk-session. Closing in on him, I waved and grinned. “I’m sorry to bother…” and then I stopped in my tracks, faking surprise at witnessing his private man-handling.

  “Robert,” he said. Nothing more. Stone cold.

  My stare grew as wide as my mouth. I inspected and analyzed his nakedness: reddish middle from the sun, sweaty thighs, and perspiration-covered biceps that glowed and shined in the heat. “Oh my God,” slipped out of my mouth.

  He instantly became frazzled, rattled off, “I thought you were up at the house writing. I thought you were editing so you could meet your deadline.” Then he began to wobble and lose his balance. A little to his left. A little to his right. But before he could catch his balance, with his khakis still crumpled around his ankles, with his cock stiff between his legs, with sweat covering his chest and brow, he fell headfirst into the glimmering, sun-covered pool.

  A splash covered part of the patio and my feet as he went under the blue-blue water. Within seconds he began to sink, unable to swim because his khakis were snug around his ankles, and because he started to panic. His arms flailed left and right around him under the water. His back and legs moved forward and backward, but he didn’t rise to the pool’s surface. Rather, his entire body began to sink to the bottom of the pool, downward.

  As seconds ticked by, I realized that the pool boy was drowning.

  Chapter 64: Poolside

  Jesus, he’s going to drown. He’ll die if I don’t save him, I thought.

  The pool boy was in the deep section of the pool with his arms thrashing about, open-mouthed. His eyes bulged and he looked as if he were a bag of rocks being pulled downward by his weight. I watched as he continued to flail his arms around him, attempted to swim, but the action was useless as he continued to sink, unable to swim upwards.

  Instinct took over. Save him! And save him now! Quickly, I pushed my own shorts and underwear off, stepped out of them, and dove into the pool to rescue him. I have never been a very good swimmer, never!, but found it easy to swim down through the blue depths of that refreshing water, league after league after league, kicking feet like a fin, reaching the center of Earth, and torpedoing towards a sinking Tacoma.

  Within a matter of seconds, I rescued him by latching one arm around his chest, strapping it across his firm pecs and nipples, and securing it against his muscular torso. I kicked my feet crazily and swam with one arm, upward like Aquaman.

  Save him! And save him now!

  Like a lifeguard, I pulled Tacoma through the water with me and to the surface of the pool in search of air…oxygen. In doing so, I gripped his body tight against my own in hopes of not losing a grip on his heavy and bulky frame. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally release him into the deep end of the pool.

  Once breaking through the pool’s surface, bobbing and kicking to keep the two of us afloat, I listened to him choke on water mixed with air. Hell-bent on the idea of his survival, I called out to him, “I won’t let you drown!” and swam him to the side of the pool, pushed his bulk onto the cement patio surrounding the pool area, and jumped out of the water after him. Placing him on his back, listening to him gurgle something, I started CPR on him. I compressed his chest in the right spot, blew air into his lungs, pressed and blew, pressed and blew, pressed and blew.

  I turned him on his side and he choked up water and spat some on the patio, laid still in the sun. Tacoma’s eyes were closed for a few seconds and he coughed a number of times, spat out more water, continued to cough, and eventually called out to me, “I’m…I’m okay, man.” He expelled more water out of his system.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  He said nothing. Motionless. Silent.

  Save him! And save him now!

  It felt like a lifetime had passed during those few minutes, poolside with him.

  I lightly shook his right shoulder. “Tacoma, can you hear me?”

  He gurgled, “I lost my balance…Khakis around my feet…Couldn’t swim.”

  “It’s okay now. You’re safe. Just relax.” I brushed excess water from his left cheek and neck, and pulled the shorts away from his ankles to allow him more comfort. “That should feel better, huh?”

  On his side, Tacoma’s solid chest rose and fell as he breathed. He was still shaken by almost drowning. “Much better.”

  “You’re going to be fine, my friend. Just relax.” I rubbed a hand over his chest, grazed a nipple, two abs, his navel, calming him. I wasn’t turned on by the action, although at one point in our relationship, at a different time and place, and during a less dangerous event, I would have been.

  He slowly rolled on his back and sat up, huffed for air. “You saved me. Thank you.”

  “Yes. It was my noble deed for the year. I didn’t want you to drown.”

  Our eyes connected, blended, locked together, and became motionless. Something awkward but determined hung in his stare that I couldn’t comprehend. Maybe it was there all summer long. Maybe it wasn’t.

  “Robert,” he whispered. Nothing more.

  “Right here,” I replied, facing him.

  He leaned forward and began to kiss me on the lips: slowly, pacing himself, softly. Tacoma moved his right hand up and down, between my legs, and in slow motion. He gently caressed the area with teasing fingers, played with me as if I were nothing more than a pool boy or lifeguard or summer help. Eventually he pulled off and murmured quietly, in a rather convincing manner, “What am I doing to you, Robert Fine?”

  I instantly grew hard: cock and balls. Every part of me.

  I lied and told him, “Nothing. That is, if you don’t want to. Nothing at all. I can act like it never happened if you want me to.”

  “I don’t understand this.”

  “You’re not supposed to understand anything that happens between us this summer, Tacoma.”

  He kissed me again.

  I kissed him back.

  It was passionate and real on the patio next to the pool and dangerous water.
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  He pulled away and asked, “Do you want to? Do you mind?”

  “Yes, I want to. And no, I don’t mind.”

  “I like you. Ever since the day I met you. I’ve always had a thing for older men,” he whispered, and suffocated my chest with his own, touching our lips together again.

  Chapter 65: Nirvana

  I became a toy. His toy. I became his pool boy and understood almost immediately what my purpose was: he needs me…he wants me…someone superior in his world, someone of means to fully care for him, someone who will respect him and…

  As he lay on his back next to the pool, I rode his condom-covered dick. Atop him, with my own body slightly offset and my legs spread over his lower torso, I straddled him. My dick and balls slapped against his abdominals and navel. Tacoma’s erection was fully swelled inside me, pushed upward, and he began to break me into two pieces, thrusting his weight against me. Two inches pumped me…three inches…five inches….and more. I groaned and moaned above him, and he left me feeling numbed and dizzied by his actions. Truth said, he could have bucked me off him and I could have lost my balance and fallen into the pool and drowned.

  He said, “Hold on tight. There’s more,” and another three inches of pulsing rod slipped up and inside me. Having the right-of-way, Tacoma bolted his hips with a grunting and generous passion, with all the force he had to offer, providing me nothing more than full pleasure.

  There and then, intimate with him, I felt like I was on an amusement ride, being bounced around in an uncontrollable and feisty action, or inside a pickup truck on a dirt road, heading into West End, rolling this way, and that way, hanging on for dear life. The ride was unstoppable, wild and fun, and everything that I had always wanted with him.

  He played with the stiff dick between my stinging thighs. The pool boy caressed its purple head and forced droplets of pre-ooze to spill out of its helmet’s slit. He then rocked a hand up and down on my pick, squeezed its veins and hardness, masturbating me. He smiled beneath me as I rode him, both of us working together, feeling nothing less than euphoria with each other, a connection between men in lust, love…something.

  I tried to push the pain that built within my bottom away by pulling on his nipples, both at the same time, and rolled my palms up and down on his muscled chest, but the affliction failed to dissipate. He bucked me harder and harder, like a bronco, like a jackhammer, like…

  He pushed the last two inches into my rear and caused me to feel as if I would burst a dick-explosion all over his torso. That didn’t happen just yet, but soon it would, coating his golden-brown skin. I rode him, hanging on to his pecs. I had my eyes closed, swung my head back, and enjoyed the hot sun against my bare chest. I rode…rode…rode…him the way we were always meant to be as employer and the pool boy.

  Coming to from that physical and delusional state, I saw sweat build on his chest and forehead. As the swift movements of his hips continued, the pool boy’s pecs and abs rocked beneath me. I became fixated on his erection, continued to feel it thrust inside me. I ground my teeth, and never felt younger in my life, twenty-two again like him, wholesome, collecting a prize from him after the long days of summer. I pinched my eyes closed as he pushed his dick inside me, invading, bucking, plunging, driving, and splitting me apart as I continued to keep my balance overtop him, dripping my sweat on his chest.

  Skilled, I hung onto his chest, felt bubbles of perspiration on his skin, soft and smooth flesh that smelled sweet like sugary baked goods. My balls slapped against his abdominals and my blond hair fell into my eyes. “You’re amazing. Just amazing,” I whispered down to him, breathless, intoxicated, and semi-blind from his pounding.

  Synchronized groaning and moaning was all I heard by the pool, between us. No longer could I hear the chirping birds or lake waves. Instead, I concentrated on the muscles in my bottom, tightening them around his erection, offering him even more satisfaction. I fell and rose on his fit frame in a beastly action as he lost control and bucked my backside with all the force he could possibly muster. Again and again we met and fell apart, met and fell, met and fell, enjoyment exploited.

  As he plunged his hips chaotically upward, shifting his right hand up and down on my stiff shaft, causing my world to buzz, Tacoma said to me through clenched teeth, “You’ve done this before.”

  Too many times to count, I thought, but didn’t want to share that fact with him. Instead, I told him, “And you’re going to make me…”

  But it was too late for me to finish my sentence. As currents of nirvana immediately shot up and down my spine, tingled at the back of my neck and shoulders, I blew a spray of ejaculate all over the pool boy’s fist and chest, covering its plated muscles with sticky, white juice from my dick.

  He couldn’t keep his own burst pent. I sensed that; any man my age would have. I turned him on completely: experienced, older, and wiser regarding sexual pleasure. He thrust his cock up and into my ass three consecutive times, powerful jolts that caused me to squint. He ground his teeth in the process and his entire body seemed to shake under my weight. At this same time, he mumbled and whispered almost inaudibly beneath me, “Coming,” and pushed all of his crank, full-hilt, into my burning hole, grew red in his cheeks, and looked as if he would faint, shaking his head left and right, becoming empty in the condom that separated our bodies.

  Chapter 66: In the Deep End of the Pool

  After our sexual interlude, we jumped into the pool together. Tacoma did a cannonball and I followed his action with a simple dive. Surrounded by the blue-blue water in the deep end of the pool, I clung to his youthful and muscular frame, unable to let him go. I roped myself around his firm and steel-like body, kissed his neck, both shoulders, and his mouth. When we surfaced, somewhat breathless, I don’t know what came over me and asked, “When do you have to leave, Tacoma?” because I wanted him to stay throughout winter, the following summer, and years to come. Forever, if I could keep him. Always. Mine. Only mine.

  “I really don’t know. Soon, though,” he responded, winked at me, kissed me, and pulled off and away.

  We bobbed in the pool’s warm water.

  He said, “Classes don’t start until the second week of September.”

  “You’ll stay for a few more days, right?”

  Inches apart, he kept afloat with one arm and his legs. His other arm moved its hand down and between my legs and it found my cock again, toying with the mass. He said into my ear as the lapping waves licked at our bodies, “I don’t know. I really haven’t given it much thought.”

  Enough. I didn’t want to harp or spoil the good thing we had just shared. We had had such fun in the sun during the last forty minutes or so, having sex and enjoying each other’s company. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Rather, I dropped the topic and we dove together into the depths of the pool, swimming and diving, holding each other and kissing under the water. Mermen at last. Together. Lovers for a very short period of time that summer. I was finally his. His. And happy. So very happy.

  Chapter 67: Pillows

  That night I cuddled a feather pillow between my legs, tried to sleep, but couldn’t. A smile spread over my face as I closed my eyes and recalled the pool boy’s romantic movements with me in the beating sun. I tossed and turned, tried to name all the Greek gods’ names in my mind, started counting sheep, and even began writing words on an imagined piece of paper in my mind, but to no avail, those formulas still didn’t help with sleep. Too bad.

  While lying in the splinters of semi-darkness, eyes wide open, pillow still between legs, hands crossed over my chest, I listened to three taps on my bedroom door.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tacoma’s familiar and soothing voice called out on the opposite side of the door, “Robert, can I come in?”

  “Yes.” I sat up as he turned the knob on the door and entered.

  He stood in a fragment of gray-blue moonlight, sported white boxers and nothing more. A bed pillow was tucked under his right arm. “I can’t sleep.”r />
  “What a coincidence. I can’t either.”

  “Can I slip into bed with you?”

  “Yes.” I patted the empty spot next to me. “Come here. I’d be delighted with your company.”

  “Like a slumber party, right?”

  I laughed at that, watched him close the door and cross the room. He tossed his feather pillow to the bed; it landed next to my right shoulder. He pushed his boxers down to the floor and stepped out of the material. Then he climbed under the single, silk sheet with me. “I can’t sleep in boxers. Do you mind?”

  “Never,” I answered, and felt his lips against my right shoulder, then my neck, and then my lips.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Medicine for insomnia.” He grazed one of my nipples with his smooth and soft lips, then the other.

  “Interesting.”

  “Do you object?” His fingertips fell to my navel, then into my boxers.

  “Not in the least.”

  And before I realized it, he removed the pillow between my legs, tossed it to the floor, and climbed on top of my hardening body, making love.

  Chapter 68: Spoons

  Spent. I breathed heavily with him in the blue moonlight. He wanted to smoke a cigarette after we made love and I told him he could.

  He fetched his cigarettes and an ashtray from his bedroom, returned, and joined me in my bed again.