Date: Fri, 1 Jul 2016 17:51:10 +0000
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Briefest Encounter

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: this is an absurdly short vignette. Almost certainly
not long enough to make you cum, but I haven't had the time to write
anything properly lately, so I thought I'd share a mini fantasy I had
recently. I felt I owed it to you guys.

Please, if you are in any way able, donate to keep Nifty running:
www.nifty.org/donate


The Briefest of Encounters


I was stiflingly hot, the humidity of the place and the lack of wind making
it all that much worse. An indoor swimming pool in the summer - if there is
a hotter place this side of Hell, let me know.

But to an extent I was OK. I had my laptop with me while I waited for my
daughter to flounder her way through her swimming lesson (well, not quite
flounder, that's a bit mean), so I could write inspired by the occasional
glimpse of a young boy or girl being changed out of their swimming kit by
their mother, right there in the seating area. Of course they imagined the
towels around their little treasure's treasures would be good enough to
hide them from the gaze of passers-by, but they were wrong. The towels
almost always slipped just enough to see something if you were looking for
it. And I was.

I'd already seen one cute little dick, though the book was a few years
younger than those in whom I'd normally take an interest. Still, a hairless
young dick is a hairless young dick, up to a point, so I wasn't
ungrateful. Just horny, really.

I don't usually go to the toilets there and check out young boys - it's
just so overlooked, and would seem suspicious, I think, if every week when
I was there I disappeared inside for ten minutes and emerged with a lump in
my jeans. So I typically reserve my visits for those times I'm especially
horny, and just can't bear the thought of leaving without at least trying
to see something. This was most definitely one of those situations, and so
having acted bored for a bit, and having already put away my laptop, I'd
head to the gents and see if anything would happen.

I made sure there were no boys en route - I'm convinced it looks worse if
you follow a boy in, even if you started moving before they did - and made
my way inside. The smell of the place hit me first - the sour tang of stale
urine with a top note of disinfectant. It never fails to turn me on, that
smell, not because I particularly like it, but because some of the best
encounters I've had have been brief ones with boys, in toilets just like
these.

There are two doors to the place, and passing through the inner door you
come face to face with the cubicles, two of them, side by side. I've
checked the woodwork between the two, and it's annoyingly free of little
spy holes, so I don't even bother with those. Instead I wheeled right, past
the sinks, to where two urinals stand next to each other, one slightly
lower than the other. The taller one is to the right, and the lower to the
left - I took position at the former, and waited to see what might
happen. There is no divider between the two, so there is nothing to prevent
me seeing all that a boy has, should he choose to stand next to me.

My heart was racing already. Just the thought that I might be about to
catch a glimpse of a young dick up close is usually enough to push my BPM
through the roof. I toyed with my dick, but the adrenaline of what I was
doing made it difficult to get hard. That said, it didn't stop me leaking
like a hose.

I was there about two or three minutes, and beginning to wonder if perhaps
I should just give up and cut my losses, when the sound from the door
changed suddenly - the outer door had opened, letting through a little more
of the chaotic noise from the pool beyond. it carried with it two voices,
both young boys. They were high pitched enough that I was worried that
perhaps nothing at all would come from my wait, and as the inner door
opened, making their voices even louder, I managed to pretty much convince
myself that it was useless anyway, they'd take one stall each (or even cram
into the same one, as brothers often do) and I would be left standing there
feeling like a complete numpty.

Imagine my jubilation, then, when one of the voices came my way, and in the
space of a handful of hyperactive heartbeats I had a young boy standing
next to me, pulling down the front of his trunks.

Rather like the Holmes, I did a quick analysis of him. I couldn't tell you
what he had for dinner, but for the record he was about eight years old (oh
that he was a couple of years older!), had short, dark hair which was
plastered wetly to his head, and a slim, lithe body. There was still the
gently outward swell to his tummy which we associate with youth, but there
wasn't really any fat on him.

And, of course, he was dressed in nothing but trunks, the front of which he
pulled down without a hint of shyness, letting loose the only part of his
anatomy I really, truly cared about. He was uncut, as most boys are in my
neck of the woods, and his not-quite-soft little willy was the length and
breadth of my little finger - that is, about two and a half inches long,
and perhaps two thirds of an inch across. It was lily-white, with a tiny
tracery of blue veins running down the side. The head, slightly engorged I
fancied (as young boys often are just before they wee), stood a little
fatter than the shaft, and the foreskin which enveloped it extended beyond
the tip half and inch or so, and flared gently like an emerging rose. His
balls were still tucked behind the waist band of his swimming trunks, and
there was just enough stiffness in his willy that he didn't need to hold it
as he aimed it at the bowl.

I watched in utter fascination as his little dick gave a kick, and the
foreskin bulged for a moment before a pale yellow stream burst forth, fat
and crystal clear. I kept my eyes on him, but moved the hand nearest him
away from my dick, leaving him a full view should he wish to take it. He
stood there oblivious to me, it seemed, until his flow was slowing. Only
then did he glance across, his eyes coming to rest for the briefest of
moments on my wet-tipped manhood, now slightly swollen by the sight in
front of me. Then he looked down and his willy gave another jerk as he
fired out the last little quirt of wee, and quick as a flash he was gone.

I stood there for a little longer, my head spinning at the sight I had
seen, at the thought that his perfect little willy, so suckable and smooth,
had been revealed not two feet from my own. My heart slowly returned to
normal, I tucked my dick back into my boxers, zipped up and returned
poolside, to the dreadful mundanity of my normal life.



The End



What did you think? Get in touch: zackmcnaught@hotmail.com