Date: Wed, 15 Oct 2003 08:30:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: Arch Thomas <lohungstud@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Pool

When I tell you his name was Ed Olson, your mind probably generates a
picture of some Scandinavian god, blond, tall, fair skinned.  Sorry!
Someone in Eddy's family definitely came from somewhere south of Denmark.
To say he had an olive complexion would not be accurate either, but his
dark hair and laughing eyes didn't fit the Norse (or Swedish) god image at
all. His chest was broad but not deep, bare of hair except for the dark
tufts below his arms, and tapered perfectly to his waist.  I have seen a
picture of a statue somewhere in Europe that he could have been the model
for. From broad shoulders his trim body showed the hint of "six-pack" abs
but his was the first I noticed that drew into indentations above the hips,
and those indentations gave way as you looked forward to a firm abdomen,
where the next of that dark hair was evidenced in a "pleasure train"
plunging to a dark bush about his eighteen year old equipment.  But wait,
I'm ahead of my story.

When I was about 10 my dad took me to the YMCA where my athletic older
brother was swimming in some minor competition.  It was my first exposure
to real exposure.  As the contestants started to file in I remarked, in a
somewhat too loud child's voice, that they had "moustaches".  Whether my
dad was puzzled or embarrassed I cannot say, but when one of the older boys
came in and I noted he had two moustaches, Dad decided I might be a bit
young for this scene. What rite of manhood causes the Y and boy's schools
to have us swim in the nude?  I think I found out a few years later.

No great shakes as a scholar in elementary school, I suddenly found myself
in a predicament in eighth grade when I discovered all (well almost all) of
my pals from our small school were headed for the Academy. Whether it was
my whining, or the fact that I could pull out a good grade on finals, or
Dad's aggressiveness, I got to go. It had to be among the top college prep
schools in the country, with close ties to Harvard, and graduates each year
going on to Stanford, the military academies and the Ivy League. There too,
we swam nude. I cannot adequately tell you of the fine young budding bodies
I saw there each day, the swinging meat that hung low in the shower rooms,
the round globular buts that glistened in those showers, but I can tell you
about Skip.

Skip's family lived next door to the headmaster's house on the edge of our
prep school's campus. Now here was a body headed for the idealized blond
figure, with the shoulders and trim waist and firm chest and abs of which I
spoke above. His problem was one day at the pool, as I admired his round
rear he turned around with what we still called a "boner".  Not just erect
but straining against its own skin as only a teenage dick can. He stood
there at the end of the pool and I, seated for the usual reason in the
bleachers, had my first mental image of what to do with something like
that. Like my buddies from our little town nearby, I'd learned the
pleasures of stroking my own, but Skip's long pink penis called for more.
When at last he left for the showers I slipped away to a quiet spot near
the dining hall to relieve myself, thinking of Skip.

A few days later Skip and I were sitting in the waiting area thirty minutes
before the noon meal.  As much as I wanted to just see that body of his
again, I hadn't said anything to him about his display. He said he'd just
heard a new joke and moved next to me on the couch. It seem this FBI agent
was putting the make on a female he'd seen in the company of foreign spies
from which he hoped to get some information.  As Skip started the story his
hand moved up my thigh to illustrate the agent's actions. "I'm Jones of the
FBI and I want to learn things from you" went the dialogue. Skip probably
had no idea the effect of these whispers and his hand had on me (or did he?
I'm sure the sweat was appearing on my forehead). AS he reached my groin,
the "female " in the story said "As long as you're up there, scratch my
nuts, I'm Smith of the CIA". My laughter assured Skip of my full
appreciation of his story (and relieved my of overwhelming tension). A
moment later I told Skip of the nearby "quiet spot" I'd discovered and
without a word more we rushed to its dark confines.

Standing there in the unlit boy's room I dropped my pants and began to work
on my already very ready pink freshman's dick when I heard Skip moan. He
said he'd already shot and I questioned him; we'd been there but a few
seconds. Reaching down I felt the wet evidence of his veracity and his
virility. I held that slender throbbing penis and bent low to place its wet
head in my mouth. My very first cock, already spent (or so I thought) and
warm and wonderful in my mouth.  I'm quite sure Skip was far more surprised
that I when a second spasm pressed his hips into my face and a second
orgasm racked his slender frame, sending a warm stream into my mouth. Mine
took but a stroke or two thereafter to fire.

Stuffing our members back into our pants we went up for lunch. I think it
was wieners and kraut.

A few days later, I was in the headmaster's outer office for one of my
usual transgressions when I heard voices through the door to the inner
sanctum. The woman's voice complained "Can't you just give us some idea why
he's being put out?" The man voiced similar upset but apparently got no
better explanation.  After a few more minutes, out came Skip's parents,
flushed and in obvious frustration and puzzlement.  The next day I learned
Skip was no longer in the school.

Was Skip's display in the pool the reason? Was having us swim in the nude a
way to spot incipient homosexuality? I know not, nor have the years since
given me a clue, only that the custom extended to our engineering, all-male
college, which brings us back to Eddy and me.

While a recent fund drive had allowed the start of construction on the
Institute's first real gym, we still used a converted church a few blocks
from the campus.  The balcony had become a track of sorts, the main floor
hosted our basketball program, and somehow a pool had been dug in the
basement.  Phys-ed was compulsory, to keep us nerds well rounded, I guess.
We could make up missed classes in the weight room or the pool, and I
preferred the latter. So did Eddy.

One cold Cleveland winter night we headed for that pool, long after any
formal activities had ceased, to make up the phys-ed classes missed by
drinking at the Brick Cottage. We stripped in the locker room and headed
for the pool carrying just our towels.  Like many of you who have a special
affinity for the male body, I averted my eyes from the fine figure before
me, dropped my towel at poolside and plunged into the concealing waters.
There I took my first real look at Eddy's body that I described at the
start of this story. You read where I said he had little body hair, but his
taut legs sported a fine black cover. Imagine as I recall that contrast,
smooth bod and hairy legs, joining at a thick black triangle from which
rose a thin wispy trail leading up to the navel. I had a periscope rising
from my groin that broke the water's surface as I backstroked down the
pool's length.

I don't think Eddy had noticed this snorkel, as he was jumping up and down
on the low board at the pool's end.  His short flaccid dick began to react
to the bobbing motions and it hardened much like mine.

Now these stories carry many descriptions of the males' outstanding
feature, but rarely do they address two features, color and head shape.  My
shaft is pint and rather slender.  Though thick dicks seem to fill the
stories and imaginations of our writers, I have found the slender ones much
firmer; at least mine was in those days. Fair skinned as I am, to this day
I have a healthy pinkness to my shaft and the head is a pink-rimmed purple
of the traditional (?) "helmet" or "mushroom" shape. I spoke of Eddy's
slight olive skin color and, is so often the case that begets a dark shaft.
Thicker than me, his equipment ended in a squarish, dark head. As this
recitation suggests, Eddy's activities on the diving board had altered his
appearance. With a great erection projecting from that ideal body he dove
into the pool to my admiring stare.

Who knows exactly how we turn conversations to our intent in circumstances
such as these? I do know that as eddy sat on pool's edge above the ladder I
swam over before him scanning the show rising between those dark hairy
legs. I somehow conveyed my interest in swimming up to a spot between those
legs but Eddy completely rejected me.  He rolled away, lying on the
concrete poolside a yard or two away, on his back, with one arm over his
eyes and the far leg raised to redirect the muddle one my way for better
inspection. No caution could contain my lust! I pulled myself over the
poolside, dragging my hot dick against the tiles, and found my way crawling
to where Eddy lay.

Why do we swim naked?  Why was there a naked march around the frat house as
each new pledge class passes through "hell week"? Why are boy's showers
usually communal, with nothing to hide us as we lather our parts? There is
no question why I so love these traditions. I have to believe that the
straightest of us admires some of what he sees in a boy's pool or shower
room.  The human body draws us all, as I was drawn to Eddy's that night, or
Skip's four years earlier. Some of us express ourselves as I did with Eddy,
grasping the shaft with my left hand to draw it to my lips, while my right
found the unique rough-but-soft surface of his scrotum.  Had Eddy any gay
thoughts in his mind as my head rose and fell above his groin?  I neither
know nor care.  Like Skip, he was not around long, but for scholastic
rather than behavioral reasons. Like Skip his head and shaft, though
thicker as a college freshman's might be expected to be, filled my mouth
with a warm satisfying feeling, and as I drew back for a moment to admire
my feast I witnessed an amazing sight.  That dark flesh actually bulged
along the bottom tube and a white geyser blew forth, not in just one spurt
as we all are accustomed to, but in a continuous stream that lasted, I
would guess, a full three seconds, followed by shorter spasms of equally
great pressure, covering his fine chest and shoulders. I kissed each of
those balls from which this gift had flowed, arose, beat my willing dick
off in the shower, dressed and returned to the dorm, satisfied as never
before in my life. These scenes of Eddy fill my mind these many years
later.  Hope they'll bring pleasure to yours.

lohungstud@yahoo.com