Date: Tue, 25 Mar 2003 17:54:10 -0600
From: gloryhole JUNKIE <gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com>
Subject: Whoring With Dad Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

WHORING WITH DAD
Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

TrueLife tales by a denizen of the public toilets

By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

The author reserves all rights to the following tale. Masturbate to it but
please do NOT copy, publish or re-print it without the author's direct
consent.


PREFACE & DISCLAIMER

No one told you to read this. It is not required government reading. It is
not going to be on the SATs. It is not text from the Scriptures. It is not
an old family recipe for cream soup (well, perhaps).

Therefore, if you have decided to persist in reading the following tale,
which is most-assuredly filled with lurid and depraved (and totally true!)
acts of a decidedly perverse homosexual nature, I would hope you will face
the obvious fact that, despite any sexual repression you are suffering,
something in your libidinous psyche is clearly and evidently drawn to its
title.

And as its title is not what one could consider to be opaque, and was indeed
specifically chosen (by a panel of homosexual erotica specialists in Zurich)
to clearly provide enough of a WARNING that even brain-injured monkeys
should understand the story's potential contents, it shall be presumed that
any reader with an I.Q. rated higher than said monkeys ought to know what it
may entail.

Whew! (What a mouth full...although nothing compared to the mouthfuls in the
following story)!

Now, if all these warnings and guideposts should fail, we shall rely on
another, perhaps more reliable indicator of your insistence in pursuing the
reading of the following story. That indicator would be found in your lap.
Or more concisely, in your trousers, between your legs...no, to the left
more...left...left...yes, that thingy!

Since you sat down to surf for Internet erotica (come on, admit to that
much, my good man) does your fly's zipper now bulge just a bit more? Look
down...go ahead. Bigger down there, aren't you? Just slightly, perhaps, but
it's going in the right direction, no? Sure, no one's looking, cop a feel.
It's good stuff, isn't it? Hell, pull that zipper down, give that big
wienerschnitzel of yours some room to breathe.

So, it is established that there is a particular meatiness to your crotch
right now. That, my horny reader, is caused by (although perhaps yet vague)
sense of sexual stimulation.

Or perhaps you are feeling particularly randy and adventurous ('wife's been
away a while, huh, stud?) and you're past that "throwing a mild boner" stage
(tossesus bonerus mildedius). Instead, already, your manhood is throbbing
and oozing with scrotal nut honey. This is caused by your cerebral self
connecting in a full and healthy manner with your physical self ("MISSION
CONTROL, we have brain talking to penis"). If so, heck, you're ahead of the
game, my most erect reader.

And it's another sure sign that you should have some indication as to what
the following tale may hold.

And add to this the fact that if you also took a momentary break from
reading this Preface and Warning to reassure yourself that you have indeed
locked your office or bedroom door. And even went so far as to double-check
to make certain that your wife or mother or secretary is not about to barge
in. And if you raced back to your monitor to continue reading this with that
same sense of "arousal in the trousers". And you pulled out the big box of
Kleenex you keep stashed in the side cabinet of your computer desk...I think
we can be assured we're all on the same wave-length, (or page as it were),
here.

At this point, it must be stated that should you begin to read the following
tale (let alone, get through it all) only to be shocked and mortified by
it's contents in the end, then it could be considered a valid point in any
legal argument that you are a reader with problems.  In plainer English, you
would be considered to be a monkey in 49 states. A monkey who is, although
talented and capable of reading prefaces and warnings, is not capable of
comprehending them. There is little anyone can do for you in that instance.
(Even less since The Ed Sullivan Show has been off the air for 30-plus
years).

Whoring with Dad is a series of TrueLife homo-erotica written at the turn of
the last century...

Actually, it was something banged out rather quickly on a very sticky
keyboard. It is a collection of true tales from the Life of yours truly.
True would indeed imply that events actually occurred - which they did. They
are events from my real, actual life. Some would perhaps call the tales
various segments of a sexual memoir. But as it's not that slavishly accurate
in minute detail. Rather, the term dirty stories may seem equally apt in
describing them. Certain events are changed slightly for clarity and
story-telling. But rest assured, everything described happened in reality
and in the time frame as told in the stories.

In many of my true accounts, I describe men with big nine or ten inch
penises (Oh My!). Men who are big and hung and hairy and married and full of
semen. These "characters" are not mere imaginings. What can I say? I have
had great luck all my life getting it on with other males. And let it prove
to demonstrate that many of the biggest lugs, often married men with pretty
wives and many children of their own, secretly and chronically tug down
their zippers or pull down their slacks for illicit sex with other men and
boys (which should it become known would surely cause some consternation
among their wives).

Names have been changed, although so few names were ever exchanged it seems
a moot point. The one exception would be "dad". "Dad" will just have to deal
with the general public knowing he was "Dad".

Places referred to herein are accurate and their names have not been
changed. Hopefully, this will add authenticity, as well as, the fact they
may stir memories among readers who may be among the strangers encountered
in the story. If you recognize a place or a sexual act in which you may have
participated, please feel free to contact the author.

This is not a gay story for few such father and son tales could be told if
all the participants were decidedly gay. It is recognized that although
perhaps most readers will come to the tale from a son's perspective, there
are many readers who are, right now, real live fathers enjoying this tale
secretly and with great longing desire.

And other readers are strictly wonderfully nasty men who would most likely
enjoy simply happening upon any such set of circumstances.

TECHNO-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS: I urge all readers to be of legal age. I
suggest you wear a condom (yadayadayada). I suggest you not have
indiscriminate sex with hundreds of other males in public toilets and XXX
establishments. I suggest you do not get into your own son's and/or father's
pants.

Now on with the story!

Whoring with Dad
Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

I had spent the entire day having sex in public places. It's funny how one
can be so immersed in sex, especially anonymous sex, that at the beginning
of one's sex day, one hardly gives a thought to ever returning home. And so
it's always a bit amazing to be back at home those many hours later. One
puts the key in the lock of the front door with a bit of questioning as if
to ask, 'Why did I leave that sex place?' or 'When did I become so sated
this evening as to have decided to return home?'

On those mornings whenever I set out to spend the whole day whoring (which
is most days), my only thought is to quickly-as-possible get to a place
where many men's paths cross, pressing my open mouth to a heavily-trafficked
gloryhole, and keeping it there until the cows come home (or just 'til the
bulls cum...).


As great an oddity as it may be for the non-promiscuous man to understand
ever leaving his home in order to spend his entire day having sex with total
strangers, it should be said that it's conversely odd for a promiscuous man
as he reaches that point in his evening when he decides to head home from an
entire day of having sex with total strangers.

The reasons one puts an end to one's day of whoring are as varied as are the
whores. For some it's because they have to go to work the following morning.
For others it's because their bodies give out (ah, old whores and
workhorses). And for still others, the decision is made for them: as whorish
as they may be, no one is putting out after a while.

As I have great stamina and can whore and whore and whore, the physical has
never been my limitation. I can literally have sex with dozens and dozens of
men from sun up to ...(the next) sun up. As a cocksucker, I have to say that
although there is a brief moment when they ache a bit, once giving fifteen
or twenty blowjobs, like any other athlete, my knees enter the Zone. And
from that point on, I could blow every man on every U.S. military base and
service each and every gloryhole on every floor of the Sears Tower.

So physical things don't put an end to my whoring day. I have ended sex
sessions to attend funerals, to get to a meeting, to pick up my aunt at the
train station, to run to the supermarket before it closes if I know I need
more Coffeemate for the morning. Occasionally, I'll end a sexcapade day if
the trade dries up. I believe in cutting one's losses. I've had an end put
to my sex marathons when cops have done a sweep of the woods I'm servicing.
I have had to pull my lips off a stranger's huge dick in order to catch the
last train outta town.

If one didn't have to deal with all the other aspects of Life, I could whore
"24/7" putting the piggy trailer girls of the Jerry Springer Show to shame.
Actually, I would love to convert my house into a free brothel for guys.
Open 24 HOURS as stated on a blinking neon sign by the street.

In fact, if it weren't illegal (which I imagine it would be) but especially
if some men weren't psycho killers and thieves, I would do just that: take
the locks off my doors, have a big mattress on the floor and just let any
guy needing to get his rocks off fast, stop by and unload. Put any Nevada
pussy ranch right out of business.

But as that probably can't occur, I (along with millions of other men over
the decades) have simply turned to the gloryholes and t-rooms and adult
theaters as our make-shift all-male free bordellos.

And so, as I have enormous stamina and little reason to put an end to my
"whoring day", yet do need to occasionally get some sleep and get to the dry
cleaners now and then, I long ago devised a system for putting some sense of
"closure" to any whoring day.

When I was about thirteen and sucking dicks in the public toilets and
bookstore gloryhole arcades of Chicago and it's 'burbs, I quickly came to
discover that there could be days when there was seemingly no end to the
dicks in line for my throat. Literally.

At first, I didn't set out on those afternoons after school with the
intention of sucking off strings of men through holes in public train
station or mall men's room stalls.  It sounds cliched but indeed, it did
just sort of happen.

I was a relatively shy twelve year old when I happily took to whoring in the
men's rooms and arcades. So it was not as if I wore imported-from-Berlin S&M
gear beneath my Catholic schoolboy uniform, stripping out of it in a toilet
stall.

At that age, I don't recall ever giving a man a come hither look. I never
batted eyelashes or licked lips or tossed out my little bee-hind like a boy
fawn in a NAMBLA tale.  But I was very enthused and determined to have sex
with as many adult men as I could at the time. I simply loved sex and
preferred the physiques of men, much, much older men.

I was just like so many other typical, regular, "normal" junior high kids.
Not scrawny for my age but not big and buff either. I was better looking
than average. I knew that. But I was not a classic pretty boy all drawn to a
mirror and hair mousse.

I was not of a jock mentality but excelled at most sports. But it was
Catholic junior high sports, if you know what that may mean. Lots of running
around the Cathedral school parking lots in gym clothes.

My parents were both in the book business. My mother's family owned and ran
really rather prestigious, legitimate bookshops. One shop, very low-key in
that scholarly-book seller's sort of way, was on Michigan Avenue and was a
favorite of erudite citizenry. This was just before the advent of a coffee
bar in every bookstore when the primary mission and interest of such shops
was, while considered somewhat surprising today, books. On certain special
days, they would offer a formal high tea while a noted author would read
from one of her recent histories on Western Europe or some such offering.

My father had worked for my mother's family at the bookstores and that's how
they met. He was an averagely-educated book lover. As my mother had attended
only the best schools (and for a long time), everyone else's education was
considered to pale in comparison. In actual fact, my father removed from my
mother's context was above-averagely-educated.

I would suggest that my father, when it came down to facts and figures, was
equal in his education to my mother. It was simply the pedigrees which cast
differing hues upon the sheepskins.

My mother was thisside of a snob. In her heart, she never quite made it to
official snobbery but she flirted with it so often, that it often times
seemed it would have been better had she just kicked the maid down the
stairs rather then always hinting about it.

And from my mother, I learned from a very young age about other places on
the big globe in the library at home. If certain details meant nothing to
her, it was vital that I learned about Fine Art and Music and good food. I
could crack a lobster like no one's business when I was five. For all her
occasionally petty  (contemporarily aka: bitchy) ways, I felt oddly more
secure with my mother than with my father.

Not secure in a financial way or even in any assessment of love and
affection. But deeply and profoundly as a child, I knew my soul was that of
an artist and like her mother's milk, that she fed to me.

Although she always smelled of Joy perfume and argued that mink was ranch
raised and that we ought to worry more about the world's chickens who are
the one's actually doomed to mass slaughter, her dedication to the Arts was
what bonded me most closely to her.

And here you thought this was going to be a classic homo cocksucker
hate-mother love-father tale!

My father on the other hand, was a different story. Although he appreciated
the biggest shrimp on a platter and luxurious sheets, his idea of a classy
decor was something reminiscent of the Player's Suite at the Flamingo Hotel.
Whereas my mother was a fine Bordeaux, dad, although Chicago Irish was
something of Corona beer. For every sip of her, the vast populace gulped
down gallons of my dad (so to speak). He was a crowd-pleaser and accessible.
Mom required more time and a more refined audience.

He was one of those men who could wear the most butt-ugly shirt off the rack
and somehow make it work. Dad looked great in anything he wore but it was
due more to his physique than his taste in fashion. I simply could never
understand how one man could find so many ugly shirts in the marketplace.
One had to look hard for some of his choices. Fortunate for him people
stared at his bulging biceps more so than at the pattern of his shirts.

His tastes were not nearly as refined as my mother's but I suppose in the
grand scheme of things, his picks would be those of the great unwashed
majority (as my mother would say). But all his brasher, louder goofiness
just made him seem more with the times as compared to my mother. And it made
him far sexier.

He was always the man who turned heads. Even when I was a very little kid,
around three or four years of age, I knew, as kids just know, that everyone
liked my dad. I didn't quite understand the little flirtations he was
receiving at that time but it was fun to be with dad. And in retrospect, the
sense of flirtation must have fueled a lot of the good vibe he sent off.

In fact, although my mother was a very beautiful woman, having modeled in
Paris during college, she exuded qualities that were more elegant glamour
than sexiness.

My father, though, was Sexuality-in-Shoes. If charisma is loaded in sex
appeal, dad was oozing with testosterone charm. He was "dark" Irish and
built like a longshoreman (well, like those longshoremen in gay porno
stories). He was six foot-two of solid muscle weighing in at two-hundred
pounds. He was big and brawny with hairy muscled pecs. He had long, strong
hairy legs. He always wore his heavy gold wedding ring which drew attention
to his big hands. On his left wrist he wore a big, no-nonsense Timex watch.

It was often said after their divorce that a lot of my mother's sex appeal
was directly related to my father's sex appeal. That she could afford to be
the Queen of England in public because she must have been a wild woman in
the bedroom to keep a man like my father happy.

Yet, despite my birth, I have to admit that rumors are not always true. In
fact, my parents were never very sexual with one another even at home.
During the good years they were as demonstrative as they were during the bad
years. That is to say, my mother exhibited little that was frankly sexual.
In fact, things that were overtly sexual turned my mother off completely.
"Why can't they just keep it a sweet romance...?", she'd complain as some
movie or another would get to the 70's requisite sex scene. My father would
never argue but just remain very silent on the subject.

And from a very young age, this pattern of behavior confused me. Although I
had no understanding of the complexities and depths of the matter, I did
have a basic, innate of the Sexual.  Perhaps it was from merely being a
sexual creature or it was some sensibility or another rubbed which off on
me, but I had this clear, profound sense, or opinion, if you will about
sexuality. Even as young as four or five, I knew that what I was about my
father was something sexual. And I knew my mother's major lacking was
something sexual.

Not that I had a fully formulated vision of what sexuality entailed but it
was that broad, coarse sense that he was a man and she was a woman. And that
the man, my dad, was more physical and was more about his body. And that my
mother was less physical and more about her intellect.

Of course, such gender stereotypes are not always accurate about sexual
matters but as a child, your World is your parents. And in my World, the man
was sexual and the woman was cerebral.  And the man was dad and the woman
was mom. The World made perfect sense when I was five.

Adding to my sense of my father's sexuality was not only his but other's
behaviors around him. It was indeed the mild flirtations when we'd go to
restaurants or the grocery store. Women who seemed so stern would become all
smiles. People would smile, open doors. It was as if the world was a bit
friendlier whenever I was out with my dad.

And at the time, I had little real understanding of another of a direct
sexual nature. My father was the man in my World and his was the first and
only adult penis I saw until I was seven years old.

My father had little modesty as compared to my mother. My mother would
awaken at five-thirty in the morning and be dressed by the time I got up for
school. I would see her in her bedclothes and sometimes in a slip dashing
about as they'd ready for a dinner party. But I never saw her naked or even
in her bra and panties.

Although far less modest, my father always observed and respected my
mother's unspoken rules about attire and behavior around the house. At least
when she was home.

I always was allowed into my dad's bathroom in the mornings when he's be
standing at the sinks shaving. I could walk in on him if he were home alone
changing clothes in their bedroom. But the moment my mother would come home,
he's tell me I'd best "skeddaddle" if I didn't want to hear my mother go
off.

There may be some debate over what my father's secret intentions may have
been at the time as I was permitted to stand right beside him and squirt out
the shaving cream for him. He'd be standing right along side me, naked, his
boxer shorts on a hook on the back of the door. His penis and scrotum,
enormous to me at the time would be just above my forehead. His flaccid
penis hung like a thick piece of bratwurst. Before I was seven, the only
direct sexual contact I had with him was once when I was five or so and he
stood at the sink combing his hair getting ready for a gala evening. Without
any provocation, I grabbed his penis shaft gently, well, the best I could
due to it's girth, and asked in a most-serious manner, "How can a baby come
out of there?"

My father was never one to get flustered and he turned toward me a bit and
quietly said, "Babies don't come out of here, I'm a man. Babies only come
out of mommies..." He then spoke even more softly as he hefted his big
plum-sized testicles in their sac and said, "We daddies make a milk inside
of these," he stated as he showed off his huge fist full of hairy scrotum to
me.

At that point, I was lost. Milk? Only mommies made milk, I thought. I said
nothing but he could see my furrowed questioning brow.

"The milk comes out of here", he added using his fingers to trace the path a
sperm would take from nuts to piss slit. It ended when I held his scrotum
and said, "How much milk do they hold?" I suppose he may have gone on to
answer me had I not just then grabbed his testicles a bit too eagerly. He
pulled back in a knee-jerk response and said he had to finish getting ready.

I left the bathroom not thinking too much more about it. Then the baby
sitter came over and she turned on the Mary Tyler Moore show as my parents
prepared to leave. The incident was almost forgotten except for every
morning when I would now hope to see my father's milk bags rather than just
his pee pee.

But I still was yet to become a true cock whore. I didn't leap, as one might
suspect in true life whore tales, from feeling my father's big scrotum to
blowing the middle-aged postman in the stairwell at age five.

But I was on my way.

When I had just turned seven, in fact it was the Tuesday following my Sunday
birthday, my father took me for the first tie to the Lawson YMCA on Chicago
Avenue. It was just a couple of blocks off Michigan Avenue. I didn't know
where we were going as he wouldn't tell me, simply saying it would be a fun
surprise. My father had the day off and my mother was at the bookstore. They
would alternate certain days of the week to be certain one or the other was
home as I got in from school.

In retrospect, I suppose he didn't tell me we were going to the Lawson Y so
I could not have accidentally mentioned it to my mother prior to our going.
She would have most likely not embraced the concept.

The Lawson Y was not far from where we lived, only about a half a mile. But
it was indeed a world way. Although he told my mother we may go swimming, I
know my father never mentioned the Lawson Y to her specifically. I know
because I recall how he had me promise not to tell her where the fun pool
was when the day was done.

"Just tell her we went to Oak Street ...", (which was the beach across the
street for the Gold Coast area) he directed.

Arriving home from school, in my final weeks of the first grade, I happened
to meet my dad outside our building as he was also just happened to be
getting home from work. We ran upstairs to the apartment, changed clothes
and then met again in the kitchen where dad had made a half a tuna salad
sandwich, which we split. For reasons unknown, I was very excited. I didn't
even know what we were going to do or where we'd be going. My father seemed
oddly excited and that energy spilled over to me.

Instead of taking the car, we went out front and hailed a taxi on Lake Shore
Drive. Getting in, my dad told the cabbie where to go. I had never heard of
the Lawson Y before so it went in and out one ear. I was on an adventure
with dad, the day was beautiful and all was well with the world.

In just a few minutes, we arrived at the entrance to the tall building. We
could have walked the relatively short distance to the Y but dad wanted to
get there for some reason extra fast. It was not even three-thirty on a
Tuesday afternoon but he seemed to be in a rush of some sort.

I don't recall much about entering at that time. I remember it was very cool
yet damp even in the lobby. And it seemed dark. We went to a counter and my
dad talked to some man. I stood there looking around and recall seeing what
seemed to be aged old men in big dumpy club chairs just sitting staring into
space. One may have been reading a newspaper.

The Lawson Y was there for a long time and was one of those perfect all-male
YMCAs with rooms available for sailors, rag-a-tags,
husbands-in-the-doghouse-for-the-night, recently divorced men and traveling
guys.

And it always had a (very well deserved) reputation for, well, what the
Village People would later reveal in song. Not that that I at the time had a
clue, but people would make a comment here and there that made one know or
sense that all the "activities" in that particular Y weren't necessarily
"Christian", if ya know what I mean (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

The Lawson Y had two requirements in order to join and use their facilities.
One had to be male, of course, and be over the age of eighteen. Or I should
say, had to be over eighteen years of age unless accompanied by a parent.
And as it was all-male, that narrowed it down to a dad bringing his son. I
think that rule only added to the intrigue and mysterious allure of the
place. As if to tease: what all goes on, on those upper floors, that one
must be a certifiably adult male in order to witness?!

One was not suppose to be past the 1st (lobby) floor which was a vast space
that was sort of a cross between a big hotel lobby, a community center and a
flophouse (all in drab shades of institutional gray) of this old
"skyscraper" YMCA.

On this particular day, my very first visit to the Lawson Y, my dad and I
went up to the lobby level check in counter. It was very much a hotel
reception desk sort of set up sans floral arrangements. A man could join and
then add a related minor to his membership. That was the only way someone
under eighteen was allowed to "join". This was still in final days of there
being a distinction between "Men's" YMCAs or "Family" YMCAs.

It was only an addition $10 or so to a man's membership to add his son. As
my dad paid, I was standing there looking around at the men sitting in the
lobby reading newspapers and some playing cards. All of them appeared to be
older men easily over the age of fifty.

The man at the desk suddenly got my attention as he smiled big and said,
"Here's your pass...don't lose it." He was about 45 and I can only imagine
what he was really thinking.

The man behind the check in, a man as tall as but older than my dad, came
around the counter and said, "So you're all of seven, are you?"

I said something brilliant I am sure, like, "Seven and two days."

He chuckled as he squatted down beside me. In a very low, stage whisper, he
said, "Well, normally you have to be eighteen to come in here but since
you're with your dad, it's okay," he said as he took a key on a big safety
pin and attached it to my t shirt. "So you stay with your dad the whole time
you're here otherwise we won't know who you belong to."

I looked at the key on my shirt. The man added, "Your dad will show you,
that will open you locker upstairs."

My dad gave the man some cash and signed in. "Have fun now", the check in
man said to us with a wink as we went to either the stairwell or an elevator
to go up to the locker room floor.

The Lawson was not a "family-oriented" place and unlike other YMCA's it was
intended strictly for adult men. The exception would be a minor with a
parent. But I doubt many fathers other than mine would have ever brought
their kids to the Lawson for an afternoon swim. And as I later came to know
first-hand, it was an odd rarity to ever find anyone under twenty-one, let
alone under eighteen, anywhere on the premises. I would many years later
"sneak" into the Lawson at age fifteen and was never carded but I found
myself to always be the youngest person there by far.

There was absolutely nothing glamorous about the gray concrete Lawson. It
had very man-oriented facilities from a basketball court to a nude-only
swimming pool to work out rooms. Other floors were rooms men could rent by
the night or week. It wasn't a gay bathhouse but one could never tell the
men in the saunas that.

The Lawson was the prototype for every masculine bathhouse that would exist.
It was populated by sailors on leave, old men who liked sucking young dicks,
married men on the outs with the wife for the week and very masculine
closeted men who liked to work-out and hang out with other closeted men. No
women were allowed on the premises. Or perhaps just on the lobby level. It
was very strict about the presence of females.

On the locker room level, we went through a gate-like thing and a man in
white stopped dead in his tracks. He was very old to me at the time,
probably in his late-fifties. He was honestly surprised. He said, "You come
to work out your muscles, little guy?"

My father didn't say much. Just that we were going to use the pool.

"In that case, you'll need a towel each," the man said as he went to a small
window and reached in to grab us two white towels. "Don't go getting it
soaking wet, little guy, one towel to a customer."

He handed me the towel and I grasped it like gold. I dare not drop it as I
saw water in small puddles over closer to the lockers.

"He's a cute one...just be careful...", the man said discreetly to my
father. "Don't want anything happening that you don't want to have happen."

My dad and I went to the rows and rows of lockers. I may have noticed that
no one else was a kid like myself but I didn't think much that they were all
adult men either. If anything, I may have felt that there were many old men
at this place. Although there were men in their twenties through their
eighties at the Lawson, the vast majority of users were most probably in
their forties and fifties.

We located our lockers, directly beside one another. As the plan was to just
use the pool, my dad had brought with us just a small toiletries case. As
the pool was nude swimming only, and we were not going to use the work out
rooms, we didn't have need for any change of clothes.

I had never swum in the nude before but my dad said it was okay and that the
whole building only had men inside so no women or girls would ever see.  I
was excited but not in a particularly sexual way with the idea about nude
swimming. My sexual excitement was that I would get to see my dad's big
penis again. We took off out shoes and as I sat on the bench my dad stood
along side of me, arranging items in his locker.

Just then, some man with very white hair kept coming back and forth and back
and forth wearing only a towel. Then another man came into out row of
lockers and took one just two down from mine. He said a hello to us. He was
a rather handsome man in his early fifties. He was wearing a pinstriped
dress shirt and tie. It never occurred to me before that businessmen would
go to a YMCA during working hours. Hey, I was seven.

I sat there on the bench dawdling I suppose. My dad started opening the belt
of his slacks and the man next me did the same. The other white-haired man
just came back and forth. My dad paid him no attention so I didn't either.

Almost in unison my dad and the businessman unzipped their slacks and pulled
them off. The man shocked me as he wore red bikini underwear which stuck out
beneath his dress shirt. My dad always wore boxers or "normal" white
Jockeys. Again, I never knew a businessman would wear anything like red
bikini underwear. The man opened his shirt and showed off a fine broad
expanse of chest. Dark gray hair along his pecs and stomach. My eyes went
down to his crotch and the size of his bulge had me speechless.

My eyes went to my dad who now stood at his locker naked, his long penis
just hanging there. And that big scrotum of his again. Even at seven I could
see my dad had a wonderful body. When your dad has a great body, you see the
comparisons with other adult men more quickly and easily.

I pulled off my clothes and placed them in my locker. "Make sure it's locked
and then put this around your ankle", my dad instructed. He had a thick
rubber band-like thing onto which you'd pin the key. Then you'd wear it like
an ankle bracelet as you'd swim or shower. I locked my door and dad gave it
a good jiggle. Then he gave his a good jiggle and we laughed.

Although I felt very naked and exposed, it seemed okay since my dad was
walking around totally naked, too. And I was on some level proud of my dad's
body. And that spilled over to a certain amount of self-pride.

But it wasn't until we encountered two very wet men returning from the pool;
dripping water all over as it cascaded down their well-defined physiques.
The water matted their body hair and made it black on their white skin. Pool
water literally ran like a mini river along their penis shafts and dribbled
to the floor.

They'd been talking to one another and stopped with a lurch when they saw
me. They smiled and shook their heads. "Have a good swim", one said to us in
passing.

We stopped to take drinks at a water fountain along one wall and the
businessman who had been next to us passed us also headed toward the pool.
His cock and nuts bobbed and swung the whole way. He was older than my dad
by at least ten or fifteen years but was solid.

My dad and I went out to the pool area and there were perhaps six other men
there including the businessman. If there was a lifeguard on duty, I don't
recall him at all. He may have been the guy wandering around the perimeter
of the pool picking things up.

Immediately, all eyes were on my dad and me. I didn't think much of it at
the time but now know why.

I didn't know where to go. Although I had splashed and waded in Lake
Michigan before, I had yet to learn to swim. I still wasn't very good and
certainly wasn't used to such a vast and relative to its size, sparsely
populated swimming pool. The olympic-sized pool looked especially like an
ocean as only a handful of men were using it.

Suddenly, a very tall man standing in the water with another man called out
to us in a very chipper way, "It's a mere four feet over on this end!"

My dad gave him a thumbs up sign and then nudged my shoulder indicating that
I should go over to the ladder at their end of the pool.  I started walking
over and my dad said he'd meet my over there. He jumped into the deep end
and began a breaststroke to meet me at the opposite side.

I padded over slowly feeling like I'd slip on the wet tile. Another man
watched me from the side of the pool where he and two other men just stood
surveying all. He smiled and I smiled back. Very calmly he said, "Don't trip
now."

I got to the ladder at the shallower end and innocently turned my back to
the older men as I prepared to scale it down to the pool's water. If they
weren't already, the sight of my small white seven-year-old butt must have
sent these older men to thinking some nasty thoughts.

As I got to the lowest rung, I was surprised as I felt a pair of big, strong
hands grip me at my waist. "Hang on, little fellow, I got you," a white
haired man teased as he pulled me perhaps three feet away from the ladder.
It felt like he was sending me out to sea!

I couldn't swim at all well and I imagine these men could sense my
hesitation as I descended into the water. The man held onto me allowing me
to float in his grasp, getting myself adjusted to the water and it's
chlorinated smell and flavor.

"Keep you head above the water, son," one of the other men in the water
instructed as he approached to help the white-haired man float me about the
shallow end. This second man was super tall and lean. "That's the way", he
added. "Don't get any water in your mouth."

I now felt four big hands on my naked body as they two older men held me to
be sure I didn't sink to the bottom of the pool.

Just then, my dad came up to us appearing like the Loch Ness monster as he
emerged to stand along side us, having already finished his third leg of
swimming the length of the pool.

"You okay, Sport?," dad asked without a trace of concern in his voice.

"Oh, he's just doing fine," the first man said to my dad while one of his
hands held onto my upper arm and another had my penis and scrotum within it
beneath the water.

The other man added, "He'll get the swim of things once he learns a few
things." Beneath the water his left hand supported my other arm as his right
hand also took feels of my young penis hidden below the water's surface.

My dad stood there in four feet of water with the other men, his brawny
chest and stomach all wet and dripping.

"I'm sure he'll become quite the athlete," a third, dark-haired older man
with a very hairy chest said to my dad as he waded over to us. "With a
well-built father who is such a powerful swimmer as yourself, the boy can't
help but grow up the same."

"We'll help him get his pool bearings, if you like," the super tall man
offered to my dad. "If you want to get your laps in...we'll help the tyke
out."

My dad stood there and looked at the three men surrounding me as I continued
to float in their arms. He then barely grinned and replied, "Be my
guests...you can show him to the ropes...but if he tuckers you gents out,
let me know."

The third man chuckled, "Don't let our grays fool you...we've been known to
tucker out some tykes ourselves in the past!"

"Is that okay with you?". my dad asked me.

I wasn't in much of a position to refuse but also thought it might be fun to
float around in these men's grips. "Yeah, it'll be fun, I guess", I replied.

"Good", he said. "You do whatever these men say and I'll be right over there
in the pool swimming and doing a bit of diving," he said pointing over to
the deepest end which seemed a mile away to me.

My dad then waded to the side of the pool in order to climb up the same
ladder I had used. He was going to go over to the deep end to use the diving
board. All the men looked at my dad as he climbed out, his small, muscular
ass framing his heavy scrotum and big dick.

Although I was faced down a bit in the water, I could see the men giving one
another looks as they shook their heads watching my dad's every move.

"Love to be in their house after mommy goes to bed...", one of the older men
joked in a low voice to the other two as they all chuckled.

Then the white-haired man motioned to the other two older men who'd been
standing at the edge of pool. "Come on in!", he called to them. "We're all
going to play...", then he paused. "What's your name, son?" he asked me.

"Kevin", I replied, trying not to get any water in my mouth as I looked to
the side of the pool just in time to spot the really big soft dicks between
the legs of the two new men as they sat on its edge in order to jump in.

I then briefly looked to the other end of the swimming pool and saw my dad
talking to that businessman as they both stood near the diving board. They
seemed a million miles away.

As they two new men waded over to us, the white-haired man said to them,
"We're all going to play with Kevin here."

The fourth of these older men had a very handsome face and bald head. As he
joined in he said, "Yes, I saw...its okay with his daddy?"

And the fifth man with him, another balding man with a big manly nose and
biceps said a quick hello to me with a wink of his eye.

The super tall man said, "It sure is...Kevin's daddy is letting us show him
the ropes."

"Oh? Is that so?", the handsome, bald-headed man smirked. "I'd like to help
make a little swimmer out of the lad."

The white-haired man along with the second man then passed me into the grips
of two other men. "Go with the flow of the water, Kevin", the white-haired
man said. "Let the nice men hold you until you get used to the feeling.

And as each man helped me to stay afloat, I felt their hands all take a feel
of my young flesh and first-grader's penis and butt as they passed me back
and forth. I had no clue at the time they were all just getting their cheap
thrills with my body as my dad was only yards away. But it felt good despite
my mild fear of the water. Their big hands held my thighs, arms back and
stomach so easily. I must have weighed next to nothing to them,  my
forty-nine pounds being a mere feather in the buoyancy of water. And so they
passed me back and forth for at least fifteen minutes that way, each copping
a feel of every inch of my body and making certain their big erections poked
or brushed against me just beneath the water's surface.

They had me lay flat on the water's surface and practice kicking my legs to
help me stay afloat and propel myself forward a bit. Their game was at once
truly teaching me the very basics of swimming although I would venture to
say that what the men really liked was the fact that all the slashing I
created better hid their wandering, indecent gropes of my first-grader's
genitalia beneath the water.

"Do you feel more comfortable with the water now, cutie?" the super tall man
asked me as the men finally let me stand on my own in this shallow end of
four feet of water. I had to stretch my neck to keep my face above the water
as I was surrounded by their towering frames. I could hardly believe I was
straining to keep my head out of the water as it only came up to their belly
buttons or lower chests! Two men stood so close to me, beneath the water, I
felt their penises brush and even briefly rest on my shoulder and upper
chest as I doggy paddled.

"I think so," I said a paddling naturally to stay afloat.

The men smiled and chuckled among themselves,

"Look at that little tyke ...he's natural swimmer", one said.

"Well, look over at his daddy over there," the dark, hairy-chest man said
nodding toward my father who was standing up on the diving board.

"Whoa!", one of the men said. "Look at that build. You got a good-looking
daddy, kid."

"This little one hasn't fallen far from the tree," another of the men said
as he winked and gave me a quick goose of my small butt under the water.

The older white-haired man then asked if I felt ready to try some more. I
waved my arms and legs as I got used to barely keeping myself above the
water's surface. "Sure!", I blurted out wanting to both learn more about
swimming and to play even more with these men.

"Okay then!", the white-haired man said with renewed vigor. "Now you're
going to swim to each one of us on your own."

The handsome bald man must have detected a bit of worry on my face as the
white-haired man had said that because he quickly added, "Don't you worry,
little sweetie, you're surrounded by your pool buddies...we won't let you
drown."

The super tall man snickered as he heard that and muttered, "Won't let him
drown in pool water, at least."

"You're bad!", the hairy-chested man laughed knocking the tall man's
shoulder in jest.

The handsome bald man handed me a foam paddleboard and told me to hold it as
I kicked to each one of them in turn. "This will keep your head above the
water...just focus on kicking and staying on top of the water."

And so I began to swim on my own for the first time. With all the strength
any seven year old boy could muster, I kick boarded to one man and then the
next. Each would grip my waist, copping a feel of my butt and cock as they'd
turn and point me to the next man.

After twenty minutes of this I got more confident and better at my kick
board swimming. I felt like I was a pro swimmer.

Or at least as good as my dad, I thought as I finally watched him swim up to
our huddle again after at least forty-minutes of my playing with the men.

"Look at you!," my dad said with a big smile. "My own little gold medalist!"

"I been learning," I beamed.

"Yes, I was watching the whole time," dad said to me. He then looked to the
men and gave a wink. "They've been teaching you a lot I see."

"He's a great little student", one of the men replied.

My dad turned back toward me and asked, "Would you be okay with these men
for a few minutes while I go back to the locker room, Kev?"

For a second my heart dropped. I wasn't used to being in a swimming pool
really let alone without my dad hovering nearby. Being with these strange
men was okay while my dad was only yards away but I got nervous for a brief
moment when he said that. It was simply my reaction as a seven-year-old. Yet
I nodded it would okay.

"Only a few minutes," my dad assured me.

"Sure?", I asked timidly.

"Just a little while and I'll meet you back here!", dad reassured me.

"You go ahead", the super tall man said to my dad. "Well take care of the
little tyke."

"Are you having fun with these men, son?", my dad asked.

I was indeed having fun and nodded.

"Then you stay here with them and do anything they say till I get back,
okay?", dad directed.

"Okay," I replied naively. My dad may have had other intentions but he also
knew that no one could have stolen me from the Lawson Y...everyone being wet
and naked.

My dad then tweaked my nose, inadvertently filling it with more chlorinated
water, making me cough briefly. He then climbed the ladder, and again, all
the older men stared at his lanky muscular frame as he ascended the pool.

"Damn fine!," one of the men quietly muttered as he stood beside me groping
and squeezing my shoulders. The men continued to stare at my dad's big dick
as it swung back and forth when he walked to the other end of the pool
again. That's when I saw my dad leave the pool area with the naked
businessman with whom he'd spent most of his time swimming and talking.

The moment they disappeared, the super tall man said to the others with a
conspiratorial tone, "What do you say we get our little Kev out of the water
before we have ourselves a shriveled baby grape on our hands!?"

Suddenly the other men seemed more uptight but excited.

"Think so?", the big-nosed bald man asked nervously.

Looking around, the white-haired man said, "Its real quiet here this
afternoon...and I know those three over there...," motioning with his chin
to some newcomers who talked among themselves at the far end of the pool.

"They're okay?", the handsome bald man asked. "I know the one in the middle
is okay."

"Yeah, they're fine", the white-haired man replied. "All three of them."

I had no clue what they were talking about but I figured they were speaking
in adult talk. I thought they meant the other men were okay swimmers or
something.

"Want to play some more games?", the white-haired man asked me.

"Sure", I replied.

"But these aren't pool games..", the super tall man quickly interjected.

"No, they're not pool games", the white-haired man agreed, "We'd have to
play these games over there," he said pointing to a door only steps from the
swimming pool.

"What's over there?" I asked.

"That's a bathroom over there," one of the other men quietly said.

"With a shower head in there, too!", the dark, hairy-chest man laughed.

"Exactly, we can go and shower off", the white-haired man said. "And
sometimes swimming in a pool makes you have to pee pee. Do you have to pee
pee?"

I did sort of but hadn't given it much thought until he mentioned it.

"Well, I know I do!", the super tall man declared as he quickly waded to
that side of the pool and climbed out.

"We'll all follow him and play some more", the white-haired man said to me.
He shoved me very gently in the same direction where all the men were
climbing out of the pool. For the first time I really saw and felt that
these were all big older men, all much older than my dad. And seeing them
outside the pool, I could see all their body hair as it was most pronounced
being wet.

Without much thinking, and padding softly behind them on the wet tiled
floor, I followed the five men through one of the several nondescript doors
which lined the pool area.

Once inside, I saw it was indeed a rather small restroom with two stalls and
two urinals and a small specially tiled space with two showerheads. The Y's
main shower room was back in the men's locker room area and was ten times
the size.

This rest room was merely for poolside convenience.

Along with the white-haired man, I stood by a sink as the other four men
quickly made their way to the stalls and urinals. They each stood with arms
akimbo pissing - two at the urinals. And another two in the stalls, kept
their doors wide open as they stood before the toilet. I could see between
their legs and beneath their low hanging scrotums as their dicks hosed out
urine.

The handsome bald man finished first at the urinals and as he stepped away,
the white-haired man nudged me to go up and take my turn peeing. I was
nervous but went over to stand beside the super tall man who was still
peeing.

The super tall man looked down and smiled at me as I aimed my penis at the
urinal cake.

"You've got a biggie...for a little guy", he said as he stared at my dick.
"How old are you anyway, sweetie pie?"

One could have heard a pin drop in the room as obviously it was the same
question all the men had on their minds, even though they'd each already
molested me in the pool.

"Seven," I replied, proud I was older than I was only a couple of days
earlier.
"Holy moly", I heard one of the men behind me happily mumble.

"Seven, huh?", the super tall man repeated as he slowly milked his penis
along me. It was as long as my whole head! "That's getting to be a big boy!"

"Whoa, I have t.v. dinners in my freezer older than that!", the haired chest
man laughed.

"Hell", the white-haired man said, "I have three grandkids older than this
little tyke!"

The room suddenly became silent as the super tall man turned his body and
let his big penis bump and graze along my shoulder. "You like that big
thing?", he softly asked with a big grin.

I simply nodded and something within me spontaneously reached for the man's
big penis.

The super tall man turned to his friends and rolled his eyes in glee.
"Ooooh, can we ask for any more than little Kevy here?"

The man's penis was very long and too thick for me to hold with one hand. I
had to reach and use my other hand to get a better grip. I felt it as it
grew and got harder in my little hands. It was the biggest penis I had yet
to see in my whole life!

Just then the white-haired man came up and stood very close behind me. He
put his hands around my hands and helped me to get a slow milking motion
going on the tall man's cock. "That's the way men like it, Kevin", he
whispered as he guided my every move. As he did this, his own cock was
sliding along my left cheek. Back and forth it rubbed along my face. He then
waved one of the other men over to the urinals. It was the big nosed man
whose cock was thick like my forearm. He also pushed into me as I continued
to gently milk the tall man.

The big nosed man's cock purposefully rubbed and humped along my right
cheek. I was surrounded by the three men's big cocks.

Suddenly, the white-haired man whispered to the hairy-chested man, "Go and
check..."

The man went to the door and opened it a few inches looking around the pool
area and then came back toward where we stood.

"Nothing...", he said as he openly stroked his erection. "Just those same
three over in the corner."

Immediately, the white-haired man took hold of the tall man's huge penis and
guided it to my lips. He rubbed the mushroom head of the man's penis along
my lips leaving a sweet and sticky trail of something on them.

"Open up, sweetie...can you open your mouth?", the white-haired man asked in
an almost demanding way.

As if guided by my own curiosity and hunger, I immediately opened my mouth
real wide, like I was at the doctor's office saying "Ahhhh!"

The men all laughed and the white-haired man chuckled as he said, "That's a
very good boy."

The tall man than shoved his huge penis into my open mouth and muttered,
"Sheeeeeeeeeeeet, can you believe...!"

"Damn!" the handsome bald man said as he neared to get a better look.

"Now keep your mouth open like that," the white haired man said to me. He
then pushed his own big cockhead along side his friend's into my mouth.

"HOLY FUCK...look at that!" the big nosed man cursed in delight as he
quickened his jerking motions.

With my mouth wide open and stuffed with the cockheads of two big older men,
I suddenly felt something poking me in the butt. I gagged for a moment as it
caught me off guard. The two men pulled their hard cocks out of my mouth to
allow me a second to catch my breath.

"Just relax," the white haired man said, calming me by stroking my little
belly and tweaking my dick playfully. "Let him do that while you get back to
these...", he directed.

As he and the tall man put their cocks back into my mouth, flooding it a bit
in their oozing precum, it was the handsome bald man who was squatting
behind me poking his index finger at my butt hole. "Relax, baby", he said as
his jamming finger became more insistent. I tried real hard to relax my
small butt and let the finger into my hole. I could sense the man was
wetting and re-wetting his finger in saliva with every attempt.

In the meantime, the white-haired man pushed my head the other way trying to
let the hairy-chested man tap his dick on my tongue as well. "Open as wide
as you can, Kevy:, the super tall man ordered, "Show us what a good baby
slut you can be,"

I again strained my jaws as wide as they'd go, offering no semblance of a
blowjob but clearly making it obscene enough an experience for these men to
enjoy. For brief moments I had three of their cocks somewhat in my mouth and
slapping my tongue, each time, mixing their precum on it.

The handsome bald man had gotten his index finger in my butthole and then
switched to his middle finger where he held it in my butt up to his knuckle.
To my surprise, he then pulled my little white buttcheeks apart and started
licking and lapping at my pink puckered hole. No one had ever done that to
me before!

His tongue darted in and out and lapped at it like my butthole was an ice
cream cone!

Then he suddenly stopped and stood up. "He's as ready as any little kid's
gunna get", he whispered to the others. The hairy chested man was the first
to move. "Let's go it in one of the stalls."

The white-haired man bent down and asked if I wanted to keep playing. I
nodded my head as I secretly loved their cocks pushing at me. "That's a good
boy!", he said.

The white-haired man and the super tall man then each took one of my hands
and used them to stroke their own chests and stomachs, forcing me feel both
their muscular physiques in a very lurid way.

"Go and check again fast", the hairy chested man indictated to the big nosed
man. And again, one of them poked their heads out to the pool area and
returned saying no one was around.

"I told you earlier today...its Tuesday afternoon, always pretty dead...",
the super tall man said as he wrapped my hand around his huge erection
again. "Let's get this kid in that stall.", he added shifting our action to
one of the two toilet stalls. In there already was the hairy chested man who
was stroking his long cock and looking almost angry.

"Me first," he said. "Come're kid."

I  went into the stall and leaving the door open, the hairy chested man
suddenly squatted and sucked my cock into his very warm mouth. His tongue
lapped at my small scrotum. He then quickly turned me around and as the
handsome bald man had done, he, too, spread apart my small butt cheeks and
shoved his face between them. I felt the rough stubble of his beard as he
went to town lapping and kissing my tight puckered hole. As he did this, the
whole time, he was roughly feeling me up everywhere, his hands roaming
lasciviously up and down my torso stropping only to gently milk my erection.
He pulled his mouth off my rosebud as he milked my dick like a calf's only
to say, laughingly, to the others. "This kid is hung better than some men we
see around here..."

"I know!" the white-haired man agreed. "But you saw his daddy...he's on his
way to super big meat." As he said this, he slid himself into the tight
stall and started sucking my cock as the hairy-chested man went back to
eating out my ass. The sensations were wildly wonderful as I gave into the
men's mouths.

Then both men stood up reminding me how much taller and older than me they
both were. "Now it gets serious.", the hairy-chested man said to the
white-haired man.

"Sit...it will be easier." The super tall man standing just outside the
stall door said. "Always easier on the real little tykes that way." He then
gave me a quick wink.

The hairy-chested man sat in the toilet, his big dick standing straight up
from his lap. "Come'ere, kiddo and sit on my lap.", he said pulling me back
toward him.

Perhaps he saw some confusion on my face but the white-haired man leaned
into my ear and whispered, "He just wants to put his big thing up in your
butt...is that okay?"

I didn't know why a man would want to do that but as it was all feeling so
good I nodded my consent. I liked the feeling of the hairy-chested man's
strong and muscular body anyway. And his chest was all hairy like my dad's.

"Hop up, kiddo," the hairy man said with force, wagging his erection at me.
I slowly slid up onto his lap and he lifted my several inches, holding me.
The white-haired man helped him by also holding me up above the man's lap by
at least eight inches. The man felt around, groping my young scrotum and
feeling for my little rosebud. When he found it, he shoved a finger into me
briefly as the two men guided my butt over the man's erection.

I could then feel something else prodding my butt. I knew what it was but
didn't know what would come next.


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