Date: Sun, 06 Aug 2000 20:25:41 EDT
From: Marrauder 390 <marrauder390@hotmail.com>
Subject: phil at the pool

DISCLAIMER:  The following work is pure fiction.   Do not read anything more
than you see into it, because this cigar is just a cigar.   Any resemblance
to persons living or deceased is pure coincidence.

             If you are offended by material that deals positively with
homosexuality or with man/boy relationships, then do not read any further.
While there is no sex or nudity in this story, if you are below the age of
consent in your community, please do not read any further.

             Absolutely no animals, children, members of repressed minority
groups, or delicate equatorial ecosystems, and regrettably, no Republicans
were harmed in the creation of this work.

THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK RESERVES ALL RIGHTS.  PLEASE DO NOT PUBLISH,
REPRODUCE, ARCHIVE OR DISTRIBUTE WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION.


Phil At The Pool
By marrauder390


It's the first week in July, and with temps in the high 80's to low 90's,
it's obscenely hot by civilized Massachusetts standards, but perhaps still
quite cold by Florida or California standards.  The sun and the heat has
filled the town pool with hordes of screaming, squealing boys and girls
seeking respite from the heat, and not a few teenagers of both sexes in
skimpy swimwear, seeking to be looked at and worshipped.

Phil had just entered the pool area, and before long, just about every girl,
boy, woman AND man in that pool was looking at him.   The silence was
deafening as time dilated and all activity seemed to stop.   About 15 years
old, the boy stood at around 5'10", with cornhusk colored hair bleached to a
fine summer-blond.  Pale bluish-grey eyes peered out at the world under
straight cut bangs.   Somehow, despite his age, he looked vulnerable and
innocent.   Perhaps because of this, or because of some inner magnetism, he
immediately seemed to take center stage, relegating everyone else at the
pool to supporting roles.   Nobody seemed to mind at all, not even those who
had come to be looked at.

A slightly oversized t-shirt that had probably once been dark blue covered
his upper body, but didn't hide his farm-boy build one tiny bit.   He looked
around, trying to spot someone, anyone, that he knew, and perhaps not seeing
anyone, or perhaps realizing the stir that he was creating, he cast a
nervous glance downward as a shy smile spread slowly across his face.  His
impromptu audience drank it up breathlessly.

Modestly, seeming quite embarrassed by the stir that he was creating, he
selected a spot in the grass off in a corner.  His seeming rejection of his
sudden star-status served to draw attention to his manners.  Without hearing
him speak a word, it was suddenly quite obvious that this boy would say
"sir" or "ma'am" whenever possible.   Unaware that he was still the focus of
just about everyone's attention, he slowly, and unselfconsciously shucked
off the ripped, faded shirt revealing a body begging to be copied in
sculpture.

The act of pulling the shirt over his head had tousled his rather fine,
medium-length hair causing cornhusk-brown and summer blond hairs to stand
out at odd angles all over, and especially around the whorl at the back of
his head.   The alarmingly unstylish condition of the boy's hair revealed a
pair of exquisitely drawn eyebrows standing guard over his stunning
bluish-grey eyes, now averted nervously downward over high Celtic
cheekbones.   Slowly, he slowly turned the t-shirt right-side-out, folded it
and placed it on the ground, pausing to rub his perfectly-proportioned nose,
completely oblivious to how his audience hung breathlessly on his every
move.   Kicking off his shoes, the slightest smile crossed his face,
creating the promise of dimples and showing just a hint of perfect,
snow-white teeth.

He unbuttoned his baggy bluejean shorts, and carefully slid them down, not
in the impatient manner so common of boys his age, and not so slow as to
draw attention to the act, but just slow enough to not bring down the board
shorts hidden underneath.   Despite his care, a good 2 or 3 inches of his
pale, white rump would have been visible to anyone standing behind him.
Those watching from the front felt their collective breath catch in their
throats as his bluejean shorts drew the board shorts slowly down in front,
revealing a good 5 inches of bare, white skin below his navel.  Just in the
nick of time, before any pubic hairs peeked out (or anything else, for that
matter), the bluejean shorts were past the board shorts, and the boy had
them off.  Just as with the shirt, he slowly, carefully folded them up and
then placed them in his bag along with the shirt and his sneakers.

The boy stood alone in a corner of the fenced in area around the pool, and
started looking around again, seeking someone that he knew, someone that he
could talk to.  He was completely at ease, his motions graceful and
unselfconscious.  One hand rested at his side while the other drew idly up
the pronounced cleft in his abs, his face lost in thought.

As he stood there, idly rubbing his flat but defined belly, the poolgoers
began to take note of his body.   They could see that his shoulders were
still boyish, but showing great definition, the knobs at the tops of his
arms showing the first hints of the shape they would one day have.   They
took note of his arms, both lean and muscular; each and every muscle clearly
visible, and while larger than those of the local boys, they were still
graceful boy's arms.

His chest and abs seemed to draw the most attention from this audience, and
in truth, they represented the highest ideal in form for a boy of his age.
The boy's chest muscles had a certain extremely defined look, but did not
approach the shape that they would undoubtedly have as he got older.  They
were still a boy's pecs and lats, small in comparison to a man's, and
somehow different in shape, yet so much larger than those of other boys his
age.   They seemed at once flat, but muscular and in their perfection of
shape and symmetry, they naturally drew a viewer's eyes down to his
perfectly defined abs and his ever-so-cute innie belly button.   The boy's
legs were as defined as his arms, but remained mostly hidden by the board
shorts.  Only the extreme definition of his knees and calves whispered the
truth of how defined his legs were, hidden away from view as they were.

Still not finding who or what he was looking for, the boy left the grass,
still oblivious to the stir that he was causing.    Finding the high diving
board unoccupied, he climbed the ladder with liquid grace, pausing briefly
on the platform, then making his dive with a perfection of form and
technique that would have drawn attention to him had he not already been at
center stage.  As he entered the water with the tiniest of splashes there
was a small smattering of genuine applause that quickly stopped as poolgoers
realized what they were doing.   As Phil exited the water, his shorts rode
down, and this time, his audience of poolgoers were treated to a few inches
of bare, white rump.  Not pausing to adjust his shorts or fluff them out in
front (board shorts don't give anything away in front, even when wet!), he
remounted the high dive and again dove off, this time achieving more arc
before once again entering the water with the tiniest of splashes.

This continued for almost ten minutes, during which time only a very few of
the pool's patrons had resumed their previous activities.   Clearly, this
boy was something special, and each and every poolgoer that still watched
knew that on some level.   They did not watch him because he had the most
muscular body, for in truth, there were a few boys there around his age with
the grossly overmuscled bodies of football players and wrestlers.   They did
not watch him for the brief show of rump cleavage as he left the water, for
although he would hike up his board shorts only occasionally, there were
several other boys there wearing speedos that clearly showed more skin.
Whatever drew their attention to the boy, it was more than his stunning
physical form, and more than mere sexuality.

Finally tiring of diving off the high board, the boy moved towards the
shallow end, and pausing with one hand on his chin and the other cupping his
elbow, he once again started looking around the pool, seeming to search for
someone special, perhaps someone that he knew.  Still not finding that for
which he searched, his eyes drooped a bit, and the tiniest of sad looks
stole across his face.  Slowly, he made his way back to his patch of grass
and his backpack, and began to fish his towel out when he was startled by a
sharp tug a the back of his board shorts (revealing quite a bit of rump
cleavage).  Turning quickly and ready to flatten whoever had dared to tug at
his shorts, he yelped in delight as he saw the man he had been looking for.

Only a few poolgoers had resumed their normal activities when the boy
started his diving, and only one or two more had joined them when he finally
stopped and stood there looking for someone.   Most of the people at the
pool were still watching the boy with rapt attention, with not even the
slightest thoughts of being subtle.   They felt sad, as he must have, when
he seemed to not find the person he was looking for, and they felt anger
when a well-built man approached the boy from behind and tugged
mischievously at his shorts.   Their feelings of outrage, anger, and
indignation melted away at once as they saw the expression of pure love and
adoration on the boy's face when he saw his friend.   Many felt sad, many
felt jealous, and quite a few wished that they themselves could care that
much about someone, anyone, in their life.  And when they saw this magical
boy of 15 or so clamp the older man in a great big hug, joy and happiness
evident on both their faces, many more felt a twinge of regret and sadness
at not having something similar in their own lives.

Quite a few of the poolgoers continued to watch during that long afternoon,
as the magical boy flitted impishly around the man on the grass, in the
water, and on the deck.  When he would speak, revealing a silky Georgian
accent, some of the poolgoers would turn to the person closest to them and
exclaim how they just KNEW that the boy had to be from the south, that boys
in Massachusetts just didn't look or act that way.   Others would completely
stop what they were doing just to hear his voice.

As the boy capered around his friend, impishly teasing him, tugging at his
shorts, and splashing him, he seemed to take on a glow that he hadn't
possessed when he entered the pool, and even though he had been captivating
then, he had become even more so.   It was quite clear that he loved the
man, and that the man loved him.   When they finally left together, shortly
before the pool closed for the afternoon, more than one poolgoer felt a
twinge of jealousy for the pair.