Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2003 05:48:42 -0000 (GMT) From: ok_uwater@merlads.net Subject: Rob and Gordon - Prologue Copyright by UndrCGuy, Sept 2003. This story is submitted to Nifty under their submission guidelines. No part of this story can be submitted or archived by anyone else without my express permission. If you are too young or don't like stories about rough play with erotic overtones press the back button NOW! This story is fantasy. The author does not endorse, encourage, or consent to any attempt to make any of the below described scenes real. Please send feedback to ok_uwater@merlads.net. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I met Rob on the train home from school. We had the same schedules, so we saw each other just about every day. He kept his distance at first, not surprisingly. He was ten, and I was sixteen, one of the big boys. I am told I always had an annoyed or angry look at the time. We often made eye contact, however, after which my eyes would feast on the rest of him. I have always been attracted to boys, and Rob was one of the best specimens I had ever seen. I especially liked big kids, aged nine to thirteen years of age. In my opinion, that is when we reach our natural size, between scrawny childhood and the awkward growth spurt of adolescence. I assume we grow into hulking adults to compete with other animals in the prehistoric landscape, but the size comes at the cost of our grace. And nothing beats the beauty and grace of a well developed boy with just a touch of extra strength and energy. That was Rob. He was obviously an athlete of some sort. He was tall, lean, and well muscled without being muscle bound. He always looked relaxed and comfortable in his skin, whether he was sitting, standing, or striding down the platform. I was tall and rangy, eye height with most adults, with a big chest and broad shoulders. I had a lot of stamina, although I was not an athlete. My parents seemed to think study was more important than physical education, so I spent most of my time at my desk, whether I liked it or not. One day found Rob and me alone in the same compartment. The railways were having yet another "slow down" that day, when the unions decided that instead of striking, they would bring everything under their control to a crawl. The train moved across London literally at walking pace, stopping frequently for no apparent reason. Rob and I had exchanged nods when we entered the compartment, eventually small talk ensued. "When do you think we'll get to Bekenham Hill?" he asked. "A couple of hours at this rate," I surmised, "I wouldn't hold my breath." "I can hold my breath a long time, but that would be a stretch!" came back Rob. The substantial comment about breath holding intrigued me, as that has alway been a quirky interest of mine. I asked Rob how long he could hold his breath. "We do it a lot during swim practice. I'm the best on my team. I can do a minute and a half," he beamed. I queried about his swim team, and the more he prattled the more I wanted to be there watching the contests. Then a sneaky thought struck me. I expressed doubt whether Rob could really last that long. He gave me an indignant look, followed by a demonstration right there in the coach! The spectacle of the boy straining to hold his breath thrilled me. I struggled to conceal the agitation under my jeans. His chest swelled, and his face looked determined. He was in his school uniform, but my mind's eye stripped him to a speedo and submerged him in his pool. He longed for the air an arms length away, but the need to impress prevailed over the hunger for oxygen. He lasted 1:35. I applauded, and then it was my turn. I did 2:05, as I knew I could. Rob was in awe. I gave him some pointers, and we spent the rest of the ride practicing breath holding. By the end of the ride, Rob was up to 1:45, which had him really chuffed. We shared compartments often after that, Rob having correctly surmised that beneath my crusty surface I was pretty friendly. The talk often centered on swimming and diving. Rob told me about his competitive swimming successes, which were numerous. Sometimes we discussed diving action on TV shows, such as "Flipper" and "Sea Hunt." Both series often featured boys in distress underwater, and Rob protested that they never seemed to stay submerged for long. I enthusiastically agreed. I loaned him an issue of "Golden Magazine," a children's variety magazine my family had subscribed to when I was seven. One issue had a short story, "The Mystery of Truston Castle" in which two boys dived to the floor of a cave to hide from a boat load of smugglers passing overhead. I had many times held my breath with the young heroes as I read the passage, and rubbed myself on the carpet as I admired the accompanying illustration. Rob seemed as thrilled at the scene as I had been. I also recommended the short story "Through the Tunnel" by Doris Lessing, and the boys' adventure novel "South Sea Adventure" by Willard Price. I recounted some of the scenes, and Rob said he would look for them in his school library first chance. Weekends would often find us at the local baths, where I finally saw Rob in speedos. He must have had a drawer full of them. It seemed he had a different pair each week. He knew he looked good in them, prancing seductively before me. Breath holding drills were a regular routine. Previously I had spent countless hours in pools hoping to glimpse boys diving underwater. Sometimes I would catch some dunking their heads, or staying down for ten to thirty seconds, which was better than nothing, but not by much. Often I would go home water logged and completely frustrated. Now I had the regular company of a strapping young athlete determined to go to his limit before my eyes. I would stand on Rob's shoulders in the deep end for a designated interval and then kick him away, indicating it was time to surface. Often on the way up he would reach up and grab the edge rail to hold himself under a few more seconds before breaking the surface. I would don my facemask and drop next to him, giving him a thumbs up while scanning his body. I admired his rib cage shaking as he squeezed the last few morsels of air out of his spent lungs. His down time inevitable increased with practice. Soon he was lasting more than two minutes without strain, giving even me a run for the money. I was delighted to have viable competition, especially from one so beautiful. Rob was a gift. One day we discussed a magic show in which a woman submerged in a glass tank which disappeared behind a curtain until her partner rescued her. Rob and I had both held our breath along with the performer to see if we too could endure the ordeal. We both fell short, "But not by much!" we proclaimed in unison. Rob bragged that he could last a much worse ordeal with a bit more training and preparation. He had a certain gleam in his eye as he discussed being shackled and enclosed in an underwater torture chamber. I know I had a gleam in my eye as I imagined the spectacle. I was that kind of kid. I assured Rob that if I had an aquarium big enough, he would be the first, last, and only fish in it. Rob chuckled, but his eyes got wider, as if he were warming over to the idea. I had first made the statement as a joke, but then I found my mind working on it. In early summer Rob told me his family was planning a holiday. I was dreading the idea of two weeks without Rob when an idea struck me. "What if you had to stay in London to cram for next year's exams?" I asked. "Why would I want to stay in London for that?" he asked, somewhat bemused. "It would be a reason to keep you around that your parents might go for," I continued. "I could help you with the maths and science. I'm good at those," which was true. "I'll bet you could stay at my place, but we would study at your place, which would be empty. When done studying, there should be time for some of the things we've been discussing." Rob's wheels were already turning in unison with mine. I was actually a successful student, and known for being respectful and deferential around adults, even when they annoyed the hell out of me. It gave me certain leverage at times when I wanted something. Rob and I campaigned on our respective parents, and two weeks later Rob's family was on the train north as Rob unpacked his kit in my bedroom. In my bedroom! Needless to say, he brought all of his magnificent speedo collection. I admired the richly colored and silky garments as he laid them out, contemplating the anguish that would soon occur behind their caress. We began planning our "study sessions." To be continued.