[raymcc]

Originally Posted by raymcc

There were two sets of lifeguards at our summer job at the public pool. The local high school guys (and girls) - of which I was one...and the 4 or 5 college swimmers on scholarship at a big state university who needed a summer job while staying in training.

Being a lifeguard had lots of social status. You got to be outside in the sun and water all day. Got to just wear a speedo all day (or a speedo under the loose navy blue boxer style nylon trunks with a 'guard' stripe down the side). Younger kids always looked up to you...and there was the inevitable sexual tension of being essentially naked all day. As an 18 yr old (competitive swimmer), I was pretty comfortable in my body - and certainly in a speedo. These were the 'nylon speedo days'. You'd buy it and have to 'break it in'. Nylon suits are 'elastic' like today's lycra. On the plus side, they were paper thin, and unlike Lycra, you could see the outlines. We learned pretty quickly that solid colors (particularly light colors) were more 'telling' than any suit with a pattern. On the 'modest days', I'd wear stripes - or maybe a pattern.

I always found nylon speedos to be erotic. Enough to be covered - but barely - and once you 'broke them in' (wear them enough so they conform to your body), they just slide on and feel like a 'barely there' second skin.

We reported for the beginning of summer season. 12 local high school kids...and joined by 5 guys from the University of Wisconsin varsity swimming team. They arrived in tattered jeans, t shirts, and two had the chlorine bleached hair from hours in the pool.

Two stood out. Brent. 6'3" shaggy blonde hair. Broad shoulders and perfect chest, narrowing down to a 30" waist. He rode a Honda motorcycle, and walked with the lanky loping ease of someone who was super confident. Crystal blue eyes which were usually behind Ray Bans - and his occasional geeky rectangular dark rimmed glasses.

Colin was about the same height, loosly curled black hair, and perfectly green eyes, with more than a few freckles. Colin was quiet - shy actually. and rumor had it he had a 'hometown honey'.

At first, the high school guards didn't interact with the college guys (intimidated mostly), but over time, we'd interact a bit. Guards had a small alcove in the general locker room - no more than 4' x 4' where we could change. Each of us had a locker where we kept our speedos at night, and no one ever bothered to lock their lockers.

Brent had two suits. A very well worn solid maroon, that had faded to a light purple - and fabric that had clearly thinned over time with use. This was his suit of choice. Often worn under his jeans. Occasionally though, he'd wear a black nylon suit. Obviously a size smaller. With a an incredibly small tight ass, coverage wasn't a problem in back, but he had a package that matched his size 12 feet and long fingers. Where as most of us 'tucked' our dicks downward in our speedos, this wasn't an option for Brent in that suit. So up and sideways (and long) it was. He seemed oblivious to what that suit - both suits actually - did to people. Girls couldn't stop checking him out. And guys looked at him with either admiration or wonder. I could only imagine - and fantasized about - the great sex he must be having.

Over time, we got to know each other. Brent was a great swimmer, and during lunch and dinner breaks, (and after his practice), he'd let me jump in the pool and work out with him...and he'd help with my technique. This is when it started. He'd stand close beside me in the waist deep water and take my arms to perfect my stroke. I can remember the electric feeling when his chest, abs or legs would rub against mine. Knowing he was straight (and I had my own girlfriend and with great sex), couldn't quite figure how to understand all that was happening. What I did know was that Brent would thoughtfully offer to coach me a few times a week.

I was intrigued by his motorcycle (and him on the motorcycle). Long legs thrown over that huge seat. Jeans so old that you could see his speedo between the tears, and a t shirt that was almost useless. One day I gut up the courage and asked for a ride. That night after the pool closed, we jumped on his Honda at 9:30. Actually, he jumped on first, and I stupidly stood there until he encouraged me to hop on behind him. 'Ok, so what do I hold on to?'
"Give me your arms" He took both, put them around his torso and said 'lock your fingers to keep yourself steady an sit farther forward in the seat.' I was now against his body. My chest firmly against his back. My hips tightly behind his butt, and my legs squeezed tightly against is thighs and legs.

******

The stopping, starting, turning, accelerating had me holding him tightly...occasionally he would speed up quickly just to get my reaction - some combination of fear, clutching him closer, and excitement with the wind blowing past my face. It was all very - well, erotic - I had never been this physically close to another guy, let alone a complete stud. Under no other circumstance would I have had my crotch pressed against his back side, an my face and nose pressed against his back and neck, his hair whipping the sides of my face as we sped down the road.

Before I could completely realize it, I had a full on erection, and was suddenly very thankful for my blue and white speedo holding me tight under the loose baggy sweatpants. I found myself terrified he might notice it (feel it from behind, pressing against his Levi's clad tight butt). He shouted back...'enjoying yourself?' - - and I my greatest hope was he had no idea how much. "you need to relax". I wasn't sure what he meant, and then he said - 'here, just put your hands around my belt buckle and grab onto that, it takes less effort'. This was all more than I could handle, knowing both hands were inches above his package.

We headed back to the pool, I hopped off the motorcycle. "now it's time to go for a swim...the pool is closed, I have the keys, and we can do some laps". He whipped off his t shirt, undid his belt buckle, unzipped his jeans and let them tumble to his ankles. He was indeed a physical god. I had to stall a bit to let my hard-on subside, but he kept taunting me to jump in. I dropped my sweats, and without realizing it was sporting a small wet spot on the front of my suit. We jumped in the pool, did a few laps, and he then suggested a few minutes to be spent on kicking technique. I was to lay flat, face down, and he put a hand on each side of my hips. It felt electric. Then he took his right hand, and lay it flat on my lower abdomen, and supported me with that hand, and used the other hand to manipulate my legs to what he considered the perfect flutter kick. I was trying desperately to pay attention, but was too acutely aware of one side of my hips against his, his hand within an inches of my cock, and his long fingers manipulating my feet, calves and thighs.

I could feel more stirring in my speedo and before things got out of hand, said 'I think that's enough for today'. He smiled - smirked actually and said 'you sure that's enough for one day? I was certain he meant nothing sexual by that, but was more confused than not, and didn't want to do anything that would alienate me from this guy I idolized. He planned to swim a few more laps, and I told him it was time to head home, so took off my speedo, hung it over the shower head, showered, and changed back into street clothes and headed home for the night. Tomorrow another day.

*******

Well, it wasn't that simple. I went home, watched some TV and headed to bed. I frequently wore a speedo to sleep in, loving how the nylon felt against the sheets. But where was my blue and white striped suit? Evidently I had left it hanging in the pool locker room shower...hopefully no one ripped it off and it would still be there tomorrow - everyone knew it was mine. Instead, I grabbed an old (now too small) suit. Navy blue with white side panels. It was certainly now too snug to wear outside, but felt particularly great. I lay in bed thinking about the day, and found myself incredibly horny thinking about the motorcycle ride. Laying on my stomach, I was now hard as a rock, with the top several inches of my engorged member sticking out the top of the suit. The more I thought about being on that motorcycle against him, the more my lower abdomen ached. It wasn't long before I was beyond the point of stopping and had to quickly roll on my back, so the warm pulsing stream of cum landed on me instead of making a huge mess in the bed.