The pool supervisor at the local college had allowed me swimming privileges on campus even though I was not a student there. I had explained to him that I was fed up with the YMCA, where there were too many bratty children, beligerent women, and degenerate guys to justify the name Young Men’s Christian Association. The kind supervisor, a muscular stud with dark hair and eyes, understood my plight, and allowed me to pay a small fee per semester to use the pool. Of course, my main interest was to use the locker room and shower amenities, and to enjoy watching all the other guys, particularly the swim team members, diving team participants, and water polo players, in the pool.
I happened to be in the pool one afternoon as the diving team rushed in. After all jumping into the water, they got back out and lined up on the deck behind the diving board ladder. There were twelve of them, but the last few were behind a partition (basically a tall wooden screen about six feet wide) which stood on the middle of the deck and hid some pool supplies. The pool supervisor saw me and said that I could join the group if I wished. Before he finished speaking, I was out of the water and behind the partition.
Each diver was to perform two dives in a row before taking has place at the end of the line. For the others, this meant a lot of waiting, but that turned out to be a good thing.
I entered the line behind Gino, a pumped-up powerhouse of Italian descent whose dark black curls were as provocative as the top of his butt cleavage and the upper ridges of his muscular buttocks, which showed out from where his light blue transluscent Speedo had slipped down during his earlier playful entry into the pool. Always the athletic stud, Gino was a swimmer and water polo player as well as a diver.
I was admiring the view of Gino’s wall-like back when Gordy, a tall lanky blond guy with a thin face and blue eyes, finished his dives and walked around the outside of the partition to enter it from behind. As he turned to enter, he stepped over a hose coiled there, a move which caused him to lose his balance and bump into me before landing on a stack of life preservers. This force caused me to be thrust into Gino and literally to rear-end him. My fleshpole, already partially erect from watching these guys’ bodies, poked almost squarely between Gino’s ass cheeks, protected only by the thin lycra of his light blue Speedo and my dark blue Speedo. My chest plopped onto Gino’s back and, for support, I grabbed Gino’s fleshy shoulders.
Gino did not move forward or back, but before I could really enjoy the feeling, Gordy muttered for me to help him up. I stood in front of him and supported his elbows. As he was coming up, his forehead, nose, lips and chin grazed my bulge. When he was standing completely up, the significant bulge of his yellow Speedos met mine. Gordy smiled innocently, but I could not enjoy this either because I had to tell him his knee was bleeding. He whined and left, telling the coach he was going to the nurse’s office.
Now settled from the incident, I took my place about a foot behind Gino. I was unsure whether or not to make a move, and Gino was intent on watching his teammate, who was having trouble with his dives and thus taking much too long. My uncertainty was unfounded. In a few seconds, Gino gently stepped backwards, his asscheeks around my protrusion agan. I held onto the back of his shoulders and gently humped for a while, that is until the next diver came into line behind me. This put Gino just outside the partition while I was still behind it as the line moved forward.