Chapter 1, David
by Bob Nelson
Third week of summer and here come the cars, vans and SUV's, bringing this year's crop of teenaged boys to basketball camp. It' so nice that the College puts it on every year. I teach here and live just off campus so I come see what each crop looks like. There are always a few boys who are special... handsome or cute, tanned or pale, but smooth -- and at that delightful age: early sexual. Many of them don't realize they look so fine. Some move around with natural grace in their camp "uniform" of shorts, T-shirts, and basketball shoes then pass the ball to a team mate, make fakes, moves and jump shots. A few flex and stretch, pose, punch their friends on the arm or throw an arm around a buddy's neck -- or stand a certain way while watching the others.
One boy stood out this year. He had a completely smooth, hairless body, arms and legs but had some muscular definition. He was a strawberry blonde, which always gets my attention. Unlike most blondes whose eyelashes and eye brows are so pale their faces seem washed out, this kid had light auburn eyebrows with darker eyelashes to frame his eyes. It looked like his eyes were green -- or hazel. Couldn't make out the color from this distance, but they had "the look of eagles," that slightly raised lower lid which shows a keen, perceptive gaze. Not a squint, but the beginning or one. His overall effect and affect on me was breathtaking! His face was unblemished, with well defined cheek bones tapering down to a strong but narrow jaw, slightly concave cheeks, and lips that turned up at the ends. That gave him a constant slight smile. Very masculine and handsome! Not cute, and beyond the young boy stage but not a man. He may have been 14, 15 or 16, but he seemed more mature than many 18 year olds. He carried himself well, moving with easy assurance on or off the court. I began to watch him through my dark, wrap-around shades. My dog Spike was content to lie beside some of the young boys who were resting halfway through their workout. They were petting him, so he was wagging his tail and smiling. Yeah, he smiles when he's happy.
I was happy and smiling, too, making small talk to the young boys, moving my head back and forth as though I were looking at all the action on the courts, but keeping my eyes on the strawberry blonde. I'll call him blonde but I revel in the shades of red and gold in his hair. His body was that pale, pinkish white of some blondes who seem unable to tan. His skin wasn't milky white, but had an amber tint to it, so he'd gotten some sun. Just right -- no, better than that -- Beautiful! And he wasn't aware that he was. It's a turn off to me when any boy or man thinks that he is SO hot and desirable that he struts around in an arrogant, self centered, condescending way. Most of that type are always shouting, bragging, or putting someone down; anything to draw attention, which they consider admiration or adoration. This blonde boy had no pretensions -- not even any tensions. He moved and stood with complete grace and beauty. Where had I seen that body and face before? I hadn't been aware of the color of the previous youth's hair, only the perfection of his body, muscles, and skin, his graceful way of standing without affectation. When? What color hair? It had had no color.
Then it struck me: Michelangelo's David! I'd seen the original in Florence years ago. I took a week's leave from the ship in Naples, and though most others went to Rome, I went to Florence. I was amazed that the original statue of David was in what looked like a private garden courtyard in front of a Roman villa. I had never seen a replica of the statue and was startled that the original David is about one and one-half times life size. The better to see his details? The more to let Michelangelo lovingly recreate his perfection in marble, as he caressed the stone -- and the boy? I'd heard that the model who posed for the statue had been one of Michelangelo's lovers, or conquests. I hoped so, for both their sakes.
Now I looked back at the David who was present. "My David." The name seemed to fit him perfectly, and I realized this time that his hair had exactly the length, shape, and curliness lovingly carved by our greatest sculptor. But my David was alive, vibrant, and glowing with a flush from exertion and the sheen of youthful perspiration. As if I'd sent him the thought, he wiped one hand down his front from shoulder to waist, and flicked off the sweat. Then he repeated it with the other hand. Any youth focussed on the his sensual feelings from his body would have watched his hand, possibly lingering or repeating the action. David just skimmed off the sweat and flicked it away while standing off court, focussed on the guys still playing. Oh, God, the hair under his arms was the same rosy strawberry blonde as on his head! What a young god!! Everything about him seemed mythical! Even standing still he was graceful -- almost artistic, like a ballet rest position, with one foot turned out, a little behind the other, back knee slightly bent, his body turned slightly away from the direction his feet were set. His left hand rested easily on his hip, his right thumb was in the waistband of his shorts, fingers casually pointed down toward his crotch. His shorts were too loose for me to see even a bulge there. Oh! He just scratched and rearranged his crotch! That caught my attention! All the boys probably had to wear jock straps and maybe his was new, and scratchy.
Every single facet and feature that I could see was perfectly proportioned, and "the whole was more than the sum of the parts." Perfection! Even his feet. Some of the boys had huge feet, but David's dimensions were perfect in every way. His legs were shapely -- hmm, never used that term for a boy before, but it fit him. His legs had narrow ankles, rounded calves and thighs which seemed strong. From what I could see they were well formed, but they were half covered by his shorts. Many of the boys wore long, loose fitting board shorts or "jams" that were knee length or longer. But happily, David's were only to mid thigh. Since his were thin white nylon and he'd worked up a sweat, they clung to him and showed off his perfect ass.
Yes, it was a perfect bubble butt: gorgeously rounded, swelling out in perfect globes which rose from his thighs, then reversed the curves on top, sloping smoothly inward to his waist. His hips and butt were just wide enough to set off his narrow waist. His belly had the start of a six pack, and his back had defined long, lean muscles: Latisimus dorsi. His lats rose from his pelvis on each side and swept up around his sides to end at the front of his strong shoulder sockets. His shoulders were broad and square, with rounded deltoids; his chest broad with developing pectorals. I thought I could see some defined intercostals -- those little lumpy muscles that rise between the ribs when boys and men do a lot of work or exercise with their upper body. My David's torso was developing the classic V-shape of broad shoulders, developed chest and back, and a narrow waist. His nicely worked up pecs offset his slender waist and tight gut. In a year or two he'd have a six pack. Not there yet, but the seeds of his shape had been planted and nourished; his crop of muscles was beginning to sprout. All of this was obvious. There wasn't an ounce of subcutaneous fat on this lad. His perfect proportions and clean skin over clearly defined muscles could have been photographed and substituted for the pen and ink drawings in Gray's Anatomy. It would have made the study of musculature much easier for most pre-med students, but harder for others. Hard for those of us entranced by physical male beauty. Anatomy, physiology, physiognamy -- David was the perfect example, illuminating them all. Ahh!
"What? Yes, Spike is a good dog, isn't he? No, he sure isn't as tough as his name. I gave him a name to scare off intruders, since I live alone. Hmm? Yes, I should have called him Killer or Fang to do that. Come on, Spike, we have to finish your walk. Nice talking with you boys. Welcome, again. How long is your camp? Five days? Good. Some of the guys only get four days -- not long enough to practice anything they learn. 'Bye for now. Probably see you on some of Spike's other walks through campus."
I turned back from this brief interaction to find that my David had put his T-shirt back on and was sitting down at the far side of the courts with all the other boys. The head coach was standing in front of his six assistant coaches, who were in front of their dozen assistants... young men hardly discernible from the most mature of the boys signed up for the camp. Ah, well, show's over for today. Good thing we only live a block off campus. All my neighbors know I prefer walking Spike on campus instead of just on our sidewalks. We cut across a lot of the lawns unless they're wet; Spike likes to leave his daily offerings well off any path or sidewalk. The students here do the same -- cut across the lawns, that is. They only leave their "offerings" in the bushes on their drunken weekends. I always walk Spike on a leash, because he still hasn't figured out that cars are dangerous. That gives me a reason to go on all his walks, though, to "keep us in shape." And to enjoy the eye candy of the young college men.
As I was turning the corner of the courts I glanced back at the boys. My David was watching me! I had a momentary jolt of fear. Had he realized how much I'd watched him? No, he raised his hand, smiled and waved! Just one casual side-to-side wave. I smiled and waved back, then felt a sudden zing rush from my feet to my face ... a hot wave of skin tingles. When it reversed itself it only got as far as my groin, causing my cock to wake up. All this in one or two seconds, but what a delicious feeling. My David noticed me! His initial response was friendly approval, done in a very casual way! As though he'd met me before and he just acknowledged seeing me again. Cool! Definitely "way cool" as he might say. Oh, oh, that's causing a hard problem. And it's getting harder. I have to hurry home, and work toward a solution ~ ~ ~.
Send any comments or questions to me, Bob Nelson at NailsB69@hotmail.com. Constructive comments or suggestions for what you'd like to happen next are welcome. Flames will be ignored.