From: Shorts Subject: How 'Bout a Swim? Date: 25 Sep 1996 13:27:17 GMT *** Standard Disclaimer: Do Not read further if you are under 21 years of age. Also, this is a story involving M/M Sex. Reprinted from a story by a friend--Do not attempt to sell any this material, etc.. But DO feel free to post your interest, if you'd like to read more... *** It has been a hot day. A day in Houston that just seems to follow directions from a cook book: broil, steam, roast, bake . . . Thank God this is to be my last pool of the day. How I get myself into these situations I can never quite figure out. Sure Mark is my best friend. So it is only natural for me to tell him that I will fill in for him while he is away at his brother's wedding. Somehow or other I just expected a few days -- not a week of this torture! Anyway, one last pool for the day and then home for a shower and a hot date. Actually this is a beautiful home -- really a mansion. One of those hidden behind the brick fences and trees of Memorial. I park the van in the parking courtyard and walk around to the side gate, following the directions pulled from the office computer this morning. Finding the right key, I unlock the gate and enter the pool area. "God, what a set-up", I mutter to myself. I survey the pool and the grounds: a pool, a hot tub, waterfalls, a pool house, and what looks to be a fantastic guest house come into view as I walk down the path. Following the map which Mark has drawn for me, I locate the supply room, unlock the door, and get out the chemicals and skimmer. Doing a quick analysis of the pool condition, I determine that there is actually little to be done. Hey, what a break: a few chemicals in the pool and I am out of here. I am drenched with sweat -- Mark's uniform is too small and is starting to glue itself to my body. The pool water sparkles and under other cirmcumstances, I would be nude and enjoying the cool refreshing water. Well, get this over with and on to my date. . . While measuring the chemicals into the pool, I feel eyes boring through the back of my uniform. I turn suddenly to find you there ------ A hunky, young stud -- late 20s ? early 30s ? -- in a speedo and T-top. "Hey, Guy", I mutter. "You gave me a start!" "How's it going today?" "OK, I guess", you reply. "You're the pool guy, huh?". "Yep, I'm Bill, and I am taking over for my friend, Mark, while he is out of town." As we talk, I can see your eyes move to the bulge in my uniform trousers. I have had to borrow Mark's uniform, and he is several sizes smaller than I am. Obviously, you can tell that I am not wearing underwear. The smaller sized trousers and the sweat from my body have caused my cock to be pasted along my right thigh. "I don't know Mark", you say. "I'm J, -- a guest here from out of state." "Oh, I see," I reply, obviously attracted to your fantastic shape and bulging speedos. How to handle this, I wonder. Should I make a direct attack or play it cool? I decide on the latter move and pick up the pool skimmer, knowing full well that there is nothing to be skimmed from the pool. You saunter over to a lounge chair and throw your towel on the back of the chair, never taking your eyes from my quickly growing cock down my leg. You sit down on the lounger, and then straddle it, giving me a full view of your speedo enclapeslated manhood. I approach your lounger with the skimmer in hand, pretending to clean the pool. Suddenly the phone rings. You get up and go to the phone on the bar of the pool house and answer it. I decide to make my move. I walk over behind you, reach around you and put my hands under your T. Running my hands up your firm chest, I tweak each nipple, sending surges of excitement through your body. You are having trouble keeping the conversation on track but try. I finger your nipples and tongue your left ear. You gasp and lean back into my hardening erection. I slowly lift your T over your head as you manuever your hand, arm and phone through the opening. With an audible gasp, you stiffen as I reach around and run my hands down your stomach and cup your stiffing pouch. Trying to make a sensible conversation, you try to twist out of my grasp; however, I have you pinned to the bar and proceed to massage your mound of manflesh at the same time you are grinding your ass into my uniformed cock. Slamming down the phone, you reel and scream: "Get your hands off of me! You are nothing but hired help! Who told you that you could take such liberties?" "Your eyes", I reply. With this, I grab you and plant a firm kiss on your lips, forcing my tongue deep into your suddenly-inviting mouth. Face-to-face and holding you firmly within my grasp, you start to melt. My hands go round your body and cup your young ass. Massaging your round mounds, I pull your body into my firm erection. Your erection meets mine, and we both sigh with anticipation of things to come . . . to be continued . . .