Date: Wed, 29 Nov 2023 18:23:59 +0100 (CET) From: karcamel@tutanota.com Subject: Old hobby, new spice (gay, adult/youth) Nifty.org lives on donations. For the site to publish stories, I recommend that you make a small donation to them. - This story, like all the other stories of Karcamel, is purely fiction creation of the imagination. - Story codes: M/b, seduce, cons, ped OLD HOBBY, NEW SPICE I hadn't headed to the pool in years, I can't even remember the last time I dipped my toe in the pool. But now, with a new indoor swimming pool rising near my home, I decided to finally throw myself in the water and see if my swimming skills were still intact. I trusted myself, remembering the inter-school swimming competitions of my youth, in which I had done moderately well. The movements of breaststroke and freestyle were ingrained in my muscles, and after a few hundred meters, things were running like a well-oiled machine. Excited, I bought a ten times serial ticket, because swimming felt as good as I remembered. I chose to swim in the mornings when most people were busy at work and the lanes were open and spacious. But I didn't foresee the invasion of school groups, which suddenly made the pool crowded. I asked the pool staff when schoolchildren usually took over the pools, and the answer was: either side of the school lunch break. This meant that during the day I had to deal with the bustling children. At first, the noise and splashing were annoying, but I soon learned to cherish the joyful noise of children. In the changing room, the narrow lockers and the long bench in front of them offered a place to dress and rest after a swim. On one occasion, I chose a locker with a view through a glass door directly into the shower room so that I could see the activity through the glass window. At the insistence of the teachers and the rules of the swimming pool, we had to shower naked and put on swimming trunks when entering the pool. I had never before found the qualities in myself that were suddenly awakened when I watched naked little boys washing and romping around. As I sat there, I realized I was getting an erection and couldn't take my eyes off the naked bodies. I focused my thoughts elsewhere and denied it, it wasn't my thing. But it ignited in me some dormant sexuality I hadn't been aware of. In the most ordinary situations, on the street, in the shops, in the subway... wherever, it was boys of a certain age that caught my eye and I looked at them with a certain eye. In the swimming pool, I always went to the locker where I could see the showers. Finally, I reached the point where I could no longer hold myself back. I was watching approximately third-grade boys in the showers. Little pee-pees bouncing in time with them. It was such an erotic sight that I put a towel over my lower body and started jerking off on my stiff stick. The sight of the naked children gave me such energy that I barely lasted a minute before I came. I started watching pictures of the boys on the web. Then I found an AI program that could create a completely uncensored image. I created hundreds of pictures of the little boys of my dreams naked or in sexy clothes. My favorite was a ten-year-old blonde in a latex outfit with his genitals on view. I got dressed quickly, I didn't want the boy's teacher to come and discuss anything with me, after which I wouldn't be welcome to swim again. A couple of changing room aisles away I saw the boy dressing. He was wearing green joggers and a red football club shirt. I couldn't see his face, and I didn't even try, I was embarrassed enough. On my way home I went to the grocery store, and when I stepped out into the street I saw the same boy locking his bike. His back was turned to me and I couldn't see his face. I slipped behind a van which was parked on the roadside, and peeked out to see the boy. However, the van driver was just coming to open the doors, so I quickly crossed the road and didn't see the boy's face after all. A new family had moved into our house. Furniture had been carried from the moving truck to the apartment opposite my door. I'm not the most curious sort, so I wasn't that interested in what kind of people were coming. Later when I was going to clean my car, a middle-aged, quite nice-looking woman came out of the door of the apartment opposite my door. She told me she was Eliza Hall, and I greeted her by telling her my name. We walked the same way down the stairs to the ground floor, and in such a short time she told me she had moved from the other side of the country and was a single parent. I politely opened the door for the lady and at the same time, a young boy rode his bicycle into the yard. He braked in front of us. "Where did you disappear to, boy? You were supposed to put the dishes in the dishwasher before you go out." The woman rebuked the boy. "This rascal here is my son. Say, Nick, hello to Mr. Parker, he's our neighbor." The boy held out his hand and said; "Hi, I'm Nicholas." The boy's blond hair came down to his neck, almost to his shoulders. He was wearing green joggers and a red football team shirt. I went speechless and tried to say my name, but my speech turned into a stutter. "Hey, hey, yeah. Yeah, I'm Scott." I squeezed the boy's hand, wondering what he was thinking. But if he associated me with a pool-hall wanker, he knew how to cover it up skilfully. We had a few words. He told me he was in fourth grade and didn't have any friends yet. He hadn't enrolled in school yet, and he would probably be starting in a week. 2 A few days later, I found myself engaged in a lively conversation about football with my neighbor in the yard. A crucial match awaited the national team, and a win would secure their passage to the World Cup final tournament. "Let's see what happens tomorrow. The anticipation is already building, though I doubt we stand much of a chance to advance," my neighbor expressed his characteristic skepticism. "Don't be so pessimistic. The team has been performing well, and even if we don't get a win tomorrow, we'll still move forward if Ireland loses their match," I reassured. Personally, my interest in our country's success in the tournament was lukewarm at best; my attention was more captivated by pay-TV movies and other forms of entertainment. Meanwhile, Nick, my next-door neighbor's son, sat on the yard swing listening curiously to our conversation. "Mr. Parker, is tomorrow's game on your TV?" he asked excitedly. "Yes, indeed. I have a a pay-TV." "My mom hasn't subscribed to that. She claims we can't afford it. I'm crazy about football, but unfortunately, I'll have to miss the game. Thankfully, I can catch it on the radio, but it's just not the same." I glanced at the boy who was genuinely depressed. "What if you ask your mom if she'd allow you to come watch the game at my place? Watching alone can be dull, and it would be nice to have some company," I proposed, excited about the chance to spend time with the boy. He seemed friendly and had a pleasant demeanor. And he looked nice too. "I can come too," interrupted the neighbor's man. I looked at him, furrowing my brows, not keen on the idea. Even so, I was sure I could find a way to temper his enthusiasm. "If the lad comes to watch the game, then no beer. I'm not comfortable with drinking in the company of children." "Are you serious? Just a six-pack. Who does that harm?" he protested. "I don't mind, as long as I get to watch," the boy quickly added. "Did you hear that?" My neighbor's excitement surged. "I heard. And my decision stands. You're welcome to join, but no beer." My neighbor looked at me, shaking his head. He waved his hand and left. "Looks like he won't be joining us, assuming you get permission from your mother," I said with a reassuring smile. "I'm sure I'll get the green light. Wow! This is fantastic. Thank you, Mr. Parker." "But there's one more condition. You have to call me Scott, okay?" "Okay," Nick replied, his face beaming with joy. He jumped off the swing, and we gave each other high fives. I watched the boy as he started to run. I sat on the swing and saw how his light blond hair danced in the wind as he hurried into the stairwell. I heard the sound of his feet pounding on the stairs as he ran up to the third floor. His enthusiasm made me chuckle a bit. Indeed, quite a boy, I thought. Tomorrow will be an exciting day for him, but it surely will be for me too. At least I get to watch him and daydream. After a while, the window opened, and the boy excitedly exclaimed from there: "Mommy says yes, Yippii!" TO BE CONTINUED Please comment: karcamel@tutanota.com