The story that follows is the product of my imagination. None of the characters or events are real.

It is the introductory part of a longer narrative and doesn't contain sexual activity (there'll be plenty of that in future parts!).

SWIMMING BOYS

PART ONE

My name is Will and I'm a 28-year-old boylover. Earlier this year, I left the army after ten years service. I didn't regret my time as

a soldier at all but felt I had achieved what I set out to do and was now ready to move on and find a different path in my life. As it turned out,

finding a new career was not as simple as I had hoped. The place where I lived had high unemployment and I struggled to find anything better

than occasional part-time work.

It was my sister who suggested moving. Caroline lives in a different part of the country and she suggested I move in with her family

at least until I found my feet and established my career change. She's married to Peter and they have two daughters. I won't bore you with all

the details (after all, you're not here to read about little girls!) other than to say that they live in a respectable, middle-class suburb of a

well-known English city.

I had been living with them for about a fortnight and everything was going well. I had job interviews lined up and had enrolled on a

training course. The house was comfortable and I was made to feel welcome.

One evening, I was sitting with the whole family enjoying a meal together.

“What did you two do at school today?” Peter asked his two daughters.

Twelve-year-old Rebecca told him how well she had done in her French test while seven-year-old Helen was more interested in

describing the picture of a butterfly she had painted (it was now displayed on the kitchen wall).

“You have the swimming gala tomorrow, don't you Rebecca?” Caroline asked.

Rebecca nodded, stuffing a forkful of mashed potato into her mouth.

“That sounds exciting,” I said.

“Oh, it's an annual event,” Caroline explained, “Three local secondary schools compete at the leisure centre.”

“It's a nightmare!” said Peter, “Can you imagine the sound made by hundreds of cheering kids!”

“It can't be that bad,” I said, “There's nothing wrong with a bit of enthusiasm!”

“You wouldn't say that if you heard it!”

“Why don't you come along with us?” suggested Caroline. “There's always some family supporters cheering their kids on.”

“Yes, uncle William,” Rebecca added, “Come and see me race. I'm in the 25 metre breaststroke.”

“Perhaps your uncle has important things to do tomorrow afternoon,” said Peter.

“No, I think I can make it,” I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic but definitely thinking about all the lovely boys in sexy

swimwear I might see.

* * * * *

Caroline and I arrived at the leisure centre soon after lunch (Peter was working so couldn't join us) in time to see a line of buses

spewing out crowds of excited youngsters from the three school taking part. Inside the pool it was already quite busy but we managed to find

some seats in the viewing area that were near one end of the pool. Caroline chatted away to various other mums she knew, all there to cheer

on their kids and support their school.

Soon enough, the pupils began to emerge from the changing rooms. Teachers shepherded them on to rows of benches on the

opposite side of the pool from where I sat. It would have been impossible for three entire schools to attend, of course, so only those

who were actually swimming in the gala were there. By the time we were ready to start I estimated there were perhaps fifty or sixty boys

and girls.

The Headteacher of one of the schools gave a brief welcome speech and the gala began. There was a ban on photography of any

kind – in this age of dirty-old-men strict rules are enforced! - so I would have to make do with memories for my so-called 'wank bank'!

I won't describe the whole thing here other than to say that each event was grouped by age, starting with the youngest swimmers and moving

up to the oldest. I was rather more interested in appraising each boy as he came forward to race, a task that was improved due to the fact that

all of the competitors wore speedos. Each school had its own colour, dark blue for 'our' school then red and black for the other two schools.

Speedos are one of creations miracles! They offer the least cover that decency allows, their only-a-small-step-from-complete-

nakedness is charming, and at the same time they accentuate the delights they conceal. At the back they hug the buttocks, precisely following

the contours as they curve inwards to the boy's crack. Speedos perfectly sculpt a boy's anatomy. There's something about the narrowness of

speedos as they sit on the boy's hips that enchants me.

But it is the front view that draws me the most. There are the parts that you can see, the boy's belly-button punctuating the rounded

shape of his tummy, and there are the parts that you cannot see but which the yielding fabric clings to so perfectly. Little imagination is

required to complete the picture!

As each boy took his place to race I could admire and watch closely. Here, for example, was a group of twelve-year-olds. Isn't it

captivating the way that their little pricklets, maybe an inch or so long, tend to stick out horizontally? Some of them don't even have a hint

of a scrotum, their tiny balls pulled up tightly against their bodies. They were quite unlike the thirteen-year-olds whose pricklets were just

beginning to change into real cocks, their two inches folded downwards with a more defined bulge. What a difference a year makes! I had to

smile to myself at a few boys who insisted on wearing a towel around themselves until the last second. They were perhaps just of an age

where they knew what they had down below and were determined to keep it private. One of them in particular had a sizeable package for one

so young.

At the top of the pile, so to speak, were the oldest boys, the fifteen-year-olds. Each had a bulge just begging to be squeezed! Again,

there was some shyness evident but other boys were positively thriving in showing off what they had down below. Most boys preferred to

have their cocks downwards, lying over their firm balls, but some favoured a more flamboyant approach. Their cocks arranged to form a

mouth-watering horizontal bulge. I even noticed one fit lad who had arranged his cock so that it poked upwards towards his belly-button.

The gala lasted no more than an hour and I spent most of it with a stiffness in my trousers that began to leak as time went on. I was

rather looking forward to getting home for a wank which I knew would be amazing!

There were speeches, awards and a good deal of cheering. Our school came first, which certainly pleased Caroline.

As we waited for the children to get changed (parents were allowed to take them straight home rather than have them go back to

school first) the group of parents passed the time with idle chit-chat. One of the teachers from Rebecca's school came over and joined us,

Caroline introducing him.

“This is Miss Stevenson,” she said, “She's in charge of swimming at the school.”

We shook hands and I commended her for her efforts with the swimmers.

“I do the best I can,” she said, “But there's never enough time to coach the team properly.”

“So many other priorities, I suppose,” I said.

“I don't know how we're going to manage in the county competition.”

“What's that?”

“Well, today's best swimmers are put forward to the next stage,” she explained, “It'll be much tougher.”

“It sounds like you need some help with extra coaching,” said another mum standing with us.

“I would love some help, that's for sure.”

“I have a great idea!” said my sister, “My brother could help, couldn't you Will?”

“I, um...” I stuttered.

“Yes, of course you could!” she insisted then turned to Miss Stevenson, “He's a very experienced swimmer, he used to be in the army.”

I'm not sure the last part had any relevance but it seemed to convince the teacher somewhat.

“We have a special coaching session each week,” she explained, “It's every Tuesday here at the leisure centre.”

“I suppose I could give it a try,” I said, not wishing to sound too enthusiastic at the prospect.

“Excellent!” said Miss Stevenson, “We'll look forward to seeing you here at four o'clock next Tuesday, then?”

“Yes, I'll make sure he's here!” my sister butted in.

* * * * *

The weekend passed uneventfully and on the Monday I received a phone call from the Headteacher. He was pleased that I had

volunteered to help with the swimming and, having done the necessary background checks, welcomed me in my voluntary capacity.

Tuesday came and Caroline drove me to the leisure centre where we arrived just ahead of Miss Stevenson and her star swimmers.

“Have fun,” Caroline smiled. “You can get the bus home afterwards. The bus-stop's just over there, see?”

“Okay, see you later,” I replied.

“Bye!”

Miss Stevenson came over and we shook hands.

“Thank you for coming, Mr Buxton.”

Then she turned to the five swimmers, three boys and two girls. She did the necessary introductions.

“This is Mr Buxton,” she said, “He is going to be helping me with the coaching.”

Five cheerful faces looked at me and smiled before their teacher led us into the pool.

“Right, everyone,” she announced, “Go and get changed quickly while I talk strategy with Mr Buxton. Off you go!”

“If you're happy with concentrating on the three boys,” she began, “I'll work with the two girls.”

Happy concentrating on the boys? I could hardly believe what she was saying!

“Err, yes,” I replied, “If that's what you suggest we'll share the tasks like that.”

Having changed into their swimwear, the pupils returned to us waiting at the poolside. She introduce me to the three boys.

“These three lucky lads have all been selected for the next stage of the competition. This is Oscar. He's thirteen and a great

all-rounder,” she began, “And this is Joshua. You're still twelve, aren't you, Josh?”

“Yes, miss,” the boy replied.

“He's our best hope in the butterfly.”

“That's a tricky stroke to perfect,” I said.

“This is Lucas,” said Miss Stevenson, introducing the third boy, “He's fifteen.”

“What's your favourite stroke?” I asked him.

“Probably breaststroke,” he said.

“He'll be going in to the under-16s category and the other two will be in the under-14s.”

“Let me watch you swim a few lengths,” I said, “Just to get to know your strengths.”

The boys padded off in that slightly odd gait that bare-footed swimmers display. I watched them go, their little bottoms rocking

seductively in their tight speedos. They were soon in the water, swimming up and down the lanes.

Miss Stevenson took her two girls to the far side of the pool leaving the three boys on my side. We were very fortunate that we

had the whole pool to ourselves, a special concession by the council-run facility.

I watched the boys for a while. Tempting as it was to concentrate on my boylover obsession, it was necessary to actually do a

little coaching! I called Josh over to the side of the pool. He had been doing a length of backstroke.

“It's good, Josh, but you need to think about where your head is,” I said, “Put it back more so you're looking straight up at the roof.”

“Okay,” he said and splashed away to try again.

Next, I summoned Lucas. Again, I reiterated good body position. In his case, his hips were too low in the water.

“It's dragging you down like an anchor,” I said.

“What is?” he replied.

I realised what I'd said might have given the wrong impression. He had a decent bulge in his speedos and perhaps he thought I meant

the bulge of his adolescent genitalia was somehow impeding his swimming!

He clambered out of the water so he could practice his diving starts. His wet speedos hugged his bulge deliciously and he had to

swiftly tug at them, adjusting his crotch. The way the water trickled down his body was delightful.

I watched my three pupils, occasionally stopping them individually to offer more tips. There was no doubt that all three were

strong swimmers and I was genuinely keen to build on their skills.

All too soon, our hour was nearly up so we finished the session with some races just for fun.

“That's all for today,” Miss Stevenson announced, “Well done, everybody.”

“Yes, great work,” I added.

“Now, go and get changed and then you can go home.”

“I'll treat you all to a drink at the snack bar, if you like,” I said. I don't know where the impulse came from to say it, perhaps my

subconscious thoughts were telling me that it would be nice to have the boys' company for a while longer, but the pupils reacted enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes please,” one of the girls said and the others agreed.

“There's no need to do that, Mr Buxton,” said Miss Stevenson, “I'm sure they have some pocket money if they would like a drink.”

“No, it's no problem,” I said, “I think they've worked hard today and deserve a little reward.”

“Well, I shall have to leave you to it,” she said, “My husband's picking me up in the car outside so I'll have to go.”

“Okay, kids, get changed,” I said, “I'll see you in the snack bar in five minutes.”

Miss Stevenson said her goodbyes and the school kids trotted off to the changing rooms. I made my way to the snack bar and

awaited their arrival.

They all met with me shortly after and ordered their drinks. Then we sat and chatted amongst ourselves. We began with talking about

swimming but the conversation soon moved on to school in general. What were their favourite subjects? Who were their favourite

teachers? and so on.

It gave me an opportunity to get to know them all, although I must confess I did rather concentrate on the boys!

Joshua, or Josh as he preferred, was a bright young lad. I would say that he stood around 4'10 and had a fairly average build for a

sporty twelve-year-old. His cropped hair was dark, almost black, and his olive-skinned complexion suggested Mediterranean climes

rather than English ones!

Oscar, although only a year older than Josh, was considerably taller, close to 5'6 perhaps. He had an ideal swimmer's physique,

slender and athletic. His hair, still wet from the swimming, tumbled in blond locks, framing a pretty, blue-eyed face. His voice was just

at that awkward stage, sometimes boyish (especially when he giggled!) and sometimes deeper and more manly.

At fifteen, Lucas was much further down the puberty path. He was actually a little shorter than Oscar and had a stocky build.

His hair was light brown and styled in a popular fashion. Most alluring was the trace of fluff above his upper lip. Thank goodness he'd

not yet felt the need to shave it! It was like an emblem that declared 'I may be growing up but I am still a boy'! I found it both charming

and decidedly sexy.

All to soon, it was time for everyone to leave. The boys thanked me and said they had enjoyed the session.

“Will you be coming next time?” asked Lucas.

“Yes, I don't see why not,” I replied.

I watched them depart, my mind full of lustful thoughts about how I would satisfy my cravings for their young bodies.

* * * * *

Now I need your suggestions, dear readers!

Which of the three boys should I seduce first?!

Who would you most like to read about in the next chapter?

12-year-old Josh, a cute, hairless youngster?

13-year-old Oscar, a slender lad who has just begun puberty?

15-year-old Lucas, an athletic teen with a big bulge in his speedos?

Contact me at: puermalo1 @protonmail.com with your choice (and any suggestions you might like to read about).

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