Wednesday, March 19, 2014


My first boy-crush was on a lifeguard at a swimming pool at a Catholic college in my home town. I took swimming lessons there...

His name was Tommy. He was medium height, and had dark brown hair. His body was somewhat muscular but was also soft body, and although his stomach was flat and hard his pecs were soft to the touch. He had a furry chest with body hair that laid flat against his skin, had a happy trail down his stomach, and furry and exceptionally muscular legs. He also wore a VERY filled-out Speedo that left nothing to the imagination. He preferred them in powder blue, scarlet red, and cobalt blue colors.

College girls fawned over him, standing around his lifeguard chair and cooing at him. He replied to them, but he was not interested in them.

When the swimming classes were over, he'd stand. Put his arms way over his head, and stretch. Like in this photo. He'd grimace, and then shake his body all over. Then he'd dive into the pool.

When Tommy got out of the pool, he'd pull on the back of his Speedo to get it back down over his very full buttocks. Then he'd stick his fingers in the front of the Speedo, and adjust himself up front. This would leave his pubes exposed, so he'd hike his Speedo up in front -- tightening the fabric around his massive package.

My memory is full of split-second images of him, diving into the water. Pulling on his Speedo. Adjusting himself. His arm lazily splayed backward over his lifeguard chair. His fingers rubbing a nipple. His spread legs. His smile. The almost black pubic hair jutting over the top of his trunks. His gracefulness. The way he'd blush if he caught you looking at him. The jet-blackness of his eyes. The soft, chewyness of his nipples when he was dry and warm, and their stiff, perfect erectness when he came out of the cold water.

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