Adventures in the swimming locker room

[NCbear]

What I wish had happened:

At a pause in our conversation, after I spun-dry my Speedos, I stood there with my towel in one hand and Speedos in the other and decided to jump in with both feet.

"Hey man, good for you!"

He frowned a bit, puzzled, not sure what I meant.

"Glad you're showing how we're similar. When we first met, you didn't want to display it, but now you are. Good for you!"

Those perfect cheekbones flushed a little, and he glanced to his side where his friend was sitting leaning against the tiled wall, his eyes closed.

"Yeah, well . . . thanks for showing me it's okay to be different."

"You're welcome." I grinned. "Actually, I wish I was . . . built more like you."

His hands went to his hips. "What do you mean?"

"I wish my skin was longer. Like yours."

He looked down. "It still doesn't cover the whole head. My father's does."

"That's okay. It looks good!"

"Thanks," a little sheepishly. He looked over at my crotch. "I wish I had your big head. Is that why your skin doesn't cover it completely?"

"I was born with a short skin. This is the result of years of pulling it forward and back." I waggled my eyebrows up and down, suggestively, and grinned again.

He smiled. "I hear you."

He paused, looking down at the floor, then back into my eyes. "It's just really nice to see someone else . . . like me."

"Same here. We're pretty rare!"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I sure as hell thought I'd never see another guy our age like us . . . . One question: How'd you develop the balls to just let it all hang out?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know. I have three older brothers, a mother who's a nurse, and a father who's a librarian. We never hurried when we went from the bathroom to our bedrooms to dress, holding our towels in one hand. I've seen everyone in my family naked, and it's no big deal. Also, I've been a Boy Scout and in various swimming pool locker rooms for years."

"Are your brothers or father . . . like you?"

"No. And before you ask"--I saw the question rising in his eyes--"I don't know why. The only time I asked, my mother told me that when I was born, everything pulled back so she didn't see the need to get me cut. But I'm the only one in my immediate family who's like us."

"Huh."

"Yeah. One time I was worried that I would be different, my mother told me that her brothers, my uncles, were uncut like me. That made me feel better. And then I saw lots of pictures of classical Greek and Roman statues in my dad's encyclopedias and art books, and all of those guys were uncut, so I didn't feel quite so weird . . . different . . . unusual."

I took a breath. "But I also learned that being different from the norm doesn't necessarily mean that you're abnormal. I mean, there are other guys like us, and it's how we're all born, so . . . I've learned to deal with other guys' stares and questions."

His head jerked up, his eyes meeting mine. "Other guys have asked you about yours??" He sounded really shocked.

I had to chuckle a little. "Yeah. After they look a bit, some want to talk." I paused, not sure how he'd respond. "And some want to touch."

"Really??" His eyes were practically popping out of his skull.

"Well, yeah." I kept my tone nonchalant. "They want to know how it feels, so they ask to pull the skin back and forth. Sometimes I let them."

"You do??"

"Yeah, sure." I shrugged. "They don't have any other chance to see what it feels like, and other uncut guys might be really offended to be asked, so I just smile and say 'okay.'"

"Wow." He shook his head like a bull, stunned by the possibility that another man's curiosity might induce him to ask to reach out and feel how the skin glides along the shaft.

Then a thought obviously struck him. "So . . . if I wanted to . . . find out how a different one feels . . . "

"Sure," I said cheerfully. "I'd let you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He took a step or two over to where I stood and then reached out a hand that only trembled a bit. With all that talk, I'd become nearly fully erect, and my skin was nearly fully back, exposing the mushroom head of my cock.

His fingers encircled the shaft right behind the head, gently and then more firmly. He looked up, found my eyes, and grinned a little nervously. "It's thick as hell. And hot. And"--he pulled the skin forward a bit--"a little different from mine."

I made it pulse in his hand.

"Damn," he said. "You're thicker than I am."

His cock was nearly fully erect too--and not small, either, though he was right: his wasn't quite as thick as mine.

"May I?" I asked, nodding to where his cock was throbbing with every heartbeat into a full erection.

"Yeah . . . I guess."

"Okay."

I encircled his shaft with my fingers, pulling his foreskin slowly but smoothly back and then forward again. As I pulled it forward, he gasped slightly.

"That's what I do when I . . . "

"I know," I smiled. "I've got one too."

"Damn," he said again, astonished that it could be like this between two men experimenting a bit.

He pulled my skin forward and back again, mimicking my hand on his cockshaft. "It's different, but it's still a helluva feeling."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

He took his hand off my now-fully-erect cock. "Hey . . . this is cool as hell. Thanks."

I saw his mood changing slightly. He was straight, and this had gone as far as it was going to go. That was okay with me--he'd had his hand around another uncut guy's hard cock, and that other guy had had his hand around his hard cock, so he now knew what it felt like to check out another guy's foreskin.

So I didn't push. Instead, I took my hand off his hard cock and said, "You're welcome. Glad I could let you have a rare experience."

"Yeah," he said, sounding relieved that I understood he didn't want to go any farther. "You're the first guy I've seen who was my age and uncut like me."

I grinned into his now-smiling face. "And I'm sure I won't be the last. Lots of guys here are from Russia, Germany, and other places! And some are like us--born here but"--my grin widened--"unusual."

He laughed, appreciating my word choice.

Still hard, still naked, he reached out his hand and shook mine. "Thanks, man. Much appreciated."

"Absolutely. Take care, and I'll see you around."

And he went back to his locker to put on his Speedos while I headed to mine to dress and get ready for my next class.

 

[NCbear]

I've written about this guy in a previous post, too. He was a professor of business with a name that combined a very "country" first name plus an Eastern European last name, sort of like Jimbo Chernenski. So we'll call him that. Dr. Jimbo Chernenski.

He was slender and fit (more on the lanky side than the muscly side) and tended to swim only occasionally at the same time I did. His hair, moustache, well-trimmed full beard, and body hair were all going gray, but subtly, and his skin color was very nearly a warm bronze (except of course where his board shorts kept everything pale white). He was in his fifties and I was in my late twenties. He was always sort of reserved, but friendly enough whenever people talked with him.

I originally got to know him from my work in business writing (I was the graduate student representative to the business school from the English department; I helped students and faculty learn how to write more effectively, and they helped me understand the nuances of how business writing differs from other kinds of writing.) He was what they call an "endowed chair" of management--he'd been appointed to a position that carried with it a savings account created by a donation from a company, sort of like the Microsoft Professor of Management. I would later learn exactly how "endowed" he was!

One Saturday around midmorning, I was in the swimming pool locker room described above, changing clothes after a long workout (probably at least a half mile swim, given that time in my life), and he walked in. Of course, he was wearing weekend clothes, not his normal dress shirt and slacks, so I saw basically a lanky, graying white guy in loose-fitting jeans and a T-shirt and sandals. I wanted to be polite, so there I was with a quick "Hi, Dr. Chernenski!"

He said hello. And then he nonchalantly pulled his jeans down.

Well, let me tell you all, I could've been knocked over with a feather at what I saw. Lightly haired thighs (gray hair) and graying pubes (very sexy), a full bush (even sexier), and a long dangling trouser snake that looked about as thick as those large tubes of toothpaste you see in discount stores (GOT-damn!). And a cut head about as large as a Rome apple. His balls weren't too small, but they were definitely overshadowed by the cock. The whole shaft was that sepia-gold "flesh" color you see in some Renaissance paintings, and the head was a faintly bluish dark magenta. His whole cock was within a few centimeters of being as long as a two-liter soda bottle is tall.

I couldn't talk. I just couldn't think of what to say. It's rare that I don't have any idea what to say, but that was one of those moments.

I'm sure he had experienced this reaction before, because he didn't try to get me to talk, just let me look my fill as he stood there. After about 15-20 seconds, I realized he knew I was staring, so I looked up at his face--and he was smiling, a combination of I-know-why-you're-speechless, this-happens-all-the-time, and I-completely-understand/I'd-be-struck-speechless-as-well-in-a-similar-situation.

He didn't wear a wedding ring, but I knew he was married to a woman and I also knew from his mannerisms and behavior that he was completely straight, but I could tell that he understood and sympathized with--and maybe even appreciated--the thunderstruck reactions he probably got all the time when other guys saw his cock.

After I started to breathe again, he reached down and gave that big head a tug, stretching the shaft even further, while asking me a question about how often I swam there--obviously to initiate a conversational diversion and remind me that there was a man attached to that GIANT cock right THERE in my field of vision.

We talked about the swimming pool and about exercise and fitness while he casually took off his shirt and sandals, put on his board shorts, and threw his towel across his shoulders, getting ready to go swim.

For him, it was just a conversation with a guy he knew from work as he changed clothes to go swim. For me, it was a life-changing revelation of what he had in his pants. I couldn't look at him the same way again. I now knew where he got his quiet but strong confidence from.

Every time since then that I saw him in the locker room, I'd stare, he'd let me, he'd ignore my staring, and he'd act like everything was normal/A-OK.

However, a couple of years later, he told me--again while nonchalantly changing clothes--that he was going to be changing swimming pools to a private pool nearer his house in an upscale area of the city, because it was more convenient. He then grinned and said something jokingly that heavily implied I'd miss seeing his cock; embarrassed, but honest, I had to agree. He then said (basically) that he'd probably elicit much the same reaction from other guys there, because he's gotten that reaction in locker rooms and other male-shared-nudity spaces all his life.

So he called me out on the staring but then said it was normal. I could deal with that. <grin>

 

[NCbear]

Here's how that first meeting might've played out, if he'd shown any interest in doing anything with me:

He pulled down his pants.

I couldn't help myself. "DAMN!"

He looked at me and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I get that reaction a lot."

"No, really, DAMN!"

"Yeah."

"DAMN."

"You said that. Don't be so surprised. Somebody's got to have the Big One in the Locker Room, y'know." And he winked.

"Wow."

"OK, we're using a different word. Progress, I think." His tone was warmly friendly and amused, not sarcastic.

"You're fucking HUGE!"

"Yeah, my wife said so the first time she saw me naked." This time he smiled crookedly, showing a dimple at the side of his moustache.

He was casually getting out of his shirt and sandals while all this was going on.

"How the hell big--"

"Does it get? A bit thicker and longer, but not much. Just harder."

"Damn."

"Yeah." His expression grew a bit more serious. "I have to be careful not to 'bottom out' in my wife. I don't want to hurt her."

"You must really look huge when you get hard."

"True." He was pulling his board shorts up to his knees, then straightened up and looked me in the eyes. "Want to find out?"

"You'd let me . . . ?"

"Sure." His tone was breezy and light. He knew he was the eighth wonder of the world, and he was OK with sharing it. "Come over here."

"Um . . . . OK." I couldn't hardly walk, my knees were so shaky with a combination of surprise and lust.

"Here, put your hand around it. Yeah, like that." He put his big yard-work-hardened hand over mine, then moved it up and down the shaft, gently, in a slow stroke. "That's what I like."

Very soon, the heavy limpness started plumping up. He moved my hand back and forth, back and forth, again.

I soon learned he was OK with giving some direction.

"Grip it a little tighter. That's it. Now right behind the head--yeah, like that."

Now the head was nearly plum-colored, its skin taut and sensitive, the shaft backing it up thicker than before, standing out from his crotch at nearly a 30-degree angle lower than horizontal. I took my hand off his cock and he shifted his feet, his cock swaying slightly like a loading crane in a shipyard during a stiff breeze.

"You've got me hard. Go ahead and finish me off. I can't go swimming with this gigantic hard-on in my shorts."

I complied, using a little longer stroke up and down that now-massive shaft. He apparently appreciated my thumb rolling over the frenulum under his somewhat loosely circumcised cockhead, because he began to thrust his hips forward with each slow stroke, the precome dripping out of his large pisshole.

I rubbed the wetness over his cockhead and gave him an extra thrill by closing my fist over it and jacking him there.

"Ah, AH, damn, that's good. DAMN, you know how to jack a buddy off."

In a few more strokes, more precome came out, enough to lubricate the first third of his thick shaft. Now, my fist was going up and down from his pisshole to nearly halfway down his cockshaft.

Every stroke made him gasp and thrust his hips forward. "Yes, yes, YES, that's it, I'm getting close."

I could see that. And smell it. He'd obviously not showered since waking up and working a bit in his yard before coming to the pool. His nipples were hard, beads of sweat were rolling down his lean abs from his cute little "outie" bellybutton, and his balls were getting tighter and tighter. Masculine scent was rolling off him like a wave--that good smell from a man who eats well either exercising or having sex.

His cockhead and shaft grew impossibly harder in my hand. Suddenly, he was crying out.

"I'm almost there! Yes, yes, YES! DAMN, that feels good! Keep on going! Yes! I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm COMING!"

And he sure as hell was. He came like a man who hadn't had sex in decades--hips thrusting, cockhead a dark purple, the sperm thick and white. Spurts of come flew through the air and landed six or eight feet away (certainly, farther away than he was tall).

He cried out with every spurt. "Ah, AH, AHHHHHH! DAMN, that feels good! Yes, YES! AHHH! Oh, GOD! OH! YES! Ah, AH! Oh. OH! Yes." His voice got softer as his balls emptied. Ten or twelve shots later, he was done, leaning back against his locker door, his smile wide and sated, his chest still heaving but slower now as he caught his breath, that enormous cock now deflating in my hand.

"Damn, [NCbear]! You've got talent. You really know how to jerk a buddy's cock the right way."

I could only say "thanks" and note that he had "talent" also.

<grin>

 

[NCbear]

There was also a tall, lanky janitor who cleaned that locker room my last year there. He was probably in his middle to late 30s and had a short natural haircut, medium brown skin, and a goatee that circled his wide smile, full of white teeth and pink gums. The center of his lower lip was pink as well. But his most interesting physical feature was how hairy his body was--he wore a metal-snap- and zip-front set of coveralls that showed a forest of hair coming up from the opening and up to his adam's apple, and when he rolled up his sleeves, his forearms were thick with black curly hair as well.

His body hair figures into things because even though he was straight, or mostly straight, he let me touch it many times. And one time I saw him completely naked, in the showers, and he and I talked about being both hairy and uncut.

The first time I saw him, I was coming in to swim just after lunch on a rainy fall Saturday, and he had a mop in his hands and was busily scrubbing away at tiles that had taken the worst of it when others had walked through red mud or drifts of autumn leaves to come work out or swim. He was tall and lanky, yes, but his coveralls--unsnapped/unzipped down to his sternum--showed broad shoulders and thick biceps, along with that bushy body hair growing wild all over his chest and up to the bottom edge of his adam's apple.

I couldn't help myself--I muttered "Damn!" as I walked past him.

He stopped, turned to me, and said, "What did you say?"

I thought to myself, Shit. He heard me. I said aloud, "I said 'damn.'"

His dark-brown eyes narrowed. "Why'd you say that?"

I threw caution to the winds. "Because I've never seen someone with so much hair."

His suspicious expression transformed into a grin. "Yeah, my wife says that. She enjoys playing with it."

Hmmm. Yeah, I'd noticed a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Straight and therefore probably off limits, I thought. "Playing with it?"

"Yeah. She says it's really soft. She says it tickles her hands." He grinned even wider.

"Is it really soft?" I couldn't help asking.

His grin faded a bit, his eyes looking into mine, obviously trying to figure out where I was going with that question. "I think so, yeah, and she thinks so, too."

"'Cause it looks like it might be bristly or scratchy, like my beard."

He scoffed. "Sha! It's soft." He looked at me slyly under his long eyelashes. "I'll prove it to you."

"Yeah? How?" I was now enjoying the game and wondering whether he'd really let me . . . .

He rested the mop against a wall and walked over to me, my swim bag on a bench, my dark red locker door open. "Reach out and touch it." Both big hands were pulling the opening of his coveralls even further apart. I could see lots of bushy hair wherever I looked.

I couldn't believe my luck. He was going to let me touch him!

I reached out my right hand and cautiously ran the back of it over the hair over his sternum. But then an idea struck me. I pulled my hand back fast as though his body hair had cut me and said, "It's scratchy!"

"No, man, it's soft! I tell you, it's soft!" He pulled away the fabric over his heart. "Check this out."

I pretended to think about it. He looked into my eyes and nodded, giving his permission. I reached out again, this time with the palm of my hand.

"Damn, it is soft . . . ."

"Yeah? What'd I tell you?" he asked, challengingly, my hand still on his chest, his question vibrating through my fingers.

"And damn, but you must work out a lot," I said admiringly, as though I were a straight jock talking to another one. My hand was still on his chest, my fingers still buried in his body hair.

"Nah, just hard work cleaning things. But it's just like a workout. Check this out." And he flexed his pecs, looking down at them like a proud father.

Wow! Impressive and sexy. But I couldn't say that. "Amazing! Do that again!"

He flexed again, still looking down at his own chest, his hands still pulling apart his coveralls . . . and this time my hand slid, accidentally on purpose, so my little finger touched his nipple.

He gasped at the touch and his wide eyes flew up to mine. "Damn!"

I smiled inside. Wonder whether . . . .

Keeping my hand on his chest (and my face innocently curious), I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Shit, that felt good."

"Yeah?" I asked, letting my interest come into my voice.

"Yeah. Never had that happen before. Do that again!" And he looked down again.

I tweaked his now-hard nipple again with my littlest finger, and he drew in a larger breath.

"SHIT! Never had that happen. Most times, my wife likes to play with my hair in the middle of my chest, or she goes lower down . . . ." His grin turned conspiratorial and sly.

I had to laugh. "I'll bet she does."

"But damn, I'm gonna have to ask her to do what you did to my nipple, 'cause my dick's getting hard. Look at that!" He gestured with his chin toward his crotch, where indeed a bulge was growing.

"Yeah, I can see it." I smiled at him, inwardly marveling at his openness about what my touch had done.

"Well, it's near the end of my shift, so I think I need to get home and teach my wife some new tricks." His smile was really wide, and the bulge in his coveralls was developing a wet spot.

"Excellent!" I exclaimed, beaming at him. "You'll have to tell me how it goes, with that 'soft' hair and that new feeling."

"I'll do that," he grinned.

And he was true to his word: He told me the next Saturday that he and his wife now incorporated nipple play into their sex lives, and that it seemed like every time someone touched his nipple admiringly, he would get hard.

That next Saturday, in fact, he was sweeping up before taking out his mop, when we saw each other.

He grinned and said jokingly, "Hey man, it's soft, I tell you!"

I smiled and said, teasingly, "I don't believe you. I'll have to feel it."

He walked over to me and pulled open his coveralls, showing that amazingly hairy chest. "Reach your hand out."

I did, my palm toward him. "Damn!"

"Yeah? How about . . . you know, what you did to my nipple?" He gestured with his chin.

I tweaked it slightly. He gasped, his eyes smiling into mine. "I told my wife that it turns me on when someone touches my nipple when they're really enjoying my hair."

Sure enough, his crotch was beginning to tent out.

"What did she say? Or should I say, what did she do?" My innuendo made him chuckle.

"Now, every time we fuck, she's all into my nipples. And man, does that ever feel good!"

My hand was still on his chest. I grinned and tweaked his nipple again. "Like that?" His bulge pulsed.

He smiled at me. "Yeah! Thanks for accidentally doing that the first time, 'cause I had no idea."

"Really?" I put on a skeptical expression.

"Yeah, man. I never knew." He looked down at his bulge. "But now, as good as that feels, I've got to get back to work and give my dick some time to go down. And you've got to swim, right?"

"Yeah."

So I went on and changed while he swept and mopped another part of the locker room.

A similar scene played out over the next few times I saw him, throughout the fall and winter and into the next year's spring: He'd joke about how I hadn't believed his chest hair was soft, he'd "make" me touch it, he'd joke about how I'd accidentally touched his nipple and how it turned him on, I'd touch his nipple again and his bulge would start showing, and then he'd say something about how he'd have to go and do some work while his hard-on went back down, and he'd go off to another part of the locker room and I'd hear him singing Motown tunes softly while he swept or mopped.

That went on from time to time until the memorable day I saw him naked in the showers.

 

[silvertriumph2]

Hard bodied and Extremely Hairy men......a definite turn-on.
Can't wait for more good reading to cum.....

 

[NCbear]

It'd been an unusually hot day in early spring, and he'd done a lot of work in the early morning, so when I came in to swim at lunch, he was just finishing his final mopping of the last corner of the locker room, sweaty circles under his arms and in the center of his lower back.

Again, he challenged me to feel his "soft" body hair, again, I tweaked his nipple, and again, he joked about the reaction in his crotch.

This time, though, he looked at me with an odd expression, a bit serious and a bit wary, his overalls tenting out, and said, "Huh. I'm sweaty as all hell. I'd better get in the shower before I go home."

"Yeah," I agreed, as blandly as I could, trying to hide my eagerness at the possibility of seeing. Him. NAKED. "It was hot as all get-out walking over. I'd better get a shower too before getting in the pool." [The gym was four or five blocks from my apartment.]

Right there, he took off his shoes and socks, unzipped and unsnapped his overalls, and got out of his undershirt. His muscular chest, belly, back (from the neck to the waist), shoulders, arms (down to the wrists), thighs, and lower legs (all the way to his ankles) were covered with thick, curly black hair, longer than the tightly curled body hair I'd seen on most Black men until then. Except for his skin color, he looked like an extremely hairy Mediterranean (Spanish/French/Italian/Greek) or Latin man.

His boxers were tented out even more, and I had to remind myself to breathe normally. His cock was pushing out the thin white fabric next to the open fly, which let me see a lot of hairy crotch. It was already the size of a flashlight--the thick and long kind that takes three or four D-cell batteries--and was obviously not fully hard yet. It looked like a tent pole holding up the roof of a tent from the inside, with a slight wet spot at the very tip.

He took a towel and a cake of soap out of his backpack and laid them down on the wood bench between us. Then he paused again. He stood up straight and looked over at me, his hands on his hips.

"We're all guys here, so my hard-on shouldn't be a problem, right?"

I grinned and made my tone buddy-buddy and light. "Right! We all get 'em."

He pulled down his shorts. Man, it was as though an anaconda had been released. It fell heavily down in an arc in front of big, hairy balls and a completely unshaven crotch. Thick, dark brown skin overlaid his cockshaft all the way to the tip, which showed just the slightest hint of moist pink in the inside of the foreskin, perfectly matching his pink tongue and--as I would find out in the next few minutes--his pink cockhead. A vein as large as the diameter of a #2 pencil shaft traced the length of the top of his cockshaft from his bushy pubes to the base of his cockhead, still fully covered with skin and rapidly inflating as I watched while hastily undressing.

(I didn't want to miss a thing, as I'm sure you can understand. Later, I found that I'd thrown my socks, shoes, underwear, shorts, and shirt in seven different directions, but at the time, I was focused on getting in the shower with him.)

He stood there, his hands on his hips, completely unselfconscious regarding his now-nearly-level-with-the-floor cock, waiting for me. "C'mon, man!"

"I'm coming," I said, rolling my eyes inwardly at the play on words.

After grabbing my own towel and soap, I walked beside him and partly behind him to the shower room. His cock went down to a semi as we walked, which made me feel both disappointed and relieved. We were the only ones in the locker room, so I couldn't help but hear the meaty smack of his semi against his thick, hairy thighs with every step.

As we walked, I also noticed that his amazingly muscular ass cheeks--he had an ass like a bicyclist--were covered with hair as well. I thought how wonderful it would be to wrap my arms and legs around his hairy body. My erect cock bobbing as I walked, the foreskin fully behind the head, I followed him into the shower room.

The hot water in those showers never came out instantaneously. That day, for some reason, the hot water took longer than usual to get up to temperature. My cock drooped as the cooler water sprayed over me; his cock went down some as well.

As our cocks went down, my own foreskin went forward again, over the corona of my cockhead.

He looked over, white suds in his black body hair against the backdrop of his brown skin already creating an image a porn director would kill to shoot. "Hey man, I didn't notice before that you were uncut too."

"Yeah, sure am!" I grinned and then faced the shower head and started to rinse out my foreskin in preparation for lathering it up.

"Most guys your age are cut. How'd you escape the knife? Were you born at home? Or overseas?"

"It was my parents' decision. I'm grateful to them, 'cause I couldn't imagine not having it. Makes it easier to jack off!"

He grinned, pulling his own skin back and forth in a jacking-off motion. "Yeah, it makes things really fun. I also enjoy coming--not like those guys in porn movies who give a little grunt once or twice. I shout and thrash and all that! My wife likes when she licks inside the skin and I go all wild. And hey, that nipple thing? It adds a lot of that good feeling."

He was at the very next shower, so I couldn't resist. "Hair still soft?"

He smiled big and moved closer to me, his cock swinging heavily. "Touch it and find out!"

Looking him in the eyes, I reached out and touched the thick wet curly hair over his breastbone and then moved my hand down over his rippling abs, slowly, letting him have the opportunity to stop me if he wanted to. Apparently, he didn't want to. His eyes fell to where my hand was slowly, deliciously tracing a path down the front of his torso, his cock inflating again as my hand continued to fall.

Just as my hand reached the beginnings of his pubic hair, his cock nearly level with the floor again and pulsing with every heartbeat, some undergraduate guys who were on the university swim team opened the door from the shower room to the pool, the first guy (fortunately) talking over his shoulder to his teammates about what a good workout it had been. We had just enough time to step apart and turn our backs to the younger guys. Still, when a couple of them came into our side of the shower room, one gestured with his chin to my janitor friend's cock--which was still swinging heavily as he washed his armpits--raising his eyebrows meaningfully to his teammate. The other young man turned and looked, staring at the full enormity of the older man's thick cock.

I didn't know it until later, but that was the last time I would see the janitor naked, and that was also the last time he would let me touch his hairy chest. Apparently, he had considered experimenting a bit, but the swim team members bursting in like that had reminded him that we were in a public place and that it wasn't the safest thing in the world to get into a sexual situation in a shower room that had a single door to the pool and a single opening to the rest of the locker room--which didn't offer much time to "get decent." I was a bit disappointed, but I understood. For the remainder of the time he worked there and I swam there, I was just as friendly as I was before, while respecting his slight withdrawal; he seemed to indicate his appreciation for that in unspoken ways that I only picked up on after thinking back over our later interactions.

 

[laptoper]

A shame that it ended this way. Maybe a dream fantasy of what he would have liked to have happen!

 

[NCbear]

How I wished the rest of the interaction had played out:

He was at the very next shower, so I couldn't resist. "Hair still soft?"

He smiled big and moved closer to me, his cock swinging heavily. "Touch it and find out!"

Looking him in the eyes, I reached out and touched the thick wet curly hair over his breastbone and then moved my hand down over his rippling abs, slowly, letting him have the opportunity to stop me if he wanted to. Apparently, he didn't want to. His eyes fell to where my hand was slowly, deliciously tracing a path down the front of his torso, his cock inflating again as my hand continued to fall.

As my hand reached the beginnings of his pubic hair, his cock became nearly level with the floor again and pulsing with every heartbeat. His hairy chest rose and fell in a quickening rhythm. He licked his lips nervously.

"Th-that hair's soft, too," he stuttered slightly.

I knew what he was feeling. Even for an openly gay guy like me, that first time made me a nervous wreck. And lust makes me nervous with anticipation, my knees trembling, my mouth going dry, my brain hardly able to remember my own name. I understood it.

So I grinned warmly, reassuringly. "Yeah?"

My hand plunged into his thick soft bush. "Huh! You were right!" I grinned into his beautiful brown eyes as my palm rubbed over his hairy balls.

Slowly, I began a soft but insistent in-and-out movement, the inside of my forearm rubbing against the underside of his thick warm cock as I fondled his heavy balls. He didn't say anything, but his slight gasps as my arm, on each stroke, touched his sensitive frenulum--now becoming wet with precum--said it all. He even rose up on his tiptoes once or twice when it was feeling particularly good.

 

[NCbear]

He closed his eyes on the out-stroke and open them on the in, just going with the flow, riding my fingers. His tongue slipped out to lick his pink lips. His cock was growing impossibly larger in my hand as he pumped it back and forth along my inner arm.

Suddenly his eyes were staring into mine. "Hey man, how about doing that nipple thing? Do it right and I'll blow a big one!"

So I brought my other hand up to his chest and found a tight hard nipple amid the wet hair. I stroked it in rhythm with my other hand, now circling his dark-pink cockhead.

"Damn, yes, that's it, DAMN!" He began moaning softly on each stroke and in the meantime encouraging me to do more, harder, faster, tighter, yes, pinch that tit, yes, yes, yes.

I of course obliged. I wanted to see him explode beyond his ability to keep still and quiet.

He started moving faster, his heels off the tile floor, his hips pumping. "I'm almost there. I'm almost THERE!"

I clenched my fingers around his cock and nipple, rubbing the hair around them as well as I could as I stroked harder and faster.

He threw his head back.

"Oh, damn, oh, yes, I can feel it coming, I'm almost there! Oh-oh-OH-oh-OHHHH! AAAH! Ahhh! AHHH! OHHHH! YESSSS!" And with each shout, his cock spurted a long rope of thick, white sperm onto the floor, the walls, and me, his toes clenching and releasing, his balls throbbing, the pulse at his neck hammering.

The shower's hiss as we came down off of his orgasm sounded loud in the sudden silence. Both of us drained--him from coming, me from watching it--we did some stand-up cuddling and fondling as his heartbeat slowed. Finally, we washed the evidence down the drain and I smiled at him.

"That was really something!"

He grinned. "Yeah? Thanks. That nipple stuff really turns it up a notch or two. Thanks for teaching me something new about how I can feel pleasure."

"Hey, you're welcome! And let me know if I can do it again for you."

He smiled, his dimple coming into devilish play. "You got it."

 

[NCbear]

Another guy who caught my attention was a redheaded older man, slender and fit, with a hairy chest and belly and a long, dangling uncut cock. Jack (not his real name) had been in the Navy for decades and had just retired when I got to know him.

Interestingly, Jack tended to get very close to other guys he wanted to talk to, whenever he was naked or just in a towel, apparently because his glasses were so strong that he could only see about 5-6 inches from his face whenever they were off. So he always got into people's space--in the friendliest way, but you could see other guys backing away, step by step, as they talked with him, and he'd always follow, so that you couldn't get away from him unless you found an excuse to leave the entire conversation.

Jack didn't care who saw him naked, and I don't blame him: His cock was definitely larger when soft than the typical guy's 6-inch hardon. His smiling friendliness didn't mask any gay interest, or at least I didn't get that vibe from him--he talked about women all the time, including some he met specifically so he could get a blowjob. He was from Oklahoma, Kansas, or Missouri--somewhere in the southern plains states--and apparently women in those states (or, more accurately, women of his same generation) were used to uncut cocks, because he never said anything about being refused sex or women being surprised at his foreskin or anything like that.

He liked to swim, run, lift, and bike for fitness; though he wasn't a triathlete, he was certainly in shape, with that milky freckled skin some redheads have as well as bright pink nipples, cockhead, and lips. His belly was nearly flat, and naked he looked a lot better than many of the younger men who swam at the same times he and I did (including me, unfortunately--even though I was regularly riding my bike and swimming, I definitely didn't have the upper body to match my muscular legs and ass, as he did). His shoulders and chest were rounded with lean muscle, and in his late 60s he looked to be maybe mid-40s until you saw his face.

Twice, Jack did something that really surprised me. The first was in the pool: He stood very close to me and said something about "those homosexuals" who were in the stands staring at some attractive guys who were in the water. It wasn't very polite but it wasn't entirely disparaging, either--it was as though someone from the 1950s had pointed out that they could recognize those guys over there as gay guys.

I said, trying to play it off, "I don't know what you mean." (I wasn't out all the time yet, as I am now, and he'd been friendly for a while, in an older-straight-man-unconcerned-about-locker-room-nudity sort of way.)

His hazel eyes met mine, and he scoffed, "Uh HUH. You know exactly what I mean." And then he snorted and got in the pool and swam his laps while I swam mine.

I had no idea what his opinion on gay people was, because his observation had been somewhat ambiguous. That said, he acted quite normal in the shower after we swam, so I knew everything was OK. Still, we never spoke of it again. After a lot of thinking about it, I realized that he'd tried to find out what my orientation was, and I'd rebuffed his conversational gambit, so he'd decided not to make a big thing about it.

The second, though, was more confusing. He usually didn't get close to me while drying off, except this one time when I was sitting down on the bench next to my locker, putting on my socks and shoes, and he came over and put one leg up on the bench and dried his dangling cock and egg-sized balls with his towel while making desultory talk about the weather and his workout and so forth.

His cock was just about 6-8 inches from my face, and he seemed to thrust his hips forward--and his genitals closer to my face--with every brush of his towel. I couldn't help looking at everything he was apparently showing me in a rather up-close and personal way. You know how some uncut cocks show the cockhead outlined beneath the foreskin and others look like smooth tubes of flesh? His was one of the latter; his preputial opening also was bright reddish-pink around the edges, nearly exactly matching the color of what I could see of his cockhead (after washing carefully in the showers, he'd pulled his skin forward again, leaving only about a watch-battery-sized opening).

After drying his cock, balls, and pubes thoroughly, he moved a half-step even closer, his foot on the bench next to me only about 2-3 inches from my leg. And proceeded to dry everything again, even more thoroughly, his cock and balls dancing in my face, only about 4 inches away.

The sexual tension (on my side, at least) grew and grew as he talked, until I heard voices and footsteps coming down the hallway outside the locker room. Something snapped; the whole scenario got to be too much for me. I had no idea what his intentions were, and I didn't know where this was going. So as a group of undergraduate guys came into the locker room, I stood up and ended the conversation with one of those "always good to talk with you" moves.

In the year or two that I continued to see him after that time he put his foot up on my bench to dry his crotch, he continued being very friendly, continued talking about women, and continued to invade my space to talk about inconsequentials like the weather and his and my workouts. He still got very close when talking with me, but he never again put his foot up on my bench and thrust his hips (and crotch) into my face while drying his genitals. In the years since that experience, I've thought about that day a lot and realized that he'd been trying to find out whether I'd go for it if he dangled his bits in front of me.

He's turned out to be one of the few who "got away," without my having made a move, that I've regretted.

 

[1313193]

these are all GREAT storied @NCbear !!

 

[NCbear]

What I wish had happened:

Jack put his leg up on the bench next to me, doing his "Captain Morgan" impression, drying off his leg and then paying some attention to that long, thick dangler with the pale white skin overlaying the bright pink cockhead. His bush was unshaven, reddish-orange as the remainder of the hair on his head, and his balls were about the size of golf balls and hung low in his freckled sack.

His genitals bounced slightly as he dried his leg and cock-'n'-balls, making me aware of how close they were--only about 6-8 inches from my face. He made conversation, but honestly, I couldn't hear a thing, because I was quite literally fascinated by his dangling bits.

He stopped talking and switched legs, moving his other foot even closer to my leg as I sat on the bench, his cock now about 4 inches from my face as he thrust his hips forward.

I couldn't keep quiet. "Damn, Jack, you look big as hell close up!"

He looked down as though only just realizing that his cock was in my face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck, your cock is as big and thick soft as many guys are hard!"

"Huh." And then his medium-brown eyes stared into mine, the reddish-brown eyebrows, frowning over them, adding to the piercing gaze. "How the hell do you know that??"

I tried to play it off. "Years in locker rooms, man. Years."

"Really? You've seen lots of hard ones?"

"Yeah."

"Big ones?"

"Yeah."

"How big?" He sounded skeptical.

I told him about a friend from my dorm who I saw in a locker room at my university, a guy whose hard cock was as big as a water bottle, a guy who walked out of the showers with his cock pointing up and swaying from side to side with each step, the big thick cockhead drooling pre-come.

"Yeah? Who else?"

I then told him about a guy I'd seen from Sweden who'd had a big thick long one dangling from a thick brown bush of hair, a guy who'd washed his foreskin thoroughly and got hard doing it.

Amazingly, his cock was growing, the skin pulling back, the bright-pink head darkening slightly as it plumped up. He looked down at it. "So how does this one stack up against those others?"

"It looks really manly, Jack--big and thick."

"Yeah?" He smiled. "Thick, huh?" His smile turned a bit crooked. "How thick would you say, compared to those others?"

"Well," I grinned, "A bit thicker than those two, yeah."

"Do you think you could . . . close your fist around it, maybe? Is it too thick to do that?" He raised one hand and clenched it into a fist, slowly, consideringly.

I looked up at his face quickly, surprised. "Huh. I don't know! I could try, maybe . . . ."

He thrust his hips forward. "Go ahead. Get your hand around that big thick cock." And in that moment, from the way his deep voice roughened when he said "big thick cock," I knew he'd set it up so I would be interested in touching his cock, in doing more than just looking, and that he'd been testing me when he came so close and put his leg up on the bench and started drying his leg and his crotch.

I reached out my hand and clamped down strongly around his thick shaft right behind the now dark-red cockhead, shaped like a dolphin's snout. He gasped.

"Damn, son! Not quite that damned tight."

"Sorry." I moved my fist up and down, slowly, gripping him a little more loosely. I looked up at him and roughened my voice as I spoke, letting him know I was turned on as well. "It's thick and hot as hell in my hand."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes fixed on my hand, now moving a bit faster up and down the thick shaft.

"Really thick," I said. I let my voice show how horny I was getting. I licked my lips. You're not the only one who can set someone up, I thought to myself, grinning inside as he looked at my tongue, obviously making the connection.

"You've got your hand around it," he said. "You think you can get your lips around it?"

I pretended to be surprised. "What??"

"You heard me. Get your mouth on my big thick cock."

Slowly, cautiously, with tentative moves worthy of my virginal act, I leaned forward and surrounded his cockhead with my mouth. He gasped again.

"Damn!"

I spoke, purposely "forgetting" to take his cock out of my mouth. "Oo 'ight?"

"No, not too tight at all. Damn, that feels good."

I opened my jaws and slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y moved down the length of his admittedly thick shaft, until my lips touched his fiery bush.

"Oh, shit! Damn! You went all the way down! Damn! I've never had a woman do that."

Again "forgetting" to take his cock fully out of my mouth, I noted, "Ome 'omen 'an."

"Yeah, but I've never had one go down on my big thick cock all the way like that, in one smooth move. That felt incredible!"

I took my mouth fully off his cock. "So, yeah, I guess I just found out I can get my lips around your cock."

He made his cock jump a couple of times. "Look, it's cold! And hungry for some more." He grinned at me. "Think you can do it again?"

I couldn't help it--I smiled again, tickled by his sense of humor. "Sure!"

I dove down on his cock like it was my last meal on earth, opening my throat, going all the way to his bush in a swift swallow, then pulling out again, slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, my tongue grazing his frenulum as he gasped, shuddered, and went up on his tip-toes.

"AH! DAMN, that felt good!"

I picked up the pace. He followed, thrusting his hips forward and back with each stroke, his voice growing in volume but his vocabulary becoming limited to deep, eager grunts and groans, his whole body shaking.

I pulled his foreskin forward and swirled my tongue around inside it. From the noises he made, I thought he was about to have a heart attack. "Oh, OH, ah, AH, AHHHH! DAMN, do that again, tongue my skin again, yeah, YEAH, YEAHHHH!"

Impossibly, his cock was growing even harder in my mouth, and his hip motions were becoming even more frenzied. Suddenly, I felt his balls draw up, hitting my chin on each plunge. Not long now, I thought.

"Oh, damn, oh god, GOD, fuck, I'm almost there, FUCK, GOD, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAHHHHHHH!" And he was coming, his entire body thrusting his thick cock down my throat, the waves of come overflowing my mouth, his toes clenching and releasing, his torso covered with a deep-red sex flush, his cockhead pulsing against my tongue, the sperm sweet-tasting and thick.

He kept thrusting more slowly as he came down from his orgasm. I kept swallowing and licking and just generally worshipping that perfect cock.

Finally, after what felt like several minutes of afterglow, he sighed. "Wow. That drained me dry. Thanks, <NCbear>."

I said, "No, thank you, Jack, for making your big thick cock available."

He said, "I've always thought I was just average. You really think I've got a big thick one?"

"Absolutely. I was only able to deep-throat it because I don't have a gag reflex."

"Damn," he smiled, pleased as punch. "Good to know."

He took another quick shower while I went and beat off in a stall in the bathroom. When he came back, he treated me like just another guy friend, but did thank me again for "making him feel really good" and shook my hand with one of those strong-gripping straight-guy handshakes popular (I've noticed) among military men.

"Anytime," I smiled, glad I had given him pleasure.

 

[NCbear]

Let's call this next guy "Bob." You know how some guys are long-bodied and lanky but others are shorter and more rounded? Well, Bob was one of this second type--and furry, and straight, and . . . I'm getting ahead of myself.

I first saw Bob in the showers when I was going into the pool. He had just finished swimming, and his short, stocky, but muscular torso was still flushed a bit from his strenuous exercise (he was white and--though in his twenties--looked like a mid-thirties bear). His nipples were dark burgundy and his body and head hair was dark gold. He looked like an anatomically correct Winnie the Pooh.

What got my attention was Bob's quick pull-back, wash, and pull-forward of his foreskin as I was walking by to the swimming pool entrance. I'm afraid I stopped and stared. He noticed.

"Curious, aren't you?"

"Just . . . surprised."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not many guys look like you."

"True."

"And me."

"You too?" He seemed intrigued. (I was later to learn that it was only curiosity, not sexual interest--he had a girlfriend.)

"Yeah."

"Me, I was born at home."

"Premature here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm the only one in the family who kept his."

"Amazing! My brothers and cousins are all like me. My family's from about 50 miles east of here, out in the country. I grew up there."

The whole time we'd been talking, almost as casually as though we'd known each other for years, Bob had been unselfconsciously washing all over--running a soapy hand through his pits, over his (perky) nipples, down his (hairy and slightly chubby) stomach, all around his big balls and smaller cock, and down his legs and arms. He'd continued to pull his 'skin back and forward from time to time, rinsing off his cockhead. (I found out later that he was showing off a bit, but that he was only going to go that far and no farther with a gay guy he'd just met.)

He glanced over at me. "I'm almost done here. Gotta get home to the little woman."

Ah, shit; straight and has a girlfriend. "I figured. Gonna go swim."

"And then get home to the little woman?"

"Nah. Single here. Gay here, actually."

"Ah."

He rinsed off his cockhead one last time, his stubby fingers playing with it. A final quick glance up at my face, probably to check to see that I was watching closely, and then he turned off the water.

"Good meeting you. See you around."

"Yeah, absolutely."

And we saw each other a few more times, in the showers mostly but once actually swimming in the pool and once--memorably--when we saw each other at a local gas station. He was alone in his little red Geo Tracker, and I was amused because he looked like a little stuffed bear in a child's doll car. He was amused because I was driving a little brown Honda Accord hatchback (this was the 90s, so all I could afford was a compact early 80s car).

"Hey, man!" He was full of expansive joviality, in that special way that shorter men have when they meet a taller male friend.

"Hey!"

"You look different with clothes on!" He grinned.

I saw some double-takes out of the corner of my eye, so I thought I might want to dispel some assumptions, for his sake. "Yeah, we always see each other swimming, so this is definitely different."

He got the message quickly and dropped the suggestive comments. We chatted for a bit, like the casual acquaintances we were, and then went our separate ways.

The truly attractive thing was how comfortable he was in his own body. He knew he was different, but he didn't really care--he was OK with himself, so everything else was extraneous. He certainly didn't care that I was gay, and he didn't hide even the most intimate aspect of his nakedness from me. He glanced from time to time whenever I was naked in the shower with him, particularly when I was washing under my foreskin, but he didn't make a big deal of it--which was pretty much how he was all the time: laid back, easy-going, friendly, and not bothered by much. What the younger guys now call "chill."

Bob's confidence was sexy. I wish that it could've gone further, but he was straight and I respected that. I enjoyed as much as he could give: his unselfconsciousness and his ability to talk about whatever, whenever, and not being freaked out by my looking at his body from time to time.

 

[jj7145]

Another interesting time was with an exchange student from Mexico City. He was just learning English in the ESL program in my building; I'd noticed his broad shoulders, muscular body in relatively tight shirts and jeans, and face like a Michelangelo painting. He was seriously handsome.

Oddly, he was pale-skinned with just the slightest bit of freckling across his nose and cheekbones (and, I would later find out in the locker room, across his shoulders, upper chest, and upper back). His freckles were a light golden brown against his nearly milk-white skin. His eyes were a warm brown like root beer in a bottle, and his hair was curly/wavy like a Roman statue and so dark brown it looked black except when he was outside in the sun. In short, Spanish name, from Mexico City, but looked like a Northern Italian. A 5'9" or so mesomorph from the mountains of northern Italy.

One day he was in the showers when I got out of the pool after a long swim. I said hello, so he practiced his English and said hello back. I introduced myself as I was pulling off my Speedos. He didn't freak out or stare at my cock, so I figured he was straight but comfortable around naked men. He introduced himself as well--amusingly, with all three names, two from the current Spanish monarchy and one from the Spanish dictator from the 1930s.

I kept stealing glances at him because he truly looked like a statue. His pale white skin and well-muscled body completed the illusion. I was particularly struck by the fact that he'd been circumcised. His large, hanging cock (longer soft than mine, given that I'd just gotten out of the cold swimming pool after exercising) was white, the shaft a smooth pole, the blue veins showing through the skin, the head mushroom-shaped and pale pink.

When he raised his arms to wash the hair on his head, I realized that was the only hair on his body. That's right--no hair on his legs, under his arms, at his crotch, or even on his upper lip or chin. That was the first time I'd seen someone who'd shaved nearly everywhere. On him, it looked really good. Like a statue.

I also noticed that when I cleaned under my foreskin, he looked--no stealing glances or peering our of the corner of his eye, just unabashed looking as I pulled back the skin and washed underneath. And then he washed his thick cock (at least the size of a tube of toothpaste) from base to tip by lathering up, circling his shaft with the fingers of one hand, and smoothing the soap all the way down his shaft in one swift move. He looked me straight in the face when he did it, too--not in a challenging or cocky way, just showing me how he washed his.

He asked me questions from time to time during the whole episode: where I was from, what subject I was studying, whether I thought the MBA program at that university was a good one, whether this gym was ever crowded and if so, when, etc. Apart from the occasional mistakes in English ("What is the word?"), it was just like it is when any two guys are getting to know each other by talking to each other naked in a shower. I wasn't getting hard or even thinking interesting thoughts about him because he was just being friendly and I'd pegged him as "off limits." Well, to be honest, "absolutely mouth-wateringly beautiful, but off limits."

I kept thinking of him in this category when seeing him every so often the rest of that academic year until he did something that made me wonder.

One day, a few months after meeting him, I was coming in to swim when he was drying off after his shower. His towel was this gigantic poufy pure-white cotton bath sheet, the largest towel I'd ever seen a man use in real life. (Come to think of it, I don't believe I've ever seen a larger towel in real life.) When he wrapped it around his waist, it went around him three times and covered him from his belly button to his ankles. Seriously large and fluffy, let me tell you!

Well, he was still energized from his workout, and he asked me how his muscles looked. He went into a bodybuilder's set of poses, starting with his (shaved) chest, then giving me some double-biceps stuff, then twisting around to show me his back--all the kinds of things one straight but not paranoid guy would show his friend in the weight room or locker room.

And then he asked me about his abs. Did I think they were symmetrical enough? Did I think they stuck out enough? Were they truly "washboard" abs? And--here's the kicker--he invited me to feel them.

As a gay man of a certain generation, one in which any revealing of my attraction to other men would have earned me at the very least some nasty words thrown in my direction and at the very worst utter social ostracism or deathly serious violence, I was taken aback. Even though I'd played team sports in high school and was a Boy Scout, I typically don't touch other men except if they're (1) very close friends or (2) it's a prelude to sex. So I wasn't sure what to do.

"Go ahead," he said. "Touch them and let me know what you think."

"Okay." I remember gulping.

He was amused at my nervousness. "It's OK. Go ahead. Tell me what you think."

All right, if Hercules wanted my opinion, I was damned well not going to waste the opportunity. So I ran my hand down his amazing abs. The tight skin over the muscles was cool and just barely moist after having been toweled dry.

As my hand moved downward from just under his breastbone, he flexed to bring the muscles into sharp relief, and I had to laugh. "Excellent!"

I circled his bellybutton with a finger and playfully touched his perfect innie.

He pulled away from me fast, smiling. "Stop that! I'm . . . what's the word? It makes me laugh?"

"You're ticklish," I said. We practiced pronouncing the word together, my hand still on his impossibly flat stomach, his beautiful chestnut brown eyes about a foot from mine.

Then he looked down. "What about my lower abs?" He loosened his towel and nodded toward me. I could just barely see just the beginning of his thick cockshaft in the shadows.

"Uh . . . . "

"It's OK! Go ahead. I need to know what you think." And then came the part that really surprised me: Holding onto the towel with his left hand, he took my right wrist in his right hand and pulled my hand down his lower abdomen until the tip of my middle finger touched the base of his shaft, scratchy with stubble. And pulled my hand out rapidly but smoothly, then tightened up his towel again.

He looked at me. "What do you think?"

I said the first thing that came to mind. "You're like a statue of Hercules! No body fat, lots of muscle. Great job!"

He smiled. "Thanks!"

And then went on to talk about his routine, his diet, how he was concentrating on lifting weights while he was here because the gym was freely available to students, etc., as though my fingers hadn't touched his cock.

After seeing him several times after that, him being the same straight buddy-buddy guy he'd always been, I concluded that he hadn't made a pass at me and that in fact he'd pulled my hand out of his towel rather quickly because he hadn't really intended for that to happen and that he'd probably been worried that I'd thought he'd been making a pass. So I just chalked it up to different cultural expectations and stayed friendly/buddy-buddy.

But you know I wondered what he would've done if I'd escalated the situation . . . .

That story is so hot

 

[NCbear]

What I wish had happened with Bob:

One late morning, as we were changing to go swimming, I noticed his cock was a little plumper.

Soft, yes, it was smaller than most, but still a respectable size. He even pulled at his foreskin a little, stretching it out more so it looked like one of those "pigs-in-a-blanket" you see at Midwest picnics.​

When he pulled at it a second time before getting into his swimsuit, I glanced over a little more obviously and decided to say something. "Thinking about the 'little woman,' Bob?"

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Feeling a little horny, yeah, actually."

I smiled. "Well, we're the only ones here. Feel free to do . . . whatever."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Whatever?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

"You really mean it?"

Huh. Wonder whether he might . . . "Yeah. Sure. We're both guys."

"OK."

He leaned back against his locker, looking down at his swelling cock. In a few strokes, it was perpendicular to the floor, but in a few more, it curved up, pointing toward the ceiling, now a good bit larger and thicker, the head still covered by the generous overlay of skin.

"Damn, Bob! You're big as hell! A lot bigger than I'd have thought when you were soft!"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Guys in my frat say that when we jack off together."

I kept the shock off my face. "You do that?"

"Yeah." He looked up at me. "So I'm cool with you joining in, if you want."

Want?? Of course I want! But I played it cool. "Sure. The pool won't open for a few more minutes, and we're alone in here."

So we each leaned back against our lockers and stroked, slowly, sometimes looking up at each other or across at each other's cock to see what was going on. Although we didn't say anything, you could tell what we were thinking by where our eyes were going: He was obviously curious every time my foreskin pulled up over the rim of my cockhead, and I was obviously curious about the way his other hand was fondling his balls.

He broke the silence. "You being gay, you must do this all the time."

"Actually, no." I cleared my throat. "Not many guys want to just jack off together."

His eyes flew to mine. "Really? My frat brothers and I do it all the time. They get off watching my foreskin go back and forth over my cockhead when I come."

"So y'all do this all the time, really?"

"Yeah, sure. Mostly on Friday and Saturday afternoons so we won't feel so urgently horny when we go out with our dates." His tone was breezy, confident--this was his life, just the way things were.

"So . . . " I hesitated, not sure whether he'd understand that my next question was intended as simple curiosity, not a hint.

"What?" His hand stopped stroking, his cockhead, now glistening with precome in the harsh fluorescent lighting, peeking out of the enveloping skin. But I noticed he kept his hand snug around the thick, veiny shaft.

"Do y'all ever give each other a . . . helping hand?"

He stared and then laughed. "That was your question?" He paused for a moment again, considering, his hard, curved cock in his fist. "Yeah, sure, sometimes. The guys wanted to know how it feels to be uncut, and yeah, some of them have stroked on 'little Bob' a bit."

I nodded, not trusting my voice in the moment. Then I cleared my throat again. "Cool."

"Yeah, it feels good whether it's your hand or someone else's." He glanced up at my face. "As you should already know." A little smile played over his mouth for a second, then disappeared as he lowered his gaze to his fistful of cock.

"Yeah."

We stroked our own cocks in silence again, our breath beginning to quicken, our nipples beginning to peak, the musk off our bodies beginning to fill our area of the locker room.

Bob looked up at me again, his expression guarded, considering. "Do you want to stroke on 'little Bob' for a bit?"

I cleared my throat again, embarrassed. He knew what I was beginning to wonder! Well, hell, it'd be easy to guess what I was thinking, given our conversation.

"Um . . . yeah. If you don't mind."

"Sure! As I said, it feels good, no matter whose hand it is."

And he walked over to me and stood right in front of me, about 5 feet 4, hairy-chested and stocky, his hard thick cock with its covered head now pointing toward my breastbone, sweaty in the hot locker room.

 

[NCbear]

We'll call this next guy Ludvig, because he was from Sweden. I'd seen him doing his work-study job in the library, and I'd talked with him a little. He reminded me of a honey-blond-haired Mr. Bean, if you can imagine that--a round face, button nose, and big pink lips under wavy dark-gold hair and hazel eyes. His slow, almost-sleepy smile was magnetic and compelling. Very sexy!

He was an engineering graduate student who had nearly become a fitness major, so he did everything--walk, run, bicycle, skateboard, rollerblade, soccer, and yes, swim. A few months before seeing him in the swimming pool and then later in the showers, I'd seen him rollerblading at a local park, his multicolored knitted hat on, looking like a gorgeous Cat in the Hat. Tall, broad-shouldered and lean, he didn't look at all like my stereotype of the engineering major, and certainly not like the guys on "The Big Bang Theory."

I was hopeful, very hopeful, that I might get to see the tall, lanky body underneath those loose jeans and sweaters, and one day I got lucky.

I'd been swimming my usual mile or so and got out, tired, just barely noticing that there was someone new in the pool. He wore Speedos, too, and was in quite good shape--not sinewy, but lean. So I idly wondered whether I'd see the new guy before I left the locker room.

After I'd dried off and changed, I took my wet swimsuit over to the dryer. Right about then, a shower head started up. I poked my head around the corner and IT WAS HIM! My height, slightly flushed from exercise, with a hairy chest and belly that looked almost like a square honey-colored carpet, and a thick, long uncut cock (maybe 7 inches long and as thick as my wrist!) draped over two egg-sized balls in a low-hanging sack.

Ludvig's head was tilted back under the shower, so he couldn't see me, but I watched him as he lathered the soap into his chest and belly hair, pulled back his foreskin and washed quickly under it, and washed his legs and feet. He wiped off his face, saw me looking, and grinned and waved at me. I didn't quite know what to think until he got out, dried off, and told me that he sometimes swam in the late evening to relax after a long bicycle ride or run.

Oddly, I didn't see him again in the locker room, but I saw him many times rollerblading, bicycling, or running, and I saw him several times in the library. He wasn't upset at all that I'd seen him naked when I was clothed; he didn't seem to have any hangups.

But from time to time, I'd think of the water running down his hairy chest and belly and dripping from the tip of his foreskin, and I'd have to take things in hand . . . .

 

[NCbear]

Back to Bob, now that I realize I hadn't finished with his story:

I took hold of Bob's cock like it was a handle for his body. I mean, I gripped him tightly, my fingers around his pulsing shaft and my thumb in a position to rub his frenulum on each downstroke.

When he felt my hand close around his hard-on, he gasped a little. "Dammit, man!"

I loosened my grip slightly. "Did I hurt you?"

He looked up at me, an odd expression on his face. "No. It was just . . . I wasn't expecting your hand to be so tight."

"Sorry," I said, loosening my grip further.

"No," he said, bringing one hand up to cover mine. "Go ahead. I know it'll feel good."

I started moving my hand up and down, his foreskin functioning like a sleeve, his smaller hand with its thick stubby fingers (shaped much like his cock, actually!) covering my hand. At first I pumped his cock slowly. But then, wordlessly, he looked up at me, gripped my hand harder, and moved my hand faster, telling me with his motions what he liked.

Soon, his hips were getting into the motion as well, thrusting forward and back in counterpoint to our hands on his cock. Just the slightest bit of precome moistened the head of his cock as the sleeve of foreskin covered and uncovered it, quickly, rhythmically, erotically. I moved my thumb on each downstroke to spread it more evenly over his cockhead; with each downstroke, he gasped a little.

His breathing started to quicken even further and his balls pulled up close to his body. His hips were now thrusting faster, his cockhead growing even larger, his shaft pulsing harder, faster . . . .

He looked up at me, his face contorted with pleasure. "I'm---almost there---keep on going---"

Now, his whole body was getting into the rhythm, his hips fucking forward and back with abandon. His cock grew another half-inch in diameter and I couldn't see his balls any longer, they were pulled up so tight. A sex flush started at the base of his muscular neck and started spreading downwards. His nipples were poking straight out from the hair on his pecs. His chest and belly were beginning to gleam with sweat, his body putting out that strong sex smell.

And then his hand tightened on mine, pulling harder, faster, stronger.

"Ah--ah--AAAH--Yes--YES--I'm coming! I'm coming! I'M COMING!" And he most definitely was, thrusting forward, spurting all over my torso, his thick creamy come draping itself in ropes through my chest and belly hair, dripping into my pubes. He baptized me with at least eight strong shots and then leaned back against the lockers, his head leaning back, neck and chest still flushed, his legs trembling.

I could identify. My own cock was so hard it could probably jackhammer through concrete.

After a few moments, he stood up straight again and caught his breath, grinning. "DAMN, that felt good!" He glimpsed my hard cock, standing straight out, begging for attention. "How about if I do yours? It's only fair."

I had to agree, but I was speechless. I could only nod.

He reached out and wiped a handful of his come off my chest and wrapped his smaller hand around my cockshaft. Usually, someone else's come isn't the best lube, but his thick, creamy sperm--still warm--was the best thing I could have had on my cock in the moment.

He'd obviously jacked off other guys before. He watched my face and body as he pumped my cock, learning quickly what I liked from my gasps and hip thrusts, and soon settled into a rhythm that got me going.

That familiar feeling started welling up, as though I was going to come all the way from the soles of my feet. His well-educated hand found some sensitive spots on both the down- and the upstroke, so it was like a thunderstorm with lightning flashes. And then I couldn't hold back, coming faster and harder than I normally do, his hand gripping my cock tightly as I fired off my load.

"Oh, DAMN! Damn damn damn DAMN FUCK! I'm coming too! I'm COMING TOO! I'M COMING TOO!" And I shot him in his hairy little bellybutton several times, the come dripping down his abs to his pubes and onto his still plump cock, still in my grip.

As I came down from the height of my orgasm, his hand milked me dry with a few economical motions. He then pulled slightly on my cock so I knew what he wanted. We embraced, his head nestled under my chin, his chin in my chest, our come-sticky torsos rubbing against each other.

Still in our embrace, he looked up at me with that inimitable grin. "See? Told you it'd feel really good."

Again speechless, again I could only nod. And then I found my voice.

"Let me know when you want to do this again. I really enjoyed it."

His arms tightened around me for a moment and then released, his hands landing on my forearms, his face serious. "Me too." Then his expression melted into another grin. "Let's go get showered off."

 

[NCbear]

What I wish had happened with Ludvig:

Ludvig's head was tilted back under the shower, so he couldn't see me, but I watched him as he lathered the soap into his chest and belly hair, pulled back his foreskin and washed quickly under it, and washed his legs and feet. He wiped off his face, saw me looking, and grinned and waved at me. I didn't quite know what to think until he got out, dried off, and told me that he sometimes swam in the late evening to relax after a long bicycle ride or run.

He then stopped and flushed a little, his eyes on my midsection. "[NCBear], um, can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure." I wondered why he was suddenly embarrassed.

"Um, it's sort of a--personal--question."

"Yeah? Okay. Go ahead, ask me."

He looked up at my face. "Um, why haven't you been circumcised like all the other Americans here?"

 

[NCbear]

Huh. Well, that was bold. But he was genuinely curious, and he had said it was a personal question, so okay, I'd answer it.

"I was a premature baby."

His forehead wrinkled at the term, so I knew I had to explain further. "I was born too early, so my parents decided not to have the doctors circumcise me."

"Is everyone else circumcised in your family?"

"Yes. I have three older brothers, and all three were circumcised."

He looked into my face again. "You must feel very different from everyone else." A sudden smile: "I certainly do!"

I smiled back. "Yeah, I noticed. Not many guys here are like you and me."

"Why is that?"

I sighed. "Lots of reasons, but they boil down to 'culture' and 'tradition'." I shrugged.

He nodded. "Yeah. We've got the same, but in the opposite direction. Not many guys are circumcised in Sweden, except Muslims, Jews, and guys who had problems with their cocks. My pediatrician actually suggested it to my parents, because I had a tight foreskin when I was younger, but my father told him I just needed to stretch it more--like he had to do, when he was younger."

"Wow. My father wouldn't really talk about things like that."

"Yeah, he told me I needed to play with myself more and stretch the skin out." Another sudden grin. "It worked, huh? Even though my head is large, the skin goes backward and forward easily."

"It certainly looked like that when I saw you earlier washing it in the shower!"

He smiled like a cat that sees a mouse. "Ah, so you saw me washing it."

I turned a little red, I'm sure. "Yep, sure did."

"And now you want to see more, eh?"

"Well, yeah."

His smile widened.