Chapter 1
You wouldn’t think so, but the community pool in my grandmother’s neighborhood is quietest on the 4th of July. In a sleepy coastal town like this, families pack up and head for the beach, the fairgrounds, or one of the water parks just a short drive away on all the major summer holidays. The community pool always gets forgotten. Abandoned, practically. So when I grabbed the pool key, goggles and a towel, I figured I’d be alone there. And I liked the sound of that.
In the three years I've lived here, caring for my grandmother, I’ve never bought myself a swimsuit. Didn't see the point. At 25 years old, I still fit into the mesh basketball shorts from my high school gym class, and those work just fine for swimming. I always wear a pair of briefs underneath the shorts, of course. A small layer of modesty against the way the sheer fabric clings to my cock when wet.
I made the short walk across the street and let myself in through the gate to the pool. The sun bounced off the water and white concrete, nearly blinding me without my sunglasses on.
For a moment, I didn’t see him.
I tossed my towel onto one of the beach chairs lining the pool’s edge and peeled off my shirt.
“Alright?” a man’s voice called to me across the pool. A British voice, deep and refined, out of place in this Southern California neighborhood. I flinched, startled.
Squinting through the glare, I spotted him waving to me from the shadow of an umbrella covering one of the tables across the pool. He must’ve been at least 6’5”, barely fitting under the umbrella, and looked mixed with something Mediterranean. Greek, maybe, if I had to guess from his olive skin and dark hair, just long enough to show a hint of curl. He was still fully dressed, but the suggestion of muscle beneath his shirt was impossible to ignore.
“Hey, man,” I replied, trying to sound unfazed. “Happy 4th…”
“Not really a holiday my people celebrate,” he deadpanned back.
“Right. Sorry.”
He cracked a wide grin. “Just taking the piss out of you, mate.”
I nodded and feigned a laugh, unsure of how else to respond.
As my eyes adjusted to the sun, I took him in fully. He looked maybe 30 years old, if I had to guess. Not that I’m any good at guessing ages. I tend to assume everyone’s older than me... especially when they look like they could bench-press me without breaking a sweat, which he definitely could.
What struck me most, though, was his nose.
Two small humps notched the bridge of his nose, giving it an angular, classical shape, like it had been chiseled from stone in the image of some long-forgotten god. I wanted to reach out and trace it with my fingertips. Commit it to memory.
No. I wanted to put that nose in my mouth. A desire so strange and specific, it startled me. As if it came from a place in my mind so primal and hungry that I shouldn’t have access to it.
The man stepped into the sun, which cut shadows across his face, catching the stubble on his jaw and highlighting the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow.
“I’m gonna get a few proper laps in,” he said, nodding toward the water. “How bout yourself?”
“Yeah. Same here.”
“Right on. Mind if we share the pool, mate?”
“No problem. It’s a free country.” God, why was I suddenly talking so... patriotic?
“Cheers,” he said, laughing me off as he pulled his shirt over his head.
I didn’t know where to look first. With his arms raised overhead, I stole a glance at his armpits. Dark and thick. I imagined smelling them. Licking them.
Then my gaze drifted to his chest: well-defined and dusted with perfectly groomed, short, dark hairs. Fuck. He was a man. A real man.
I felt boyish next to him. I’ve always been skinny. Never could grow a mustache or put on much muscle... or at least, I never really tried. A mop of messy brown hair sat atop my head, but everything else about me was as pale as the concrete I stood on. As long as I’m careful with sunscreen, I don’t burn. But I never tan. And the hair on my legs is so fine it’s almost invisible unless it catches the sun. Same for the hair under my arms and the faint patch on my sternum. The rest of my chest was naturally smooth. Without thinking, I crossed my arms, covering my nipples - like a prude, or a lady - and hoped my protruding ribs might pass for abs in the distance.
I couldn’t help but compare myself to this stranger and feel painfully self-conscious. Without a humiliation kink to soften the blow, I was left instead with just pure, unadulterated humiliation.
And then he dropped his shorts.
The Brit was now dressed only in a Speedo; common attire for our local swim teams but otherwise a touch too European for casual swimwear around here. I forgot about myself for just a moment, caught off guard by the sight, as blood rushed from my brain straight to the tip of my cock.
My eyes lowered, following the path mapped by his fallen shorts to the happy trail that ran from his navel to the edge of the Speedo, where tufts of pubic hair peeked out. I didn’t let myself stare long. Didn’t even take in the size of his bulge. I grabbed my sunscreen and started spraying it on, sitting down on the chair to hide the semi pressing up against my shorts.
The British man fastened his goggles to his head, gave me a short nod, and dove cleanly into the water. Barely a splash. But, boy, did I feel its ripples.
*******
We each swam the length of the pool a few times. He’d start at one end, I’d start from the other, so we were never swimming right next to each other, except briefly when we’d pass by each other. It seemed like the best way to maintain some distance and privacy.
About twenty minutes in, I took a break to float at the wall, trying to look casual as I let my eyes drift over the man as he swam. I thought I was being discreet until he surfaced beside me, caught my gaze and tilted his head curiously.
“Fancy a race?” he asked, as if trying to decode why I'd been staring him down so intensely.
“Oh no, sorry. Just taking a break,” I said.
“Shame,” he replied. “Wouldn’t mind the competition.”
“Sure,” I said, before I could think better of it. “We can race.”
“I’m Hal, by the way,” he said, smiling and stretching out his hand for a shake.
“Tommy.”
*******
I had no real desire to race Hal. But I liked that he was talking to me. Giving me attention. And the second I had it, I didn’t want to lose it.
So, a few moments later I found myself lined up with Hal at the wall, ready to kick off for a race. We dipped our heads underwater. Just before kicking off, I lingered, watching him. His Speedo clung to his body perfectly, and as he pushed off the wall, I caught the bounce of his heavy bulge. Then, I took off after him.
Even without a head start, Hal was clearly a better swimmer than me. He reached the far wall several seconds before I did.
When I surfaced beside him, I tried to play it cool, like I wasn't totally winded from the race. I took shallow and measured breaths when I desperately wanted to gulp in as much air as I could. It backfired almost immediately and I broke into a coughing fit, my lungs betraying my whole “cool and effortless” act.
Hal patted my back, which sent a surge through my whole body.
"Sorry," I coughed, "I'm not much of a sprinter"
“It’s the trousers. They’re holding you back, man,” he said, nodding at my basketball shorts, now ballooning awkwardly in the water.
“Yeah, they’re not very aqua-dynamic,” I said. Hal pressed a finger to his goggles and slid them up his face the way a nerd pushes up glasses. I laughed it off.
“You need to invest in some proper jammers,” he said. Then, seeing my confusion, added, “You know: Speedos.”
“Ah. Not really my style.”
“Or just swim in your trunks. You must own some Calvins?”
“I'm more of a Fruit of the Loom guy, actually,” I said, absentmindedly tugging at the waistband of my underwear which had risen above the top of my shorts.
“You’re wearing them now?" he asked, eyeing my waistline through the water's surface.
“Under my shorts.”
“Take your shorts off, then. We can have a proper race.”
My brain short-circuited. For a moment, all I could think about was how exposed I’d be. The white fabric of my briefs surely wouldn't leave much to the imagination. Then, my mind wandered to Hal’s cock. Was he uncut? He's British so he must be, right? But I hadn't gotten the clearest look at him underwater. As I turned those thoughts over in my head, I started to get hard again. I shook it off, fighting the urge to take my shorts off at his suggestion.
“I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” I said, weakly.
He smiled, devilish and casual. “Why not? We’re the only ones here. Besides, your undies probably cover more than my Speedo does.”
He wasn't wrong... my tighty whities weren't exactly the sexiest option. And fuck, this was the first time in my life that an invitation to race ever sounded tempting to me.
"One race," I said. Then I slipped out of my shorts, tossing them up onto the pool’s ledge.
****
Hal still beat me. But not by as much as the first race.
When I reached the wall, breathless and red-faced, he bumped my side with his elbow and said, “More aqua-dynamic, eh?"
"Fuck you," was the best rejoinder I could muster.
Hal's eyebrows raised in surprise, like he didn't know I had such vulgarity in me. "Cheeky."
****
After our swim, Hal asked if I wanted to finish up in the jacuzzi.
“Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” I protested.
“I love the heat. Good for the muscles," Hal said, shrugging it off.
I wasn’t sure why I was resisting. I didn’t know if Hal was gay, but he was definitely friendly. And honestly, I could use some friends.
“Sure. Why not,” I said, trying to sound casual.
We climbed out of the pool and I reached for my shorts, ready to put them back on.
“Leave ’em,” Hal said, glancing back at me. “Live a little.”
So I did. I folded the shorts neatly on one of the chairs, laying them out to dry. I followed Hal toward the jacuzzi, using one hand to shield the front of my soaked white briefs. The fabric had gone nearly transparent in the water. The pink tip of my cock was visible, as were traces of the network of veins running down my shaft. My pale, wiry pubes pressed tightly behind the cotton. I don’t shave or trim. Never had much reason to.
As we walked, my eyes drifted to Hal’s right ass cheek, which spilled out of his Speedo more and more with each step.
Hal turned on the bubbles then slid down into the jacuzzi. I followed, easing in with a hiss as the heat wrapped around me. As we settled in, I noticed he was watching me.
“So, Tommy Boy” he said, sinking deeper. “You live here in Paradise?”
“Yeah. But... I’ve never seen you around. Did you just move in?”
“No, no. I’m doing a house swap with a family in the neighborhood. They’re in my flat in London for two weeks, and I’m here. Thought the house was closer to the beach when I booked it.”
“Oh yeah, we’re a good two miles inland.”
“Fuck it. Pool does the trick.” He smiled like nothing's ever disappointed him his entire life. “How long have you been here?”
“I grew up here. Went away for college. But I’ve been back the last three years. I, uh... I live with my grandma.”
“Ah, Granny! Where’s she at?”
“She’s with a nurse right now. But I’m her primary caretaker most of the time. Sixteen hours a day.”
“Noble.”
“Least I could do. She raised me on her own.”
“Sounds like a special lady.”
“She is.”
“Is she sick, then?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. But the way he asked, gentle even in his bluntness, made it easier to answer than I expected.
“Yeah. Very sick. It feels like we’re on borrowed time these days.”
“That’s a shit situation. For both of you. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said. My throat tightened. Fuck, am I about to cry in front of this man? No. Absolutely not. “Maybe we can talk about... literally anything else?”
“Right, right.” He paused, like he wanted to give me space. Then: “You reckon we’re floating in, like, buckets of spunk right now?”
I blinked. That was not the direction I expected.
“What?”
“Don't tell me you’ve never popped your willy out and stuck it in one of these jets?” He asked, making a jerk-off motion with the jet stream bubbling at the surface of the tub. The question should have embarrassed me. But something about Hal made shame feel optional.
“I mean... I did. When I was younger.”
“We all do,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Maybe.”
“What, you think no one else in this neighborhood has done it? I’m telling you, this water is 40% chlorine, 60% neighborhood cum.”
“Jesus,” I said, laughing. “You are very weird.”
“Maybe you’re not weird enough.”
He was probably right. And I could feel myself getting used to the idea of Hal always being right.
I looked over at him and smiled, shaking my head. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then his phone started beeping.
“Shit, man. I’ve gotta run.” Hal was suddenly up and moving. It felt like a spell had broken. Whatever fantasy I was swept up in coming to a premature end.
“Oh. For sure," I said, trying to mask my disappointment.
“Is there a shower here?”
“Yeah. Inside the locker room.” I nodded toward the small building just a few steps away.
“Cheers,” he said, already climbing out of the jacuzzi. I stayed seated, watching him go.
Then, just before he disappeared inside, he turned and looked back: “You coming with?”
You wouldn’t think so, but the community pool in my grandmother’s neighborhood is quietest on the 4th of July. In a sleepy coastal town like this, families pack up and head for the beach, the fairgrounds, or one of the water parks just a short drive away on all the major summer holidays. The community pool always gets forgotten. Abandoned, practically. So when I grabbed the pool key, goggles and a towel, I figured I’d be alone there. And I liked the sound of that.
In the three years I've lived here, caring for my grandmother, I’ve never bought myself a swimsuit. Didn't see the point. At 25 years old, I still fit into the mesh basketball shorts from my high school gym class, and those work just fine for swimming. I always wear a pair of briefs underneath the shorts, of course. A small layer of modesty against the way the sheer fabric clings to my cock when wet.
I made the short walk across the street and let myself in through the gate to the pool. The sun bounced off the water and white concrete, nearly blinding me without my sunglasses on.
For a moment, I didn’t see him.
I tossed my towel onto one of the beach chairs lining the pool’s edge and peeled off my shirt.
“Alright?” a man’s voice called to me across the pool. A British voice, deep and refined, out of place in this Southern California neighborhood. I flinched, startled.
Squinting through the glare, I spotted him waving to me from the shadow of an umbrella covering one of the tables across the pool. He must’ve been at least 6’5”, barely fitting under the umbrella, and looked mixed with something Mediterranean. Greek, maybe, if I had to guess from his olive skin and dark hair, just long enough to show a hint of curl. He was still fully dressed, but the suggestion of muscle beneath his shirt was impossible to ignore.
“Hey, man,” I replied, trying to sound unfazed. “Happy 4th…”
“Not really a holiday my people celebrate,” he deadpanned back.
“Right. Sorry.”
He cracked a wide grin. “Just taking the piss out of you, mate.”
I nodded and feigned a laugh, unsure of how else to respond.
As my eyes adjusted to the sun, I took him in fully. He looked maybe 30 years old, if I had to guess. Not that I’m any good at guessing ages. I tend to assume everyone’s older than me... especially when they look like they could bench-press me without breaking a sweat, which he definitely could.
What struck me most, though, was his nose.
Two small humps notched the bridge of his nose, giving it an angular, classical shape, like it had been chiseled from stone in the image of some long-forgotten god. I wanted to reach out and trace it with my fingertips. Commit it to memory.
No. I wanted to put that nose in my mouth. A desire so strange and specific, it startled me. As if it came from a place in my mind so primal and hungry that I shouldn’t have access to it.
The man stepped into the sun, which cut shadows across his face, catching the stubble on his jaw and highlighting the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow.
“I’m gonna get a few proper laps in,” he said, nodding toward the water. “How bout yourself?”
“Yeah. Same here.”
“Right on. Mind if we share the pool, mate?”
“No problem. It’s a free country.” God, why was I suddenly talking so... patriotic?
“Cheers,” he said, laughing me off as he pulled his shirt over his head.
I didn’t know where to look first. With his arms raised overhead, I stole a glance at his armpits. Dark and thick. I imagined smelling them. Licking them.
Then my gaze drifted to his chest: well-defined and dusted with perfectly groomed, short, dark hairs. Fuck. He was a man. A real man.
I felt boyish next to him. I’ve always been skinny. Never could grow a mustache or put on much muscle... or at least, I never really tried. A mop of messy brown hair sat atop my head, but everything else about me was as pale as the concrete I stood on. As long as I’m careful with sunscreen, I don’t burn. But I never tan. And the hair on my legs is so fine it’s almost invisible unless it catches the sun. Same for the hair under my arms and the faint patch on my sternum. The rest of my chest was naturally smooth. Without thinking, I crossed my arms, covering my nipples - like a prude, or a lady - and hoped my protruding ribs might pass for abs in the distance.
I couldn’t help but compare myself to this stranger and feel painfully self-conscious. Without a humiliation kink to soften the blow, I was left instead with just pure, unadulterated humiliation.
And then he dropped his shorts.
The Brit was now dressed only in a Speedo; common attire for our local swim teams but otherwise a touch too European for casual swimwear around here. I forgot about myself for just a moment, caught off guard by the sight, as blood rushed from my brain straight to the tip of my cock.
My eyes lowered, following the path mapped by his fallen shorts to the happy trail that ran from his navel to the edge of the Speedo, where tufts of pubic hair peeked out. I didn’t let myself stare long. Didn’t even take in the size of his bulge. I grabbed my sunscreen and started spraying it on, sitting down on the chair to hide the semi pressing up against my shorts.
The British man fastened his goggles to his head, gave me a short nod, and dove cleanly into the water. Barely a splash. But, boy, did I feel its ripples.
*******
We each swam the length of the pool a few times. He’d start at one end, I’d start from the other, so we were never swimming right next to each other, except briefly when we’d pass by each other. It seemed like the best way to maintain some distance and privacy.
About twenty minutes in, I took a break to float at the wall, trying to look casual as I let my eyes drift over the man as he swam. I thought I was being discreet until he surfaced beside me, caught my gaze and tilted his head curiously.
“Fancy a race?” he asked, as if trying to decode why I'd been staring him down so intensely.
“Oh no, sorry. Just taking a break,” I said.
“Shame,” he replied. “Wouldn’t mind the competition.”
“Sure,” I said, before I could think better of it. “We can race.”
“I’m Hal, by the way,” he said, smiling and stretching out his hand for a shake.
“Tommy.”
*******
I had no real desire to race Hal. But I liked that he was talking to me. Giving me attention. And the second I had it, I didn’t want to lose it.
So, a few moments later I found myself lined up with Hal at the wall, ready to kick off for a race. We dipped our heads underwater. Just before kicking off, I lingered, watching him. His Speedo clung to his body perfectly, and as he pushed off the wall, I caught the bounce of his heavy bulge. Then, I took off after him.
Even without a head start, Hal was clearly a better swimmer than me. He reached the far wall several seconds before I did.
When I surfaced beside him, I tried to play it cool, like I wasn't totally winded from the race. I took shallow and measured breaths when I desperately wanted to gulp in as much air as I could. It backfired almost immediately and I broke into a coughing fit, my lungs betraying my whole “cool and effortless” act.
Hal patted my back, which sent a surge through my whole body.
"Sorry," I coughed, "I'm not much of a sprinter"
“It’s the trousers. They’re holding you back, man,” he said, nodding at my basketball shorts, now ballooning awkwardly in the water.
“Yeah, they’re not very aqua-dynamic,” I said. Hal pressed a finger to his goggles and slid them up his face the way a nerd pushes up glasses. I laughed it off.
“You need to invest in some proper jammers,” he said. Then, seeing my confusion, added, “You know: Speedos.”
“Ah. Not really my style.”
“Or just swim in your trunks. You must own some Calvins?”
“I'm more of a Fruit of the Loom guy, actually,” I said, absentmindedly tugging at the waistband of my underwear which had risen above the top of my shorts.
“You’re wearing them now?" he asked, eyeing my waistline through the water's surface.
“Under my shorts.”
“Take your shorts off, then. We can have a proper race.”
My brain short-circuited. For a moment, all I could think about was how exposed I’d be. The white fabric of my briefs surely wouldn't leave much to the imagination. Then, my mind wandered to Hal’s cock. Was he uncut? He's British so he must be, right? But I hadn't gotten the clearest look at him underwater. As I turned those thoughts over in my head, I started to get hard again. I shook it off, fighting the urge to take my shorts off at his suggestion.
“I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” I said, weakly.
He smiled, devilish and casual. “Why not? We’re the only ones here. Besides, your undies probably cover more than my Speedo does.”
He wasn't wrong... my tighty whities weren't exactly the sexiest option. And fuck, this was the first time in my life that an invitation to race ever sounded tempting to me.
"One race," I said. Then I slipped out of my shorts, tossing them up onto the pool’s ledge.
****
Hal still beat me. But not by as much as the first race.
When I reached the wall, breathless and red-faced, he bumped my side with his elbow and said, “More aqua-dynamic, eh?"
"Fuck you," was the best rejoinder I could muster.
Hal's eyebrows raised in surprise, like he didn't know I had such vulgarity in me. "Cheeky."
****
After our swim, Hal asked if I wanted to finish up in the jacuzzi.
“Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” I protested.
“I love the heat. Good for the muscles," Hal said, shrugging it off.
I wasn’t sure why I was resisting. I didn’t know if Hal was gay, but he was definitely friendly. And honestly, I could use some friends.
“Sure. Why not,” I said, trying to sound casual.
We climbed out of the pool and I reached for my shorts, ready to put them back on.
“Leave ’em,” Hal said, glancing back at me. “Live a little.”
So I did. I folded the shorts neatly on one of the chairs, laying them out to dry. I followed Hal toward the jacuzzi, using one hand to shield the front of my soaked white briefs. The fabric had gone nearly transparent in the water. The pink tip of my cock was visible, as were traces of the network of veins running down my shaft. My pale, wiry pubes pressed tightly behind the cotton. I don’t shave or trim. Never had much reason to.
As we walked, my eyes drifted to Hal’s right ass cheek, which spilled out of his Speedo more and more with each step.
Hal turned on the bubbles then slid down into the jacuzzi. I followed, easing in with a hiss as the heat wrapped around me. As we settled in, I noticed he was watching me.
“So, Tommy Boy” he said, sinking deeper. “You live here in Paradise?”
“Yeah. But... I’ve never seen you around. Did you just move in?”
“No, no. I’m doing a house swap with a family in the neighborhood. They’re in my flat in London for two weeks, and I’m here. Thought the house was closer to the beach when I booked it.”
“Oh yeah, we’re a good two miles inland.”
“Fuck it. Pool does the trick.” He smiled like nothing's ever disappointed him his entire life. “How long have you been here?”
“I grew up here. Went away for college. But I’ve been back the last three years. I, uh... I live with my grandma.”
“Ah, Granny! Where’s she at?”
“She’s with a nurse right now. But I’m her primary caretaker most of the time. Sixteen hours a day.”
“Noble.”
“Least I could do. She raised me on her own.”
“Sounds like a special lady.”
“She is.”
“Is she sick, then?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. But the way he asked, gentle even in his bluntness, made it easier to answer than I expected.
“Yeah. Very sick. It feels like we’re on borrowed time these days.”
“That’s a shit situation. For both of you. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said. My throat tightened. Fuck, am I about to cry in front of this man? No. Absolutely not. “Maybe we can talk about... literally anything else?”
“Right, right.” He paused, like he wanted to give me space. Then: “You reckon we’re floating in, like, buckets of spunk right now?”
I blinked. That was not the direction I expected.
“What?”
“Don't tell me you’ve never popped your willy out and stuck it in one of these jets?” He asked, making a jerk-off motion with the jet stream bubbling at the surface of the tub. The question should have embarrassed me. But something about Hal made shame feel optional.
“I mean... I did. When I was younger.”
“We all do,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Maybe.”
“What, you think no one else in this neighborhood has done it? I’m telling you, this water is 40% chlorine, 60% neighborhood cum.”
“Jesus,” I said, laughing. “You are very weird.”
“Maybe you’re not weird enough.”
He was probably right. And I could feel myself getting used to the idea of Hal always being right.
I looked over at him and smiled, shaking my head. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then his phone started beeping.
“Shit, man. I’ve gotta run.” Hal was suddenly up and moving. It felt like a spell had broken. Whatever fantasy I was swept up in coming to a premature end.
“Oh. For sure," I said, trying to mask my disappointment.
“Is there a shower here?”
“Yeah. Inside the locker room.” I nodded toward the small building just a few steps away.
“Cheers,” he said, already climbing out of the jacuzzi. I stayed seated, watching him go.
Then, just before he disappeared inside, he turned and looked back: “You coming with?”
