The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 10
(Continued from Chapter Nine)
The City Pool, Swim Lessons, and River Water 

Johnnie literally skipped out the front door of “Uncle Lou’s”, his excitement evident and overpowering after learning of his “special passes.” He couldn’t wait to get home and tell his G-ma and G-pa the wonderful news. To him, it was birthday and Christmas all rolled into one day and one special event. I hadn’t realized how much he loved to play (swim in his words) in the water. He’d have to be cautioned concerning the river, however. There were dangers there which could overcome him and bring tragedy to our lives, death to him, or terrible sicknesses.

The thought of playing in the river must have crossed his mind because he gave Hardy’s hand a tug, beckoning Hardy to bend over so Johnnie could whisper something in his ear. Hardy responded by whispering the answer back in Johnnie’s ear.   Johnnie’s eyes grew really, really big before he asked, “Really?”

Hardy nodded yes and nothing more was said. I asked Hardy later and he explained Johnnie wanted to know if they could swim in the river.

“And,” I asked, “what did you tell him?”

“No!”

“Did you explain it was just too dangerous and the water was filthy from pollution on our side of the river?”

“Nope! Just told him what Uncle Lou told us when we asked.”

Oh my god! I hope it didn’t change Johnnie’s drinking water habits. He didn’t need to be peering into each glass to check to see if fish had fucked in it!

It was a rare treat, Johnnie informed us, when his mother was alive for him to go to a swimming pool. Taking him meant, not only the cost of paying the fees (which they could little afford at times), but driving considerable distance to a municipal pool. Additionally, it also meant taking time off from work. Johnnie was fortunate to have a couple of older cousins not far away who’d take him along if they were going swimming, but not that often.

Bursting in through the front door, ahead of me, of his grandparent’s house, he shouted, “G-ma! G-Pa! Guess what!”

His grandfather peeked through the doorway into the kitchen and offered, “You pooped your pants!”

Johnnie laughed, “No, I don’t do that anymore!”

“Oh dear,” his grandmother sighed, joining her husband, “Maybe you stepped in something really nasty while going barefoot!”

“Nope! Got my shoes on, see?”  Johnnie held up one foot and then the other, showing them he had his tennis shoes on and they were clean of anything “nasty.”
“Besides, Billy wouldn’t let me!”

“He takes good care of you, doesn’t he, Honey?” his grandmother noted, complimenting me in the process.

“He sure does,” Johnnie announced and giving me a hug.

“Okay,” his grandfather said, “we give up.”

It was all it took for Johnnie to open up, standing in front of his grandparents, his voice revealing his excitement, his arms and hands gesturing enthusiastically, emphasizing each saliant point in his big reveal.

Once he slowed down to cruising speed, so to speak, Mr. Marchetti suggested Hardy and I take some time, over the next several days, showing Johnnie how to ride the city buses in order to reach the pool and, once there, explain what he could expect once he was there.

Hardy and I did as Mr. Marchetti requested, spending the rest of the week, mornings only and one afternoon, taking Johnnie on the City Buses to the pool and other places such as the downtown business district, the public library, the theaters, and the YMCA. We really wanted him to become familiar with and feel comfortable using his bus passes, knowing what stops he could get off, how to stand or kneel on the seat in order to pull the bell cord signaling he wanted to get off the bus at the next stop, and how to transfer buses. He only had one transfer to the pool, so it wouldn’t be too bad, but for a kid not raised in a city where they had municipal buses and if they did, no one to take him on them, it was a really big deal and we wanted to make certain he could stay safe!

The first morning, waiting at the bus stop not far from home, as the bus approached, I pointed out the lighted sign on the bus announcing what route (destination) it would take. In addition, the also pointed out the number on the bus, noting this particular one was the “17” bus.

“But it doesn’t say Pool,” Johnnie lamented, somewhat confused.

“Nope, it doesn’t,” I explained. “We have to transfer to another bus.”

Before he could ask the next obvious question, I told him not to worry since Hardy and I would show him where he had to transfer and what bus to take. As we rode, we laid out a simple schedule for him, if need be, he could find his way home. The buses had regular schedules and routes so once he figured them out (or read the printed bus schedules the city provided) he’d be fine.

Arriving at the City Pool, a large, concrete affair, with the deepest in the center, and a two-level diving platform accessed by a short walkway, we showed him the entrance, explained how he got in with his pass, and explained he was expected to shower before going into the pool and after he came out (to wash the chlorine used to purify the pool water),

“Don’t worry about it,” Hardy said assuring Johnnie, “Billy and I will be there to help you out.”

Johnnie really seemed to enjoy riding the buses. He was great at sticking close to me and always reached for and held my hand or Hardy’s when we were off of the bus. No way was someone going to bother him or would he get lost. Not with his big brother and Hardy with him!

Hardy and I had the best time with him! Johnnie had a great many questions for us, soaked up the answers and all he saw like a sponge, and was quick to smile, giggle, and give a quick hug. The driver’s found him a delight, especially when we explained to him the best place to sit, when riding alone, was right behind the driver. The driver could help him find his stops, make transfers, and stave off any bullying or taunting by other riders. Most importantly, the driver could make certain nothing tragic happened to him such as being borne off by some unscrupulous character. Johnnie knew damn well what I meant and nodded his understanding. He was so damn cute, it just could make him a target, if you know what I mean!

Friday night was Fish Fry night and so the usual all hands-on deck! Hardy, Skeeter, Mooch, Buzz, Sketch, Sling, and I were all on duty. It was busier than a cat trying to bury shit on a tin roof! Skeeter was in the kitchen and the rest of us doing our server and bussing duties.

I was on my way to the kitchen with a load of soiled dishes and flatware while Hardy was re-setting one of the tables. Uncle Lou, from behind the bar, called my attention to a table in the “family alcove.”

I looked and there sat Johnnie, his grandparents, and a man and woman I didn’t recognize. I quickly deposited my load of dishes in the kitchen next to the dishwasher and hustled back out to the dining area. Johnnie was literally bouncing up and down from excitement as he watched me walk toward the table where they were seated. Before I could say anything, Johnnie proudly pointed at me, announcing,

“This is my almost big brother, Billy Thompson, and my very bestest friend!”

“I sure am,” I responded ruffling his hair just a little bit.

“Billy, Hardy, and me rode the buses all over the city this week and I start swimming lessons next week and Billy is going to take me. Aren’t you Billy?”

“Sure am!” I interrupted, trying to slow him down a bit. “I still haven’t met who your guests are, Johnnie.”

Pointing at each one as he said their names, Johnnie introduced them.

“This is my Uncle Tony and Aunt Vera Marchetti. I stayed with them after Momma died until G-ma and G-pa could bring me up here.” 

“I hope he’s not too much of a bother,” his Uncle Tony said, looking me over carefully. He gave me the same scrutiny as others had; looking at me, then to Johnnie, and back again. Apparently, I passed muster since he nodded slowly and smiled. He knew what I knew!

“Far from it,” I replied, putting a hand on Johnnie’s shoulder giving him my reassurance he wasn’t any trouble at all. “I’m pleased and proud to have him as a neighbor and little brother.”

Excusing myself before any more could be said, I sighed, “I better get back to work, the crowd is quite large this evening and I don’t to shirk my duties and leave my share up to Hardy. As I walked away I overheard his Uncle Tony remark,

“I don’t remember it was this busy years ago!”

The question was a logical one, considering what was happening next. Granted, I did have to help Hardy, but we also had to get ready for when Johnnie was ready for dessert!

It wasn’t long, maybe twenty minutes or so, when, from a nod by the table waiter signaling it was dessert time, Walt Phillips, the “Piano Man,” who’d been busy entertaining the guests with his medley of songs, stopped his machinations on the piano, picked up the microphone, and announced,

“May I have your kind attention Ladies and Gentlemen, for one special announcement.”

Uncle Lou departed his position behind the bar, Hardy, Skeeter, Mooch, Buzz, Sketch, Sling, and I paraded out, all of us clad in our white shirts, bow ties, and long aprons tied about the waist, and stood behind him.

“Ladies and Gents,” he began, “tonight, we welcome to our community and our little family the newest member of “Billy’s Boys,” our own young version of the “Sunday Club,” with whom many of you are familiar because of our activities in our community; Johnnie Marchetti, grandson of Leo and Vi Marchetti, long-time residents of Frenchtown.”

With that, Walt began playing “The More We Get Together” and the seven of us sang it through once and urged the crowd to sing it through the second time with us. They did with great enthusiasm. We didn’t let it stop there, launching in a rousing “Roll Out the Barrel,” the Beer Barrel Polka. When it finished, I stepped forward and shouted out,

“Step up little brother, and take a bow!”

I meant to say “our little brother,” but inadvertently named him as my own, which he really is! I don’t know if anyone caught it, but I really could have cared less.

Johnnie, somewhat embarrassed but highly pleased and proud, did as I asked and received a huge round of applause.

“Now,” Uncle Lou said, “Johnnie we understand you love pecan pie, so Mrs. Taylor, one of our excellent chefs, baked one special for you.”

Their table waiter emerged from the kitchen bringing out the pie, along with plates, and put it on the table. Not done yet, Uncle Lou then announced,

“With Johnnie and Leo and Vi, is Tony and his wife Vera. Many of you remember Tony, our singing table waiter, from years back. If you remember, he’d serenade tables of young couples with his versions of the various love songs, in Italian, of course. Perhaps on a future visit, we can convince him to provide us with a couple. In the meantime, Johnnie, enjoy your pie. Someday soon, folks, Johnnie will join our illustrious band of young servers and bussers and then there’ll be eight handsome young men up here to entertain us.”

It was quite a night for Johnnie and a surprise for him, and for several of us, his Uncle Johnnie also used to work for Uncle Lou. I was later to discover all of Leo and Vi’s children worked for Uncle Lou at one time or another. No wonder the Marchetti’s were so quick to consent to Uncle Lou making certain Johnnie had swimming lessons and the other gifts he bestowed, and would, on the lad. They certainly wanted Johnnie to experience what his uncles and aunts had, as well as me his half-brother. Before the summer was up, Johnnie would be dressed in a white shirt, bow-tie, and long white apron helping Momma and Grandma Thompson at the front reception area, showing people to open tables. The customers just loved him! I mean, who wouldn’t? He was just so damned cute, polite, and customer friendly.

*******

Monday morning, at breakfast, Johnnie, dressed in shorts, tee shirt, and tennis shoes, with a drawstring bag containing his swimwear, towel, and soap, was at the door, and inside heading for the table.

“Eager, are you?” I asked teasingly, helping myself to another pancake.

His eyes sparkled, causing me to muse whether from the excitement of going to the City Pool or from spotting the pancakes in front of me on the platter.

“Want some?” I ventured, pointing my fork at the stack of cakes on the platter.

His butt was in the chair, bag on the floor and fork in his hand quicker than you could say “No shit, Sherlock”!

Grandma just smiled, put an empty plate in front of him, poured him a glass of juice, and slid the platter in his direction.

In between bites and, “Gee, these are really great pancakes, Grandma Thompson,” Johnnie chattered like a bluejay, his excitement about “having real swimming lessons in a really big pool.”

He was just as excited on the bus ride to the City Pool. Nestled between Hardy and me, he squirmed and looked over the seat every time the bus stopped, hoping it was the City Pool. Once at the pool and we debussed (got off the bus), his bravado seemed to slip. I reached over and took his hand in mine, offering him some support and security.

“If you don’t mind,” I offered, “Hardy and I will go with you to the locker area where you’ll change into your swimwear. After that, we’ll sit on the pool deck and watch while you have your lesson, then go with you afterwards to change back into your street clothes. Okay?”

Responding with a vigorous nodding of his head and a “That’d be great!” signaled to us he really wanted us close by. Sort of having one’s protectors near when facing an unknown, possibly hostile foe; in his case, strangers who may or may not like him or want to tease him. He was nervous, scared, and a small boy in a large city entering into a new situation with new people. Evidently, he thought we were big enough and strong enough to face any foes, since his steps lightened as well as his face on my announcement.

His locker, designated by the number on his pass, was next to mine, in the bay of lockers all of us were assigned to. He would be with familiar and friendly boys any time he went to the pool with us. No undressing in front of strangers! Just knowing that seemed to relax him even more.

Of course, I purposely failed to mention the showers were all in one open room, with separate shower heads, but no stalls. Your balls, cock, and ass were on display for all to see which suited most of us since it also gave us the opportunity to ogle what the other guys carried between their legs.

Johnnie stripped off his clothes, stood naked, sorting through his bag for his swimwear. God, he was beautiful; small, slim, trim waist, smooth skinned, all over I might add, cherry-sized gonads tucked up tight to his body, and a, maybe, two-inch circumcised penis, the head delightfully perfectly formed, with the circumcision scar barely visible.

Finding his swimwear, he slipped it on, turned around a couple of times, before asking, “How do they fit?”

“Perfect,” I replied, struck by the way they fit and how they added to his attractiveness. The baby blue, bikini-style briefs seemed to barely cover his little boy parts and his buttocks, were, as some would say “large enough to cover, but small enough to really make it interesting (and tempting).” We’d have to keep a close protective watch in order to thwart any unwanted advances to corrupt his virtue.

“Where did you get them?”

“Uncle Tony bought them for me!”

“Well, they look damn fine to me!” Hardy offered, just as struck as I was and equally resolute to protect Johnnie.

Strange as it may seem, neither Hardy or I (along with the rest of ‘Billy’s Boy’s”) were tempted, even though we were all queer and would fuck or be fucked at any given moment, if the opportunity and the other party willing, presented itself, or had the desire to do anything with Johnnie. He was “our boy,” our “little brother” and woe be to anyone who would take unfair advantage of him.

Outfitted in his new swim togs, Hardy and I escorted him out to the main pool deck for his first swim lesson. There was a sizable number of youngsters, boys and girls, gathering waiting for instructions, several lifeguards and assistant instructors because of the large number of participants, and the head lifeguard (instructor as well) patiently waiting for all of the students to appear. Hardy and I noted the head lifeguard looked vaguely familiar as we watched Johnnie join the group.

Sitting on the concrete deck well away from any sprays or splashes from the pool, we puzzled on his familiarity as he explained the rules; the usual, no running on the pool deck, shower first, respect each other and no bullying, and listen to the lifeguards and the instructors. He didn’t add, no pawing each other. If Hardy and I would’ve been in the group taking lessons, there were several boys we’d have given “a lesson or two.” Alas, we both could swim, so wouldn’t qualify for lessons.

The longer we watched, the more convinced we knew the head guard.

“If he had his swim shorts off,” Hardy conjectured, “and we had a good look at his cock, maybe we could guess a little better.”

“No chance in a million years,” I responded, regretfully.

“That’s it!” Hardy spouted back with a grin. “Dickie Peterson, and his dick isn’t all that little as I recall.”

I looked, and, I looked again! Somewhat dumbfounded and perplexed. Hardy was right! It was Peterson, changed a great deal from when we saw him last, at least I think so unless we’d run across him inadvertently and not recognized him.

“Man,” I remarked, amazed at the transformation! “He’s lost a ton of weight and really trimmed himself into great shape. I wonder what brought all that on?”

“Must be going into his senior year,” Hardy reflected.

“I wonder what brought all this about?”

“Going through eleventh grade generally would put him or anybody in the twelfth grade,” Hardy obliged.

“No, dip shit!” I growled. “The weight loss and all. He’d one fucking good looking dude now!”

“Skeeter, I think!”

“Skeeter?”

“Yeah,” Billy, “remember when we stepped into that little fracas here in the locker room at the pool?”

I nodded, remembering the incident very well. “We were going into seventh grade I think at the time,” I recalled. “I don’t know why we thought we could outfight that bunch of thugs.”

“We just followed you!” Hardy reminded me.

All of us, all seven of us, rode the bus to the City Pool. The day was hot and the water inviting, calling us to cool off and have some fun. We cavorted in the pool and, for us, relatively well behaved! The guards only had to caution us a half-dozen times. The final and most dire warning came when Buzz and Sling mooned a group of older boys, high schoolers by the looks and builds, for making disparaging remarks at us.

Hell, those four thugs pestered and agitated us from the minute we entered the pool. We tried our damnedest to stay away from them, but for some reason, it just didn’t happen! They called us names, pulled the trunks off of Skeeter (luckily a guard spotted the dastardly deed and warned them off, preserving Skeeter’s bare ass from sunburn), and made it quite unfun for us and others. They’d take a break for a while, return, and seeming to be bored, begin their nastiness again. For some reason, they didn’t get the heave-ho from the pool. We figured they came from money or political influence of some sort. You know, the type that could cost the lifeguards their jobs!

At any rate, we’d just about had it with them, not forgetting what they did to Skeeter. Buzz and Sling stood on the pool deck, shouted at the four miscreants, got their attention, bellowed out at them “you like little boy ass- well, kiss these” and bingo, bent over, pulled down the backs of their trunks, exposing their young, smooth asses to the gob-smacked foursome and the rest of the pool attendees.

One of the lifeguards blew his whistle and with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder, indicated we were tossed from the pool for the rest of the day. We left the pool and headed to the locker room to shower and change into our street clothes. Sticking to our area of the locker room, fairly removed from the others giving us the advantage of some privacy in the midst of public scrutiny, we heard others come in while we were in the showers.

Pretty soon “Mr. Nasty-Ass,” the mouthy leader of the “Foursome Fuckups” as Sketch so named them, bellowed out some very derisive comments concerning another boy, one who apparently was rather on the “stout” side. Called him “fat ass” he did and a couple of other unkind remarks concerning the size of his dick under a “fat gut!”

When “Mr. Nasty-Ass” hollered out “Hey, Fat Boy, your daddy fuck a pig to make you or are you just naturally have a fat gut and lard ass?”

Another quickly snickered, “Shit, your arms aren’t long enough to reach around that fat gut to even jack-off.”

The ever-curious Skeeter just had to peek and look around the lockers to see who they were picking on.

He ducked back and hissed, by way of announcing in a very angry and agitated tone, “They’re mocking and teasing some pudgy kid!”

Now it was my turn to take a look!

 “He is rather stout, Skeeter,” I commented.

“No reason to bully him though.”

Skeeter wasn’t about to let the four-some, or anyone for that matter, pick on someone who might be a bit helpless or “different.” No way would he permit them to brutalize the other unfortunate lad, so he darted, naked as can be, his maturing (just a few hairs we might note) pecker flopping as he scooted up in front of the victim, placing himself between the bullies and the four miscreants. Skeeter planted his hands on his narrow somewhat bony hips and growled, at least for Skeeter it was a growl considering his voice was changing. Well, so were the rest of our voices, but with me, it came relatively easy.

“Back off, you assholes!” he growled, with only one squeak!

Understand, we’d just come out of the showers and was toweling off when all of this was occurring and our towels were wet!

“Who’s going to stop me!” laughed the head bully with a snicker and a laugh, pointing at Skeeter. “You?”

“You bet your sweet ugly, dumb, mother-fucking ass, I am!” threatened Skeeter, just as defiant as a junk-yard dog gnarling on a bone.

“What the fuck for?” answered one of the other bullies. “Look at him; he couldn’t find his dick, even if he had one!”

More laughter!

Unperturbed, without the least amount of fear, Skeeter retorted, “At least he has one, Mr. Squat-to-piss!”

“Mr. Nasty-Ass” started for Skeeter and I stepped from behind the lockers, with the rest of our Sunday Club right behind me.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I cautioned the bastard and his bunch!

Hell, he was older, taller, and heavier than me; in fact, all four were built like linebackers. How the hell was I going to stop them? I felt Hardy step up behind me, gently poke me in the back with his finger (at least I thought it was his finger cause his dick isn’t that small) to alert me. Next, I felt him put a rolled up, very wet towel, in my hand.

About the same time one of the fuck-ups, looking at me with just a bit of trepidation on his face and his voice wavering just a mite, said, “You’re that kid that bashed my cousin in the head with a wastebasket- broke his fucking nose, you did!”

Now that caused the others, especially the leader to take a pause, especially when another one of the bullies, asked, “You boys from Frenchtown?”

“We sure as fuck are!” Skeeter announced proudly pushing his back up against the victim’s belly.

“So what the fuck does it matter if they’re from Frenchtown?” growled the leader. “Just look at those puny fuckers! They can’t be much out of Junior High!” and made a grab at Skeeter’s arm.

Now, he shouldn’t have done that! As many of you know, a wet towel folded and rolled just right, and snapped like a whip can hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, especially when striking bare flesh, preferably in the crotch area. Take a chunk right out of a guy if he happens to be hit just right. Six of us howled a battle cry, you know, “kick their ass!” and launched an all-out assault! Shouting, snapping towels, it wasn’t long until deep, red, angry welts appeared in the most vulnerable parts of the enemy’s bodies and hands couldn’t protect everywhere. They were so taken aback by our attack, they didn’t even try to unarm us! Good thing too; the battle may have turned. They quickly retreated to another part of the locker room, away from us.

As they scurried away, I shouted, “Get your clothes on and get the hell out of here, If I hear of you ever coming after this kid again or any Frenchtown boy, I’ll come after you and I won’t be alone.”

“Who the hell are you?” came the question from one of the bullies.

“Billy Thompson!”

“You any relation to Lou Thompson, the guy what owns ‘Uncle Lou’s’?”

“I’m his favorite nephew!” I asserted proudly.

The combined response to my announcement, as they made a hasty departure, pretty much registered their dismay by a chorus of “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

While we were busy whipping the “be-Jesus” out of the high schoolers, Skeeter was busy “protecting” our stout victim. Skeeter maneuvered him back down the row of lockers where ours were located toward the lockers ended next to a wall. The segmented, about every six foot or so, locker benches had about four feet of clearance between the end of the row of benches and the wall.

Skeeter sat himself on the end of the bench, instructed our overweight young man to stand in front of him, back to the wall, enabling Skeeter to reach forward under the tummy overhang and fondle the young man’s balls and now growing cock.

Looking the young man over carefully, deciding what pleasures he would give and what pleasures would be returned by the young man. Granted, the young man was a bit stout, but not corpulent, hence not one of those “beer-belly” types, but the tummy did provide a roof over the equipment.

“What’s your name?” Skeeter asked as he continued his ministrations to the lad’s cock and balls.

“Richard Peterson,” stammered the lad before taking a deep breath as Skeeter stroked the stiffening penis.

“I think we’ll call you ‘Dickie” Skeeter announced, “although what I have in my hand is not what you’d call a small dickie,” before clasping his hand around the five plus inch and thick shaft. “Nice balls, too!” he added admiringly, releasing the cock and cupping a nice set of balls in a smooth sack hanging between the fleshy thighs.

Dickie sucked in his gut and wiggled a bit as Skeeter stroked his cock again. He couldn’t help but look down and notice Skeeter was stiff as a two by four as well.

“First time?” Skeeter inquired, already guessing at the answer.

“Oh, god, yes!”

“Always wanted it thought, right?”

Dickie’s answer, “Yes --- please!” was accompanied by a gentle push of Skeeter’s head inviting him to suck him.

Skeeter worked on Dickie until he could feel Dickie approaching his climax, quickly released him, lay down on his back, and with his finger, pointed at his butt-hole.

“Put that baby right here!”

Dickie didn’t refuse the invitation or even hesitate. In a flash, he was between Skeeter’s legs and sliding his cock into the not-so-virgin anymore rear chute.

My attention was gained when I heard a moan, one of those, “god, I’m cummin” type moans, spotted Skeeter and Dickie in a coital position, just as Dickie thrust forward, belly resting on Skeeter’s smooth tummy, head up on Skeeter’s shoulder, and butt cheeks clenched tight as he fired his load in spurts. The lad was trying to catch his breath, his ass still twitching as Skeeter looked at me, smiled with satisfaction, and said, by way of introduction,

“Meet our new friend, Dickie Peterson.”

******* 

“I noticed you took advantage of the introduction, Hardy, since you positioned yourself and introduced yourself to our new friend by fucking him up the ass while he was still embedded in Skeeter.”

“Couldn’t help but to have a little thump-a-thump between those pillowy cheeks,” Hardy admitted looking at Dickie now walking by supervising the students and assistants.

“So, how does you fucking Dickie give credit for Skeeter for Dickie developing into the fine specimen of manhood and fucking material now walking by!”

“While I was firing my load, I overheard Skeeter tell Dickie, “You know, if you lose some of that baby fat, your cock will look bigger and you can push it deeper. If someone wants to mount you, not only will your ass be inviting and delicious, but you’ll feel it more.”

******* 

“That boy do love cock!” Hardy noted as we continued to watch the swimming lesson.

“You know what I hope? I added.

“No, what?”

“I hope he can find someone who he can love and be satisfied, that’s what! Just like us!”

Hardy smiled at me as only he can and my heart swelled, knowing how lucky I was.

Lesson number one was over and Johnnie trotted out from the pool, happy, wet, and a boner in his bikini!

Neither Hardy or I mentioned it, but led him to the locker area where he took a quick rinse, dropped his suit on the wet floor, ducked under the shower with his little, stiff boy-cock pointing straight up north. We were surprised none of the other boys made any comments. We looked around and discovered Johnnie wasn’t the only one with a hard-on! There were so many delicious, smooth, hairless boys, some with stiffies and some not, to look at, both Hardy and I boned up and stayed that way until we climbed on the bus home.

Johnnie chattered about two minutes when we first got on the bus, then crawled up onto my lap and fell asleep. We had the very dickens of a time getting him awake enough to make the transfer, but we did, and he fell soundly asleep again. He was one tired little boy!

Wednesday, same scenario! Hardy and I decided we’d watch closely on Friday trying to determine what was charging my little brother up. On Friday, once in the water, a young female assistant, one we knew and was a couple of years older than us, hastened to “assist” him when he practiced the crawl stroke, by placing her hands under his body, with one hand back farther than his stomach. In fact, it looked as though she was holding his crotch and hence his dick!

This time, when he came out of the pool sporting a bone, I asked him about it (speaking softly so only Hardy could hear me).

Johnnie just giggled before admitting, “My instructor, the cute girl you know, plays with my balls and cock while I practice and gets me hard!”

“Perhaps you should mention something to her about her hand placement,” I advised.

“No way! If I do that, she won’t do it no more!”

To be continued...

Posted: 05/20/2022