Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

Date: Tue, 25 Mar 2003 17:54:10 -0600 From: gloryhole JUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com Subject: Whoring With Dad Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

WHORING WITH DAD Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

TrueLife tales by a denizen of the public toilets

By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

The author reserves all rights to the following tale. Masturbate to it but please do NOT copy, publish or re-print it without the author's direct consent.

PREFACE & DISCLAIMER

No one told you to read this. It is not required government reading. It is not going to be on the SATs. It is not text from the Scriptures. It is not an old family recipe for cream soup (well, perhaps).

Therefore, if you have decided to persist in reading the following tale, which is most-assuredly filled with lurid and depraved (and totally true!) acts of a decidedly perverse homosexual nature, I would hope you will face the obvious fact that, despite any sexual repression you are suffering, something in your libidinous psyche is clearly and evidently drawn to its title.

And as its title is not what one could consider to be opaque, and was indeed specifically chosen (by a panel of homosexual erotica specialists in Zurich) to clearly provide enough of a WARNING that even brain-injured monkeys should understand the story's potential contents, it shall be presumed that any reader with an I.Q. rated higher than said monkeys ought to know what it may entail.

Whew! (What a mouth full...although nothing compared to the mouthfuls in the following story)!

Now, if all these warnings and guideposts should fail, we shall rely on another, perhaps more reliable indicator of your insistence in pursuing the reading of the following story. That indicator would be found in your lap. Or more concisely, in your trousers, between your legs...no, to the left more...left...left...yes, that thingy!

Since you sat down to surf for Internet erotica (come on, admit to that much, my good man) does your fly's zipper now bulge just a bit more? Look down...go ahead. Bigger down there, aren't you? Just slightly, perhaps, but it's going in the right direction, no? Sure, no one's looking, cop a feel. It's good stuff, isn't it? Hell, pull that zipper down, give that big wienerschnitzel of yours some room to breathe.

So, it is established that there is a particular meatiness to your crotch right now. That, my horny reader, is caused by (although perhaps yet vague) sense of sexual stimulation.

Or perhaps you are feeling particularly randy and adventurous ('wife's been away a while, huh, stud?) and you're past that "throwing a mild boner" stage (tossesus bonerus mildedius). Instead, already, your manhood is throbbing and oozing with scrotal nut honey. This is caused by your cerebral self connecting in a full and healthy manner with your physical self ("MISSION CONTROL, we have brain talking to penis"). If so, heck, you're ahead of the game, my most erect reader.

And it's another sure sign that you should have some indication as to what the following tale may hold.

And add to this the fact that if you also took a momentary break from reading this Preface and Warning to reassure yourself that you have indeed locked your office or bedroom door. And even went so far as to double-check to make certain that your wife or mother or secretary is not about to barge in. And if you raced back to your monitor to continue reading this with that same sense of "arousal in the trousers". And you pulled out the big box of Kleenex you keep stashed in the side cabinet of your computer desk...I think we can be assured we're all on the same wave-length, (or page as it were), here.

At this point, it must be stated that should you begin to read the following tale (let alone, get through it all) only to be shocked and mortified by it's contents in the end, then it could be considered a valid point in any legal argument that you are a reader with problems. In plainer English, you would be considered to be a monkey in 49 states. A monkey who is, although talented and capable of reading prefaces and warnings, is not capable of comprehending them. There is little anyone can do for you in that instance. (Even less since The Ed Sullivan Show has been off the air for 30-plus years).

Whoring with Dad is a series of TrueLife homo-erotica written at the turn of the last century...

Actually, it was something banged out rather quickly on a very sticky keyboard. It is a collection of true tales from the Life of yours truly. True would indeed imply that events actually occurred - which they did. They are events from my real, actual life. Some would perhaps call the tales various segments of a sexual memoir. But as it's not that slavishly accurate in minute detail. Rather, the term dirty stories may seem equally apt in describing them. Certain events are changed slightly for clarity and story-telling. But rest assured, everything described happened in reality and in the time frame as told in the stories.

In many of my true accounts, I describe men with big nine or ten inch penises (Oh My!). Men who are big and hung and hairy and married and full of semen. These "characters" are not mere imaginings. What can I say? I have had great luck all my life getting it on with other males. And let it prove to demonstrate that many of the biggest lugs, often married men with pretty wives and many children of their own, secretly and chronically tug down their zippers or pull down their slacks for illicit sex with other men and boys (which should it become known would surely cause some consternation among their wives).

Names have been changed, although so few names were ever exchanged it seems a moot point. The one exception would be "dad". "Dad" will just have to deal with the general public knowing he was "Dad".

Places referred to herein are accurate and their names have not been changed. Hopefully, this will add authenticity, as well as, the fact they may stir memories among readers who may be among the strangers encountered in the story. If you recognize a place or a sexual act in which you may have participated, please feel free to contact the author.

This is not a gay story for few such father and son tales could be told if all the participants were decidedly gay. It is recognized that although perhaps most readers will come to the tale from a son's perspective, there are many readers who are, right now, real live fathers enjoying this tale secretly and with great longing desire.

And other readers are strictly wonderfully nasty men who would most likely enjoy simply happening upon any such set of circumstances.

TECHNO-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS: I urge all readers to be of legal age. I suggest you wear a condom (yadayadayada). I suggest you not have indiscriminate sex with hundreds of other males in public toilets and XXX establishments. I suggest you do not get into your own son's and/or father's pants.

Now on with the story!

Whoring with Dad Part One: Chlorinated GangBang

I had spent the entire day having sex in public places. It's funny how one can be so immersed in sex, especially anonymous sex, that at the beginning of one's sex day, one hardly gives a thought to ever returning home. And so it's always a bit amazing to be back at home those many hours later. One puts the key in the lock of the front door with a bit of questioning as if to ask, 'Why did I leave that sex place?' or 'When did I become so sated this evening as to have decided to return home?'

On those mornings whenever I set out to spend the whole day whoring (which is most days), my only thought is to quickly-as-possible get to a place where many men's paths cross, pressing my open mouth to a heavily-trafficked gloryhole, and keeping it there until the cows come home (or just 'til the bulls cum...).

As great an oddity as it may be for the non-promiscuous man to understand ever leaving his home in order to spend his entire day having sex with total strangers, it should be said that it's conversely odd for a promiscuous man as he reaches that point in his evening when he decides to head home from an entire day of having sex with total strangers.

The reasons one puts an end to one's day of whoring are as varied as are the whores. For some it's because they have to go to work the following morning. For others it's because their bodies give out (ah, old whores and workhorses). And for still others, the decision is made for them: as whorish as they may be, no one is putting out after a while.

As I have great stamina and can whore and whore and whore, the physical has never been my limitation. I can literally have sex with dozens and dozens of men from sun up to ...(the next) sun up. As a cocksucker, I have to say that although there is a brief moment when they ache a bit, once giving fifteen or twenty blowjobs, like any other athlete, my knees enter the Zone. And from that point on, I could blow every man on every U.S. military base and service each and every gloryhole on every floor of the Sears Tower.

So physical things don't put an end to my whoring day. I have ended sex sessions to attend funerals, to get to a meeting, to pick up my aunt at the train station, to run to the supermarket before it closes if I know I need more Coffeemate for the morning. Occasionally, I'll end a sexcapade day if the trade dries up. I believe in cutting one's losses. I've had an end put to my sex marathons when cops have done a sweep of the woods I'm servicing. I have had to pull my lips off a stranger's huge dick in order to catch the last train outta town.

If one didn't have to deal with all the other aspects of Life, I could whore "24/7" putting the piggy trailer girls of the Jerry Springer Show to shame. Actually, I would love to convert my house into a free brothel for guys. Open 24 HOURS as stated on a blinking neon sign by the street.

In fact, if it weren't illegal (which I imagine it would be) but especially if some men weren't psycho killers and thieves, I would do just that: take the locks off my doors, have a big mattress on the floor and just let any guy needing to get his rocks off fast, stop by and unload. Put any Nevada pussy ranch right out of business.

But as that probably can't occur, I (along with millions of other men over the decades) have simply turned to the gloryholes and t-rooms and adult theaters as our make-shift all-male free bordellos.

And so, as I have enormous stamina and little reason to put an end to my "whoring day", yet do need to occasionally get some sleep and get to the dry cleaners now and then, I long ago devised a system for putting some sense of "closure" to any whoring day.

When I was about thirteen and sucking dicks in the public toilets and bookstore gloryhole arcades of Chicago and it's 'burbs, I quickly came to discover that there could be days when there was seemingly no end to the dicks in line for my throat. Literally.

At first, I didn't set out on those afternoons after school with the intention of sucking off strings of men through holes in public train station or mall men's room stalls. It sounds cliched but indeed, it did just sort of happen.

I was a relatively shy twelve year old when I happily took to whoring in the men's rooms and arcades. So it was not as if I wore imported-from-Berlin S&M gear beneath my Catholic schoolboy uniform, stripping out of it in a toilet stall.

At that age, I don't recall ever giving a man a come hither look. I never batted eyelashes or licked lips or tossed out my little bee-hind like a boy fawn in a NAMBLA tale. But I was very enthused and determined to have sex with as many adult men as I could at the time. I simply loved sex and preferred the physiques of men, much, much older men.

I was just like so many other typical, regular, "normal" junior high kids. Not scrawny for my age but not big and buff either. I was better looking than average. I knew that. But I was not a classic pretty boy all drawn to a mirror and hair mousse.

I was not of a jock mentality but excelled at most sports. But it was Catholic junior high sports, if you know what that may mean. Lots of running around the Cathedral school parking lots in gym clothes.

My parents were both in the book business. My mother's family owned and ran really rather prestigious, legitimate bookshops. One shop, very low-key in that scholarly-book seller's sort of way, was on Michigan Avenue and was a favorite of erudite citizenry. This was just before the advent of a coffee bar in every bookstore when the primary mission and interest of such shops was, while considered somewhat surprising today, books. On certain special days, they would offer a formal high tea while a noted author would read from one of her recent histories on Western Europe or some such offering.

My father had worked for my mother's family at the bookstores and that's how they met. He was an averagely-educated book lover. As my mother had attended only the best schools (and for a long time), everyone else's education was considered to pale in comparison. In actual fact, my father removed from my mother's context was above-averagely-educated.

I would suggest that my father, when it came down to facts and figures, was equal in his education to my mother. It was simply the pedigrees which cast differing hues upon the sheepskins.

My mother was thisside of a snob. In her heart, she never quite made it to official snobbery but she flirted with it so often, that it often times seemed it would have been better had she just kicked the maid down the stairs rather then always hinting about it.

And from my mother, I learned from a very young age about other places on the big globe in the library at home. If certain details meant nothing to her, it was vital that I learned about Fine Art and Music and good food. I could crack a lobster like no one's business when I was five. For all her occasionally petty (contemporarily aka: bitchy) ways, I felt oddly more secure with my mother than with my father.

Not secure in a financial way or even in any assessment of love and affection. But deeply and profoundly as a child, I knew my soul was that of an artist and like her mother's milk, that she fed to me.

Although she always smelled of Joy perfume and argued that mink was ranch raised and that we ought to worry more about the world's chickens who are the one's actually doomed to mass slaughter, her dedication to the Arts was what bonded me most closely to her.

And here you thought this was going to be a classic homo cocksucker hate-mother love-father tale!

My father on the other hand, was a different story. Although he appreciated the biggest shrimp on a platter and luxurious sheets, his idea of a classy decor was something reminiscent of the Player's Suite at the Flamingo Hotel. Whereas my mother was a fine Bordeaux, dad, although Chicago Irish was something of Corona beer. For every sip of her, the vast populace gulped down gallons of my dad (so to speak). He was a crowd-pleaser and accessible. Mom required more time and a more refined audience.

He was one of those men who could wear the most butt-ugly shirt off the rack and somehow make it work. Dad looked great in anything he wore but it was due more to his physique than his taste in fashion. I simply could never understand how one man could find so many ugly shirts in the marketplace. One had to look hard for some of his choices. Fortunate for him people stared at his bulging biceps more so than at the pattern of his shirts.

His tastes were not nearly as refined as my mother's but I suppose in the grand scheme of things, his picks would be those of the great unwashed majority (as my mother would say). But all his brasher, louder goofiness just made him seem more with the times as compared to my mother. And it made him far sexier.

He was always the man who turned heads. Even when I was a very little kid, around three or four years of age, I knew, as kids just know, that everyone liked my dad. I didn't quite understand the little flirtations he was receiving at that time but it was fun to be with dad. And in retrospect, the sense of flirtation must have fueled a lot of the good vibe he sent off.

In fact, although my mother was a very beautiful woman, having modeled in Paris during college, she exuded qualities that were more elegant glamour than sexiness.

My father, though, was Sexuality-in-Shoes. If charisma is loaded in sex appeal, dad was oozing with testosterone charm. He was "dark" Irish and built like a longshoreman (well, like those longshoremen in gay porno stories). He was six foot-two of solid muscle weighing in at two-hundred pounds. He was big and brawny with hairy muscled pecs. He had long, strong hairy legs. He always wore his heavy gold wedding ring which drew attention to his big hands. On his left wrist he wore a big, no-nonsense Timex watch.

It was often said after their divorce that a lot of my mother's sex appeal was directly related to my father's sex appeal. That she could afford to be the Queen of England in public because she must have been a wild woman in the bedroom to keep a man like my father happy.

Yet, despite my birth, I have to admit that rumors are not always true. In fact, my parents were never very sexual with one another even at home. During the good years they were as demonstrative as they were during the bad years. That is to say, my mother exhibited little that was frankly sexual. In fact, things that were overtly sexual turned my mother off completely. "Why can't they just keep it a sweet romance...?", she'd complain as some movie or another would get to the 70's requisite sex scene. My father would never argue but just remain very silent on the subject.

And from a very young age, this pattern of behavior confused me. Although I had no understanding of the complexities and depths of the matter, I did have a basic, innate of the Sexual. Perhaps it was from merely being a sexual creature or it was some sensibility or another rubbed which off on me, but I had this clear, profound sense, or opinion, if you will about sexuality. Even as young as four or five, I knew that what I was about my father was something sexual. And I knew my mother's major lacking was something sexual.

Not that I had a fully formulated vision of what sexuality entailed but it was that broad, coarse sense that he was a man and she was a woman. And that the man, my dad, was more physical and was more about his body. And that my mother was less physical and more about her intellect.

Of course, such gender stereotypes are not always accurate about sexual matters but as a child, your World is your parents. And in my World, the man was sexual and the woman was cerebral. And the man was dad and the woman was mom. The World made perfect sense when I was five.

Adding to my sense of my father's sexuality was not only his but other's behaviors around him. It was indeed the mild flirtations when we'd go to restaurants or the grocery store. Women who seemed so stern would become all smiles. People would smile, open doors. It was as if the world was a bit friendlier whenever I was out with my dad.

And at the time, I had little real understanding of another of a direct sexual nature. My father was the man in my World and his was the first and only adult penis I saw until I was seven years old.

My father had little modesty as compared to my mother. My mother would awaken at five-thirty in the morning and be dressed by the time I got up for school. I would see her in her bedclothes and sometimes in a slip dashing about as they'd ready for a dinner party. But I never saw her naked or even in her bra and panties.

Although far less modest, my father always observed and respected my mother's unspoken rules about attire and behavior around the house. At least when she was home.

I always was allowed into my dad's bathroom in the mornings when he's be standing at the sinks shaving. I could walk in on him if he were home alone changing clothes in their bedroom. But the moment my mother would come home, he's tell me I'd best "skeddaddle" if I didn't want to hear my mother go off.

There may be some debate over what my father's secret intentions may have been at the time as I was permitted to stand right beside him and squirt out the shaving cream for him. He'd be standing right along side me, naked, his boxer shorts on a hook on the back of the door. His penis and scrotum, enormous to me at the time would be just above my forehead. His flaccid penis hung like a thick piece of bratwurst. Before I was seven, the only direct sexual contact I had with him was once when I was five or so and he stood at the sink combing his hair getting ready for a gala evening. Without any provocation, I grabbed his penis shaft gently, well, the best I could due to it's girth, and asked in a most-serious manner, "How can a baby come out of there?"

My father was never one to get flustered and he turned toward me a bit and quietly said, "Babies don't come out of here, I'm a man. Babies only come out of mommies..." He then spoke even more softly as he hefted his big plum-sized testicles in their sac and said, "We daddies make a milk inside of these," he stated as he showed off his huge fist full of hairy scrotum to me.

At that point, I was lost. Milk? Only mommies made milk, I thought. I said nothing but he could see my furrowed questioning brow.

"The milk comes out of here", he added using his fingers to trace the path a sperm would take from nuts to piss slit. It ended when I held his scrotum and said, "How much milk do they hold?" I suppose he may have gone on to answer me had I not just then grabbed his testicles a bit too eagerly. He pulled back in a knee-jerk response and said he had to finish getting ready.

I left the bathroom not thinking too much more about it. Then the baby sitter came over and she turned on the Mary Tyler Moore show as my parents prepared to leave. The incident was almost forgotten except for every morning when I would now hope to see my father's milk bags rather than just his pee pee.

But I still was yet to become a true cock whore. I didn't leap, as one might suspect in true life whore tales, from feeling my father's big scrotum to blowing the middle-aged postman in the stairwell at age five.

But I was on my way.

When I had just turned seven, in fact it was the Tuesday following my Sunday birthday, my father took me for the first tie to the Lawson YMCA on Chicago Avenue. It was just a couple of blocks off Michigan Avenue. I didn't know where we were going as he wouldn't tell me, simply saying it would be a fun surprise. My father had the day off and my mother was at the bookstore. They would alternate certain days of the week to be certain one or the other was home as I got in from school.

In retrospect, I suppose he didn't tell me we were going to the Lawson Y so I could not have accidentally mentioned it to my mother prior to our going. She would have most likely not embraced the concept.

The Lawson Y was not far from where we lived, only about a half a mile. But it was indeed a world way. Although he told my mother we may go swimming, I know my father never mentioned the Lawson Y to her specifically. I know because I recall how he had me promise not to tell her where the fun pool was when the day was done.

"Just tell her we went to Oak Street ...", (which was the beach across the street for the Gold Coast area) he directed.

Arriving home from school, in my final weeks of the first grade, I happened to meet my dad outside our building as he was also just happened to be getting home from work. We ran upstairs to the apartment, changed clothes and then met again in the kitchen where dad had made a half a tuna salad sandwich, which we split. For reasons unknown, I was very excited. I didn't even know what we were going to do or where we'd be going. My father seemed oddly excited and that energy spilled over to me.

Instead of taking the car, we went out front and hailed a taxi on Lake Shore Drive. Getting in, my dad told the cabbie where to go. I had never heard of the Lawson Y before so it went in and out one ear. I was on an adventure with dad, the day was beautiful and all was well with the world.

In just a few minutes, we arrived at the entrance to the tall building. We could have walked the relatively short distance to the Y but dad wanted to get there for some reason extra fast. It was not even three-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon but he seemed to be in a rush of some sort.

I don't recall much about entering at that time. I remember it was very cool yet damp even in the lobby. And it seemed dark. We went to a counter and my dad talked to some man. I stood there looking around and recall seeing what seemed to be aged old men in big dumpy club chairs just sitting staring into space. One may have been reading a newspaper.

The Lawson Y was there for a long time and was one of those perfect all-male YMCAs with rooms available for sailors, rag-a-tags, husbands-in-the-doghouse-for-the-night, recently divorced men and traveling guys.

And it always had a (very well deserved) reputation for, well, what the Village People would later reveal in song. Not that that I at the time had a clue, but people would make a comment here and there that made one know or sense that all the "activities" in that particular Y weren't necessarily "Christian", if ya know what I mean (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

The Lawson Y had two requirements in order to join and use their facilities. One had to be male, of course, and be over the age of eighteen. Or I should say, had to be over eighteen years of age unless accompanied by a parent. And as it was all-male, that narrowed it down to a dad bringing his son. I think that rule only added to the intrigue and mysterious allure of the place. As if to tease: what all goes on, on those upper floors, that one must be a certifiably adult male in order to witness?!

One was not suppose to be past the 1st (lobby) floor which was a vast space that was sort of a cross between a big hotel lobby, a community center and a flophouse (all in drab shades of institutional gray) of this old "skyscraper" YMCA.

On this particular day, my very first visit to the Lawson Y, my dad and I went up to the lobby level check in counter. It was very much a hotel reception desk sort of set up sans floral arrangements. A man could join and then add a related minor to his membership. That was the only way someone under eighteen was allowed to "join". This was still in final days of there being a distinction between "Men's" YMCAs or "Family" YMCAs.

It was only an addition $10 or so to a man's membership to add his son. As my dad paid, I was standing there looking around at the men sitting in the lobby reading newspapers and some playing cards. All of them appeared to be older men easily over the age of fifty.

The man at the desk suddenly got my attention as he smiled big and said, "Here's your pass...don't lose it." He was about 45 and I can only imagine what he was really thinking.

The man behind the check in, a man as tall as but older than my dad, came around the counter and said, "So you're all of seven, are you?"

I said something brilliant I am sure, like, "Seven and two days."

He chuckled as he squatted down beside me. In a very low, stage whisper, he said, "Well, normally you have to be eighteen to come in here but since you're with your dad, it's okay," he said as he took a key on a big safety pin and attached it to my t shirt. "So you stay with your dad the whole time you're here otherwise we won't know who you belong to."

I looked at the key on my shirt. The man added, "Your dad will show you, that will open you locker upstairs."

My dad gave the man some cash and signed in. "Have fun now", the check in man said to us with a wink as we went to either the stairwell or an elevator to go up to the locker room floor.

The Lawson was not a "family-oriented" place and unlike other YMCA's it was intended strictly for adult men. The exception would be a minor with a parent. But I doubt many fathers other than mine would have ever brought their kids to the Lawson for an afternoon swim. And as I later came to know first-hand, it was an odd rarity to ever find anyone under twenty-one, let alone under eighteen, anywhere on the premises. I would many years later "sneak" into the Lawson at age fifteen and was never carded but I found myself to always be the youngest person there by far.

There was absolutely nothing glamorous about the gray concrete Lawson. It had very man-oriented facilities from a basketball court to a nude-only swimming pool to work out rooms. Other floors were rooms men could rent by the night or week. It wasn't a gay bathhouse but one could never tell the men in the saunas that.

The Lawson was the prototype for every masculine bathhouse that would exist. It was populated by sailors on leave, old men who liked sucking young dicks, married men on the outs with the wife for the week and very masculine closeted men who liked to work-out and hang out with other closeted men. No women were allowed on the premises. Or perhaps just on the lobby level. It was very strict about the presence of females.

On the locker room level, we went through a gate-like thing and a man in white stopped dead in his tracks. He was very old to me at the time, probably in his late-fifties. He was honestly surprised. He said, "You come to work out your muscles, little guy?"

My father didn't say much. Just that we were going to use the pool.

"In that case, you'll need a towel each," the man said as he went to a small window and reached in to grab us two white towels. "Don't go getting it soaking wet, little guy, one towel to a customer."

He handed me the towel and I grasped it like gold. I dare not drop it as I saw water in small puddles over closer to the lockers.

"He's a cute one...just be careful...", the man said discreetly to my father. "Don't want anything happening that you don't want to have happen."

My dad and I went to the rows and rows of lockers. I may have noticed that no one else was a kid like myself but I didn't think much that they were all adult men either. If anything, I may have felt that there were many old men at this place. Although there were men in their twenties through their eighties at the Lawson, the vast majority of users were most probably in their forties and fifties.

We located our lockers, directly beside one another. As the plan was to just use the pool, my dad had brought with us just a small toiletries case. As the pool was nude swimming only, and we were not going to use the work out rooms, we didn't have need for any change of clothes.

I had never swum in the nude before but my dad said it was okay and that the whole building only had men inside so no women or girls would ever see. I was excited but not in a particularly sexual way with the idea about nude swimming. My sexual excitement was that I would get to see my dad's big penis again. We took off out shoes and as I sat on the bench my dad stood along side of me, arranging items in his locker.

Just then, some man with very white hair kept coming back and forth and back and forth wearing only a towel. Then another man came into out row of lockers and took one just two down from mine. He said a hello to us. He was a rather handsome man in his early fifties. He was wearing a pinstriped dress shirt and tie. It never occurred to me before that businessmen would go to a YMCA during working hours. Hey, I was seven.

I sat there on the bench dawdling I suppose. My dad started opening the belt of his slacks and the man next me did the same. The other white-haired man just came back and forth. My dad paid him no attention so I didn't either.

Almost in unison my dad and the businessman unzipped their slacks and pulled them off. The man shocked me as he wore red bikini underwear which stuck out beneath his dress shirt. My dad always wore boxers or "normal" white Jockeys. Again, I never knew a businessman would wear anything like red bikini underwear. The man opened his shirt and showed off a fine broad expanse of chest. Dark gray hair along his pecs and stomach. My eyes went down to his crotch and the size of his bulge had me speechless.

My eyes went to my dad who now stood at his locker naked, his long penis just hanging there. And that big scrotum of his again. Even at seven I could see my dad had a wonderful body. When your dad has a great body, you see the comparisons with other adult men more quickly and easily.

I pulled off my clothes and placed them in my locker. "Make sure it's locked and then put this around your ankle", my dad instructed. He had a thick rubber band-like thing onto which you'd pin the key. Then you'd wear it like an ankle bracelet as you'd swim or shower. I locked my door and dad gave it a good jiggle. Then he gave his a good jiggle and we laughed.

Although I felt very naked and exposed, it seemed okay since my dad was walking around totally naked, too. And I was on some level proud of my dad's body. And that spilled over to a certain amount of self-pride.

But it wasn't until we encountered two very wet men returning from the pool; dripping water all over as it cascaded down their well-defined physiques. The water matted their body hair and made it black on their white skin. Pool water literally ran like a mini river along their penis shafts and dribbled to the floor.

They'd been talking to one another and stopped with a lurch when they saw me. They smiled and shook their heads. "Have a good swim", one said to us in passing.

We stopped to take drinks at a water fountain along one wall and the businessman who had been next to us passed us also headed toward the pool. His cock and nuts bobbed and swung the whole way. He was older than my dad by at least ten or fifteen years but was solid.

My dad and I went out to the pool area and there were perhaps six other men there including the businessman. If there was a lifeguard on duty, I don't recall him at all. He may have been the guy wandering around the perimeter of the pool picking things up.

Immediately, all eyes were on my dad and me. I didn't think much of it at the time but now know why.

I didn't know where to go. Although I had splashed and waded in Lake Michigan before, I had yet to learn to swim. I still wasn't very good and certainly wasn't used to such a vast and relative to its size, sparsely populated swimming pool. The olympic-sized pool looked especially like an ocean as only a handful of men were using it.

Suddenly, a very tall man standing in the water with another man called out to us in a very chipper way, "It's a mere four feet over on this end!"

My dad gave him a thumbs up sign and then nudged my shoulder indicating that I should go over to the ladder at their end of the pool. I started walking over and my dad said he'd meet my over there. He jumped into the deep end and began a breaststroke to meet me at the opposite side.

I padded over slowly feeling like I'd slip on the wet tile. Another man watched me from the side of the pool where he and two other men just stood surveying all. He smiled and I smiled back. Very calmly he said, "Don't trip now."

I got to the ladder at the shallower end and innocently turned my back to the older men as I prepared to scale it down to the pool's water. If they weren't already, the sight of my small white seven-year-old butt must have sent these older men to thinking some nasty thoughts.

As I got to the lowest rung, I was surprised as I felt a pair of big, strong hands grip me at my waist. "Hang on, little fellow, I got you," a white haired man teased as he pulled me perhaps three feet away from the ladder. It felt like he was sending me out to sea!

I couldn't swim at all well and I imagine these men could sense my hesitation as I descended into the water. The man held onto me allowing me to float in his grasp, getting myself adjusted to the water and it's chlorinated smell and flavor.

"Keep you head above the water, son," one of the other men in the water instructed as he approached to help the white-haired man float me about the shallow end. This second man was super tall and lean. "That's the way", he added. "Don't get any water in your mouth."

I now felt four big hands on my naked body as they two older men held me to be sure I didn't sink to the bottom of the pool.

Just then, my dad came up to us appearing like the Loch Ness monster as he emerged to stand along side us, having already finished his third leg of swimming the length of the pool.

"You okay, Sport?," dad asked without a trace of concern in his voice.

"Oh, he's just doing fine," the first man said to my dad while one of his hands held onto my upper arm and another had my penis and scrotum within it beneath the water.

The other man added, "He'll get the swim of things once he learns a few things." Beneath the water his left hand supported my other arm as his right hand also took feels of my young penis hidden below the water's surface.

My dad stood there in four feet of water with the other men, his brawny chest and stomach all wet and dripping.

"I'm sure he'll become quite the athlete," a third, dark-haired older man with a very hairy chest said to my dad as he waded over to us. "With a well-built father who is such a powerful swimmer as yourself, the boy can't help but grow up the same."

"We'll help him get his pool bearings, if you like," the super tall man offered to my dad. "If you want to get your laps in...we'll help the tyke out."

My dad stood there and looked at the three men surrounding me as I continued to float in their arms. He then barely grinned and replied, "Be my guests...you can show him to the ropes...but if he tuckers you gents out, let me know."

The third man chuckled, "Don't let our grays fool you...we've been known to tucker out some tykes ourselves in the past!"

"Is that okay with you?". my dad asked me.

I wasn't in much of a position to refuse but also thought it might be fun to float around in these men's grips. "Yeah, it'll be fun, I guess", I replied.

"Good", he said. "You do whatever these men say and I'll be right over there in the pool swimming and doing a bit of diving," he said pointing over to the deepest end which seemed a mile away to me.

My dad then waded to the side of the pool in order to climb up the same ladder I had used. He was going to go over to the deep end to use the diving board. All the men looked at my dad as he climbed out, his small, muscular ass framing his heavy scrotum and big dick.

Although I was faced down a bit in the water, I could see the men giving one another looks as they shook their heads watching my dad's every move.

"Love to be in their house after mommy goes to bed...", one of the older men joked in a low voice to the other two as they all chuckled.

Then the white-haired man motioned to the other two older men who'd been standing at the edge of pool. "Come on in!", he called to them. "We're all going to play...", then he paused. "What's your name, son?" he asked me.

"Kevin", I replied, trying not to get any water in my mouth as I looked to the side of the pool just in time to spot the really big soft dicks between the legs of the two new men as they sat on its edge in order to jump in.

I then briefly looked to the other end of the swimming pool and saw my dad talking to that businessman as they both stood near the diving board. They seemed a million miles away.

As they two new men waded over to us, the white-haired man said to them, "We're all going to play with Kevin here."

The fourth of these older men had a very handsome face and bald head. As he joined in he said, "Yes, I saw...its okay with his daddy?"

And the fifth man with him, another balding man with a big manly nose and biceps said a quick hello to me with a wink of his eye.

The super tall man said, "It sure is...Kevin's daddy is letting us show him the ropes."

"Oh? Is that so?", the handsome, bald-headed man smirked. "I'd like to help make a little swimmer out of the lad."

The white-haired man along with the second man then passed me into the grips of two other men. "Go with the flow of the water, Kevin", the white-haired man said. "Let the nice men hold you until you get used to the feeling.

And as each man helped me to stay afloat, I felt their hands all take a feel of my young flesh and first-grader's penis and butt as they passed me back and forth. I had no clue at the time they were all just getting their cheap thrills with my body as my dad was only yards away. But it felt good despite my mild fear of the water. Their big hands held my thighs, arms back and stomach so easily. I must have weighed next to nothing to them, my forty-nine pounds being a mere feather in the buoyancy of water. And so they passed me back and forth for at least fifteen minutes that way, each copping a feel of every inch of my body and making certain their big erections poked or brushed against me just beneath the water's surface.

They had me lay flat on the water's surface and practice kicking my legs to help me stay afloat and propel myself forward a bit. Their game was at once truly teaching me the very basics of swimming although I would venture to say that what the men really liked was the fact that all the slashing I created better hid their wandering, indecent gropes of my first-grader's genitalia beneath the water.

"Do you feel more comfortable with the water now, cutie?" the super tall man asked me as the men finally let me stand on my own in this shallow end of four feet of water. I had to stretch my neck to keep my face above the water as I was surrounded by their towering frames. I could hardly believe I was straining to keep my head out of the water as it only came up to their belly buttons or lower chests! Two men stood so close to me, beneath the water, I felt their penises brush and even briefly rest on my shoulder and upper chest as I doggy paddled.

"I think so," I said a paddling naturally to stay afloat.

The men smiled and chuckled among themselves,

"Look at that little tyke ...he's natural swimmer", one said.

"Well, look over at his daddy over there," the dark, hairy-chest man said nodding toward my father who was standing up on the diving board.

"Whoa!", one of the men said. "Look at that build. You got a good-looking daddy, kid."

"This little one hasn't fallen far from the tree," another of the men said as he winked and gave me a quick goose of my small butt under the water.

The older white-haired man then asked if I felt ready to try some more. I waved my arms and legs as I got used to barely keeping myself above the water's surface. "Sure!", I blurted out wanting to both learn more about swimming and to play even more with these men.

"Okay then!", the white-haired man said with renewed vigor. "Now you're going to swim to each one of us on your own."

The handsome bald man must have detected a bit of worry on my face as the white-haired man had said that because he quickly added, "Don't you worry, little sweetie, you're surrounded by your pool buddies...we won't let you drown."

The super tall man snickered as he heard that and muttered, "Won't let him drown in pool water, at least."

"You're bad!", the hairy-chested man laughed knocking the tall man's shoulder in jest.

The handsome bald man handed me a foam paddleboard and told me to hold it as I kicked to each one of them in turn. "This will keep your head above the water...just focus on kicking and staying on top of the water."

And so I began to swim on my own for the first time. With all the strength any seven year old boy could muster, I kick boarded to one man and then the next. Each would grip my waist, copping a feel of my butt and cock as they'd turn and point me to the next man.

After twenty minutes of this I got more confident and better at my kick board swimming. I felt like I was a pro swimmer.

Or at least as good as my dad, I thought as I finally watched him swim up to our huddle again after at least forty-minutes of my playing with the men.

"Look at you!," my dad said with a big smile. "My own little gold medalist!"

"I been learning," I beamed.

"Yes, I was watching the whole time," dad said to me. He then looked to the men and gave a wink. "They've been teaching you a lot I see."

"He's a great little student", one of the men replied.

My dad turned back toward me and asked, "Would you be okay with these men for a few minutes while I go back to the locker room, Kev?"

For a second my heart dropped. I wasn't used to being in a swimming pool really let alone without my dad hovering nearby. Being with these strange men was okay while my dad was only yards away but I got nervous for a brief moment when he said that. It was simply my reaction as a seven-year-old. Yet I nodded it would okay.

"Only a few minutes," my dad assured me.

"Sure?", I asked timidly.

"Just a little while and I'll meet you back here!", dad reassured me.

"You go ahead", the super tall man said to my dad. "Well take care of the little tyke."

"Are you having fun with these men, son?", my dad asked.

I was indeed having fun and nodded.

"Then you stay here with them and do anything they say till I get back, okay?", dad directed.

"Okay," I replied naively. My dad may have had other intentions but he also knew that no one could have stolen me from the Lawson Y...everyone being wet and naked.

My dad then tweaked my nose, inadvertently filling it with more chlorinated water, making me cough briefly. He then climbed the ladder, and again, all the older men stared at his lanky muscular frame as he ascended the pool.

"Damn fine!," one of the men quietly muttered as he stood beside me groping and squeezing my shoulders. The men continued to stare at my dad's big dick as it swung back and forth when he walked to the other end of the pool again. That's when I saw my dad leave the pool area with the naked businessman with whom he'd spent most of his time swimming and talking.

The moment they disappeared, the super tall man said to the others with a conspiratorial tone, "What do you say we get our little Kev out of the water before we have ourselves a shriveled baby grape on our hands!?"

Suddenly the other men seemed more uptight but excited.

"Think so?", the big-nosed bald man asked nervously.

Looking around, the white-haired man said, "Its real quiet here this afternoon...and I know those three over there...," motioning with his chin to some newcomers who talked among themselves at the far end of the pool.

"They're okay?", the handsome bald man asked. "I know the one in the middle is okay."

"Yeah, they're fine", the white-haired man replied. "All three of them."

I had no clue what they were talking about but I figured they were speaking in adult talk. I thought they meant the other men were okay swimmers or something.

"Want to play some more games?", the white-haired man asked me.

"Sure", I replied.

"But these aren't pool games..", the super tall man quickly interjected.

"No, they're not pool games", the white-haired man agreed, "We'd have to play these games over there," he said pointing to a door only steps from the swimming pool.

"What's over there?" I asked.

"That's a bathroom over there," one of the other men quietly said.

"With a shower head in there, too!", the dark, hairy-chest man laughed.

"Exactly, we can go and shower off", the white-haired man said. "And sometimes swimming in a pool makes you have to pee pee. Do you have to pee pee?"

I did sort of but hadn't given it much thought until he mentioned it.

"Well, I know I do!", the super tall man declared as he quickly waded to that side of the pool and climbed out.

"We'll all follow him and play some more", the white-haired man said to me. He shoved me very gently in the same direction where all the men were climbing out of the pool. For the first time I really saw and felt that these were all big older men, all much older than my dad. And seeing them outside the pool, I could see all their body hair as it was most pronounced being wet.

Without much thinking, and padding softly behind them on the wet tiled floor, I followed the five men through one of the several nondescript doors which lined the pool area.

Once inside, I saw it was indeed a rather small restroom with two stalls and two urinals and a small specially tiled space with two showerheads. The Y's main shower room was back in the men's locker room area and was ten times the size.

This rest room was merely for poolside convenience.

Along with the white-haired man, I stood by a sink as the other four men quickly made their way to the stalls and urinals. They each stood with arms akimbo pissing - two at the urinals. And another two in the stalls, kept their doors wide open as they stood before the toilet. I could see between their legs and beneath their low hanging scrotums as their dicks hosed out urine.

The handsome bald man finished first at the urinals and as he stepped away, the white-haired man nudged me to go up and take my turn peeing. I was nervous but went over to stand beside the super tall man who was still peeing.

The super tall man looked down and smiled at me as I aimed my penis at the urinal cake.

"You've got a biggie...for a little guy", he said as he stared at my dick. "How old are you anyway, sweetie pie?"

One could have heard a pin drop in the room as obviously it was the same question all the men had on their minds, even though they'd each already molested me in the pool.

"Seven," I replied, proud I was older than I was only a couple of days earlier. "Holy moly", I heard one of the men behind me happily mumble.

"Seven, huh?", the super tall man repeated as he slowly milked his penis along me. It was as long as my whole head! "That's getting to be a big boy!"

"Whoa, I have t.v. dinners in my freezer older than that!", the haired chest man laughed.

"Hell", the white-haired man said, "I have three grandkids older than this little tyke!"

The room suddenly became silent as the super tall man turned his body and let his big penis bump and graze along my shoulder. "You like that big thing?", he softly asked with a big grin.

I simply nodded and something within me spontaneously reached for the man's big penis.

The super tall man turned to his friends and rolled his eyes in glee. "Ooooh, can we ask for any more than little Kevy here?"

The man's penis was very long and too thick for me to hold with one hand. I had to reach and use my other hand to get a better grip. I felt it as it grew and got harder in my little hands. It was the biggest penis I had yet to see in my whole life!

Just then the white-haired man came up and stood very close behind me. He put his hands around my hands and helped me to get a slow milking motion going on the tall man's cock. "That's the way men like it, Kevin", he whispered as he guided my every move. As he did this, his own cock was sliding along my left cheek. Back and forth it rubbed along my face. He then waved one of the other men over to the urinals. It was the big nosed man whose cock was thick like my forearm. He also pushed into me as I continued to gently milk the tall man.

The big nosed man's cock purposefully rubbed and humped along my right cheek. I was surrounded by the three men's big cocks.

Suddenly, the white-haired man whispered to the hairy-chested man, "Go and check..."

The man went to the door and opened it a few inches looking around the pool area and then came back toward where we stood.

"Nothing...", he said as he openly stroked his erection. "Just those same three over in the corner."

Immediately, the white-haired man took hold of the tall man's huge penis and guided it to my lips. He rubbed the mushroom head of the man's penis along my lips leaving a sweet and sticky trail of something on them.

"Open up, sweetie...can you open your mouth?", the white-haired man asked in an almost demanding way.

As if guided by my own curiosity and hunger, I immediately opened my mouth real wide, like I was at the doctor's office saying "Ahhhh!"

The men all laughed and the white-haired man chuckled as he said, "That's a very good boy."

The tall man than shoved his huge penis into my open mouth and muttered, "Sheeeeeeeeeeeet, can you believe...!"

"Damn!" the handsome bald man said as he neared to get a better look.

"Now keep your mouth open like that," the white haired man said to me. He then pushed his own big cockhead along side his friend's into my mouth.

"HOLY FUCK...look at that!" the big nosed man cursed in delight as he quickened his jerking motions.

With my mouth wide open and stuffed with the cockheads of two big older men, I suddenly felt something poking me in the butt. I gagged for a moment as it caught me off guard. The two men pulled their hard cocks out of my mouth to allow me a second to catch my breath.

"Just relax," the white haired man said, calming me by stroking my little belly and tweaking my dick playfully. "Let him do that while you get back to these...", he directed.

As he and the tall man put their cocks back into my mouth, flooding it a bit in their oozing precum, it was the handsome bald man who was squatting behind me poking his index finger at my butt hole. "Relax, baby", he said as his jamming finger became more insistent. I tried real hard to relax my small butt and let the finger into my hole. I could sense the man was wetting and re-wetting his finger in saliva with every attempt.

In the meantime, the white-haired man pushed my head the other way trying to let the hairy-chested man tap his dick on my tongue as well. "Open as wide as you can, Kevy:, the super tall man ordered, "Show us what a good baby slut you can be,"

I again strained my jaws as wide as they'd go, offering no semblance of a blowjob but clearly making it obscene enough an experience for these men to enjoy. For brief moments I had three of their cocks somewhat in my mouth and slapping my tongue, each time, mixing their precum on it.

The handsome bald man had gotten his index finger in my butthole and then switched to his middle finger where he held it in my butt up to his knuckle. To my surprise, he then pulled my little white buttcheeks apart and started licking and lapping at my pink puckered hole. No one had ever done that to me before!

His tongue darted in and out and lapped at it like my butthole was an ice cream cone!

Then he suddenly stopped and stood up. "He's as ready as any little kid's gunna get", he whispered to the others. The hairy chested man was the first to move. "Let's go it in one of the stalls."

The white-haired man bent down and asked if I wanted to keep playing. I nodded my head as I secretly loved their cocks pushing at me. "That's a good boy!", he said.

The white-haired man and the super tall man then each took one of my hands and used them to stroke their own chests and stomachs, forcing me feel both their muscular physiques in a very lurid way.

"Go and check again fast", the hairy chested man indictated to the big nosed man. And again, one of them poked their heads out to the pool area and returned saying no one was around.

"I told you earlier today...its Tuesday afternoon, always pretty dead...", the super tall man said as he wrapped my hand around his huge erection again. "Let's get this kid in that stall.", he added shifting our action to one of the two toilet stalls. In there already was the hairy chested man who was stroking his long cock and looking almost angry.

"Me first," he said. "Come're kid."

I went into the stall and leaving the door open, the hairy chested man suddenly squatted and sucked my cock into his very warm mouth. His tongue lapped at my small scrotum. He then quickly turned me around and as the handsome bald man had done, he, too, spread apart my small butt cheeks and shoved his face between them. I felt the rough stubble of his beard as he went to town lapping and kissing my tight puckered hole. As he did this, the whole time, he was roughly feeling me up everywhere, his hands roaming lasciviously up and down my torso stropping only to gently milk my erection. He pulled his mouth off my rosebud as he milked my dick like a calf's only to say, laughingly, to the others. "This kid is hung better than some men we see around here..."

"I know!" the white-haired man agreed. "But you saw his daddy...he's on his way to super big meat." As he said this, he slid himself into the tight stall and started sucking my cock as the hairy-chested man went back to eating out my ass. The sensations were wildly wonderful as I gave into the men's mouths.

Then both men stood up reminding me how much taller and older than me they both were. "Now it gets serious.", the hairy-chested man said to the white-haired man.

"Sit...it will be easier." The super tall man standing just outside the stall door said. "Always easier on the real little tykes that way." He then gave me a quick wink.

The hairy-chested man sat in the toilet, his big dick standing straight up from his lap. "Come'ere, kiddo and sit on my lap.", he said pulling me back toward him.

Perhaps he saw some confusion on my face but the white-haired man leaned into my ear and whispered, "He just wants to put his big thing up in your butt...is that okay?"

I didn't know why a man would want to do that but as it was all feeling so good I nodded my consent. I liked the feeling of the hairy-chested man's strong and muscular body anyway. And his chest was all hairy like my dad's.

"Hop up, kiddo," the hairy man said with force, wagging his erection at me. I slowly slid up onto his lap and he lifted my several inches, holding me. The white-haired man helped him by also holding me up above the man's lap by at least eight inches. The man felt around, groping my young scrotum and feeling for my little rosebud. When he found it, he shoved a finger into me briefly as the two men guided my butt over the man's erection.

I could then feel something else prodding my butt. I knew what it was but didn't know what would come next.

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