When I tell you his name was Ed Olson, your mind probably generates a picture of some Scandinavian god, blond, tall, fair skinned. Sorry! Someone in Eddy's family definitely came from somewhere south of Denmark. To say he had an olive complexion would not be accurate either, but his dark hair and laughing eyes didn't fit the Norse (or Swedish) god image at all. His chest was broad but not deep, bare of hair except for the dark tufts below his arms, and tapered perfectly to his waist. I have seen a picture of a statue somewhere in Europe that he could have been the model for. From broad shoulders his trim body showed the hint of "six-pack" abs but his was the first I noticed that drew into indentations above the hips, and those indentations gave way as you looked forward to a firm abdomen, where the next of that dark hair was evidenced in a "pleasure train" plunging to a dark bush about his eighteen year old equipment. But wait, I'm ahead of my story.
When I was about 10 my dad took me to the YMCA where my athletic older brother was swimming in some minor competition. It was my first exposure to real exposure. As the contestants started to file in I remarked, in a somewhat too loud child's voice, that they had "moustaches". Whether my dad was puzzled or embarrassed I cannot say, but when one of the older boys came in and I noted he had two moustaches, Dad decided I might be a bit young for this scene. What rite of manhood causes the Y and boy's schools to have us swim in the nude? I think I found out a few years later.
No great shakes as a scholar in elementary school, I suddenly found myself in a predicament in eighth grade when I discovered all (well almost all) of my pals from our small school were headed for the Academy. Whether it was my whining, or the fact that I could pull out a good grade on finals, or Dad's aggressiveness, I got to go. It had to be among the top college prep schools in the country, with close ties to Harvard, and graduates each year going on to Stanford, the military academies and the Ivy League. There too, we swam nude. I cannot adequately tell you of the fine young budding bodies I saw there each day, the swinging meat that hung low in the shower rooms, the round globular buts that glistened in those showers, but I can tell you about Skip.
Skip's family lived next door to the headmaster's house on the edge of our prep school's campus. Now here was a body headed for the idealized blond figure, with the shoulders and trim waist and firm chest and abs of which I spoke above. His problem was one day at the pool, as I admired his round rear he turned around with what we still called a "boner". Not just erect but straining against its own skin as only a teenage dick can. He stood there at the end of the pool and I, seated for the usual reason in the bleachers, had my first mental image of what to do with something like that. Like my buddies from our little town nearby, I'd learned the pleasures of stroking my own, but Skip's long pink penis called for more. When at last he left for the showers I slipped away to a quiet spot near the dining hall to relieve myself, thinking of Skip.
A few days later Skip and I were sitting in the waiting area thirty minutes before the noon meal. As much as I wanted to just see that body of his again, I hadn't said anything to him about his display. He said he'd just heard a new joke and moved next to me on the couch. It seem this FBI agent was putting the make on a female he'd seen in the company of foreign spies from which he hoped to get some information. As Skip started the story his hand moved up my thigh to illustrate the agent's actions. "I'm Jones of the FBI and I want to learn things from you" went the dialogue. Skip probably had no idea the effect of these whispers and his hand had on me (or did he? I'm sure the sweat was appearing on my forehead). AS he reached my groin, the "female " in the story said "As long as you're up there, scratch my nuts, I'm Smith of the CIA". My laughter assured Skip of my full appreciation of his story (and relieved my of overwhelming tension). A moment later I told Skip of the nearby "quiet spot" I'd discovered and without a word more we rushed to its dark confines.
Standing there in the unlit boy's room I dropped my pants and began to work on my already very ready pink freshman's dick when I heard Skip moan. He said he'd already shot and I questioned him; we'd been there but a few seconds. Reaching down I felt the wet evidence of his veracity and his virility. I held that slender throbbing penis and bent low to place its wet head in my mouth. My very first cock, already spent (or so I thought) and warm and wonderful in my mouth. I'm quite sure Skip was far more surprised that I when a second spasm pressed his hips into my face and a second orgasm racked his slender frame, sending a warm stream into my mouth. Mine took but a stroke or two thereafter to fire.
Stuffing our members back into our pants we went up for lunch. I think it was wieners and kraut.
A few days later, I was in the headmaster's outer office for one of my usual transgressions when I heard voices through the door to the inner sanctum. The woman's voice complained "Can't you just give us some idea why he's being put out?" The man voiced similar upset but apparently got no better explanation. After a few more minutes, out came Skip's parents, flushed and in obvious frustration and puzzlement. The next day I learned Skip was no longer in the school.
Was Skip's display in the pool the reason? Was having us swim in the nude a way to spot incipient homosexuality? I know not, nor have the years since given me a clue, only that the custom extended to our engineering, all-male college, which brings us back to Eddy and me.
While a recent fund drive had allowed the start of construction on the Institute's first real gym, we still used a converted church a few blocks from the campus. The balcony had become a track of sorts, the main floor hosted our basketball program, and somehow a pool had been dug in the basement. Phys-ed was compulsory, to keep us nerds well rounded, I guess. We could make up missed classes in the weight room or the pool, and I preferred the latter. So did Eddy.
One cold Cleveland winter night we headed for that pool, long after any formal activities had ceased, to make up the phys-ed classes missed by drinking at the Brick Cottage. We stripped in the locker room and headed for the pool carrying just our towels. Like many of you who have a special affinity for the male body, I averted my eyes from the fine figure before me, dropped my towel at poolside and plunged into the concealing waters. There I took my first real look at Eddy's body that I described at the start of this story. You read where I said he had little body hair, but his taut legs sported a fine black cover. Imagine as I recall that contrast, smooth bod and hairy legs, joining at a thick black triangle from which rose a thin wispy trail leading up to the navel. I had a periscope rising from my groin that broke the water's surface as I backstroked down the pool's length.
I don't think Eddy had noticed this snorkel, as he was jumping up and down on the low board at the pool's end. His short flaccid dick began to react to the bobbing motions and it hardened much like mine.
Now these stories carry many descriptions of the males' outstanding feature, but rarely do they address two features, color and head shape. My shaft is pint and rather slender. Though thick dicks seem to fill the stories and imaginations of our writers, I have found the slender ones much firmer; at least mine was in those days. Fair skinned as I am, to this day I have a healthy pinkness to my shaft and the head is a pink-rimmed purple of the traditional (?) "helmet" or "mushroom" shape. I spoke of Eddy's slight olive skin color and, is so often the case that begets a dark shaft. Thicker than me, his equipment ended in a squarish, dark head. As this recitation suggests, Eddy's activities on the diving board had altered his appearance. With a great erection projecting from that ideal body he dove into the pool to my admiring stare.
Who knows exactly how we turn conversations to our intent in circumstances such as these? I do know that as eddy sat on pool's edge above the ladder I swam over before him scanning the show rising between those dark hairy legs. I somehow conveyed my interest in swimming up to a spot between those legs but Eddy completely rejected me. He rolled away, lying on the concrete poolside a yard or two away, on his back, with one arm over his eyes and the far leg raised to redirect the muddle one my way for better inspection. No caution could contain my lust! I pulled myself over the poolside, dragging my hot dick against the tiles, and found my way crawling to where Eddy lay.
Why do we swim naked? Why was there a naked march around the frat house as each new pledge class passes through "hell week"? Why are boy's showers usually communal, with nothing to hide us as we lather our parts? There is no question why I so love these traditions. I have to believe that the straightest of us admires some of what he sees in a boy's pool or shower room. The human body draws us all, as I was drawn to Eddy's that night, or Skip's four years earlier. Some of us express ourselves as I did with Eddy, grasping the shaft with my left hand to draw it to my lips, while my right found the unique rough-but-soft surface of his scrotum. Had Eddy any gay thoughts in his mind as my head rose and fell above his groin? I neither know nor care. Like Skip, he was not around long, but for scholastic rather than behavioral reasons. Like Skip his head and shaft, though thicker as a college freshman's might be expected to be, filled my mouth with a warm satisfying feeling, and as I drew back for a moment to admire my feast I witnessed an amazing sight. That dark flesh actually bulged along the bottom tube and a white geyser blew forth, not in just one spurt as we all are accustomed to, but in a continuous stream that lasted, I would guess, a full three seconds, followed by shorter spasms of equally great pressure, covering his fine chest and shoulders. I kissed each of those balls from which this gift had flowed, arose, beat my willing dick off in the shower, dressed and returned to the dorm, satisfied as never before in my life. These scenes of Eddy fill my mind these many years later. Hope they'll bring pleasure to yours.
lohungstud@yahoo.com