The cold water was both a shock and a familiar sensation as I dived under the water into the pool. The sudden quiet was a relief, albeit short-lived, after the noise of the aquatic centre. Even on days like today, when barely anyone was here, the noise seemed to amplify.

I swam under the surface as far as I could, my skin prickling as I adjusted to the sudden change of temperature. The escape was blissful. My mind cleared. I was only physical sensation.

My lungs began to burn as my oxygen stores ran out. I felt my body breach the surface, turning my head just long enough to gasp a new lungful of air, careful not to break my stroke.

The artificial blue of the pool lining filled my vision through my goggles. Briefly I wondered why they always used that same colour. Was it just one person’s idea of the perfect pool shade, that then got perpetuated as the standard?

I shook the thought out of my head again. My attention returned to my strokes. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe.

I was never a sportsman, but in the pool I felt alive. My body seemed to slide through the water like a seal. I felt a gracefulness that I never experienced out of water.

I burned through the laps, turning at each end, counting them in my head as I went. I had been swimming here for 6 months now, at least twice a week, and was slowly increasing my lap count.

At the halfway point, I allowed myself a quick break. Leaning over the side of the pool, I caught my breath, watching as the other patrons wandered between pools and change rooms.

A man caught my eye as he walked past, holding the hand of a small child. His daughter perhaps? He was tall, muscular, well-built. Gym fit, but without the tell-tale broad shoulders of a swimmer.

The footy shorts he was wearing gave him away as well. He was new to the pool, maybe coming for a first swimming lesson with his kid. I watched him for a minute as he tenderly, but somewhat awkwardly, got the child ready to get into the pool.

He was somehow familiar, this tall, dark man. Did I know him from school those years ago? Maybe from a local café?

I gasped a little involuntarily as he stripped off his shirt, hairless chest sporting tattoos, extending down one arm into a sleeve. A faint line of dark hair drew a trail from his navel to the top of his tight shorts.

As he picked his daughter up, he glanced in my direction, our eyes meeting for just a second. He held my gaze for just a moment, but just long enough to be noticeable, before turning to slide into the recreation pool to join in the class.

Shaking my head a little, I turned back to continue my laps. Alone in the lap pool, I swum at my own rhythm, immersed now in thought. The power of eye contact never ceased to amaze me. There was something so significant about locking eyes. It seemed to trigger some deeper instinct. One innately knew if a gaze was even a millisecond too long, or too intense, or just suggestive.

The laps melted away as I swum, oblivious to the passing of time. The image of him stripping off his shirt, his muscular arms flexed as he reached above his head; the brief glimpse of under-arm hair before it was hidden again.

I could feel a semi pushing against the front of my speedo, and to avoid the embarrassment, I quickly brought my thoughts back to the line at the bottom of the pool. I was grateful my wet bathers would hide any telltale wet spots.

I finally completed my quota, and leaned on the edge of the pool again, my chest heaving. The swimming class had finished now, one group getting out as the next group of toddlers got in.

My tattoo man seemed to be the only dad in attendance. I looked over as he walked his daughter over to a woman sitting with a pram by the side of the pool. She wrapped the small girl up in a towel, pulling her up into a warm, fluffy embrace.

Having handed over his charge, the man grabbed his towel and bag, and headed for the change rooms. The glance over his shoulder in my direction was brief but unmistakeable.

I spent a couple of minutes cooling down in the water, my burning muscles slowly loosening again as I floated in the water. I loved the sensation of peace after exercise. The combination of fatigue and renewed energy was exhilarating.

Still, the mystery of the change rooms called, and with an effort I pulled myself out of the water and grabbed my towel and bag from the bench by the pool.

The steamy room appeared empty but for the shower running in one cubicle. As I hung my bag on a hook above the bench, the water turned off and the tattooed man walked out, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

He glanced at me once again, holding eye contact just a moment too long to go unnoticed, but not long enough to be a direct message. Wordlessly, I turned to my bag, rummaging for the body wash I always kept in there.

Having found it, I turned to walk to a shower cubicle. The tattooed man stood at a bench between me and the shower cubicles, fully naked now, his face obscured by the towel drying his hair.

Again, I marvelled at the human capacity to communicate without speech. Here, he was rejecting the unspoken convention of the straight male locker room to seek a space away from the nearest occupant, to avoid line of sight, and most importantly to face away when naked. It was generally accepted that one should appear to be quite casual in one’s nudity, whilst also minimising the exposure. And always, showing arse rather than cock.

Here he stood, in full flight before me, standing in my way despite the otherwise empty locker-room. It said something for sure, but was it enough for me to take action or was I over-interpreting. My self-doubt was overwhelming sometimes.

His body was amazing. The chiselled V of his lower abdomen drew the eye directly down towards his dark bush. The hair on his pubis, sometime since it’s last trim, glistened with water from his shower. His weighty cock and hanging sack swung pendulously back and forth as he dried himself, the motion near hypnotic.

I struggled to keep myself from falling to my knees right there before him to bury my face in his gorgeous crotch.

Dark hair covered his thick thigh, ropey muscles moving beneath the pale skin, his tattoos continuing down one leg to his ankle.

His hair dry now, he moved the towel down to his chest, his unobscured gaze now catching me admiring his body. We locked eyes again, his face expressionless.

I blushed, caught in my ogling but did not turn away. He stared right at me, slowly rubbing the towel over his chest and belly, sliding it up under one arm and then the other.

His message was as clear as it was ever going to be.

My body moved as if under someone else’s control. With my towel over my shoulder, I walked towards the showers, passing right beside his incredible naked body. My eyes held his gaze, and before I could think, my hand reached out and grabbed a hold of his soft cock, giving it two squeezing strokes as I passed him.

I walked on without breaking stride towards the shower cubicle. The sensation of his cock stayed with my hand like a memory. The rubbery texture of his long, thick member held to my fingers, the moist warmth of his clean skin a sensation that I would not soon forget.

My heart beat wildly in my chest. I was astounded at my brazen impulsiveness. I was also fearful of the consequences.

Holding my nerve, I left the cubicle door open, hanging up my towel and bending to take off my swimmers. Hearing nothing behind me, I reached over and turned on the water, the warmth rushing over my skin like a burning salve.

My cock stood out before me, it’s throbbing mirroring my heartbeat. I took a deep breath and turned back towards the door of the shower, wondering what I would see.

My tattooed friend stood exactly as I’d left him, standing rooted to the spot, shocked by my unexpected touch. He was half turned towards me, his towel clutched in one hand against his chest. His muscular arse was clenched, dark fur along the crack hinting at unimagined pleasures in their depths.

Looking over his shoulder, he stared at me through the open cubicle door. Slowly he turned, revealing a developing hard on, lifting his heavy cock higher and higher with each throb.

I let the water run over my shoulder and down my chest, my hand rubbing the skin slowly, sensuously as I reached down towards my throbbing erection.

He watched me, transfixed, as I grasped myself, squeezing firmly, sliding my uncut skin back and forth over the sensitive head of my cock. My free hand grasped one pec, my middle finger flicking my erect nipple as I stroked.

Ever so slowly, he turned around to face me fully. He dropped his towel, his wedding ring catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. I was reminded of the wife he’d left outside, waiting for him. She seemed to have no place here in this domain. This was a thing of men.

Slowly he stepped towards me, his eyes locked on my crotch as I slowly stroked myself. He paused for a moment at the entrance to the cubicle looking nervous and uncertain. One hand slid across his chest, slowly sliding down his abdomen before it stopped and dropped away.

He seemed about to turn around when the unmistakeable sound of footsteps approached through the door. Panicked, he looked down at his hard-on, knowing he had nothing with which to conceal it.

He looked at me again, and stepped into the cubicle, pulling the door closed behind him and turning the lock. He leaned against it, holding his breath.

The footsteps continued without hesitation until they stopped, a zipper opening and the unmistakeable sound of piss hitting porcelain signalling their purpose. In seconds it was over, the toilet flushed, the zipper zipped, and the footsteps exited, not pausing to wash hands.

The tattooed man didn’t move, a look of nervous hunger on his face. He seemed unable to take the next step, but stared at me, his expression one of unmitigated desire.

He was new to this world, that much was clear. Despite his big-dicked confidence, he was not used to being in unfamiliar terrain.

It was clear that I would need to take the initiative.

Leaving the water running, I stepped towards him, lowering myself onto the small wooden bench by the cubicle door. I grasped his hips, and turned him towards me, his huge erect cock right in my face.

I reached up with one hand and took hold, smiling as a long, slow sigh escaped his lips. His tension melted away as I stroked him, my hand gliding up and down over his thick, veiny erection.

I watched, fascinated as his heavy sack swung slowly between his legs as I stroked him. With my spare hand I reached up and grasped it, gently massaging its contents, feeling his full, juicy balls inside. My fingers crept up behind his sack, probing the space between balls and arse, massaging his perineum.

A soft moan escaped his lips, and a muscle twitched, causing his cock to throb in my hand. A thick drop of crystal-clear liquid squeezed from his hole and hung there as his foreskin moved back and forth over his swollen, purple head.

Even showered and post-swim, I could smell the essence of him under chlorine and soap. I leaned closer, eager to fill my head with his scent. My hand kept stroking him as I buried my face in his pubes, his hard cock brushing my cheek with each stroke back and forth.

I inhaled deeply, breathing him in. My tongue crept out of my mouth, sampling the taste of his crotch, wriggling it way down to his swinging balls.

I licked and sucked on his furry sack as I stroked him still, savouring his masculine taste. There was something about the smell and taste of straight guys that just drove me wild. I could have stayed here all day drinking him in.

However, I had other ideas in my head as to how this might go. Feeling the relaxation working slowly through his muscles, I turned him around quickly, before he could think or protest.

Reaching quickly up between his legs, I grasped his cock again, continuing the same stroking rhythm. He tensed somewhat, but did not complain, leaning his hands forward against the wall of the cubicle.

His arse was presented before me, his stance with feet shoulder-width apart allowed his cheeks to part slightly. His balls swung back and forth between his legs as I stroked him

I inhaled his true scent deeply now. This was what a man really smelt like. Pushing his feet apart with my own, I spread his legs. With my free hand I pulled his pelvis back towards me, tilting him up and opening his arse to me further.

His arsehole finally showed itself to me, a wrinkled little starfish buried in the depths of his dark cleft. A virgin hole to be sure.

He looked back at me, a look of surprise and apprehension on his face. He did not protest, though, as I leaned forward, driving my nose and face into his arse, holding his gaze the whole time.

His muscles tensed, as if about to move away, until I darted my tongue out to give him a broad, slurping lick across his hole.

His knees buckled, nearly falling into my lap had it not been for my grip on his pelvis and cock. He moaned deeply, a loud “Faaark” groaning from his throat.

I paused a moment, allowing the sensation to wash over him, before licking him once again, the response just as effective the second time.

Regaining his poise, he took his own weight again, no longer trying to step away, rather pushing his arse back into my face.

Letting go of his cock, I reached up with both hands, parting his cheeks and giving me better access to his hole. I could feel his cock leaking into my lap as I tongued his hole, lapping and poking him, sliding slowly inside before teasing his perineum and the back of his balls once again.

I slathered his arse and taint with saliva, tickling his skin and teasing his twitching hole. I tongue fucked him, slowly opening him up as he’d never been before.

His muscular glutes contracted, squeezing my face in the depths of his arse. I was in heaven.

Deep inside me, though, I knew this couldn’t continue forever. I wanted more from this random encounter before he blew his load, and he wouldn’t be far from it if I continued much longer like this.

Giving his cock a final tug, I pushed him away from me and turned him back around. Working some saliva into my mouth, I swallowed his cock whole, spreading my lubricating spit along its length to the sound of a soft whimper from my overwhelmed buddy.

Satisfied that he was fully slick, I stood, spitting into my hand and rubbing the saliva over my own hole. I turned away from him, putting one leg up on the wooden bench and leaning against the wall of the cubicle.

My arse tilted towards him as he grabbed a hold of the base of his cock, gripping my pelvis with his other hand.

I was already near to orgasm, even without touching my cock. He slapped his cock against my hole, electric shocks running into me as my arse twitched with anticipation.

He pressed against me, trying to force himself through my tight muscle. I breathed, allowing myself to relax and opened to him.

His thick cock slid inside me, and I gasped, the fullness and stretching a welcome sensation.

He gripped me with both hands as he slid relentlessly into my pelvis, his thick girth challenging me more than I was used to.

I felt him press against my prostate, the pressure sending ripples of pleasure deep into my pelvis. I moaned, oblivious to who might be out in the changing room now. I was losing myself in the pleasure of this fuck.

Further and further, he slid inside me as I concentrated on openness and relaxation. I felt his sweat drip on my back, the hot liquid joining my own glistening secretions.

Finally, I felt his pelvis pressed against me, his cock throbbing deep inside. He reached forward and pulled me upright, his arms wrapped around my chest. My arms were held above me, hands splayed on the cubicle wall. My cock twitched before me, so hard it felt as though it might burst. A stream of clear pre cum ran down the shaft and dripped from my ballsack.

He was taking control now. I was his to fuck.

His pubic hair pressed against my arse, the tickling hairs stimulating more nerve cells. My whole body was alight with pleasure.

Sensing my relaxation, he slid out of me slowly, before sliding back in again, the friction a mere secondary pleasure to the intense, pure bliss of the pressure against my prostate.

I moaned as he slowly began to fuck me, our bodies pressed together. His hands moved over my torso, sliding over the slick sweat. I felt his lips on the side of my neck, felt his breath on my back.

His strength enveloped me.

Faster now, he fucked me. Our bodies moved together. I was blissful pleasure, oblivious to the world around me.

Naked we writhed, the sweat melding with the steam, the slapping of our wet bodies matching with the gurgling of the water down the drain.

My neglected cock throbbed with the power of the pleasure in my pelvis. I longed to have more of him inside of me. I wanted to take him all, body and soul.

His own movements began to lose control as he was lost in his own pleasure too. My arse throbbed and squeezed his cock, stimulating him like he’d never experienced.

Nearing his climax, he pushed me forward, bending me down as he fucked me harder. I moaned with each thrust, waves of pleasure rippling back and forth through my body.

I could feel him tensing, his thrusts becoming faster, harder. He slammed his pelvis against my arse, pushing his cock deeper and deeper into me.

I could feel my own balls tighten up as my climax approached. At last, I grasped my cock, furiously stroking myself to orgasm as his cock slammed again and again into my pelvis.

The pleasure came from my toes and rippled through my whole body. I spasmed as it finally erupted from the end of my cock, stream after stream of cum hosing from me onto the shower floor.

My rippling arse muscles stroked him as he fucked, until finally he pushed forward with a huge thrust, nearly knocking me to my feet. I felt his cock throb deep inside me, spewing reams of cum into my pelvis. He moaned, thrusting uncontrollably as he erupted into me, his orgasm rippling through his whole body.

Finally, spent, he collapsed forward, wrapping his arms around my bent torso.

I felt him pull his softening cock from me, his cum escaping with him and running down the inside of my leg.

He straightened up, and pushed me forward under the shower, stepping in with me as well. With the water still running warm, he washed cum and saliva from his cock, swishing my spent load down the drain with his foot.

Still catching my breath, I stared in surprise as he reached forward with one hand, and rubbed in between my arse cheeks, washing away his cum under the running water.

He smiled at me, sheepishly, before stepping out of the shower and walking to the door of the cubicle.

He looked back over his shoulder once, but left without saying a word.

I shut the door behind him, the afterglow of my orgasm still washing over me. By the time I exited the shower, he was gone.