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CONFESSIONS OF A POOLBOY(CONFESSION #4)

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 29 Jan 2001 3 comments
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by Todd421 Forgive me, Daddy. It's been a while since my last confession (November 24, Solo/All Male Stories) in Brian's website and to the ClubStroke membership at large. That last confession was about my school friend Rick and our drama teacher, Mr. C. My name is Todd, I live in California, and I misstated my age before. I'm 25 now. My confession this time took place several months after the last one, while I was in junior high, about a decade ago. I had received a work permit for employment from our district. (In California, if you're going to work under the age of 18, you need to get a permit from the school district, the state, and parents to be able to take on legitimate employment.) My parents had permitted this a summer before, where I worked in a gift shop in our neighborhood, cleaning things behind the scenes. The summer I'm talking about followed that one, allowing me to travel a little farther to work. (This was still before I was able to get my driver's license.) The job was at the beach location of our family's country club. The golf club frequented by my parents was in the Valley, but its beach buildings were along Pacific Coast Highway 1, along the shores in southern California. My parents were the ones who arranged everything; I didn't want to work, but they wanted me to, and they figured they could sort of keep tabs on me, working for an organization they were "members" of. It was over the hill from our house, but only two bus transfers from home to work. The beach club was a pretty ancient place, several stories tall and mixed in with a few multi-story beach establishments nearby. It had been acquired recently by the country club people and was nestled among beach property formerly owned by some of those famous old silent screen moguls along PCH; some of those structures are still there today. My job was a pretty easy one, or a lousy one, depending on which day I worked. The lousy days were on the weekends, when most of us in my age range had to bus tables for daytime brunches on a large outdoor patio. This was a particularly embarrassing job for me, as many of the brunch-diners were kids my age sitting with their parents, all dressed up for the weekend. I hated my busboy uniform for these events - green pants, with a button-up short-sleeved white shirt, and a fake green bow-tie. I hated these days also because my parents would sometimes arrive and eat there, "unannounced" to me, and "proud" of their working son. I much preferred the non-weekend days. The club had not yet established itself fully along the coast, and lunching outdoors on weekdays had not really taken off yet. Food was available, but few members were around. When I worked these weekdays, I was assigned to the beach itself, usually with one other guy. There was little to do, but when members were present and wanting to use the beach, we became "runners" for them, usually getting them beverages and delivering the drinks to the members out in the sand. This was a perfect job for us and our age, as no alcohol could be consumed off-property close to the water (where the sand was); we just had to run Cokes and fruit drinks back and forth, and make sure people had towels on their beach chairs, etc. Near sunset, we had to restack the beach chairs on the club property. But my hours didn't usually run that long. My other reason for liking this, was that we didn't have to wear those hateful busboy uniforms. We could wear green shorts like the tennis pros on the weekend wore, with either white T-shirts or tank-tops. We almost always were barefoot as well. I know I looked cute in my shorts, which were the canvasy kind we wore at gym at school, cut high and near the bottom edge of my "bubble butt." Blond and pretty hairless, I always wore the tank-top instead of the T-shirt, as I liked being as tan as possible. Things were so relaxed during the week, though, that most of us didn't even wear the shirts at all. Which brings me to my confession at last. One of my few beach "customers" on a Wednesday of one of those summer weeks was a businessman I'd never seen. He arrived early in the morning and grabbed one of the beach chairs for himself, taking it out onto the sand. I walked out to him quickly, as he had "that look" that I had come to admire from my first experience with a man. He had dark, straight hair, combed straight back; he was tan and built nicely, with a light running of black hair on his chest and on his legs. He looked to be about 35. (Twenty years difference between us?) My contact "purpose" with him was to bring him an extra towel, but I only wanted him for myself before the other beach attendant got to him that day. I asked him if I could bring him anything to drink (non-alcoholic, of course; I wasn't able to serve more because of my age, and he was beyond the club's property edge). He said he'd like orange juice, and I left to get it. I ordered the juice from the outside bartender (who was bored because no one was on-property to order alcohol); before I returned to my "customer," I took off my tank-top. I delivered the juice to him, putting it on a small plastic serving table I carried from the club area for this purpose; he placed his briefcase on the corner of the table. He started to get money out, and I told him I couldn't accept money, that all transactions happened with his club member number. He showed me his club card, and I wrote his member number on my drink ticket, thanked him, and left. I memorized his name as well; let's say for this confession that it was "Dan B." It didn't take me long to get back out to him again, to ask if there was anything else he needed. For one reason, there were few other members/customers that morning. But the real reason was to get close to him again. I couldn't get enough of his handsome face and long black eyelashes. I wanted to jump down on my knees and lick his hunky chest. As the day moved on, I almost got a chance to do this. He had turned in his beach chair onto his stomach. I swallowed hard and asked if he wanted me to put some of his suntan lotion on his back for him. He turned his head back, looked at me, and said, "Sure." I couldn't wait to get to my task. I squeezed some of it out of the plastic bottle and he winced a bit at the cold of the liquid on his back. I apologized, touching and rubbing the oil quickly into his shoulders, arms, and back. After this, I always squeezed the lotion into my hands first, rubbing the lotion so that it was warm between my palms. I took much longer than I needed to in applying the lotion, of course, and there's no doubt that my customer knew this as well. I moved to the back of his legs, applying lotion there also, which surprised him. I loved running my hands along his muscled calves, up behind his knees, and onto the backs of his thighs. I had been given little, if any, indication that he was interested in what I was doing, but it didn't matter to me anyway. I was lost in just touching his body. I had touched him all over his back, then all over his legs, beginning at his feet and moving up. I put lotion on my hands again, and continued from his left thigh, massaging it a bit, and moving my hand higher, running my fingers slightly up under the bottom of his nylon bathing suit on to the lower part of his butt. Again, there was no real reaction from him. I did the same thing with his other leg, this time coming across that white silky material they put into the inside of bathing trunks as a "protective" liner. I stopped my lotion activities, asking if there was anything else I could get for him. He said no, and I left him alone again, picking up an earlier glass from his small table and setting it on my serving tray. Walking away from him across the sand in my short-shorts and nothing else, I took a risk and looked back at him when I was about ten yards away. He was still face-down on his beach chair, but he had raised his head up, cupping his chin in his hands, and he was looking right at me. My heart stopped, or so it seemed, and I stopped walking as well. I turned toward him and smiled. He beamed a smile back at me. I almost tripped in the sand as I continued back to the club patio. And I couldn't help myself - as I continued my walk away from him, I flipped the back side of my shorts up a bit on the right side so he could see a bit of the cheek of my butt. Back on the solid ground of the club patio, my heart was pounding. I ducked quickly inside the club building, heading downstairs to the musty locker area where all the employees kept their stuff. (And here's where my true confession really begins, I guess; I really didn't do that much with "Dan" before this, did I?) I took off my shorts, then took off my jockstrap. I was completely naked, and put the jockstrap in my locker, pulling my shorts back on over my nakedness. I walked barefoot back across the damp indoor carpeting from the lockers and up to the patio area again. I looked out at "Dan," and saw that he was much in the same position as when I had left him earlier. I swallowed hard and ordered a Coke from the patio bartender, using the member number given earlier by "Dan." I carried the drink out to him on my tray. I can only imagine now what he was smiling at then, while I was approaching him in our not-very-private outdoor setting. My legs were tan, with a hint of blond leg hairs. The blond matched the shock of hair on my head; my eyes were directly on "Dan" the whole time I approached him. My torso was mostly tan, mixed in color between the times when I wore my shirt and didn't; my tiny, less-than-dime-sized nipples were probably sticking straight out at him. No doubt, there was a bit of a wobble in my shorts, as my jockstrap was back in my locker. I set the Coke down on Dan's small table. He turned over onto his back to face me. He was smiling and looking directly at me. I said he needed some lotion on the front of his body as well, and he quickly agreed. (This all moved as if choreographed, with both of us knowing the moves we were to make.) I got down on my knees and started at his feet, rubbing the lotion there and into his calves. I moved up his legs; Dan's eyes were on me the whole time. I did this rather quickly, as I knew what I wanted to touch higher up. At the top of his thighs, I moved my fingers under the front of his bathing suit. I kept my eyes on Dan's eyes. I touched the bulge inside his trunks, covered in the white liner, rubbing my hand against it a couple of times. I couldn't tell if I was touching his balls or his dick at this point, but he was clearly interested in what was happening. I pulled the same move with my other hand, reaching the same "obstacle." I suddenly realized others might be watching, so I got up off my knees and moved around his chair and body, so that I was in fact standing behind his head and facing toward the ocean. I put more lotion into my hands and leaned my body over Dan's face, running my slick hands up and down his chest, lightly pinching his nipples a bit as I did so. Thankfully, nobody saw what I was really doing. I had positioned my legs around the edges of Dan's chair so that I was actually straddling his face. He couldn't help but see (or smell) the knob of my dick and my balls hanging directly over his face from inside my shorts. As I continued to rub lotion over his chest and arms, I asked if he liked this. He said, "Of course I do." I told Dan, as I kept rubbing his chest, that he should get a different kind of bathing suit, one that wouldn't be so confining. I suggested shorts like my own, where he could be free underneath, rather than actual bathing trunks with a liner. He said, "You mean, so this won't happen?" He pulled the front of his trunks up away from his stomach for a moment while he was lying on his back, revealing to me what was down in that liner pouch. It's still etched in my memory - amid some dark pubic hair was a thick, hard cock. It had some dark blue veins running here and there along the shaft, and a big head at the top. His dickhead was dribbling a bit of pre-cum. I knew, of course, what this was, by this point in my life. I told Dan I wanted to touch it, but I knew we would have to be private for that. The sun was also going down, and my shift on the beach was nearing its end. He asked when I worked again. Not tomorrow, I told him unfortunately, but Friday evening. There was a large "sweet sixteen" party I had been assigned to work at as busboy. We agreed to meet during the day on Tuesday the following week. Of course, Friday evening came before the Tuesday I longed for. I dreaded the party I was to work at, knowing about all those young girls near my age who would see me there in my uniform and in my job capacity. Making things worse, I also had to work the next morning for the Saturday brunch, when even more of the same type of people would be working, with me confined to that patio. I had had to work this sort of "double shift" before, working at night and the next morning, but the club was prepared for it, as were my parents. I could stay in one of the employee bunking areas overnight in the club building to avoid the transportation time and problems of the two somewhat concurrent shifts. (Besides, my parents would be able to do what they wanted to do on a Friday night without worrying about me coming home.) I arrived at the club in the early evening for the girls' party. I went downstairs to the men's locker area and changed into my hateful uniform. As I moved back upstairs, I passed the men's spa and massage area, which was pretty much out in the midst of the employee locker room. I saw Dan. He was maybe 20 feet away from me, but I knew it was Dan. He was on a massage table on his stomach, with his head turned toward me and a towel over his butt. He didn't see me. I went to work upstairs, actually two floors up; we had to finish setting up the place settings for the little bitch's party guests. As the guests arrived, and we cleared things prior to the dinner, I couldn't keep my mind off of Dan, just two floors below me. Of course, the "sweet 16" party finally ended, as did our cleanup, ending around 11:00 p.m. I moved back downstairs to "be seen" in the employee area, but I had already figured out another arrangement for myself. I had gone to the manager's station earlier, supposedly to look at Saturday's schedule, and found the larger manifest as well. Dan was staying overnight at the club, in one of its few suites. The club wasn't really set up as a hotel, and there were only six rooms available on each of two floors for guests willing to pay extra. I now knew Dan's room number for tonight. After waiting and hiding a bit, I figured it was safe to venture up to the guest floors. I still had my busboy uniform on. Looking here and there in the small corridor for unwelcome employees, I knocked on Dan's door. I heard nothing, and then knocked louder, saying, "Room Service" at the same time. (Of course, the club had no room service, but who would have noticed?) Dan opened the door and saw me. I quickly stepped in, and he shut the door behind me. We were alone together in his room, him in his night attire, and we stared silently at each other. I'm sure Dan was worried/scared/intrigued about being in the room alone with me. I was just plain scared. He asked what I was doing there. I didn't answer at first, but then I went into a "tantrum." I started berating my job, saying I hated what it entailed and what I had to wear. I started taking off my uniform pieces and throwing it/them on the floor. Dan sat on the bed, watching me. I got to my white underwear briefs and stopped, with my clothes strewn everywhere around me. He started to laugh, and I began to feel like a fool. He said he had felt the same way many times, having to "live up" to the expectations of his business partners. Dan said, "I'd love to be able to toss off all my clothes in front of them!" He stood up and removed his T-shirt, throwing it aside and shouting, "I hate them! I hate them!" He calmed down a bit and looked down at his sweatpants. He looked back at me and said more quietly, "I hate them," meaning his pants. He looked back down and started pulling the sweatpants slowly down over his hips. I was beside myself. But I wasn't hard, and I wasn't ready yet, even though this was what I had wanted in my mind's eye. I moved toward him and took his hands from the waistband at his sweatpants, which were rolled a few inches below his waist. I didn't really know what I wanted, and I just started following my own instincts. I prodded him back toward the bed with his sweatpants still on, and his pubic hair showing at the top of where he had rolled them down. I got on top of him. He was on his back in his sweatpants, and I was straddling his waist facing him, just wearing my underwear. I could feel the bulge of his dick up between my legs, but I just rocked back and forth, rubbing my thinly covered butt crack against the shape of his hard cock. I kept "riding" him, running my hands over his slightly hairy chest and armpits. My own dick was jutting out in front, the fabric of my underwear getting stretched. He grabbed my covered dick with one hand and started slowly jerking it through the fabric of my underpants. Dan's cock kept throbbing underneath my butthole. I got up suddenly, standing on the bed over Dan. I pulled my underwear down to my feet, showing Dan everything of my body. I stepped out of my underwear, and reached down to the top of his sweatpants. There was a wet spot on the front of them, and I yanked the pants down to his knees. His large, hard cock was lying flat against his stomach just as I remembered seeing it days before, with his dickhead pointing up toward his face. We finally could see each other's cocks at the same time. And we were both really hard. I got down again on my stomach, this time rubbing my dick up and down on his chest. I know now this was a fucking motion I was doing, without knowing where to put my dick. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I continued the motion, and he held his arms around me. He moved his hands down over my butt, and put his fingers into the crack between my cheeks as I rocked back and forth. At this point, I CAME almost immediately. I shot cum all over his chest and mine, which were sort of glued together at this point anyway. I pulled away from his chest, sitting upright. Dan's dick was behind me, and pointed at my ass as before. I maneuvered myself off of his stomach, moving lower on his body. Now his hard cock was underneath my own, which was starting to do a bit of a retreat. I put both my hands on his dick and started stroking it up and down. I had a great view - his hard cock, my hands, his pubic hair, his hairy chest, and his face, making all kinds of distorted expressions. I pulled his dick up away from his stomach, so that the head was pointing up toward me. I stroked him a moment longer and he SHOT his cum up across my chest and onto my face. I closed my eyes for a bit as I felt his cum spew out at me. In retrospect, this was probably the best (under-aged) sex Dan had had in a long time, if ever this intensely, and it was certainly my most advanced version of it up to this point. But, as I know now about sex, it continues and spreads to others, changing in its forms to suit different situations. (I was with Dan a few more times that summer, but never as meaningfully as this time.) Forgive me once again, Daddy. I'm sorry I've kept this such a secret until now. And I know I haven't yet told you about all the rest of it yet. But I WILL tell you everything, including how I got my job, what it entailed, and why I still feel a need to confess it all to you...