Brandon the Jock Swimmer Chapter 5

[jockcummings]

Brandon the Jock Swimmer Chapter 5! (Check out the earlier chapters for a complete read)

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the apartment complex, Mr. Chen carefully pruned his potted plants that lined the walkway. Ms. Tanaka, her face etched with the fatigue of a long day at work, noticed her new neighbor in this serene tableau as she walked through the walkway towards her apartment.

"Good evening" she called out softly, approaching him with a gentle smile. "Your plants look lovely."

Mr. Chen looked up, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "Ah, thank you. Gardening is my little escape from the world."

Mr. Chen wiped his hands on a cloth, then extended one to Ms. Tanaka. "I'm Mr. Chen, by the way. I believe we're neighbors, just two doors down from each other."

Mr Chen seemed like any other retiree – he had thick glasses, a huge pot belly protruding from his otherwise frail frame, a kind smile that extended to the depths of his wrinkled eyes, and a slow, deliberate gait that suggested he was well acquainted with the aches and pains of being in his 70s.

Ms. Tanaka shook his hand, her smile widening slightly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Chen. I'm Mimo. And yes, it seems we are quite close."

Observing her weary expression, Mr. Chen added, "I don't mean to be intrusive, but you look quite tired. Must have been a long day at work?"

"It was," Ms. Tanaka admitted, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Please, have a seat," Mr. Chen invited, gesturing to a bench he had placed near his garden. "The evening is perfect for unwinding. It's always good to get to know our new neighbors."

Ms. Tanaka nodded appreciatively and took a seat on the bench. "Thank you, I think I will sit for a while. It's nice to relax and enjoy the evening."

As they chatted, Mr. Chen shared stories of his youth in China, the vibrant markets, and the bustling city life he left behind for a career here as a professor in the sciences. Ms. Tanaka listened intently, her own worries momentarily forgotten. She found herself opening up about her struggles as a single mother, balancing work and raising Brandon alone.

As the conversation deepened, Mr. Chen's interest in Ms. Tanaka's life grew. He leaned forward slightly, his expression one of genuine concern and curiosity. "Tell me about your son...Brandon was it?" he began, his voice gentle. "How old is he now? Is he studying?"

Ms. Tanaka smiled fondly at the mention of her son. "Brandon is 18 years old now. He's in college, studying sports science. He's always been passionate about swimming and fitness."

Mr. Chen nodded, his eyes reflecting a warm admiration. "That's impressive. And why is he staying with you? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Ms. Tanaka hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "His father and I separated when he was younger. It's been just the two of us since then. College is close by, so it makes sense for him to stay here. I'm always at work anyway so he has his space. It's tough sometimes, balancing everything on my own, but we manage. Brandon is my world."

Mr. Chen listened intently, his gaze never wavering from hers. "You're doing a great job, Mimo. It's clear how much you care for him. Mr. Chen's line of questioning now directed towards Brandon. "I haven't seen your son since I moved in," he remarked thoughtfully. "Is he often at school or the pool?"

Ms. Tanaka smiled. "Brandon is usually quite busy with his studies and training. He spends most of his days either in his classes, the college pool or at the local swimming club where he trains. It keeps him occupied, which is good."

Mr. Chen nodded understandingly. "Swimming must be quite demanding, both physically and mentally. Does he compete often? I imagine that can be quite stressful for him."

"Yes, he does compete regularly," Ms. Tanaka replied, her pride evident in her voice. "He's actually preparing for a big competition next month. It's one of the reasons he stays so focused. I try to support him as much as I can, but it's not easy with my work schedule."

"That sounds like a lot of pressure for both of you," Mr. Chen observed, his tone empathetic. "If there's ever a time when you need an extra hand, please don't hesitate to ask. Being a good neighbor means being there for each other, right?"

A wave of gratitude washed over Ms. Tanaka as she looked into Mr. Chen's kind eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Chen. That means a lot to me. It's nice to have someone close by who understands."

As Ms. Tanaka rose from the bench, ready to bid farewell and head to her apartment, a figure emerged around the corner. It was Brandon, his presence commanding yet casual in a loose sleeveless tee that clung slightly to his damp skin, hinting at the contours of his muscular torso beneath. His tight shorts accentuated his athletic thighs, a testament to hours spent in rigorous training. He paused, his eyes scanning the scene before him—his mother seated beside an older Chinese man, engaged in what seemed like a deep conversation.

Brandon's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued as he approached them. "Hey, Mom," he called out.

Ms. Tanaka turned towards her son, a smile lighting up her face. "Brandon, this is our new neighbor, Mr. Chen. We were just getting to know each other. Mr. Chen, this is my son, Brandon."

Brandon approached, his athletic build accentuated by his attire. Mr. Chen immediately stood up, his mouth agape, unable to control himself from leering and salivating while staring. After a moment, he quickly composed himself and offered a handshake, "Ah, so this is Brandon! It's a pleasure to meet you, young man."

Brandon shook Mr. Chen's hand, slightly uncomfortable with the older man's intense gaze but maintaining his composure. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Chen."

Mr. Chen's gaze lingered unabashedly on Brandon's sculpted form, his eyes tracing the lines of muscle that defined the young athlete. A spark of undisguised excitement flickered in his eyes as he turned back to Ms. Tanaka, his smile widening with an almost predatory eagerness. "Your son is quite the athlete, Mimo. You must be very proud," he remarked, his voice tinged with a peculiar intensity.

"So Brandon, how long have you been swimming? It must be quite demanding, training so rigorously," he inquired, his tone eager, almost intrusive.

Brandon, feeling the weight of Mr. Chen's gaze, maintained his composure as he answered, "I started swimming competitively when I was seven. It's a demanding sport, but it's my passion."

Mr. Chen leaned in, his interest unwavering. "Wow! That's quite an early start! How do you manage your training schedule with college? It must be quite challenging to balance everything," he continue probing.

Brandon nodded, appreciating the interest Mr Chen is taking in him. "It is challenging, but I make it work. My coach helps me plan my schedule so I can focus on both academics and training effectively."

"Your coach sounds very supportive," Mr. Chen remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering something. "What methods does he use to enhance your performance? Any special techniques or strategies?"

"He's been great," Brandon replied, not noticing the subtle shift in Mr. Chen's demeanor. "Recently, he introduced some new mental techniques, like visualization and even hypnosis, to help improve my times and focus during races."

Mr. Chen's eyebrows raised in apparent surprise. "Hypnosis? That's quite unconventional. Does it work for you?"

Brandon hesitated, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as Coach Thompson's voice echoed in his mind, whispering, "Allow them to worship your body." He blinked, trying to shake off the intrusive thought, and then replied, "It's still new, but I think it might be helping. It's supposed to help clear my mind and improve my concentration."

Mr. Chen nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Interesting. Mental preparation is crucial in sports. It's good to see that your coach is exploring all avenues to help you succeed..."

As Mr Chen inhaled to carry on, Brandon's mum quickly and politely interjected, "Well, it's getting late, and we both have early mornings tomorrow. Thank you for the lovely chat, Mr. Chen. We should do this again sometime."

"Of course, anytime," Mr. Chen replied, his gaze lingering on Brandon as they prepared to part ways. His mind raced with disappointment, imagining the conversation cut short just as it had grown more intriguing. As he watched them leave, his thoughts drifted to scenarios where he could have more contact with the young athlete—each one bringing him closer to the muscular swimmer he now increasingly lusts after.



I love all comments, feedback and conversations!
Kindly check out my Patreon (jockcummings)

 

[jockcummings]

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the neighborhood as Brandon stepped out of the pool, droplets of water glistening on his skin. He wore one of the new trunks Uncle Leong had gifted him, a sleek, tiny, form-fitting design that Coach Thompson had insisted he wear. "It's important to flaunt your elite swimwear from now on... especially for old men to admire," Coach Thompson had said with a sly grin.

As Brandon walked to his deck chair, he heard several clicking sounds. Turning slightly, he noticed a man with a camera, capturing images of him.

The man approached, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. "Hi there... you're quite the swimmer," he said, his gaze lingering appreciatively on Brandon's toned physique. "I've seen all your races. You're so talented."

Brandon felt a mix of discomfort and curiosity as he processed the stranger's words and the intent behind the camera clicks. He mustered a polite, yet reserved, smile. "Thanks...," he mumbled, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine,"thanks for the compliments, ...err were you taking pictures of me with a camera? "

The pudgy man stepped closer, his eyes locked on Brandon's toned body. "I-I just can't help myself," he stammered, his face flushing red. "You're such an incredible swimmer, and your body... it's just... amazing." He fumbled with the camera in his hands, a guilty look on his face. The pudgy man adjusted his thick glasses on his nose, a nervous tic that seemed to intensify the longer he is standing by Brandon. "I just... I think you're special, that's all. I've never seen anyone swim like you before." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid of being overheard.

Brandon looked away, feeling his cheeks flush. He knew he should walk away, but there was something about the way the man talked, the way he looked at him with such intensity, that made it hard for Brandon to resist.

Brandon's deck chair was positioned at the far end of the pool, a spot that offered a degree of privacy amidst the sparse crowd. A few old men dotted the area, their attention not just on Brandon but keenly observing the unfolding interaction between him and the pudgy man with the camera. Their gazes were sharp, filled with curiosity about how Brandon would handle the unexpected attention and the clandestine photography. The pudgy man, undeterred by Brandon's initial discomfort, edged closer, his camera held tightly in his sweaty hands.

"Please, just one more picture," he pleaded, his voice growing more insistent. "I need to capture your beauty, it's so rare and perfect."

Brandon shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the pool area. The old men nearby, sensing the escalating tension and the photographer's insistent demeanor, began to show an increasingly excited and lustful interest in the unfolding scene. Their gazes fixed intently on Brandon's discomfort, which seemed to heighten their arousal. With a collective murmur of anticipation, they started to move towards the action, eager to get a closer look at how Brandon would respond to the photographer's advances.

The pudgy man noticed their approach but didn't back down. Instead, he became bolder, stepping even closer to Brandon. "Just one more shot, I promise. It won't take a second," he urged, his tone now almost demanding.

Brandon felt trapped, the weight of the stranger's gaze and the increasing audacity of his requests making it hard to breathe. He glanced at the approaching old men, hoping for an escape or at least some intervention, but they merely formed a curious circle around them, their expressions a mix of amusement and anticipation.

As Brandon hesitated, he heard the old men who had gathered around and within earshot, their eyes darting between Brandon and the pudgy photographer. Their voices carried a mix of admiration and lewd curiosity.

"Look at how he commands attention," one old man whispered to another, his eyes fixed on Brandon's muscular form.

"Yes, and see how desperate that photographer is for just a glimpse," another replied, chuckling softly as he watched the pudgy man's eager movements.

"Indeed, look at how he's practically drooling over that young body," one old man murmured, his eyes gleaming with a mix of envy and desire as he observed the photographer's desperate maneuvers.

The pudgy photographer seemed stirred on by the remarks and stepped even closer to Brandon, his camera raised and ready. "Please, just a few more shots," he pleaded, his voice now tinged with a brazen confidence. "They all want to see you like this."

Brandon felt the pressure mounting, the circle of old men watching intently, their whispers creating a strange kind of encouragement. The pudgy man's persistence, fueled by their presence, made it difficult for Brandon to assert his boundaries. Coach Thompson's voice resonated once again. "Let them worship you".

As the photographer edged closer, some of the old men began to murmur louder, their words laced with an increasing boldness. "Show a bit more, son," one called out, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Another, more daring, stepped forward and lightly touched Brandon's arm, his fingers lingering on the firm muscle. "Such strength," he remarked, almost to himself.

Brandon tensed as the touch unexpected and invasive. He glanced around, seeking an escape from the growing audacity of the crowd, but they closed in slightly, their interest piqued by the unfolding scene. The photographer, encouraged by the old men's actions continued shooting. "Just a bit more, please," he urged, his voice a mix of command and desperation.

With each click of the camera, the atmosphere grew thicker, charged with a peculiar blend of voyeurism and admiration. Some of the old men, emboldened by the situation, began to subtly touch Brandon—a hand on his back, another on his shoulder. Their touches were light, almost accidental, but unmistakably deliberate.

"Feel that muscle," one whispered to another, his fingers brushing lightly over Brandon's broad shoulder. "It's like touching stone."

Another, standing slightly behind Brandon, let his hand rest briefly on the swimmer's lower back. "Look at how he holds himself," he murmured appreciatively to his companion, who nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on Brandon's tense form.

As the photographer continued to snap pictures, the old men's murmurs grew bolder, their touches more frequent. "Such strength in those arms," one commented, his hand lingering on Brandon's bicep as if measuring its size.

Brandon stood frozen, his muscles tensing under the pudgy photographer's relentless camera clicks. The old men, emboldened by his apparent passivity, began to touch him more freely—a hand on his pecs, another on his back.

Despite his discomfort, a part of him seemed to revel in the attention, each touch sending a shiver through his body that he couldn't quite suppress. Coach Thompson's voice echoed in his mind, "Let them worship you." It was a mantra that now seemed to control his reactions, guiding him to endure the situation rather than escape it.

"Such power in those shoulders," one old man murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of Brandon's deltoid. Another chuckled, his gaze flicking between Brandon and the camera. "He doesn't even realize how much we admire him," he said, his voice low but clear.

Brandon tried to speak, to protest or at least express his unease, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he remained silent, posing for the camera as the old men continued their tactile admiration, each touch blurring the line between violation and validation.

The photographer, sensing the growing boldness of the old men, decided to take a more assertive role. "Why don't you all join him in the frame?" he suggested, his voice a mix of excitement and manipulation. "It could be a memorable group shot."

The old men exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued by the proposal. Encouraged by the idea of being closer to Brandon, they moved in hesitantly yet eagerly. One man, bolder than the rest, positioned himself next to Brandon, his hand resting lightly on the young swimmer's shoulder. "This is quite an honor," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with undisguised admiration.

Another man, less confident but equally intrigued, positioned himself on Brandon's other side. His movements were tentative, yet his eyes gleamed with undisguised interest. As he settled in, he reached out and ran his hand gently over Brandon's pecs, his fingers lingering for a moment before flicking lightly at one of Brandon's nipples. "This will indeed be a special memory," he murmured, his voice shaky yet filled with a strange sort of anticipation.

The photographer quickly adjusted his camera settings, pleased with the new arrangement. "Perfect, just like that," he directed, snapping pictures rapidly. "Everyone look this way and smile."

As the camera clicked repeatedly, the old men's expressions shifted from tentative to delighted. They began to relax, their initial awkwardness fading as they basked in the shared experience of posing with Brandon. Their touches became more assured, hands resting on arms or shoulders, fingers brushing against skin.

Brandon's discomfort began to morph into a different sensation as the attention and touches continued. The more the old men fawned over him, the more his body responded involuntarily. He felt a warmth spreading through him, and despite his initial resistance, he couldn't deny the growing excitement. His breath quickened as he noticed the tip of his cock peeking out from his skimpy thin trunks, a clear sign of his arousal.

The photographer, ever observant, caught sight of this development and quickly snapped as many pictures as he could. "Look at that," he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for the surrounding old men to hear. Their gazes immediately dropped to Brandon's revealing state, their expressions a blend of shock and undisguised interest.

Brandon suddenly became acutely aware of his own body's response. His eyes darted down to see the tip of his cock peeking out from his trunks and the realization jolted him, snapping him out of the trance-like state induced by the attention.

Gathering his resolve, Brandon stepped back abruptly, breaking free from the hands that were exploring his body. "err...I think that's enough," he said firmly, trying to hold his his voice steady despite the rush of conflicting emotions. He quickly adjusted his swimwear, ensuring everything was covered, and glanced around at the surprised faces of the old men and the photographer.

"Sorry...," Brandon said,as he quickly gathered his towel and water bottle, preparing to exit the scene.

The pudgy photographer finally lowered his camera the man reached out, not to grab but to gently halt Brandon. "Wait, please," he implored, his voice softer now. "I just wanted to say.."Thank you," his eyes still locked on Brandon's body. "You have no idea how much this means to me." Seeing you like this, capturing your essence... I can't thank you enough."

"I... I appreciate that," Brandon offered, forced a weak smile, unable to muster any enthusiasm. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was trapped in a world of horny old men, each one vying for his attention and hoping to possess a piece of his beauty.
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I love all comments, feedback and conversations!
More chapters on my Patreon (jockcummings)

 

[jockcummings]

Thank you all who messaged, liked and enjoyed the stories!
Unfortunately, I received a message stating that a member took offence at the content and whilst admin "did not think it was worthy of any warning", I am erring on the side of caution and will not post any more chapters here.
My sincerest apologies for this and my gratitude for those of you who gave the chapters a chance!

You can still catch the rest of the chapters (there are 17 chapters already released) on my patreon.
Much love!
JC

 

[Wallyj6]

Thank you all who messaged, liked and enjoyed the stories!
Unfortunately, I received a message stating that a member took offence at the content and whilst admin "did not think it was worthy of any warning", I am erring on the side of caution and will not post any more chapters here.
My sincerest apologies for this and my gratitude for those of you who gave the chapters a chance!

You can still catch the rest of the chapters (there are 17 chapters already released) on my patreon.
Much love!
JC

What was offensive? That's so silly

 

[jockcummings]

What was offensive? That's so silly

The exact words I was given were "tension between Brandon's discomfort and his arousal at the validation of being worshipped unexpectedly".
And yes, personally I think it's silly too and I was advised to "guide the tone" to what I publish in the future. That is something I don't think I can compromise on because of an anonymous shrinking violet / excitable karen.
So patreon it'll have to be for the rest of the chapters.

 

[jockcummings]

Greetings folks
Thank you for liking and reading Brandon's story.

I have already released more than 20 chapters of Brandon's story and moved house to a better platform than the dreaded patreon.
Chapters 1-11 are free here if you want to continue the read:

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/erotica/1358984