Senioritis (Part I)
I’m a young professional. Well, maybe young is pushing it; I’m 40. But I feel young, because I work in a retirement community. I’m one of those administrative guys walking around in a suit when everyone else (all the residents, that is) can be found in shorts and golf polos.
I like my job. It pays well and there are plenty of perks. One of them – and probably the one that I like the most – includes the free use of the on-site gym and swimming pool. I’ve been working out at the gym, which has its fair share of weight machines and cardio equipment. For years now, there has only been one or two people in there at the same time as me. Often, I’m there all by myself, which suits me just fine. I turn on the TV and escape into some sweat and strain: the perfect after-work pass-time. More often than not, I jump in the pool when I’m done, for a nice cool down. And then I hit the showers.
The pool isn’t as infrequently visited as the workout room. There are almost always people swimming or doing some kind of water aerobics. But they’re used to me coming in all sweaty and swimming a few laps around them before hopping out and going on my way. I have a lot of friends in the community and they don’t mind that I stick out with my still-dark hair and proudly muscular body.
Okay, I have to admit that I am an exhibitionist at heart. Ever since I started sprouting pubic hair and discovered that my dick was probably bigger than most guys – even grown men – I have loved showing my stuff, flaunting my junk. I’m a shower and a grower. At 5 and a half inches flaccid, I swing and sway and flop all over the place and I’m not afraid to let it show…or to surreptitiously display it to others. And I get my fill of this in the men’s locker room.
Typically, I walk through the door wet and dripping from the pool and make my way over to my locker. I strip, drop my wet suit on a bench, and jump into a shower. There are doors on the shower, but I never close them. I’ve noticed that some men do and others don’t. I’m not sure if I started that trend or if it’s just “one of those things,” but no one has approached me about it, so I never give it a second thought.
After a nice warm shower, when my balls are sagging and my dick is back to full pre-swim length (even I get “swimmer’s dick,” after all), I emerge from the shower and grab a towel from the ever-present stack. I take my time toweling off, just in case there are eager eyes in the vicinity, and then I either drape the towel over a shoulder or throw it in the used towel pile on my way to the sink, where I shave and comb my hair.
Because the pool is pretty heavily used, there are other men in the locker room with me more often than not. Some of them avert their gaze when I display my naked body. Some of them seem not to care at all. And then there are those guys who just love to look. Sometimes – rarely – they even strike up conversation just so they can stand there and look at me while I’m naked.
You know, there are very few out gay men in today’s senior citizenry. They lived during a time when there really were no other options beyond getting married and having children, even if they didn’t want to. So the majority of the guys that I suspect are gay – the ones that take their sweet time checking me out – they’re all married, wearing rings. I know their wives. I get homemade pumpkin bread and cookies from them at Christmas. Call me crazy, but I sort of consider it a calling, and certainly an honor, to be able to share my body with these pent-up, man-starved gay grandpas. After a lifetime of pretending to be interested in pussy, don’t they deserve to feast their eyes on some prime cock?
Well, this evening started out like so many others. I finished my work, locked my office, and headed to the locker room where after a quick change, I spent some quality time in the weight room and its large, flatscreen TV. Got my sweat on and my nightly news fix all at once, and then I headed to the pool. There were about 8 men in the hot tub and I waved to them genially as I passed. Dove in, swam laps for a good 10 or 15 minutes, and then climbed out and headed to the locker room again.
By the time I had slipped my shorts off and was heading to the shower, the door had opened behind me. I didn’t bother looking to see who it was – too obvious – so I just headed to the shower, turned it on, and left the door open, like always. I took my time rinsing off, lathering up, and rinsing off again. Washed my hair, rinsed, repeated. I noticed a guy walk by once or twice, but he didn’t seem to linger, so I paid it no attention. When I turned the shower off, I heard a conversation – at least two guys were in the locker room, as well. What a perfect opportunity to share my wealth!
I double-checked my nuts and pulled on my cock to be sure that both were hanging appreciably low. Nice. And then I headed out of the shower.
One of the men was sitting on a bench with a towel around his shoulders, obviously still wet from the hot tub. It was Marty, a short, stocky, 70-something Italian-born stud with a great big white mustache and a chest covered in white and gray fur. He was wearing blue swim trunks and his signature gold chain around his neck.
Across the way from him, at one of the urinals, was Thomas, also in his 70s, but tall and lean and hairless. He was the perfect picture of the “skinny old man” that you’d typically imagine in a sweater and a golfer’s cap. In fact, I had seen him in that get up earlier in the day!
I didn’t really listen to what they were talking about as I sauntered out of the shower and made my way to the stack of clean, dry towels. My cut dick was swinging happily, free and clean and warm. I started toweling my hair and flashed a look over to Marty, who was looking at me under his bushy, wild eyebrows. “How’s it going, Marty?” I asked. “How’s Madeline?”
Marty nodded, “Good, good.” He scratched at an elbow. “I think she went to the mall today with one of our granddaughters. I’ve got a birthday coming around the corner, you know,” he said.
“Oh! I wasn’t aware of that,” I said, moving my towel to my shoulders and starting on my wet arms. “When is it?”
Marty was looking pretty intently at my cock now, I could tell. He certainly wasn’t hiding it. “Ah, next Thursday,” he said. “The eighth.”
A flush whooshed from the wall of urinals and Thomas walked in a few moments later. “What’ll that be…seventy-six?”
“Seventy-six,” Marty confirmed.
By this time, I was fairly well dried off, but had no inclination to cover myself up. So, I threw my towel over one shoulder and regarded them both. “I was glad to see you two relaxing in the hot tub earlier. Did you swim first?”
Thomas smiled. “A little.”
“Good,” I replied. “Gotta keep those muscles moving. You know, ‘use it or lose it,’ right?” I said.
Marty agreed, “Yup, that’s the name of the game.” He looked from Thomas to me. “You sure look like you keep your muscles moving. You work out every day?” Both men were now looking openly at my body. I felt the slightest stir in my loins.
“As a matter of fact,” I said. “I guess I hope that if I take extra good care of myself now, I’ll enjoy retirement as much as you both seem to be.” I smiled.
“Well,” Thomas started, “you’re certainly a specimen. I can’t remember the last time I looked as good as you!”
Before I could answer, Marty was already joking, “No kidding! Look at the size of that tally-whacker! Tell me,” he said, pointing to my dangling dick, “what kind of exercises do you do to make that thing so big?”
Thomas chuckled too, and I just shrugged. “Oh, you know…a little tug with the left hand a little tug with the right. Just like anything else, you have to exercise it regularly!”
Thomas was unconsciously feeling his crotch with one speckled, wrinkled hand. “Damn, is it always that big?”
I laughed this time. “Actually, it gets bigger!” Marty guffawed.
“I can hardly imagine,” Thomas replied, but he took a step closer and sort of bent down a little to look more closely.
“Well,” I said matter-of-factly, “if you two keep inspecting it, you may not have to.”
Marty finally looked up from my crotch. “Do you mind?” He was actually sincere.
I raised my eyebrows slightly. “No, not really.” I looked at the door to the locker room, wondering if anyone else was likely to interrupt suddenly. Thomas understood and quickly slid a door-stop under the door so it actually couldn’t open without a bit of effort. Clever man.
“Okay,” I said, and took a step closer to them both. “Go ahead.”
...TO BE CONTINUED (BELOW)...
I’m a young professional. Well, maybe young is pushing it; I’m 40. But I feel young, because I work in a retirement community. I’m one of those administrative guys walking around in a suit when everyone else (all the residents, that is) can be found in shorts and golf polos.
I like my job. It pays well and there are plenty of perks. One of them – and probably the one that I like the most – includes the free use of the on-site gym and swimming pool. I’ve been working out at the gym, which has its fair share of weight machines and cardio equipment. For years now, there has only been one or two people in there at the same time as me. Often, I’m there all by myself, which suits me just fine. I turn on the TV and escape into some sweat and strain: the perfect after-work pass-time. More often than not, I jump in the pool when I’m done, for a nice cool down. And then I hit the showers.
The pool isn’t as infrequently visited as the workout room. There are almost always people swimming or doing some kind of water aerobics. But they’re used to me coming in all sweaty and swimming a few laps around them before hopping out and going on my way. I have a lot of friends in the community and they don’t mind that I stick out with my still-dark hair and proudly muscular body.
Okay, I have to admit that I am an exhibitionist at heart. Ever since I started sprouting pubic hair and discovered that my dick was probably bigger than most guys – even grown men – I have loved showing my stuff, flaunting my junk. I’m a shower and a grower. At 5 and a half inches flaccid, I swing and sway and flop all over the place and I’m not afraid to let it show…or to surreptitiously display it to others. And I get my fill of this in the men’s locker room.
Typically, I walk through the door wet and dripping from the pool and make my way over to my locker. I strip, drop my wet suit on a bench, and jump into a shower. There are doors on the shower, but I never close them. I’ve noticed that some men do and others don’t. I’m not sure if I started that trend or if it’s just “one of those things,” but no one has approached me about it, so I never give it a second thought.
After a nice warm shower, when my balls are sagging and my dick is back to full pre-swim length (even I get “swimmer’s dick,” after all), I emerge from the shower and grab a towel from the ever-present stack. I take my time toweling off, just in case there are eager eyes in the vicinity, and then I either drape the towel over a shoulder or throw it in the used towel pile on my way to the sink, where I shave and comb my hair.
Because the pool is pretty heavily used, there are other men in the locker room with me more often than not. Some of them avert their gaze when I display my naked body. Some of them seem not to care at all. And then there are those guys who just love to look. Sometimes – rarely – they even strike up conversation just so they can stand there and look at me while I’m naked.
You know, there are very few out gay men in today’s senior citizenry. They lived during a time when there really were no other options beyond getting married and having children, even if they didn’t want to. So the majority of the guys that I suspect are gay – the ones that take their sweet time checking me out – they’re all married, wearing rings. I know their wives. I get homemade pumpkin bread and cookies from them at Christmas. Call me crazy, but I sort of consider it a calling, and certainly an honor, to be able to share my body with these pent-up, man-starved gay grandpas. After a lifetime of pretending to be interested in pussy, don’t they deserve to feast their eyes on some prime cock?
Well, this evening started out like so many others. I finished my work, locked my office, and headed to the locker room where after a quick change, I spent some quality time in the weight room and its large, flatscreen TV. Got my sweat on and my nightly news fix all at once, and then I headed to the pool. There were about 8 men in the hot tub and I waved to them genially as I passed. Dove in, swam laps for a good 10 or 15 minutes, and then climbed out and headed to the locker room again.
By the time I had slipped my shorts off and was heading to the shower, the door had opened behind me. I didn’t bother looking to see who it was – too obvious – so I just headed to the shower, turned it on, and left the door open, like always. I took my time rinsing off, lathering up, and rinsing off again. Washed my hair, rinsed, repeated. I noticed a guy walk by once or twice, but he didn’t seem to linger, so I paid it no attention. When I turned the shower off, I heard a conversation – at least two guys were in the locker room, as well. What a perfect opportunity to share my wealth!
I double-checked my nuts and pulled on my cock to be sure that both were hanging appreciably low. Nice. And then I headed out of the shower.
One of the men was sitting on a bench with a towel around his shoulders, obviously still wet from the hot tub. It was Marty, a short, stocky, 70-something Italian-born stud with a great big white mustache and a chest covered in white and gray fur. He was wearing blue swim trunks and his signature gold chain around his neck.
Across the way from him, at one of the urinals, was Thomas, also in his 70s, but tall and lean and hairless. He was the perfect picture of the “skinny old man” that you’d typically imagine in a sweater and a golfer’s cap. In fact, I had seen him in that get up earlier in the day!
I didn’t really listen to what they were talking about as I sauntered out of the shower and made my way to the stack of clean, dry towels. My cut dick was swinging happily, free and clean and warm. I started toweling my hair and flashed a look over to Marty, who was looking at me under his bushy, wild eyebrows. “How’s it going, Marty?” I asked. “How’s Madeline?”
Marty nodded, “Good, good.” He scratched at an elbow. “I think she went to the mall today with one of our granddaughters. I’ve got a birthday coming around the corner, you know,” he said.
“Oh! I wasn’t aware of that,” I said, moving my towel to my shoulders and starting on my wet arms. “When is it?”
Marty was looking pretty intently at my cock now, I could tell. He certainly wasn’t hiding it. “Ah, next Thursday,” he said. “The eighth.”
A flush whooshed from the wall of urinals and Thomas walked in a few moments later. “What’ll that be…seventy-six?”
“Seventy-six,” Marty confirmed.
By this time, I was fairly well dried off, but had no inclination to cover myself up. So, I threw my towel over one shoulder and regarded them both. “I was glad to see you two relaxing in the hot tub earlier. Did you swim first?”
Thomas smiled. “A little.”
“Good,” I replied. “Gotta keep those muscles moving. You know, ‘use it or lose it,’ right?” I said.
Marty agreed, “Yup, that’s the name of the game.” He looked from Thomas to me. “You sure look like you keep your muscles moving. You work out every day?” Both men were now looking openly at my body. I felt the slightest stir in my loins.
“As a matter of fact,” I said. “I guess I hope that if I take extra good care of myself now, I’ll enjoy retirement as much as you both seem to be.” I smiled.
“Well,” Thomas started, “you’re certainly a specimen. I can’t remember the last time I looked as good as you!”
Before I could answer, Marty was already joking, “No kidding! Look at the size of that tally-whacker! Tell me,” he said, pointing to my dangling dick, “what kind of exercises do you do to make that thing so big?”
Thomas chuckled too, and I just shrugged. “Oh, you know…a little tug with the left hand a little tug with the right. Just like anything else, you have to exercise it regularly!”
Thomas was unconsciously feeling his crotch with one speckled, wrinkled hand. “Damn, is it always that big?”
I laughed this time. “Actually, it gets bigger!” Marty guffawed.
“I can hardly imagine,” Thomas replied, but he took a step closer and sort of bent down a little to look more closely.
“Well,” I said matter-of-factly, “if you two keep inspecting it, you may not have to.”
Marty finally looked up from my crotch. “Do you mind?” He was actually sincere.
I raised my eyebrows slightly. “No, not really.” I looked at the door to the locker room, wondering if anyone else was likely to interrupt suddenly. Thomas understood and quickly slid a door-stop under the door so it actually couldn’t open without a bit of effort. Clever man.
“Okay,” I said, and took a step closer to them both. “Go ahead.”
...TO BE CONTINUED (BELOW)...