Not Just Another Pool Party

He wasn't the father of a friend, but more like the father of a friend of one of my friends, which was how I got invited to the pool party at his house on a hot day in August of 1972. I never had met him before that day, and never saw him again afterwards, but I got to know him very well that Saturday.

***

Mr. Thurman was his name, and back then when you were 19 you didn't call parents and elders by their first names, so I didn't even know what his first name was. He was the father of a girl named Marcia, who was a friend of my friend Brian, and there was a Mrs. Thurman there that day too, a pleasant but mousy looking woman who was quiet and nondescript.

Mr. Thurman was the one that got my attention right from the start. He hung out at the pool with us, and while that didn't usually go over well with us kids, I was willing to make an exception with him, because he really turned me on.

At about 6'1" and maybe a touch over 200 pounds, he was a little taller and heavier than I was, and while he may have been a few pounds overweight, he was in good shape for a guy around 50.

While Mr. Thurman was balding, with a smooth skull on top and only a little on the sides, the rest of him was hairy. Even his back had a pelt of fur covering it, and it was all I could do to keep from running my fingers through that thick coating of mostly black hair on his chest.

It didn't take long for me to notice that while he was pleasant with all of the kids, he seemed to take a liking to me in particular. I did my best to keep him from noticing me checking him out, and besides, the guy was married so I just figured him to be a friendly guy.

Even in his baggy swim trunks I caught a glimpse of the outline of something that Mrs. Thurman was obviously very familiar with, and when wet the bulge was even more noticeable, so I found myself staying in the water more than I wanted because while the bump in my snugger trunks was a lot less obvious, it was still visible.

A couple of hours into the party, the group of about a dozen had scattered around the yard playing Frisbee and swimming, and I found myself alone with Mr. Thurman by the keg of beer.

"Having a good time, Timmy?" Mr. Thurman asked, and when I assured him I was he laughed and put his hand on my neck.

I grimaced at his firm grip, but his touch also made my dick hard, and I saw him glance down at the sad little bulge in my bathing suit.

"Say Timmy, I'd like to show you something," Mr. Thurman said. "You like trains?"

"Sure," I replied, and found myself being led around the side of the house and down the stairs into the basement of the place.

The cellar wasn't a finished basement, and it was dark except for the light that the two small ground level windows facing the backyard allowed in. It was enough light to allow me to see a model train set up in the far side of the room, but when I heard the door close and lock behind me, I began to think that I was down there for another reason.

"I have a knack of being able to sense a lot of things about people," Mr. Thurman said, and when I turned around Mr. Thurman had his back against the door and was smiling at me.

"You work out a lot, don't you?" Mr. Thurman asked me, and when I nodded I looked down and saw that he was stepping out of his swim trunks, making him very naked.

"Couldn't help noticing you looking at it most of the afternoon," Mr. Thurman said with a devilish grin, his right hand giving what had to be close to six inches of flaccid manhood some gentle pulling. "You like what you see?"

I wished that I had gotten to pour the beer I had been heading toward when Mr. Thurman intercepted me, because my mouth was dry. Even if I could have found the words, I'm not sure that I could have managed to get them out at that point.

"Don't you have something you want to show me?" he asked, looking toward my own trunks, probably trying to figure out when the bulge went.

My dick had gone limp from both the shock of the situation and my nerves kicking in, and I wasn't all that eager to show Mr. Thurman my twig and berries anyway, but Mr. Thurman was insistent.

"You know you want to show me, Timmy," Mr. Thurman said. "Show me your cock."

I found myself pulling my soggy swim trunks down, peeling them down and stepping out of them. The clay-like floor was cold on my feet as I closed my eyes and waited for the laughter that I had always feared but had never heard.

Instead, I heard only a deep and long intake of Mr. Thurman's breath being sucked back through his teeth, followed by a barely audible, "Nice."

"Do what I'm doing," Mr. Thurman instructed. "Get your dick hard."

"What about - the party?" I asked.

"Let them have their own fun," Mr. Thurman responded. "Something tells me you like it in the ass, don't you Timmy?"

"What about - you know - Mrs. Thurman?"

"She doesn't like it up the ass," he said with a chuckle. "Says I'm too big for her."

"I mean, what if she comes down here?" I asked, having seen what looked like her ankles walk past the window. "Or somebody else?"

"She won't. She hates my trains and thinks there's spiders down here."

There was a spider down her, I thought. A spider and a fly, and I was firmly in the web.

"You didn't answer my question," Mr. Thurman continued. "Hips or lips? Something tells me you like it in the ass. Am I right?"

I nodded as the dick in my fingers blossomed to all of the 4 or so inches it could be. If my pitiful endowment bothered Mr. Thurman he had a funny way of showing it, because he took two steps and went down to his knees in front of me, inhaling my stiff dick and sucking furiously on it while his hands squeezed my cold wet ass.

I came almost immediately, but Mr. Thurman didn't stop sucking. Instead, he swallowed my load and kept on going, and being young and dumb and full of cum, he probably suspected that I would rebound quickly.

He was right. After I came, I reached down and ran my hands over his furry shoulders and through the coarse mat of hair on his back, even reaching under his arms to caress the the thick tufts of hair that filled the hollows.

Looking down, I saw that Mr. Thurman had been thinking ahead, and had a opened jar of Vaseline next to him. Did he do this all the time, I wondered, as I watched him scoop out some and spread it all over his cock, which was now hard. Does he lure a lot of young men down here to look at his toys?

His hand worked up and down the length of his member, which was pointing right out and glistening with lubricant. He was a shower and not a grower, but still and all had about 8" of cut beige cock - 8 very thick inches - that he was working over, with the intent of impaling me with it.

Just the very thought of it brought my second orgasm on, and while it didn't have the firepower of the first one, I still came enough to almost made Mr. Thurman choke a bit before he pulled himself off my drained little pecker.

"I want you so fucking bad." he said, and as he got up to his feet I looked around for a bed or something, but Mr. Thurman had something different in mind.

"Look out the window," Mr. Thurman said as he positioned me under the dusty and cobweb covered glass, and it was weird seeing all of the kids and Mr. Thurman out there while I was being placed with my knees on two folding chairs. "That turns me on - don't worry - it's dark in here and they can't see us like we see them."

Hopefully that was true, but if anybody did come over and cup their hand over their eyes to peek in, they would have seen Mr. Thurman standing behind me with a throbbing erection in his hand and two lubed fingers of the left corkscrewing into my anal cavity while I gripped the backs of the chairs and groaned.

"Damn, you're tight," Mr. Thurman said as he worked the two digits inside of me. "You ever have a man as big as me?"

"No," I lied, but I knew what he wanted to hear and was more than willing to help make it good for him. "You cock is so huge. Please don't hurt me."

"Wouldn't think of it," Mr. Thurman said as he extracted his fingers and sidled in behind me, bringing the tip of his manhood to my opening, and as he pushed I let out a lot more of a groan than was necessary, hoping that the splashing of the swimmers made it unheard. The moaning became totally honest as the fat shaft eased in deeper, stretching me to the limit and making me appreciate his thickness

"You okay?" Mr. Thurman asked as he leaned over me, his hairy chest feeling sweet against my back.

"Yes,' I grunted. "So big."

"I'll be gentle," he assured me, but I didn't want him to be too nice, because I liked it a little rough and hard.

Soon Mr. Thurman had forgotten all about the gentle bit and was thrusting in and out of me hard and fast, impaling me with all he had while I struggled to keep from falling off of the chairs.

"Here," Mr. Thurman said, taking me off of the chairs and having me bend over like I was touching my toes.

The angle was something new for me, and now I wasn't moaning dramatically but out of necessity as he sank his probe deep into my bowels while yanking on my dick. His sweat was raining down on my back as I ejaculated a little load onto the floor even though my dick wasn't hard, and then Mr. Thurman was cumming too.

His warm seed soothed my ravaged insides, and after he filled me up he slowly extracted his tool from me and helped me straighten up.

"That was so good," he said, embracing me.

***

"Timmy really liked the train set," Mr. Thurman announced when we rejoined the party outside.

"You and those trains," his wife muttered under her breath as I tried to walk without waddling, because it felt like he was still in me.

The afternoon became evening, and then the party started to break up. My ride was ready to leave, but Mr. Thurman suggested I stay.

"The trains are even more fun when the room is dark and the little lights are brighter," Mr. Thurman said, and after he assured me that he would drive me home I said I would stay.

"Sounds cool," I said.

It was just the two of us in the pool then. It was dark and the rest of Mr. Thurman's family had gone inside, leaving me alone in the water with him, and that was fine with me.

Treading water, our swim trunks were down to our knees and Mr. Thurman's hand was squeezing our cocks together, rubbing the mismatched organs as one. Mine was hard, and Mr. Thurman's was getting there when I felt myself cumming, giving the pool filter something to do while Mr. Thurman kept me from drowning as I came.

"Want to go down to the cellar?" he asked. "I want your ass so bad."

"I can't," I found myself saying.

"Why? Do you have to get home? Are your folks strict?"

"Folks?" I said, wondering how old he thought I was. "No, it's just that I'm really sore down there. I can't believe you actually put all of your big dick in there."

I couldn't believe that was me saying that, but the truth was that I was still feeling the burn.

"Sorry," he said. "Got carried away."

"We can go down there though," I said. "I can suck your dick if you want."

***

This time it was me on my knees on the clay floor, and this time Mr. Thurman even turned the trains on, adding a little light and sound to the room. The trains were neat, but I was more interested in the cock before me.

As I knelt before him, my hand came up to touch what only my eyes and ass had enjoyed before. My hand only went a little more than halfway around the shaft of his penis near the base, and as I brought him to my mouth he groaned with pleasure.

"Oh man!" Mr. Thurman muttered as I moved my mouth over the ridge of his plump glans and went halfway down the ever-thickening shaft until I could take no more. "You give way better head than my old lady."

I got him hard in less than a minute, and after he was erect I felt myself being lifted upwards and spun around, my 165 pounds being treated like a rag doll as my feet banged against the wood of the cellar ceiling a couple feet above his head.

I was already dizzy from the beer and the ride Mr. Thurman gave me really made my head spin. His cock was still in front of my face, but he had me upside down and was sucking on my cock and balls while the blood rushed to my head. Meanwhile, the train went around in circles next to us, lights flashing and little bells and whistles going off.

Grabbing onto his hips, I managed to get my mouth on Mr. Thurman's bouncing cock and sucked on it as best I could given the position I was in. Mr. Thurman's mouth had left my nuts and was now licking his way to my burning anus.

"You boys okay down there?" came the voice of Mrs. Thurman, who had apparently heard the sound of my feet hitting the ceiling and wondered what was going on, and luckily we were out of sight from the top of the stairway or else she would have learned quite a bit about her husband.

"We're fine dear," Mr. Thurman said after getting his tongue out of my ass, and after he refused her offer of drinks, the door closed and he went back to it.

I must have been getting really dizzy - either that or the sight of his balls jiggling around under his tree-trunk cock made me crazy - because I could believe what I was thinking.

"Mr. Thurman," I mumbled after letting the head of his cock out of my mouth.

"You want it, don't you Timmy?" he asked, reading my mind.

"Here?" I asked when he brought me over to the stairs and had me step up on the first step, making out height differences negated.

"It'll be okay," he assured me, telling me that the thrill of being caught made it even better for him.

It made me more nervous than excited, but since I really didn't know his family except for having a nodding acquaintance with his daughter, I didn't stop him as he had me lean forward and grab the third step while he lubricated us.

"Here," Mr. Thurman said as he pushed his swimming trunks into my face and had me bite down on the mesh of his suit, which had the scent of his cock in them.

That kept me from crying out as he pushed his bulbous knob into my sore anus, and I let out a stifled squeal along with the train whistle as he leaned onto me, holding my hips while he moved in and out.

He was gentle as he could be, which made the pain bearable as he probed my rectum to the hilt. His hands reached around, tweaking my nipples and yanking on my dick as we grunted in rhythm.

"Omigod - can't hold it," Mr. Thurman said after a couple of minutes, and then I felt the soothing warmth fill my bowels as he came.

Mr. Thurman's hairy chest felt nice against me bare back as he held me before he straightened up, pulling his wilting cock out of me and helping me off of the step.

"You didn't cum," he said, but I told him that was fine, not wanting to push our luck any further.

We got our trunks back on and after he turned the trains off we went out the back door, sparing me the discomfort of saying goodbye to his family while the Lord of the Manor's cum was still warm in my bowels.

The ride home was almost uneventful, with me sitting on a towel as Mr. Thurman drove chatted about his job, until we got close to my house. His hand reached over and started massaging my dick through the trunks, and when I started to get hard he pulled over.

"Feel guilty about you not coming before," he explained as he reached down and adjusted my seat so I was fully reclined.

"Besides, I love your cock," he added after easing my trunks down, and then he was leaning over and taking my hard little tube into his mouth.

Even though I had cum several times already that day, Mr. Thurman was such an incredible cocksucker that he brought me to orgasm as I stared at the car's beige ceiling

"You cum in quarts," Mr. Thurman said with a a chuckle after I painted his throat with my seed a moment later, and then we were on the road again.

Mr. Thurman dropped me off in front of my house, telling me to come over any time I wanted, to play with his trains or anything else I could think off, and while I assured him I would I never did.

Not because he wasn't a good guy and didn't have an incredible cock, but I guess the thought of his wife upstairs, humming with the radio while her husband was drilling my ass, kind of made me uncomfortable.

***

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