The changing room is always hot and humid. Steam billows from the shower, guys drip pool water and condensation rises from their bodies. No sooner have I dried part of my body than I am sweating, drying myself again. It gives me a good excuse to sit on the low wooden bench and watch him.
He is not part of our swimming team we wouldn't have him. We are all in our late teens or early twenties, with wide, powerful shoulders and slim waists; he's the opposite, and older. His waist is about as wide as his shoulders and a roll of flab hangs across the top of his shorts. We wear tight Speedos, he wears Bermuda shorts. He always comes in just as we finishing our training and I've been watching him for weeks. You see, I don't care to watch my team mates. I take no satisfaction in their perfect, trim bodies, their tight, smooth buns and I don't get turned on by their muscles. I like to watch my larger man.
I have learned where he always changes and make sure that I am on the opposite bench. He has a routine and now so do I. As my mates strip off unashamedly and chase each other into the shower I take my time drying off while he undresses for me.
He always wears trainers and white socks, which he takes off first. When he stands he shows no packet, just a flat front below the overhang of his belly, no outline, no worn denim where his cock head has rubbed. At first glance you'd think there was nothing down there.
But there is. As soon as he sits the material of his jeans constricts around that area and bulges, strains at what is beneath it.
He looks around the locker room, his small, black eyes darting from one toned body to the next, before taking off his shoes. No one notices apart from me.
He lifts his heavy ass from the bench and pops the stud on his jeans as he pulls them down. He always wears white briefs, full, stuffed with his genitals, coarse black hair billows from the waistband and carries on up under his shirt. He puts his jeans on the bench beside him then packs his socks into his trainers before standing to put them in the locker. As he stands I get to look at his hairy legs, thickly matted, chunky and then at his white briefs stretched tight across the two lumps of untrained muscle that is his ass. Sometimes he clenches his great ass for my benefit as I watch and dry my back for a second time.
He stands with his back to me to remove his shirt, always short enough to allow me full view of his ass. Once his shirt is off, revealing his hairy back to me, he turns and fishes in his bag for his shorts. Then he sits with his towel across his lap, protecting his huge balls and slowly, teasingly, takes off his briefs under it.
That's why I sit opposite when I can. As he wriggles his briefs down I dry my feet. As he lifts his hips to free his underwear I bend down and glance up. Underneath, in the shadow of his towel, I see what I want to see: his shrunken cock, wrinkled, folds of skin that surely can stretch. People would say he has too much foreskin, not me. I love the excess folds gathered up like a crumpled sheet against his jet black thicket of pubes. But his cock is small, withdrawn and tiny in comparison to the great sack of his balls that hangs below and spreads out on the bench between his legs. Completely out of proportion it is as fat as the rest of him, as big and larger than life than his gut that slumps over the towel on his lap. As he bends to remove his briefs, which always get caught around his ankles, his small cock and huge balls vanish from my sight. I always take that moment to adjust the erection the sights of him have given me; without fail I get turned on.
Then, before he sits back upright again, he slips his shorts over his feet and pulls them up, standing quickly as he draws them up to cover his genitals. And my fun is over.
I often wonder about staying longer in the pool so I can follow him into the shower afterwards and enjoy the full view of him completely naked as he washes. But that wouldn't be fun, I like to catch a glimpse and wonder...