Benefits of Being Hung at My Lifeguarding Job in High School 01

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Benefits of Being Hung at My Lifeguarding Job in High School

I found out I’m hung when I started working as a lifeguard in high school.

It was the community pool, behind our town rec center, with cracked blue paint and a snack bar that sold off junk food. I had a decent, lean body and never minded working with my shirt off. I needed a tan anyway, and loved when I turned a bit golden after being pale the rest of the year. Everyone who worked there was near the end of high school or just a year or two out, and barely pretending to be professional. We wore the same red shorts, the same whistle, the same sunblock. By week two I knew who skimmed, who actually watched the water, and who spent every shift trying to impress girls. The locker room talk was outrageous. All the guys did was talk about pussy and tits and the hot milfs who came to the pool. 

Also, the guys in the pool pantsed each other constantly. You could say half our job was telling them to stop roughhousing. You’d be scanning the deck and two idiots would yank a waistband and sprint, then splash away like immature idiots. It was juvenile and dumb, but also kind of funny. I saw a lot of butts. Way more than I planned to see at a job that barely pays nineteen bucks an hour. And somewhere in there, curiosity woke up in me. I’d always thought guys were just guys. Loud and sweaty and irritating. I didn't really vibe with the fratty or broey male humor, even when I was horny and had nothing but girls on my mind. I was too laid back for any of that, and I always felt a bit like an outsider to be honest.

But when you see enough male bodies in bright daylight you start noticing shape and symmetry, who is actually athletic, compared to who just acts like they are. I saw one sort of feminine guy, about eighteen, get pantsed one day, and I caught myself looking at his round butt cheeks. He was fresh out of the water, and his hairless little ass honestly was kind of "cute" in a way. I looked away as soon as I realized I was staring, and I told myself it was normal to take a second look. Didn't mean anything. I had my experience with sports, locker rooms, whatever. I played tennis. But I was used to changing fast and getting out. I never lingered.

I knew I had a toned body because tennis gave me legs and shoulders, but I didn’t think about it much. My shirts fit, and girls liked me sometimes. That was enough for me to be somewhat confident.

But the first time someone said anything about my cock, was about three weeks into working at the pool. Apparently, my shorts were more revealing than I realized, and from up on the high tower, some perverted people had learned more about me than I even realized myself.

It happened by the mop sink. I was filling a bucket between rotations. A new guy from a nearby school, name tag said RYAN in block letters. I had seen him in the hall once or twice during a cross campus league thing, never talked. He was lean, smooth forearms, a recently done short blonde haircut with some wavy curls on the front, athletic torso and a good body, not that I was looking at it. I had seen him get pantsed more than once already, and I had to admit, I was ranking guys' butts in my head, and his was first.

Ryan started talking about girls, bragging about his girlfriend and asking who I was into. I rolled my eyes and kept stacking cones, then humored him and answered. He bumped my shoulder and said, “Must be easy for you.”

“Why?” I asked.

He gave me a quick side glance and said, casual, “Dude, you’re hung.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Ryan pointed down in this fast, embarrassed way, then smirked. “Your dick is huge. You can see it in those shorts.”

I laughed because what else do you do. “Okay.”

“I’m not trying to be a creep,” he said, hands up, still grinning. “Just saying. People notice. Especially up in the tower. Like, I already know you don't wear underwear with your shorts.”

"They're trunks, though, you're not supposed to wear underwear," I said, shrugging.

He just raised his eyebrows.

I acted like it was not a big deal to hear that, but inside, my stomach flipped. People notice. The words bounced around in my head. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or hated it. Attention felt good, but it also felt like a spotlight I didn’t ask for. Still, for the next hour on the stand I sat taller. My whistle felt heavier. I watched the lanes and the splash of the shallow end and the moms sunbathing, and I also watched my own reflection wherever I could catch it. Red shorts, tan lines creeping in, legs up on the metal rung, a little too aware of myself. I alternated between self-consciously crossing my legs and man spreading like I was king of the pool.

After that, other comments started happening. Not constant, but enough to build a pattern. A guy I didn’t know well clapped me on the shoulder and called me a "weapon". One of the older guards said I "should be wearing a leash". I didn't know what he meant but I had a feeling it was related. It was stupid locker room talk, but they said it with this push of envy and awe, and I would pretend to brush it off. “Shut up.” “You’re annoying.” But I started to get used to it, even a bit cocky. It was the most compliments I’d ever gotten in my life that weren't related to tennis or grades.

On another break one day, Ryan caught me by the storage closet near the practice balls. “Quick smoke?” he asked, then laughed at himself. “Kidding. I don’t smoke. Do you want to walk around back? I need air. and we can steal some gatorades from the snack bar.”

"She always gives them to me for free though," I said, smirking. Ryan rolled his eyes.

We stepped out by the machines that run the filters. It was loud and hot, and there was a narrow strip of shade against the cinderblock wall.

"No cameras out here," he said, making me look at him confused for a second, no sound except the hum  of the pool pumps in the stone building behind us. He just stood close and didn't look me in the eye.

“Look, don’t laugh,” he said. “I have a girlfriend, I’m not trying to do anything. I just need to know. It can’t actually be as big as it looks.”

“I don’t know, man. People seem to think it’s like a fucking porn dick.”

“Yeah, but like, how big is it hard?”

“Like nine, maybe ten inches, I think,” I said, thinking back to the one time I measured it a couple years ago. “But honestly, I’m not sure I measured it right. That number seems off.”

“Does it even get fully hard?” he asked.

“Yeah, especially morning wood. It’s like steel and I can’t even take a piss. I have to bend over awkwardly. It’s a curse.”

“Wow,” he said. Nerves twisted his face. His skin went red. He looked around like he was scared, then looked down. “Can I, see it?”

I hesitated a moment. And he added, "Just to compare. I'm not gay."

I just shook my head, chuckling a little, thinking about telling him that it wasn't his lucky day, but he seemed kind of vulnerable in the moment, and a bit of pity won me over. I had never in my life been asked to compare dicks, so instead I said, “You’re fucking weird, bro,” but I didn’t move. He took that as a yes.

He lifted his shirt a bit and showed off his lean abs, and I noticed he didn't have a single body hair, even under his belly button. No happy trail, which was surprising for a guy our age, but he had good muscle tone. I didn’t say anything. I lifted mine too, just a little, ready to do whatever this was.

“Okay,” he said softly.

I pulled down my shorts and let my hefty cock and balls flop out. His eyes went wide. "Wow," he said. "It looks even bigger up close."

The attention was making me nervous, but it gave me a thrill. I hadn't ever taken my dick out with a girl yet, and in sports we never really showered openly, so this was the most ogling my dick had ever gotten. I felt some blood flow into my cock, and Ryan was loving it.

"I wish I was that big," he said. "I'd do anything." 

It was almost sad to hear him say that, but it made me so horny to be admired and envied. 

"I'm sure yours is fine," I said, trying to cheer him up a bit.

Then he whipped down his own shorts, showing off his own cock. It wasn't small at all, just a regular dick, but I was surprised to see it so suddenly. I closed my eyes and put my hand up to block his crotch.

"Bro!" I said.

He rolled his eyes and put himself away, but I left my cock out. He clearly wasn't done checking it out yet. We chuckled and laughed while I wiggled my hips and let him see it from every angle.

Suddenly he dropped down to his knees, looking at it closely, and the giggling stopped. I tensed up a bit, and felt a knot in my stomach. My adrenaline spiked, and I remember every detail like it was happening in slow motion. He put his hands on my hips, and I felt his breath on my dick and balls. He licked his big, pink lips, and looked directly at my hardening shaft. He pulled my shorts down all the way and let them fall to my ankles, as my hands stayed at my side. He leaned in and put his mouth around the head of my cock. The sensation hit me immediately. It was a shock to my system. The first time anyone touched my dick at all, and it was a dude's mouth. It was warm velvet, and I felt my abs spasming as my body tried to keep still. My dick looked so big stretching his lips, and it pulsed rapidly. I think even my dick was confused about what was happening.

I didn’t think about labels or what any of it meant. I just thought about how amazing it felt, and how good it felt to have someone want to put my dick in their mouth. It was validating, ego-boosting, so weirdly affirming. My euphoria only increased as he pushed further down my shaft, closing his eyes as they started to water from repressing his gagging. He held my balls and tugged on them, just like I do to myself at home. If I hadn't jerked off right before my shift, I would have released in his mouth immediately. 

I didn't even look around to see if we would be caught. I just wanted more of this. I finally understood what all those guys felt like in all the porn I'd watched and when guys at school bragged about getting head. It was the best feeling in the world. Even my brother's fleshlight didn't compare to this. I balled my fists at my sides so hard my knuckles were turning white, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from my new friend's little mouth absorbing my cock like a slut from twitter.

He started to bob slightly on me, running his tongue around it as he sucked out drops of pre-cum. I grabbed the wall when my legs turned to rubber. I tried to keep my breath quiet, but I failed. My brain wasn't even processing the pleasure, and I literally had no idea if I was about to cum or not. I finished quickly, suddenly pulsing and squirting into his mouth. I watched him brace and accept it all, gulping down what he could and letting the rest dribble down his chin. I let out a whimpering sound I had never made before. The hum of the pool pumps covered it, I hoped.

Thinking it was over, I shifted to stand up, but he put his hands back on my hips and pressed me back into the wall, sucking hard and keeping my girthy tube inside his mouth. His blondish curls were getting a bit damp and sticking to his forehead, and the determined look on his face told me he wasn't done. I leaned back and let him keep playing with it, watching cum drip off his chin and onto his shirt. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation continue until I felt it building again. 

With the second wind, I got more animated. My hard dick pressed into his mouth and hit the back of his throat repeatedly, and I held his head with one hand to guide him, just like the guys do with the girls in porn. He groaned a little while he bobbed on it, his jaw stretched a bit obscenely to take me in. I felt like I wanted more visual stimulation, so with my foot I pushed down the back of his shorts, so I could look at his ass from above. It was white and hairless, almost pink. Taut and round, like two little melons. 

He didn't seem to have any limits. I would push hard, and he would gag, but never push back. The cockiness got to me, and I tried to get in his throat. It seemed like an impenetrable barrier for my big hog, but it still felt good when he tensed up from me trying. I held his head and humped into his mouth, and he touched himself over his shorts, with his ass still hanging out. Finally I was ready to cum again, and he was eager as the first time, holding still while I pumped another load into his mouth, watching his pink lips let some of it escape and drip down. 

Once the second orgasm ended, this odd little bell in my head rang clear. It was a serious post nut clarity. I stepped back and the whole world snapped into sharp focus. The cinderblock texture. The slant of sunlight under the door. The fact that my break was over several minutes ago.

“I gotta go,” I said.

He stood and nodded while I pulled up my shorts, trying not to look at the erection tenting his. I briefly glanced at his face, his cheeks and eyes bright red, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. He looked nervous.

"Let's not tell anyone," he said. "But it's not like there was anything wrong with—"

“Yeah,” I said, cutting him off. I wasn’t sure who we were trying to convince. I walked away without looking back.

I stepped back onto the cement pool deck, trying to act like I had just been checking the chlorinator and all that. Ryan came out a minute later and took his position across the pool. We didn’t look at each other for an hour. We rotated chairs. We blew whistles at teenagers doing flips into the shallow end. The events behind the pool were bouncing around in my head. I kept thinking about how good it felt, but I was mostly just nervous about being or seeming gay. I promised myself I would never do that again, and for about sixty minutes I believed it.

Then my hormones beat down my refractory period, and attention found me again.