Julio finished sweeping the party room in the Lakes of Malabar community center and took a look around to see if everything was in order. Lakes of Malabar was a seniors-only manufactured home retirement community just south of Melbourne, Florida. No one else was inside the center this early in the day. All of the activity inside was at night--or, more specifically, in the evening, as most residents were in bed by 10:00 p.m. There would be a few swimming in the community pool this morning, which he could see through the windows of the party room. Yes, Mr. Dawson, the retired Marine colonel was there, already swimming laps. He could do laps in the pool forever. A few others were there too--the morning regulars, including a few older women who were making quite clear that they'd like to go a few laps with Mr. Dawson.
Fat lot they knew about Mr. Dawson, Julio thought. They certainly didn't know as much about Mr. Dawson as Julio knew.
He went out into the covered lanai bordering on the pool terrace and saw where Mr. Dawson's lounger and table, half in the shadow line from the lanai roof and half out, were located. The small wad of folded-over bills was there, with a clip around them and the Post-It note, with Julio's name scrawled on it. Julio picked the money up and went back inside. He counted it there, behind a counter--$100 in twenties. He slipped it into the pocket of his shorts and went into the men's locker room. There, he stripped off his shorts and T-shirt and exchanged his sneakers for sandals, and secured his clothes in his locker. He was a very fit twenty, hard-bodied and golden brown, part from heritage and part from the sun. He also was a handsome lad, turning heads wherever he went. He was attending the local community college, studying to manage what he was doing already at the Lakes of Malabar--maintenance of a community park and facility.
He had been wearing a shiny black Speedo under his shorts and T, so he was ready to go. He looked magnificent in the skimpy bathing suit. The last thing he did before going out to do morning maintenance in the pool was to check out the small sauna to ensure it was turned off. He left on the subtle recessed lighting in there giving a reddish glow on the cedar wood walls, though. He put the "Closed for Maintenance" sign on the door to the sauna before sauntering out to the pool.
When Julio came out onto the pool deck with a leaf pole, the colonel, Dawson, was out of the water, doing calisthenics on the pool terrace. The man's body was hard as a rock. He exercised all of the time--or at least all the time Julio saw him. The others at the pool, some not as old as the colonel was at, the young Hispanic estimated, sixty, but none as fit as he was, were watching the man with envy or with what passed at their ages, lust. He was tall and lean, hairless-skinned even to the billiard-ball head. He had bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows and an intense look out of dark eyes out of them.
He, like Julio, was in a shiny black Speedo, which showed that he was still flat-bellied, narrow hipped, and hung. His skin was dark tanned and leathery from having been in the sun for decades. He was wiry, his body so lean that the veins in his arms, legs, and chest popped out on the surface, having no fat to burrow through. His biceps were massive even for his age and he had a swirl of a tattoo covering his left pec. His nipples popped out.
If his nation called, he still was ready and able to go.
All the time Julio was walking around the pool, skimming leaves and twigs out of it and Dawson was doing his calisthenics the colonel's eyes were glued to the young Hispanic, boring into him. Julio was not unaware he was being watched.
His exercises finished, Dawson went into the locker room, the pool facilities being a wing of the community center, and to the showers. He came out of the showers with a towel around him, his manhood swinging free, proud, and low, and, ignoring the closed sign on the sauna door, went in, climbed to the second tier, opened his towel under him to sit on, and spread his legs. The tan lines from his nearly bikini Speedo, contrasting the whiteness of his midsection with the leathery mahogany brown of the rest of him, highlighted how hung he was.
His hand grasped his long, thick half-hard shaft, and he slow stroked himself, seemingly uncaring that the moist heat was not going in the sauna. Ten minutes later, Julio entered, having showered, naked, with a towel in his hand. He too was deep bronzed everywhere, but what the tan lines showed from his past Speedo coverage, as was the case with the Marine colonel, highlighted that the young man was well endowed and in erection.
Julio shot the lock on the sauna door home from the inside, folded his towel, and spread it on the bench below where the colonel was sitting, legs spread, cock in hand. Julio raised his eyebrows and gave a little groan deep inside him when he saw how thick and long the old man was--and that he could make it rock hard. Everything about the colonel was still rock hard. Julio knelt on the towel, leaned in, took Dawson's cock in his mouth, and gave the colonel head. Dawson put his hands on Julio's head, running his fingers into the lush, black curls of the Hispanic's hair, and guided the deep-throating suck. Julio gagged as he found out just how deep in the throat he'd have to take it.
If there was mercy in the colonel's makeup, he wasn't showing it now in how fully he as making Julio throat his erection.
Ten minutes later, the two had exchanged positions. Julio was perched on the upper bench, legs splayed wide, toes pressed into the lower bench, knuckles pressed to the slats of the upper bench beside him, torso reclining back, shoulder blades pressed to the wall, head arched back, eyes flashing, his mouth hanging open in a yawn of suffering-pleasure.
Dawson crouched below the young man, between Julio's spread, extended legs. The colonel was, in turn, giving the young man vigorous head. One of Dawson's strong hands was palming the young man's heaving belly to hold him in place. The other hand was snaked under Julio's balls. As the colonel sucked Julio off, he opened the young man's channel up with first one, then two, and finally three fingers penetrating up to the knuckles. He finger fucked the young man's passage hard and deep for several minutes, as Julio groaned and moaned and, eventually, unloaded in Dawson's throat. Unwavering, Dawson pulled his mouth off the cock; laughed; grasped Julio's ankles in his fists, wishboned the young man wide and high, rolling Julio's pelvis up; and dove for the young man's now-gaping hole with his mouth.
The Marine colonel was on campaign, pursuing his goals; Julio was docilely lying there, giving the soldier value for his money. The older man clearly was in charge.
Ten minutes later than that, the lower bench had been pulled out to the center of the small space, Julio was lying on it on his back, his legs were raised and extended in a wide V, and the colonel was crouched between his thighs, one hand gliding over the young man's belly and pecs and the other one beating Julio's cock off again as, taking long, strong thrusts, Dawson was power fucking the young Hispanic.
Well into the fuck, the intensity got to the young man, writhing under the older man, and Julio pressed the heel of a hand into Dawson's sternum to try to push the man away a bit, signaling that it was a bit too vigorous. Dawson was seated on the bench, in a standing crouch over it, using the powerful muscles of his thighs to enable power thrusts, each one jolting Julio and causing the young man to jerk, gasp, and give a little cry with each thrust. Looking intensely down into Julio's face, a little cruel smile on his lips, Dawson slapped Julio across the face. Julio gasped, his head snaping back over the top edge of the bench, the power of the thrusts having inched his body up on the bench. With a little laugh, Dawson grabbed the young man's ankles and hooked them on his shoulders. A hand went to Julio's throat, holding the young Hispanic's head down. Dawson remained in the standing crouch and continued his power-thrusting strokes. Julio was cowed and under the older man's complete control.
Julio grasped his own cock with one hand and palmed Dawson's flat lower belly as it moved into his shaved pubes, stroking himself off and symbolically signaling the colonel to thrust slower and without as much power--but not receiving any mercy there. With a little cry, the young man came again, spouting cum up the older man's belly. Dawson fucked on, not breaking his stride. For Dawson, it was all about him. He'd paid for this. The young Mexican was just a male whore.
The colonel stood up in place, grasping Julio's ankles again, stretching and wishboning the young guy's legs, pulling Julio's pelvis up, getting into a position to reach deeper, and pounding, pounding, pounding.
