I had never been good at math, but a certain number kept running through my head. Eighteen. I was finally a legal adult! Had been for three days and four hours! A whole new world would open up, I could vote (for what good it did), drink (legally), and adults would stop ordering me around (I hoped).
It was 1974, a time when males were required to swim nude in schools, YMCAs, even YWCAs, Boys Clubs and just about everywhere else, and it was also a time when more and more women were taking positions in the work force, especially positions of authority.
On the first day of the new semester, a brutally cold January day in Illinois, I entered the boys locker room. Last class of the day was PE. Once a week we had swimming, and that first day was the day; fortunately, it was the last period. I pushed open heavy oak doors, the warm, leathery smell mixing with the chlorine in the pool; the air was a welcome warm and humid. All the boys were seated in front of their lockers, so I took my place in front of mine. I asked someone what was going on. Seems the principal had told us sit down and wait; our new teacher was going to address us.
New teacher, so what, I wondered. In those days, they were all the same. I'd had them since junior high. These guys were ex-drill instructors, or had the mentality of one. They loved to belittle and humiliate us, which felt worse because we were nude. All they cared about was discipline. If they should screw up and actually teach you something about swimming, it was only because the forgot for a moment to check to see if you were standing at attention! We all hated them all.
In a couple of minutes, two females entered from the pool. One was a slightly plump brunette, pretty, large breasts, wearing glasses. She was in a skirt, one of the shorter ones that had become fashionable, and all of us noted her nice legs. She was followed by a slightly taller blonde girl, about the same age, early twenties, wearing a red swimsuit that was skin tight. It showed off her curves, and shapely legs, and even a bit of what I would later learn was called camel toe! This blonde was quite pretty, athletic, short hair, lean, muscled legs and nice full, round boobs.
She addressed us.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Nancy Anderson. My assistant here, is Betty Roberts. You should address us as Miss Anderson and Miss Roberts. By way of background, I'm twenty-two and have just graduated college with a bachelor's degree in physical education. The school board has hired me to be your new swim teacher.”
We were all taken aback by this. What happened to Mr. Johnson? Took a job at the local junior college, we were informed.
“Okay, first things first. I know what you're asking yourselves. And the answer to your question is yes. The same policies as before will be in effect. You will continue to take swimming in the nude.”There was absolute silence in that room.
“I can tell some of you are a bit nervous about this. Let me assure you there is no need to be. I've spent all my college years teaching part time swimming classes at some schools and the YMCA. Almost all of those classes have been male, and every class was nude. The school board policy is quite clear on this, and quite specific—male students have to swim naked."
"I realize some of you have never been nude in front of an adult woman before. Well, you have my sympathy, for what it's worth. But the fact of the matter is that you will be naked in that pool, with me as your teacher, for one hour a week. As will every other boy in this school. I realize you won't like this at first, but you'll get used to it. So, let's start getting accustomed to the idea right now. I want you all to stand up and turn around.”
Reluctantly, we all did so.
“Now, open your lockers.”
We opened them.
“Now, strip down, put your clothes in the locker, then turn around and face me.”
We all looked at each other, confused.
“Hurry up. We haven't got all day. Everything off and in the locker. When you turn around, all I want to see is sixty six nuts staring me in the face!”
The rest of it seemed to happen in slow motion. I did my best to avoid removing my pants until the last. The shirt, the shoes, the socks. Finally, the pants. There was no sound but that of belts unbuckling, clothes sliding over flesh, shoes being thrown in lockers. I looked to the guy next to me and his eyes were as wide as mine. There was no sensation but the air wafting around every inch of my now naked body, and my heart hammering away. No thoughts but that this couldn't be really happening. I finally worked up the will to turn around, barely managing to breath again.
She looked at us, and barked a command, “Okay, now I want you all at attention. Put your legs apart, and lock your hands behind your head.”
I remember just barely being able to do it, and how it made me feel even more vulnerable. I was actually starting to shake with fear or embarrassment; I was too confused to know which.
Then, she went to the front of the line, with Miss Roberts in tow, and started walking slowly down it. She stood close to use, no more than a foot or so, hand on her hip, lips pursed, contemplative, sometimes backing up for a better view, sometimes bending down a bit. She looked each boy in the face, then slowly down the length of his body, pausing to stare, sometimes almost belligerently, other times thoughtfully, at each boy's manhood, occasionally allowing a faint smile to cross her face. Some of them were fully hard, but most of us were just too shocked for an erection. She looked at each boy, sometimes mumbling to herself, or whispering to Miss Roberts, who was taking notes on a legal pad.
When she got to me, she looked directly into my eyes. She had gorgeous blue eyes, and slight freckles that I hadn't noticed before. Her eyes moved slowly down my body. From the face, to chest, to abdomen, pausing at my half hard member to smile quite prettily, then down my legs. She noticed me trembling, and touched my arm, telling to calm down, it'll all be okay. She then walked back to the head of the line, told us all to remain at attention, but to turn around. She went down the line again, and I could feel her eyes on my ass.
Finally, she backed up and told us we could stand at ease. We all covered our genitals with our hands.
“Well,” she said, “most of you seem perfectly healthy. Some of you, maybe too healthy.” She shared a smile with Miss Roberts, and they both looked at one of the boys who had been fully hard as he blushed.
Then she gave us the speech. You know, the rules—no horseplay, no running, we obey her orders, etc, and hauled out the paddle she would use on our bare asses if we didn't. Then she outlined the semester. How the class broke down into sections, what we would be learning, Miss Roberts' role (locker room attendant and assistant teacher.) Then, she said she had one more thing to talk about. That we should listen very carefully to this. These were her rules, ones that she had adapted after teaching swimming to nude teenage boys.
She took a deep breath.
“Okay, you're all adolescent males, which means your bodies are still growing and your hormones are raging. You may be legally adults, but you're still teenagers. When an adolescent male finds himself nude in a group, and especially when there is a female present, certain “physiological reactions” often occur.” She paused, considering. Then leaned against the door, arms crossed, apparently loosening up a bit.
“Never mind that. You're probably unfamiliar with the term “involuntary erection” anyway. It's what's commonly called a hard on, or a boner, or getting wood, or what ever slang you want to use. It's very, very common among teenaged boys. In every class, and I mean every class I've ever taught, boys have got them. Even adult men sometimes lose control and get them. I have three brothers, one boyfriend, and thousands of naked boys I've instructed over the years who all say the same thing; that at your age, it's close to impossible to control. I have no problem believing this.”
She walked forward, to a few feet in front of us, hand on her hips, the thin swimsuit covering stretched across semi-hard nipples.
“So, here are Miss Anderson's rules for boy's swim classes. First, all of you put your hands at your side.” No one moved. I thought I hadn't heard her properly. Did she tell us to uncover? My brain was racing. I was getting stiffer by the second. Ogling her beautiful butt hadn't helped. I was almost fully hard. I couldn't take my hands away! She'd see.
I looked down the line, where no one was moving, but you could hear the heavy breathing and the room almost shook with our racing pulses.
We all hesitated, so she repeated the command, more forcefully.
And we did it, most of us slowly, turning beet red as we did! I looked down the line, saw boys with deer in the headlights looks. About half were fully erect, including me! The others were half hard, and some were still coming up.
“Now, that's better. If you're embarrassed, don't be. I'm just looking at what I saw a few minutes ago. You must always keep your hands at your side. Or behind you, or anywhere else. You are not—repeat, not!--allowed to cover up. Now, I have a reason for this. If you get involuntary hard, well, no cause for alarm. As I said, it happens. I intend to take no note of it, neither will Miss Roberts. But some of you boys are showoffs. You'll manipulate yourself into a boner just to strut your stuff, and I will not allow that!”
We all were quiet and still, our hands at our sides, all of us to one degree or another, engorged!
She turned around, leaning on her left hip. Now we could see again what a fine ass she had. Taught, firm and round. And the suit had begun to ride up the crack of her ass, exposing even more butt cheek.
The half hards became fully stiff, and those of us who were hard began to throb.
She turned to face us.
“Okay, lets go over it one more time. No running, no horsing around, obey me and Miss Roberts, no covering up or touching your own genitals or any other boy's. And one more thing. I don't want to see any boy making fun of another boy's hard on. You'll all be naked, you can see as well as I who does and doesn't get hard, and I won't allow you to shame another boy for something as normal as displaying his manhood. You could be next, you know. Miss Roberts will now give you your squad assignments and locks for your lockers.”
She was done, and left for the pool, all of us staring at her perky backside as she walked away.
Miss Roberts took over, had us line up for lock assignments. A line of nude boys formed in front of the table where she sat. She would look up at us, smile, making eye contact, handing us a note with a lock combination on it, then her eyes would drop down, always (always!) stopping at our cocks, sometimes smiling to herself.
By the time we got in the pool, and assigned to squads, the period was nearly over. Miss Anderson blew the whistle and announced free swim. I was so glad to get in that pool, where she couldn't see me, and where the cool water would keep me soft. Hanging on to the side, I saw her standing directly above me. I had never realized how erotic it was to look at a girl from that angle—the shapely legs that became smooth thighs; the triangle between her legs, where camel toe was even more obvious; the ride up her flat stomach to the mounds of her breasts.
Even the cold water couldn't stop it. I got a full blown hard on.
She finally blew the whistle, signaling the end of the class, and I swam to the end closest to the locker room, to make a mad dash for the door. I don't care what she said, erections are embarrassing. Once in the door, I nearly bumped into Miss Roberts, who saw me, looked at my erection, and wryly smiled while rolling her eyes.
“Ken, didn't you hear what Miss Anderson said. It's okay to get hard. Perfectly natural for boys.”
I stood there with a blank look on my face. I managed to stammer out that it was easy enough for her to say, she wasn't naked.
Miss Roberts shook her head, slapped me on the butt, and said, “Get dressed and go home.”
It's almost unbelievable, but you can get used to anything. For the rest of that year, on Friday afternoon, I and a bunch of other teenage boys would strip and take a nude swim class in front of a female teacher.! I experienced the most complex mix of emotions I've ever felt, a combination of contradictory feelings—embarrassment, humiliation, and excitement. On Fridays, I would think all day long about it, that the last hour I would be nude, and in front of her, and as I approached the locker room, my stomach started doing flip flops.
Naked in the showers with the other boys, warm water washing over us, I realized that I, and most of them were at half mast. (I never remembered that happening with male teachers; we were all soft, and stayed that way for the whole class.) At that point, we were thinking of what came next, the long nude march out the shower to the opposite end of the pool; or her; or them. The line up in squads, roll call, calisthenics, all of us naked and watched by two women! On the deck was the worst part; open, exposed, and warm. In the water, the cool water that shriveled everything and cooled it off, was much easier.
The locker room was typical high school boy locker room of that period, just a big, open area with lockers along the walls and an open shower room with shower heads on the walls. There was an office at one end, with a glass wall through which the teacher could monitor the locker room. Oddly, we never saw Miss Anderson there. But Miss Roberts, locker room monitor, was always there.
She watched us strip, and stood next to the shower room as we entered, frequently greeting us with a bubbly “Hi,” looking us in the eyes, but never failing, and making no attempt to hide, her eyes dropped down to our genitals, as though she were keeping mental note of who was soft and who was hard, and a few of us already were by that point.
When I passed either of them in the hall, they would smile and say hello, and I would perfunctorily reply, but with my head down, or rigidly ahead. I would also blush, knowing they had, and would, see me naked, me and every other boy in the school. The fact that I was a later bloomer, and rather sexually naive (I'd never even had a girlfriend!) meant I didn't have a lot of erections. Most of the other boys, especially early on, did. Both the women would look at them, sometimes openly, sometimes surreptitiously, and roll their eyes, smile, sometimes smirk, sometimes shake their heads, but they did keep their word; no boy was every humiliated for it, they just carried on as though nothing had happened.
Not that there weren't situations that were almost designed to induce them and it was not just that they saw us naked, they saw every inch of us naked. In those days, we were taught to dive by putting our legs apart, half way crouching, and putting our arms out behind us at an angle. I never knew how exposed this made you, until one day I was waiting my turn, and noticed what five bare boys in that position looked like—bent over like that, your butt cheeks separated and you looked right up into the crack of his ass; worse, your balls hung down like an inviting target for a pool cue. You just couldn't get more exposed than that.
I noticed that both women always stood behind us when we were practicing diving.
We sometimes practiced various strokes on the deck, where there was no water to cover anything. Then there were the warm up calisthenics. Starting with jumping jacks. Picture thirty or so naked boys doing jumping jacks, with our cocks and balls flapping up and down. These were the most humiliating, of course; when we finished, we were all hard. Then, push ups, with your cock, sometimes still hard, sliding across the tile floor. Followed by squat thrusts, and something called a back bridge, in which you lay on your back, with your legs apart, lifting up your back, exposing your entire genital area.
These we did facing her, but she would blow the whistle, have us turn around, and do the remaining exercises. These were the more humiliating ones, that required you bend over. In retrospect, I realize she was trying to reinforce her position—she was in charge and we couldn't hide anything from her! She kept the whistle in her mouth, so she couldn't laugh, but when we did the jumping jacks, Miss Roberts would openly laugh and turn her head away.
It didn't start out that way; it started out with embarrassment, humiliation, and yes, anxiety; but, eventually, I think we all developed a crush on Miss Anderson. She was a Midwestern farm girl of Scandinavian descent, with fresh face and blue eyes that went with it. Her blonde hair was cut short, in a style that would come to be called a shag. Her legs were curvy, strong, rippled with muscles; her stomach was flat; her breasts, nicely round and on the large size, jutted out above them; her butt was taut and firm, her hips wide enough to make the statement emphatic: this is a girl!
We all loved just to see her walk, her boobs delectably bouncing, hips swaying, ass jiggling; or bent over, her boobs on view from the front, her fine butt, exposed even more by the lifting up of her swimsuit, from the rear; or even just standing there, clipboard in hand, leaning slightly sideways, the weight on one hip as she spoke to a nude boy and sometimes favored him with a smile. She had a knockout smile, slightly mischievous; her lips would curl into something outright impish when she smiled broadly. And doing so would show the dimples in her cheeks and make her eyes almost sparkle.
Sometimes we would nearly pass out when she came out of the pool after demonstrating a stroke. The suit was of slight material, and we could see her nipples, often stiff; the outline of her pussy in the front, and the crack of her ass in the rear.
We all stared at her, and I'm certain she knew it. She knew we looked at her boobs and legs, her face and butt. What she didn't know is that we were lost in the fog of awe that an pretty girl can induce in teenage boys. She must have known she was pretty; she would have had a mirror, after all, and no doubt boys and men both took detailed notice of her. (Although she had said she had a boyfriend.) But she was something all adolescent boys thought of as as rare as a unicorn; an attractive female who wouldn't use her beauty as a weapon.
If anything, even though we were nude, even though she was the teacher, an authority figure, we almost felt a certain camaraderie with her. Though she couldn't give us any privacy, she did the best she could to encourage boys to accept and embrace their nudity. She understood we felt, and were, vulnerable, and she did everything she could to encourage us; applauded our efforts, commiserated with our failures, accepted us. The caution she took with us, making sure we were as comfortable as possible with nudity endeared her to us.
She never made fun of us when we got hard (and God knows there were hard ons, many, in every one of her classes!) or allowed any boy to be made fun of by others. I remember watching her from a distance once, as she talked to one boy. He was getting stiff as they talked, and obviously nervous. She had looked down at his hard on, pointed to it, smiled and laughed. He also smiled and laughed. I had no idea what she did, but it put him at ease.
That simple concern for us made us embrace her as much as we hated the male teachers. They they were just her opposite. In those days, they were ex drill instructors, or had the mentality of same. They were only concerned with discipline and constantly humiliating or embarrassing us.
Only twice did she ever do anything that could have been considered the least bit sexual, and both seemed to be more playful than erotic.
On one occasion, she and Miss Roberts were in the pool, giving groups of boys individual instruction. She was standing in front of me, showing me how to perform a particular stroke. She had me put my arms up, and got too close. My flaccid cock and balls somehow brushed up against her leg. I must have registered some shock. She stopped, looked down at my now stiff cock and did something that shocked me so badly I nearly jumped three feet out of the water!
She grabbed my cock, and pulled me toward her, and whispered in my ear, “Stop worrying about this. I've seen them before. Concentrate on swimming!” Then she let go, threw some water in my face, laughed, and swam away. I can still remember vividly her hair in my face, her soft, smooth cheek touching my face and the warmth of her breath in my ear. We were in stomach deep water, so no one saw what happened.
On another occasion, we were in the water in groups of five or so. Again the water was stomach to chest deep. We were practicing floating. You had to float for thirty seconds on your back and then stomach to pass the test. When it came my turn, she ordered me forward in a group of boys surrounding us. She told me stomach first. So, I started to lay flat, but like everyone else, the mid section of the body tended to sink. She would help each boy get flat in the water by lifting up his mid section, always careful to avoid touching his butt or genitals. In my case, she seems to have screwed up and put her hands right on my balls! She didn't seem to realize this, but I was in such shock, my butt started to go down again, so she reached up once more, and this time grabbed my cock! She immediately said, “Sorry,” and moved her hand down to my thighs. I was now fully stiff, and had thirty seconds to make it go down.
Finally, she told me to roll over on my back. I did so, with the help of her hand on my legs, and almost stuck my erection in her face. My stiff cock was at almost eye level with her, and sticking straight up out of the water!! The other boys started to laugh, and she told them to shut up, or didn't they remember what she'd said about making fun of another boy's hard on? Then she took the first two fingers left hand, hooked them around my cock and deftly pushed it down until it lay flat on my stomach.