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Please take note: At this point, this story is completely SOFTCORE. It will get harder as it moves along. Chapter 2 is not yet fully mapped out, but is absolutely required. The title is dependent on it. I am excited to see where this story takes me.
That all said, I am a lot closer to finishing up sequels on some other series, so I’m not sure when I will get back to this, but it will definitely happen. I swear.
This one challenged me. I’m trying to be more descriptive, trying to flesh out characters and worlds better, and trying to fix my repetitious tendencies. Get it? Also, while this is erotica, it is not my typical bag of absurdities. I’m hoping to keep this one more grounded and visceral. Let me know if it worked, or if I fell flat. Criticism and kindness always appreciated.
It was a different time, a different generation. Hell, two generations. But as the years draw closer to my final days, my memories only become clearer. Besides, what much else did I have to do other than to reflect on better times? Edna passed on eight years ago, and we never had children. I’m retired and have a woman come by to clean the house once a week. That’s about all the socializing I do. Mostly, I just sit my butt on the front porch and either bitch to myself about the news, or think on old times. I’m a stereotype.
The memories keep me going, though. From the last vacation that Edna and I shared together in Vancouver, to the first time I broke a state record in a freestyle 100-meter swim match. I often thought about the short stint I had on the Olympic team, before my injury, and other notable events like my wedding, and the fishing trips my best friend Lyle and I used to go on. But there was one moment in time that I reflect on more than others. We probably all have that one favorite slice of time in our lives that we would like to repeat. This was mine.
It was the Fall of 1958. I’d earned a full scholarship on a university swim team in eastern Pennsylvania. I moved into my dorm room with only one day to spare before classes officially began. It was a single and a perk of the scholarship, as most students roomed together. I’d acquired enough trophies back in Wichita to merit the full ride and the perks (they definitely incentivized me to come here), but I was about to discover things operated much differently at the school pool and the local YMCA in this part of the country
“Naked?” I gasped, as I was changing into my swim trunks in the natatorium’s locker room after just meeting a few of the other team members.
“Yeah, buddy,” said the one talking to me, a short guy with dirty blonde hair. “Where are you from again? Pennsylvania requires proper swim guidelines. You shoulda known that.”
The guy speaking to me didn’t really know me, but I had mentioned I was from out of state.
“Health and cleanliness of the pool. Everyone knows that,” he said.
This may have not been so jarring for me, if it wasn’t only the second day I was there. I hadn’t even met anyone yet, and certainly wasn’t prepared for this. We, the incoming freshmen swimmers, were to meet the coaches and then be timed on distances, and assessed on our performances and styles. But naked?
Again, I hadn’t even met the coach at this point. Back then, we handled things by local scouts and the mail. My folks didn’t even own a phone. I was scouted, correspondences were made, and I accepted their offer. Now I was here, a bit lost.
Not knowing what else to do, or with whom to argue, especially since all the other boys were running out the door starkers, I followed suit… without one. To my utter horror and shock, as I trailed behind my teammates, three girls walked past, giggling as they checked out our packages. Unlike us, they had bathing suits on, though they were school-sanctioned, come to find out. They were one-piece numbers, all of the same dull color, that draped over their bodies and fit rather loosely. One of the girls had light red hair and a large enough chest that you could see her breasts bouncing firmly under the material as she moved.
“Why aren’t they naked?” I whispered to the unknown teammate in front of me.
“Huh? What is wrong with you, man? Modesty. They’re girls. Who cares if we guys swim naked? We’ve always done that.”
“Well, what about my modesty? I don’t get it. We always wore suits back home.”
“Hmmph… and I bet you had to change the water in the pool every damn week.”
I shook my head. “Just every season, along with regular maintenance. I think you’re being fed a load of bullshit.” The boy ignored me, shaking his head, too.
I followed him to the end of the pool where we all formed into a line. Nine of us, total. A few minutes passed while some of the teammates tried to engage in conversation, but it was apparent most of us were strangers. A moment later, two adults entered the natatorium through a side door nearest our side of the pool. The one was reserved for staff. They stopped directly in front illegal bahis of us. The oldest had a whistle around his neck and a clipboard in his hand, while the younger one carried the same kind of whistle in his left hand, and a stopwatch in his right.
The older one began barking at us. “Boys! You’re in college now and joining one of the most elite swim teams in the state. I’m sure you’re all honored to be here.” Already, I thought the coach was a bit full of himself – and come to find out, he was – but he had passion in his tone. “Things change for you starting today. You will be exposed to the finest training, and newest techniques in the field, to improve your bodies, your times and your minds. It is going to require a dedication unlike you ever experienced, I guarantee… no matter how much your daddies pushed you when you were babies.”
My parents were never around, and I pushed myself pretty hard. Swimming was all I had. It distracted me from problems at home. I was grateful and lucky such programs existed back in those days. Most poor kids like me don’t get these kinds of programs offered in their schools anymore, and it’s shameful.
I remember the coach rattling on, pacing back and forth as he explained what he expected of the new recruits. He explained we would be at practice five times a week, hours at a time, and were expected to work on our own in addition to that. No problem for me, I thought.
Finally, the coach stopped in front of the middle of our group and turned, facing all of us. “I intended to wait until another member of our staff arrived before officially making introductions. It appears her meeting with the Dean must have gone over.”
HER?? Did he just say her? He wanted to wait to introduce us to a woman, while we were naked?
Just as those anxiety-ridden thoughts were passing through my brain, the staff door burst open again and out walked a beauty; an utter goddess. She was tall, yet wore heels. Her dress was conservative, yet form fitting, and her frame was lithe, but firm. She had the figure of an elite female athlete. Her breasts were a bit bigger than average, maybe a C cup (I didn’t know that back then), and her shoulder-length, brunette hair had the slightest hint of curl. She wore little or no make-up. She didn’t need it. Being so smartly dressed and so well-poised, the woman radiated a presence that was both practical and professional, while also embracing her beauty.
“Men, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Tammy Wynn. While she was finishing her doctorate at Cal State, she ran the strength and aerobics camps for both their male and female swim teams. Those teams went on to win back-to-back national championships during her short time with them.”
I knew about the Cal State wins, but not much else.
The coach continued, “Cal State is renown for their advanced physical training program. We’ve brought Dr. Wynn here to implement the same here, so you will be seeing a lot of her. Mostly in the gym, but sometimes she will come here to evaluate your progress and improvements. Is everyone clear?”
We all nodded and grumbled.
“Is everyone okay with a women coaching you?”
We all nodded again, but one guy snorted near the end of the line. The coach squinted his eyes, trying to discern who had made the offending sound. He spoke slower, “We don’t typically allow women to hang around the pool while the men use it, I’m sure you all know that. Dr. Wynn is the exception to the rule. I expect you to be as respectful to her, as you are to me and Coach Adam. Is that clear? If I discover any of you are disrespectful, in any way, or don’t do exactly as she says, you will be ejected from this team immediately.”
Again, all the boys nodded and mumbled their affirmations.
“So now that you have been introduced to Dr. Wynn, let’s get to the rest of us. If you don’t already know me, I am Coach Roger Peterson. Under the seven years I have been here, we have earned two state championships and won four regionals, among many other achievements. I expect our winning tradition to continue, and to continue improving.”
Coach Peterson then went on to introduce his skinny assistant, Adam Bell, who used to be a student at the school. Finally, Dr. Wynn approached the coach, standing next to him. She slowly evaluated us, checking out every muscle and body part on every individual. She made sure it was obvious she was judging us that very moment. Sizing us up.
Her voice was firm, yet had a soft undertone. “As Coach Peterson said, my name is Dr. Tammy Wynn. You may call me Tammy, if you like.”
I was surprised she would allow her informal name to be used. It didn’t match her professional, no-nonsense look, especially during a time when women were just beginning to demand more respect in the workplace. Tammy began pacing now, in between the line-up of boys and the two coaches.
“I’ll thank you all in advance for following Coach Peterson’s instruction. I know, for some boys, taking direction from a illegal bahis siteleri woman may seem degrading or pointless. But if you ignore my instructions, you’d only be hurting yourselves. I absolutely guarantee every one of you will become the best version of yourselves, within one year of this program. That is, assuming you follow the demands. You will have a rigorous workout routine, and a strict diet. You will be strong and fit, with endurance as well as strength. You’ll be fast, with sharper reflexes.”
To be honest, the challenge felt exciting. I was already in the top one percent of speed swimmers my age. If I could get into the top tenth of a percent, I had a shot at being the fastest swimmer in the world. Who doesn’t want that kind of title?
The guy standing to my left seemed more nervous about displaying his package than I was, and I wasn’t even used to it. Maybe he wasn’t, either, I don’t know. He tried using his hands to obstruct the view of his penis. Dr. Wynn smiled when she passed him, perhaps amused or empathetic. She stopped at me, narrowing her eyes.
“You’re Ryan Feller, aren’t you?”
“Uh… yes, ma’am,” I said, shocked she knew who I was. None of us on the team had yet identified or introduced ourselves. How could she know me?
“I saw some of your film back home.”
“Film?” I asked. Remember, this was 1958 and I came from a poor family.
“I saw film footage of you competing at the ’56 Eastern Districts, and then at your state championship later that year. Didn’t you win both?”
“That’s right,” I said, blushing.
It’s a surreal experience talking to a stranger while you’re naked, especially when it is the first time meeting them. Even more so (I think) when that stranger is such an attractive member of the opposite sex. It is also one of the curses of youth that a libido can be very easily triggered. As Dr. Wynn spoke to me, my cock began rising. Being naked in her presence was having an obvious effect. The boy to my right began giggling and whispered to the guy next to him.
Dr. Wynn glanced down and saw my predicament, now half erect. She grinned and slowly moved her eyes back to mine. “I expect a lot out of you, Mr. Feller… Ryan. Do you want to break some more records?”
“Y.. yes, ma’am,” I said. It was three quarters up now. All the boys were taking notice, giggling and murmuring.
“That’s enough!” yelled Coach Peterson, addressing the issue directly… to my horror. “It happens to all of you, so shut it down now! Feller, get that shit under control.”
I muttered something about trying to do just that, but the more I tried not thinking about it, the more I actually thought about it. Having this incredibly gorgeous woman ogling my hard cock, if even for a second, only made it harder. And she tended to glance down at it every few seconds. The rest of the team finally hushed down and formed back into a straight line. I was near the center, but definitely stood out. My johnson was fully raised and parallel to the ground.
If I had to guess, my penis was maybe seven inches long. What made it unique was its girth. It was likely as big around as it was in length. I used to be embarrassed about showering after gym class back home, because I got ribbed on a lot, but I came to the conclusion that most of the guys just jealous. It didn’t matter. I suppose growing up with my folks gave me a thicker skin than most.
I remember once, in my second year, a guy named Victor Thompson stopped by my dorm and asked if he could touch my penis. He said he wanted to know how such a fat cock felt in his hands. I thought the request was weird and asked him to leave. Again, it was a different time. I reason now that this was maybe Victor’s way of trying to experiment sexually. He was definitely confused, because he struggled to bring up the subject. It took him forever to get to the point about why he had stopped by, but he was nervous. Last I heard, he married some older lady and had a miserable life with her.
Anyway, back to the present memory at hand. I was trembling while in that line, with my cock sticking out hard as stone. Dr. Wynn had finally rejoined the coach and his assistant. They had each of us state our names and where we were from, and to also mention our favorite hobbies, or any notable skills. Sometimes, they would ask more probing questions. I prayed that wouldn’t happen to me. My dick was still hard.
When they got to the guy to the left of me, he said, “Tyler Dudson. I grew up in the Philly. Swam at Westside.”
So he should have been used to the nudity, I thought.
“That’s a good team and outfit over there, we know that,” said Adam, nodding at the boy and then the head coach.
Tyler continued, “I’m really good with woodworking and archery, too.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Coach Peterson. “You hunt?”
“No, sir. Targets only.”
“Well, you don’t know how good you really are until you hunt, right?”
“I don’t like killing things, sir,” said the swimmer. He still canlı bahis siteleri covered his package as he answered, yet he spoke with assured confidence. He wasn’t ashamed that he did not like hunting, which was considered a manly thing to do at the time. A rite of passage for many. Maybe it was religious reasons, or something else, but it was obvious the guy was prepared to be challenged on the issue.
Instead, the coach shrugged and said, “Hmmph…” He then pointed to me. “You next, Woody.” Several of the students broke up in laughter. Hadn’t he mentioned something about respect earlier?
Maybe I was a little too confident and full of myself, too, but I answered, “Ryan Feller. Wichita, Kansas. I have two hobbies. Swimming and winning meets. It’s all I do. It’s all I think about.”
A voice on the further end of the line mumbled, “I don’t think it’s all he thinks about.”
I blushed as the crowd erupted in laughter again, but I kept my head straight, as if trying not to take any notice of the raging boner myself. The elephant in the room. It was evident Dr. Wynn took some degree of pleasure in my discomfort. She gazed on my package, more than me or the other teammates. And I don’t mean just glances. Nope, it was an unabashed, unfiltered, eyes-on-the-business, kind of confidence she had going on with it.
Coach Peterson spoke softer to me now, “Some folks say you have the potential to be the fastest freestyler in the country. Do you think that’s true?”
At the time, I lived, ate, breathed and fucked swimming. It really was all I thought about. Winning had become an addiction. “Yes, sir,” I said, standing taller. “My butterfly stroke is also hard to beat.”
The coach smiled, “Very well. We hope to bring out your best. Good luck, son.”
He moved on to the next three individuals before finally wrapping it up. Adam had us jump into the pool and soon, he and the other two were timing us and softly criticizing our performances amongst themselves. I did the fifty meters and the hundred, outpacing everyone in the group dramatically. Coach Anderson seemed impressed with the numbers as he wrote them on his clipboard. “And we haven’t even started training yet,” he said to Tammy, who gave me a wink.
At least now my cock was not like her thumb… up in the air. It had dropped back to its normal resting place. Penises tend to shrink in water, and along with doing exercise, nature does its thing of protecting the balls and all.
As I was getting out of the pool after my last run, Tammy stopped me. “Ryan, I would like to see you personally in my office tomorrow morning. Are you available?”
“I have class at nine,” I said.
“Meet me at eight. It’s in the Pilner Building, room 206.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, repeating it in my head over and over so not to forget it.
I think the mental exercise helped keep me distracted, as I didn’t get hard again in front of her as she talked. “I’d like to put you through a slightly different program than the rest of the boys,” she said. “It may require a couple extra hours out of your week. You okay with that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Anything that would give me an edge I would take. Sacrificing free time is what separates champions from the rest.
By this time, we had been in the pool for over an hour. Coach Adam whistled and called us to form a line again, just as the door to the women’s locker opened on the far side of the pool. Three girls came out, and even from the distance I could tell they were the ones who had crossed our paths earlier, when we first came into the large pool room.
“Hey, we thought you would be done by now,” shouted one of the girls. It must have been at least 25 yards from them to us, but the voice reverberated across the room.
The coach held his arm up and yelled back. “We’re leaving soon.” He shifted back. “Boys, you’re to be here tomorrow at 4 p.m. We’re here until 7, then another hour this time Thursday. Gym schedules will be handed out after that. Lots of work to do, so get ready for it! You are all dismissed,”
The coach didn’t make the three girls leave the natatorium before we walked back to our locker room. Instead, they just waited at the side of the pool to watch us walk by to reach our destination. Once again, I was going to be subjected to being seen naked by attractive girls. Already, my cock was throbbing at the thought of it. I tried to change the thoughts in my head, to my last swim times, my class schedule, or anything for the distraction, but it wasn’t working. I was half chubby by the time I was upon them, hoping they wouldn’t mention anything.
As I was almost past the last girl, the redhead with the tits, she perked up and screamed, “Hey, I know you!”
Another one, I thought?
“You’re Quincy Thomas. You went to St. Andrews!”
I wasn’t sure what to do, but I had to stop and address her. I couldn’t be rude. “Uh, no,” I said. “My name is Ryan Feller. I’m actually from Kansas.”
I am positive, thinking back on it, that I could have held my shit together if those three girls would have looked me in the face, instead of gawking at my half-hard penis. The two brunettes were shoving each other and giggling. The big-breasted redhead just flat out stared.
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