Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year 47

As we start to wrap up Hank's first week at Buck's, the weekend begins with a brief but eye- and ear-opening introduction to the early morning gym session and later provides Hank the chance to play mentor to some of the boys at their very first swim team practice.

In the meantime, your reactions, ideas and experiences are always a pleasure to read. Please feel free to drop a line!

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Sophomore Year 47

Saturday

"Mornin', Sleepy Head," I awoke to find Buck leaning over close, studying my face, his own glowing with a gentle smile. "Ya get some rest? Ya sure earned it. Look at all this nice boy cream you unloaded on Zack's shirt! You're gonna be his new hero when he sees this."

He held the shirt up to his face and took a deep breath. "Oh, glory," he sighed, "sweet as heaven. Here..." and he held it my face so I could take in the scent. It was rich, no doubt. Just the thought of Buck's cum and mine joined together made my heart jump. "We'll give this to `im later today."

I may have looked confused. "Thing is, we give it to him now, no way he's not gonna want to wear it to practice and, well, let's just let it dry out a bit more, doncha think?" I nodded in agreement, and he laid it out on the pillow next to me.

"OK, so ya got a big day ahead of ya. Better make sure we got ya suited up right, huh?" he teased and went to the wall. "Let's start with the basics," and he reached for the hanger with my jock.

Holding it to his face for a close inspection, he muttered almost to himself, "Alright, startin' to look like somebody's jockstrap." Bringing it closer, he took a deep whiff of the pouch. "Mm.." he reacted, "Definitely getting' some boy ball stink there," making me laugh.

"Oh, ya don't think so, huh?" he played as though I were contradicting him. "Well, maybe ya need to take a good sniff yourself!" and, loosening the jock from its hanger, he launched himself on the bed, mashing the jock pouch over my face. I attempted to resist but dissolved into giggles, it was so silly.

"Maybe what this boy needs is a taste to convince him," he laughed, and wrapping the pouch around his finger, poked it in my mouth. The smell and taste were rich and strong and something about Buck's half naked torso mounted over mine sparked my senses.

Before I knew it, I was getting another crazy hard-on. I twisted and squirmed trying to keep it from Buck's notice, but at one point it ended up pressed against his thigh. "Aha! The magic elixir has done its work!" Buck cheered as he grabbed at my erection through the covers.

"Quit!" I half shouted through my laughter. I was embarrassed, but Buck didn't seem to mind in the least. We tussled for a bit longer until I was totally out of breath.

"OK," he finally relented and got off me to stand by the bed, "Ready to get up?" he asked, grabbing a corner of the sheet with a questioning look. I realized he was asking if I was naked or not so could he pull back the sheet. Buck of course was wearing briefs, his uniform when hanging around the house.

The night before I had put on my new briefs after jerking off, hoping they'd soak up a little of the left-over jizz on my balls, so I nodded yes.' Buck ripped the sheet back and hollered, "Go get em, Tiger!" I laughed and pulled myself to my feet. I was in the middle of a nice lazy stretch when Buck landed a loud `thwack' on my butt and spurred me into gear.

"And don't forget to pull these on," he said, pointing to the lace up football shorts as he headed out the door. "Now, go grab some breakfast and I'll see ya in the gym and introduce ya around before ya take the boys to swim practice."

I first headed to the bathroom and washed my face, then changed into the jock and the football pants as Buck had instructed. I turned in the mirror to make sure I'd adjusted the back waistband of the strap so that a few inches showed above the shorts just as Buck had taught me.

I debated about wearing Buck's cum-crusted T-shirt again. Tempting as it was, the day promised enough unknowns, such as who would I meet downstairs and would I have to meet Teddy's mom, that I decided to go with a safer choice.

I hunted for another of Jack's T-shirts that he'd left around his room. On a top shelf in the closet, I found a folded-up tan-colored T. I took it down and pulled it over my head then looked in the mirror. Another of Jack's homemade muscle Ts. This one he'd cut almost like a tank top, with the front so narrow it just barely covered my chest nipple to nipple.

Checking myself out in the mirror, I thought I looked pretty good. Maybe a little racy with my jock strap showing and the crop-top cut of the T, but at least there were no cum visible stains. I reminded myself that it was a Saturday morning after all, and lots of guys would be dressed like this to work on their cars or in the yard or to hit the gym.

I zipped down to the kitchen to find a sleepy Zack at the table. One of the matching swimsuits he'd had the captain order for Buck and the boys was laid out before him. The center seam down the front of the suit curved gently outward lifting the rounded `support pouch' as it was sometimes called, slightly off the table.

"Wow, that's a sharp suit," I offered. Buck had told me how much the suits had meant to the boy. I walked around the table and stood beside his chair to get a better look. Imitating Buck, I continued, "I'll bet it fits ya real nice."

"Yeah," Zack almost whispered. I was touched by how much the suit clearly meant to him, thinking it must bring back memories of a summer spent splashing around in the captain's pool next door with his brother and dad.

"And it's real soft. Feel it." With the back of his curved index finger, he'd started stroking up one side of the pouch, just about where his balls would fit. I leaned forward, pressing into his other arm, and joined him, stroking the other side.

The fabric felt very silky as my finger slid back and forth. Soon, like Zack, I was staring at the suit as though hypnotized. I kept recalling the photo upstairs of Zack at the pool with his dad and brother, their matching suits wet and plastered to their anatomies.

For some reason, standing over Zack as we both stroked his suit where his balls would fit started to excite me and I could feel my dick harden for the second time that morning, this time against his arm. I was relieved that the front laces of my shorts provided some padding, but wondered if he could feel anything.

But Zack seemed oblivious to my growing erection. "'Think I could wear my suit at practice today?" he asked plaintively.

"Mm, `pretty sure they're gonna hand out the team suits today." I tried to soften the news as much as possible. "But I'll bet you and your dad can wear your matching suits at the captain's pool this afternoon. And..." another idea came to me, "you can try it on for your friend when he comes over. I bet he'll really like it."

This seemed to brighten the boy's spirits, and he sprinted upstairs to put his suit away. Meanwhile, I fixed us each a bowl of cereal and set the table. Zack returned and as we ate, I glanced at a newspaper while he paged through a wrestling magazine.

Before long I heard the first of the `buddies' arriving downstairs for Buck's early morning workout. I wolfed down my cereal and washed my bowl and spoon and headed to the gym. I paused at the bottom of the stairs as a few more guys walked in from the back patio and around the pool table on their way to the lockers.

I quietly followed them but stopped at the doorway to take in the scene. As the guys settled in, Buck circulated among them, naked but for a jock in his left hand as he slapped backs and butts and barked bawdy jokes. His dick looked a little shiny as it bounced and swung, and I wondered if he'd washed it since jerking off last night.

Soon Buck spied me and called me over to make introductions. That first exposure to his Saturday morning "buddy" group is forever etched in my memory. Many years later, I came across a scene in the outstanding Nifty series "Jockboy Adventures" that transported me back to that moment. The author has generously granted permission to repeat it here.

"Most of the older guys went right to a spot, dropped their bag, and then dropped their shorts, often in the middle of our introduction. I shook a lot of hands while trying not to stare at the guys' swinging dongs. I don't think I remembered a single name.

Everyone seemed to want to get naked as quick as possible and stay naked as long as possible - no one was really in a hurry to get their trunks back on. Guys went to the urinals, toilets, sinks, water fountain, to go talk to their buddies...all buck naked. I was enjoying seeing the wide variety of bodies and dicks on shameless display." - Jockboy Adventures, Andy 6 (used by permission)

I stood in marvel as the gang of buddies transformed the gym into a scene from the Roman baths print, brought to life by their sounds and smells. While locker doors slammed behind me, several chatted casually at the trough urinal, their warm piss hissing against the cold metal, the final drops tinkling like tiny bells.

The belching glugs of the water cooler drew my eye to others gathered there. They took turns filling cups as they closely watched an impromptu anatomy lesson. A scholarly-looking fellow was patiently correlating each muscle group in the poster with the corresponding part of a particularly muscular young man he had positioned beside it.

I would have collapsed from embarrassment, but the young man calmy maintained the position,' with feet spread wide and hands behind his head, while the teacher' poked and stroked his naked body and then invited the others to follow suit.

Much like in that episode of "Jockboy Adventures," I met most of the guys in the room. Buck escorted me around showing me off to various of his `buddies,' starting at the bench by the lockers. "Hey, Hal, meet Hank here who's gonna be fillin' in for Jack while he's gone."

Hal had just dropped his shorts. He stood up, stark naked, and reached out to shake my hand. "Great to meet ya, Hank, and great shorts. Coach know ya cut `em off?" he teased as he used our handshake to partially turn me to get a good look at my butt.

"Say, is that a Bike #10?" he ran a finger under the jock's rear waistband that I had carefully positioned to show a few inches above my shorts. "Excellent strap for a young guy built like you."

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled, trying not to let my eyes wander down to the pendulous dick hanging from his bushy crotch. I was pleased he'd noticed my jock strap which meant that I must have done a good job getting it to show. "Buck gave it to me, sir. Used to be the captain's."

"Call me Hal," he said as he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and gave it a warm squeeze, "And ya ask me, I say it looks like it was made for ya." He accentuated his words with a firm pat on my ass.

"Oh, yeah," Buck chimed in, "he's already makin' friends with it. Last week, he's in one of his classes and starts flashin' the pouch at his professor and the poor schmuck gets all weak in the knees. Even held him after class to discuss it.' I told this kid, I bet your prof's droolin' to get im some of that chorizo down his throat!"

They both laughed while I tried to wave my hand `no,' that it wasn't the case.

"I don't know, Hank," Hal shook his head, tossing a jockstrap over his shoulder and heading for the urinal, "that sounds like some real cocksucker behavior there."

"Yeah," Buck raised his voice so the departing Hal could hear, "so I tell `im, he oughta show up for the guy's office hours wearin' these things." Buck rubbed my ass to illustrate his point. "Betcha anything the guy'd blow a gasket." And they both laughed.

I laughed along but shook my head, totally unconvinced. "Tell ya what," Buck took my arm and guided me towards the wrestling mats, "Betcha five bucks ya step in his office wearin' those and he starts talkin' about how ya can improve your grade. Whaddya say?"

At that moment I was only half listening, my attention having been totally distracted by the scene before me. A couple of the buddies stood around the mat watching two guys demonstrating some take downs, all fully naked.

Of course, over the years I had seen guys at practice wrestle with the shoulder straps of their singlets down, or shirtless in gym shorts, or even horsing around afterwards in just briefs. But the only instance I had ever witnessed of naked wrestling had been an old National Geographic article on the ancient Olympics.

The article had included hand drawn illustrations of naked competitions, wrestling bouts included. But cleverly placed screening devices always blocked the view of any male genitals, leaving that to the reader's imagination.

I had been transfixed by those illustrations and kept the magazine in my room. One day my uncle T.K. caught me looking at it and I thought he might get mad and tell my mom. But instead, he just said, "Hey, cool!" and joined me on my bed where we paged through it together.

Tio Quique seemed to find the illustrations almost as interesting as I did and made lots of comments about each. At one point, he mused it might be fun to try wrestling naked and asked if I might want to give it a try sometime, like when my mom wasn't home. I was way too afraid to accept but could not get the idea out of my head.

I even started having a dream where I'd be sitting on the mat watching my uncle wrestle some guy, both naked. As they lurched around their dicks and balls would flop and swing every which way until in a series of sudden twists and flips, they'd end up on top of me. And that's when I would wake up, sweaty and addled.

I was roused from my reverie as Buck introduced me to the guys around the mat and then led me over to another cluster taking turns flexing in front of the three-panel mirror. "Hey, guys," Buck joked, "hate to interrupt the Mr. America pageant here, but this here's Hank. He's gonna fill in for Jack a while."

As we shook hands, one of them named Pete whooped, "Hey, I recognize that shirt—one of Jack's right?" Pete stepped close up and ran his fingers along the sides, pulling them in slightly to tuck the shirt between my nipples.

"Sweet," he admired. "Nice pecs, man. Wish mine did that, but look," and he rubbed his fingers over his chest, "flat as a pancake. But you got the perfect shirt here for gettin' yours some attention, huh?" he laughed.

Nervously, I quickly returned the shirt to its previous position, so it covered my nips, at least if I didn't lift or spread my arms too far.

"Aww, now don't be a prude," Pete admonished and turned me towards the mirror. Standing behind me, he once again tucked the shirt between my nips and said, "Check it out. It looks cool like that. Your pecs are worth showin' off, man."

I had to admit the look caught my eye. It struck me as almost a little obscene drawing so much attention to my nipples. But after years of fearfully hiding them from view, it was also kind of liberating to think about exposing them so boldly.

"Yeah, that's what I tell im," Buck chimed in, "And we're gonna work on buildin' em up even bigger."

"Whoa!" Pete reacted with his eyebrows raised, "I mean, ya got the effin' master right here."

And stepping behind Buck, he reached around and pinched each nipple, "Ya ever seen anything like these babies before?" Buck closed his eyes and turned his head to the side and moaned. I noticed his dick jerked slightly.

"Hey, horny bastards!" a buddy standing at the urinal below hollered, "Save the tiddy play for later and bring the new kid over so we can meet `im."

To my growing dismay, Buck led me past the line of weight racks and machines right to the fenced wall at the edge of the gym floor, where it dropped to the shower room. Just on the other side of the fence right below us hung the trough urinal where the guy who had hollered stood naked, hands on hips, a shimmering piss stream gushing out his fat penis.

"And this impatient jackass," Buck snorted a laugh, "is Clyde. Clyde, this is Hank who's gonna be fillin' in for Jack for a while. Only he's a real shy Boy Scout type so don't you go scaring him off, got it?"

"Shy Boy Scout type, huh?" another buddy doubted as he stepped up beside Clyde and let loose the steaming contents of his bladder. "Looks more like a real pussy hound in those shorts, ya ask me. Ain't nothin' shy about them."

"Right?" Buck repeated to them the offer he'd made me: five bucks to wear the shorts to my prof's office hours. "The guy's prolly a cocksucker, I told im, and he's gonna start droolin' when he sees im in these!" he laughed with another slap on my ass.

My face burned I was so embarrassed, first just at the line of guys freely pissing right in front of me and even more by Buck's story. But other guys who'd joined at the pisser just nodded in agreement. One even offered to sweeten the deal with two bucks and a few others followed suit.

"Jeez," another countered as he vigorously shook off his dick, "you wicked rascals tryin' to teach this innocent kid some of your bad habits?"

"Hey, don't knock it, Phil" answered another with a laugh, "That's how I made it through freshman chemistry."

Another piped up, "Yeah, that's how I got my job."

A guy behind him laughed, "Hell, I heard that's how you manage to keep your job."

Waggling the last golden drops off his dick Clyde quipped, "I heard that's how you met your father-in-law." They teased and laughed and slapped each other's butts.

"Y'know," another guy joined the line at the urinal, "a lotta guys are like Phil here, real sticklers, like `hell, no, I ain't lettin' no queer touch my dick.' And, shit, I used to think that way too. But, man, after ya bust yer balls and your bank account tryin' to get a girl to suck it and then she does such a crappy job ya need to jerk yourself off to finish..."

Several guys nodded and grunted in agreement. A guy who had just sat on the toilet a few feet away let loose a thunderous fart then added, "Y'know what a truck driver once told me? He said, `A girl sucks your dick, she thinks she's doin' ya the biggest favor in the world; she acts like your dick's the most disgusting thing she's ever put in her mouth and afterwards, she wants ya to buy her a present.'"

Again, the guys grunted and nodded in agreement, several who had started to gather around the seated speaker. Grunting out what I thought must have been a real hole-stretcher of a turd he went on, "Now, a cocksucker sucks your dick, he thinks you're doing him the biggest favor in the world; he acts like your dick's the most delicious thing he's ever put in his mouth and afterwards he wants to buy you a present!"

The other buddies roared in laughter and agreement slapping his back with choruses of "You said it, man!" while a second load splashed under him. I was fascinated but flabbergasted by this exchange and the dynamic among the men as well as the information and attitudes it revealed.

Buck intervened to say it was getting time for the workout to start. A few guys asked if I wasn't going to stick around and work out with them. I was tempted by the friendly welcome I'd enjoyed and the remark about `save that for later' had definitely piqued my curiosity.

But Buck said, "Nah, he's gonna take Zack and his little friend to get signed up for their first day of swim practice. They just started at the Y. But Hank'll be joinin' us next week. Maybe even dressin' out with us if you guys don't scare `im away you're your antics." And he winked at me.

"Aww," Hal asked, "this gonna be his first time wearin' a racin' suit?"

"Not Zack," Buck laughed, "You kiddin'? That kid'd have us all in a Speedo if he could. But his friend Teddy for sure. Shy little kid. I know Hank here..." and he tweaked my nipple making me jump, "is gonna help steer the boy through his first try out, right?"

I nodded my head and thought about Buck's words as I took my leave. I walked over to the Jock Rack where many of the guys had gathered to find their straps as they got ready. I loved the easy camaraderie among them as they passed around jockstraps with lots of teasing and horseplay.

"Hey, I'll trade ya mine for that Bike ya wearin'." One of them hollered. "Yeah," added another, "at least let us try it on." I laughed shaking my head as I shook hands with most and then turned to go getting several ass slaps on my way out.

As I headed upstairs, snatches of the conversations I'd heard buzzed around in my head. All that talk about these shorts being catnip for cocksuckers excited me but also made me nervous. I decided to play it safe and change into my blue jean cutoffs.

The comments about the shirt being perfect for getting my pecs the attention they needed also made me nervous but at the same time intrigued me. Plus, the fact that I could adjust the shirt from `safe mode' to daring and back convinced me to leave it on.

I gathered up Zack and we headed off in my old Plymouth. He gave me directions to his friend's house, and we pulled up in front of a very modest but neatly kept bungalow. As was more the custom back then before cell phones, I honked to let them know we were there.

Zack asked if I'd mind if he and his friend rode together in back and I of course said `no.' After a few minutes, a pleasant-looking woman came to the door and waved. She held the door open and called inside, surely trying to hurry her son who then came speeding out a moment later with his overnight bag in hand.

I smiled and waved to her as her son jumped in the back seat and we took off. The boys started talking excitedly to each other about practice. Right away I could tell that Teddy was a neat kid. I could identify with his nervousness about the first day of practice.

"Will we really have to strip naked in one big room?" he asked, his eyes wide in the rear-view mirror. The team was for boys from thirteen to fifteen, so Zack and he were bound to be some of the youngest. I knew from personal experience how changing with boys who were even a few steps further along in puberty could be very intimidating.

Sympathetic, I offered a few strategies from my own experience. I said one option would be to strip down to his underwear, grab his suit and say he has to take a dump and then change in a stall. Even if the stalls didn't have doors, I said, he could just stand facing the toilet while he did a fast switch.

I assured him that I'd got to be a quick-change artist myself. He seemed relieved by my advice, and I was impressed that Zack, who according to his dad had fully overcome his shyness about nudity, made no teasing or belittling comments.

We pulled into the Y and as Buck had requested, I went in with the boys to make sure they were signed up for the right practice and that everything was in order. Handwritten signs directed us to a small classroom across the hall from the locker-room.

Inside, two folding tables had been set up at the front facing a dozen or so chairs set out in loose rows. Some boys had already arrived and sat in pairs or small groups. Most looked a bit older and more mature than Zack and Teddy, not surprising since they were likely some of the youngest on the team.

A friendly-looking coach welcomed us and told the boys to take a seat, that we'd get started once a few more had arrived. He didn't seem but a few years older than me. Funny how when you get to a certain stage in your life, everyone starts to seem surprisingly younger than you expect.

The coach gave me a mischievous smile, "You look a little young to be a dad and a little old for the team."

Before I could say anything, Zack jumped in, "He's my new brother! He drove us here."

"Yeah," Teddy chimed in, "his name's Hank and he's an expert swimmer."

The coach laughed good naturedly, "So, an expert, huh? Well, new brother Hank, any way I could recruit you to give me a hand this morning? My assistant's out sick this week." Extending his hand, he added, "`Name's Sean, by the way."

"Happy to," I responded. I had enjoyed giving Teddy advice in the car, and liked the idea of helping make the first experience on a swim team more positive for these boys than it had been for me. Also, there was just something I liked about this Sean guy.

We chatted amiably for a while. He was very outgoing and asked a lot of questions about my swimming experience among other things. He wore a light blue coach's warmup jacket opened halfway down and a matching bill cap. A whistle dangled at the end of a cord hung around his neck.

What really caught my attention was that he was also wearing a competition suit the same color. I surmised that was the team uniform. It surprised me that he was wearing the suit away from the pool, or at all really. Most of my swim coaches wore shorts during practice, even if they wore a suit underneath.

Sean noticed that I was checking out his suit. "Surprised I'm wearing the suit already, aren't ya? Well, I think it helps. Some of the boys are bashful about wearing one and some even asked if they could wear board shorts or boxer style suits. But I insist on only competition suits."

I'm sure my face registered surprise or at least keen interest. "From my experience," Sean explained, "if you get a group of boys all wearing the same thing, especially if it's something they probably don't wear anywhere else, it helps build team spirit."

I nodded, taking in the wisdom of his strategy.

"So," he went on, "if they see me wearing one, chances are they'll wanna to do the same, right? And I think it looks pretty good on me, to tell the truth. But what's your expert opinion, new brother Hank?" I had wanted to take a closer look but did not want to be rude, so was relieved by the invitation to make the inspection.

I had to admit it did fit him really well. It was not super tight as was becoming the norm. Increasingly, competition suits were fitting so snug they squeezed everything flat, pressed up against the body.

Sean's suit gave enough extra room in the front for his equipment to fall forward and move a bit, shifting as he walked or changed position. I thought it was much more flattering fit. As though reading my mind, he said, "So many of the newer suits are like tourniquets they're so tight and they squash all a guy's stuff like a pancake. I like a little room to let the boys breathe, y'know? And move around some."

I realized I'd been holding my breath and nodding along enthusiastically. "I totally agree," I exhaled, eager to share more of my own experience with competition suits but too shy to start talking about how most didn't fully cover my big butt and left inches of cleavage exposed.

"Hey," Sean said, "I'll bet we can scare up an extra if you'd like to dress out with us. Ya sure can't get in the pool in those cut-offs. Those loose threads'll clog up the filter and the manager'd have my balls on a plate," he laughed. I enjoyed his course sense of humor.

I said I'd think about it and he shrugged his shoulders. "OK, well let's get this show on the road." Sean asked me to give him a hand. While he took attendance, I opened the three boxes of suits for the boys, one large, one medium and one small.

Once he had finished calling roll, the next step was to hand out the suits. Sean called out a boy's name and then the size suit he was to be issued. I pulled the indicated suit out of the box and the boy came forward to retrieve it.

The first two boys came up and quickly snatched their suits out of my hand as though embarrassed. Then I remembered Buck's lesson about showing reverence and respect for an item of gear and recalled how significant the first competition suit can be for a boy at this age.

The next suit I held up with both hands, the front facing forward. As I'd hoped, the next boy approached more slowly, more reverently. I was holding his suit in a way that made him - and the other boys - visualize how it would look on him when he put it on.

Sean observed this and nodded his approval. I could tell he was impressed. My method slowed down the process a bit, but we could see the difference in attitude it made. All the boys watched intently as each received his suit, his badge of membership.

When Teddy approached, I whispered to him, "Go put it on now while everyone's distracted. If anybody says anything, just say you were too excited, you couldn't wait to wear it." He nodded with a shy smile and then discreetly snuck out to the toilets.

Once all the suits had been handed out, Coach Sean helped me stack up the empty boxes and pointed to a high shelf to store them. Standing by me as I hoisted the boxes, he glanced at my shirt that had now shifted to fully reveal my puffy nipples.

"Whoa," he whispered, "talk about a standing salute!" His remark caught me off guard and I froze to look at him. "Man, if I had a girlfriend with nips like that, she'd never get any sleep." It took me a millisecond to realize he was joking. We both busted out laughing at the same exact instant and I dropped the boxes in mid-hoist.

Sean stepped in to help steady things, the back of his hand rubbing against my closest nipple. "Mm," he moaned, "bet your girlfriend can't keep her hands off `em, am I right?" I blushed as I pretended to focus on getting the boxes safely on the shelf.

"Aha," Sean deduced, "a gentleman never kisses and tells, eh? Well, we'll get it out of you eventually. Meanwhile, let's get these boys in the locker room and stripped down so they can see how great that silky suit feels on their hairless little nuts."

I laughed at his bawdy humor and then mentioned that some of the boys might be shy and want a chance to change in private. Sean shook his head. "Head coach not a big fan of that, I can tell ya." Before I could ask why, he blew his whistle and hollered, "OK, men, locker room's out the door and straight ahead. Let's move!"

Once the boys had all been successfully herded across the hall, Coach Sean barked, "Listen up, team! We're now gonna dress out! Choose a hook on the wall to hang your stuff, shoes and socks under the bench. Everything off, underwear too, nothing under the suit, got it?"

A few of the boys stared at their coach in shock or disbelief. Until that moment they hadn't realized all that swim team would entail. As though to erase any doubts, Sean turned sideways and pulled down the side of his suit, exposing the naked slab of his butt. "We're all gonna be just like Coach, huh?"

That spurred many to action. Sean asked me to stand guard at the other end of the locker room to make sure every boy stripped all the way down before donning his suit. I nodded and went to my post, but I felt awkward knowing how intimidated I would have been if grown-ups were watching me get naked.

Some of the boys however had played other sports and so were unfazed by the situation. They stripped down without a second thought while talking casually with their buddies. Others were more like me, furtively attempting to spend as little time with their dicks exposed as possible.

Zack it seemed was in his element. Any doubts about him overcoming his past shyness were completely dispelled as I watched him climb on top of a bench to re-enact a scene from some monster movie, all while totally naked. The other boys watched enthralled while I marveled at the natural comfort he clearly felt in his body.

Moments later, a few of the older guys started teasing Teddy calling him a `scaredy cat' for changing by himself and not with the others. I again marveled at Zack as he came to the rescue, scolding the bullies for their ape-ish behavior.

"You wanna mess with somebody, come mess with me," he challenged, "and we'll see how it goes for ya." I was growing more and more impressed with this little kid.

With the boys all suited up, Coach Sean called them to attention. As he stood before us, I noticed he had unbuttoned his warm-up jacket, so we had an unobstructed view of the front of his suit. A few of the boys elbowed each other and nodded in Sean's direction.

"Alright, men," he began, "what you are wearing is now your practice uniform. It is a source of pride. It means you are a member of this team. No one else can wear it. Other teams may wear suits like this, but only our suits are this color blue. The color stands for freedom, and it stands for victory. Never be embarrassed to wear this suit. Wear it with pride. Congratulations!"

Sean started clapping and I immediately followed suit and soon all the boys were applauding and cheering. I thought it'd been a brilliant move on the coach's part. You could already feel the team spirit starting to flow in the room.

Picking up a small basket from the table, Sean said, "We are now going to get our numbers. This basket holds strips of paper, each with a number from five to thirty. No number is better than another. These numbers will mainly help us keep track of our gear as we hand it out and turn it in."

"Now, Coach Hank here is gonna help me by calling each of you one by one. And when he calls your name, step forward, pick a number out of the basket here with your eyes closed, and then..." Sean pulled out a laundry marker from his pocket and held it up, "I am going to write that number on your suit."

"This is how we'll keep track of it when you turn it in at the end of every practice session and make sure you get the right suit next time. Now, use the next few minutes while we get set up to check yourselves out in the mirror and use the bathroom if you need to. I'll blow my whistle when it's time to start."

The system made a lot of sense to me, though it slowly dawned on me that to write on the suit while a boy was wearing it would require some fairly intimate touching and that this could have been done before handing out the suits. I said as much to Sean in a low voice.

"Yeah, that's how we used to do it." he responded, "But again, I like the ceremonial feel of doing it this way. And having each boy stand at attention in his suit in front of his teammates. It helps him get over his shyness about how it fits and feelin' self-conscious about his pecker showin.'"

"I mean, I'm gonna have my face just inches from his goodies and I'm not gonna snicker or tease or laugh or act weird or disgusted, which would likely be the first impulse they'd have. No, I'm just gonna act relaxed and calm, like it's the most natural thing in the world, cuz when ya think about it, it is."

"Tell ya what," an idea came to him, "Let me be the first to pick a number and then you write the number on my suit, OK? It'll be here," he said pointing to his hip, "just to the right of my equipment. We'll be like role models for `em. Whaddya say?"

I slowly nodded along as I took in his words. "And" he added, leaning closer and dropping his voice even further, "if ya tickle my nuts a little, I might even chub up for ya. Give the boys a little show." Sean elbowed me in the ribs at just about the same moment I punched him in the arm and we both started laughing.

Being so shy, I'd never engaged much in this type of crude teasing with guys. But Buck was really helping me come out of my shell which seemed to make other guys more relaxed around me. I found I was really enjoying this type of interaction.

"Alright," Sean's tone became more serious, "let's get started." He blew his whistle and without too much prodding the boys returned to their seats. It may have been my imagination but some of them looked a little nervous to me, like it had dawned on them what was about to happen.

"OK, men," Sean started, "there's nothing to get nervous about, and just to show you, I am going to go first. Coach Hank, the basket please." I held the basket near him, and closing his eyes he pulled out one of the paper strips and handed it to me with a look as if to say, `read it out.'

"Number seven!" I called out, secretly relieved that it would be relatively simple to write on his suit. Many of the boys burst out in spontaneous applause. I thought that was touching.

"Lucky seven!" Sean echoed. "That fits `cuz I'm a lucky coach to work with you men and this team's gonna have a lucky season, I can feel it!" He shook his fists above his head and more applause broke out. I thought the guy was a genius at forging team spirit and confidence among the boys.

Sean picked up a chair and turned it facing sideways. He stood in front of the chair and taking off his jacket pulled the marker from the pocket. "The number seven will be written here," he said, pointing to his hip. Holding the marker up towards me, he intoned, "Coach Hank, will you do the honors?"

I stepped closer to take the marker, doing my best to conceal any nerves I might be feeling. Sean locked his hands behind his head, assuming the posture that Buck had taught me for moments like this.

Sitting down, I was glad for the stability of the chair, thinking that if I had to do this while squatting or bending over, I'd surely shake and tremble as I tried to write, and this was feeling awkward enough as it was.

I looked at my intended canvas. It was difficult to focus on just the point where I was to write and not glance over at his package which seemed to be trembling slightly as Sean breathed or slightly adjusted his stance.

A faint sense of anxiety seemed to spread through the room affecting me as well. Seeming to sense it, Sean issued words of calm. "You see, Men, I am totally relaxed. I have nothing to worry about. Coach Hank here is a friend and an ally of ours. He wants only good things for us. Isn't that right, Coach Hank?"

"Yes, Coach," I responded without thinking, "only good things." It seemed odd, but his words did have a calming effect. I took a deep breath and leaned forward to begin my task. However, instead of a flat writing surface, the forward position of his meat was pulling the suit out and away from his body, so the fabric rippled in almost a fan-like pattern from the tip of his dick out to his hip.

As I'd said, I thought the fit was flattering, but it made my task more complicated. Out of habit, I started using my other hand to smooth out the surface, but quickly realized I was brushing up against his balls. Not wishing to betray any awkwardness, I slowly lowered my hand as though to straighten out my shirt.

"Notice the challenge, Men. Coach Hank needs a flat surface to write on, and yet, as men, we are anything but flat in front." Some giggling broke out. "And a good thing, right?" he countered, "Imagine if we were flat in front, eh?" This caused some relieved laughter. "That would not be good at all, huh?"

After a few moments of silence he added, "We are proud to be men, aren't we?" A few nods and murmurs of agreement followed. "We have nothing to be ashamed of, Men. Nothing."

I thought to myself that I wished I had been given such an important lesson when I was their age. That could have saved me years of shame and embarrassment. My Uncle T.K. had tried to break me out of my shell, but we never had enough time together for his efforts to really take hold.

"So, what we need to do is hold the suit like so," he explained, stretching it between the waist and leg just to side of his crotch, "making it smooth so Coach Hank can write my number. Any volunteers?"

Shocked, I stared Sean in the face thinking he must be crazy if he imagined any of these boys would dare accept such a potentially embarrassing task in front of their peers. But I had forgotten who was on this team.

"Zack, is it?" I heard Sean say, "Come on up here and, Men, let's have some applause for this brave team member of ours!" Sure enough, the boys broke out clapping and a few chanted, "Zack, Zack, Zack."

Once again in his element, Zack confidently stepped forward and without further instruction, deftly grabbed Chad's suit and stretched in flat. I paused a moment to gaze at him in wonder and a bit of envy. He returned my look and gave me a smug smile.

Once again, I leaned forward and this time, put marker to fabric. Fortunately, it was an easy number to write, just two straight lines, and my penmanship was a good deal neater than most. I started with the top line, from left to right.

I was just about to start on the vertical line when I noticed that Zack's right hand, holding the leg of the suit, was firmly lodged against Sean's balls. I almost dropped the marker and sat back a bit to catch my breath.

"Notice how carefully Coach Hank is going about this, Men. He's not rushing at all. He's making sure not to harm the suit or the swimmer. And notice how steady Zack is holding the fabric, making it possible to write the number neatly."

Sean's words gave me a moment to compose myself and complete the number. I sat back and admired my work. The number looked pretty good. Clearly handwritten, but a respectable job. "What do you say, Men? Did they do a good job?" I was pleasantly surprised to hear claps and cheers break out.

Instead of returning quickly to his seat, Zack started smoothing out Chad's suit, with little pulls and tugs here and there, much like I'd seen his father do on several occasions. I half expected Sean to stop him, but instead he stood calmly with his hands behind his head like a model in an art class.

"Very professional." He complimented Zack, and then looked at the boys, "I feel like I'm at a fancy clothing store, where the tailor helps you make sure the fit is right."

"Yeah," Zack chimed in, "My dad works at the sporting goods store so always does this for us at home. Right, Hank?" and he looked at me for confirmation. I nodded and smiled, blushing a little to recall how Buck's ministrations had aroused me a few times.

"And I thought I was the lucky one!" Sean joked. "OK, so Zack, you ready to go next?" Not surprisingly, Zack practically jumped in excitement as he nodded `yes.' "Very good. So, Coach Hank, if you will hand me the marker and get the basket and, Zack, close your eyes, take out one of the strips of paper and let Coach Hank read it out to us."

Zack pulled out a strip of paper and handed it to me. I opened it and read out, "Number twenty-three," which met with much applause from the boys. I don't think there was anything particularly special about the number itself, just that a number had been assigned.

Sean took a seat and Zack practically leapt to position in front of him with hands locked behind his head. "OK, Zack," Sean smiled, "now choose one of your teammates to hold your suit so I can write on it." Zack looked out at the rows of boys, and several raised their hands or otherwise gestured to be chosen.

But Zack called for shy little Teddy to help him. "Alright, Teddy!" Sean enthused, "Come on up here and give us a hand!" Teddy blushed as he stepped to the front of the room, clearly unaccustomed to being the center of attention.

"This is a great honor," Sean intoned, "to help your teammate as the uniform becomes his very own. I know you'll do this well." Teddy's chest seemed to swell with pride from Sean's words. Taking a big step forward, he stood beside Zack and with only a few minor hesitations, took hold of his suit and pulled to flatten the fabric.

"Perfect," Sean effused, "Now, let's see if I can do half as good a job as Coach Hank did." He made as if to start the first number but then asked Teddy if he could move his hands a little more to the center, to give Sean more room to write.

Teddy inched his hands almost imperceptibly. I understood his reluctance; he was getting very close to touching Zack's genitals. "Just a bit more, another inch more," Sean repeated until poor Teddy's hands were firmly pressed into Zack's bulge.

"There we go," Sean seemed satisfied and went back to his work. He wrote much more slowly than I had or than seemed necessary, but then I reflected that there was no reason to rush. As he had said, this was a ceremony. Even Teddy seemed to relax a bit.

I suppose most of the other boys would have been mortified to be the first to stand in front of everyone with his dick poking the front of his suit and one set of hands on his nuts and another writing on his hip. But not Zack. He grinned from ear to ear.

After a while, Sean pronounced his work finished and scooted back to give everyone a good look. While I thought the number looked well executed, I was more stunned to see that little Zacky looked about half hard.

Of course, almost any boy that age will exhibit a rapid response to the slightest stimulation, so it wasn't surprising that the genital contact, especially through the silky fabric, would lead to some chubbing.

But more than the contact, I suspected it was the attention that excited Zack. He was such a natural show off, as his dad had warned me, that he relished drawing the attention of his mates. Rather than any shyness or attempt to hide his swollen rod, he seemed determined to show it best advantage.

I wondered if Sean was going to play the stern coach and admonish Zack for lewd behavior or something. But he seemed oblivious as he explained laundry marker was usually permanent, but with exposure to the chlorine in the pool, the numbers would slowly fade and require refreshing in a month or two.

He then suggested Zack give each boy a closer look, so they could see for themselves how the numbers looked once written on the suit. It seemed a reasonable request, especially if the goal was to help the boys grow more comfortable with the process.

But to Zack, it was like he'd won the lottery. He practically danced from teammate to teammate to show off his suit (and I suspected his bulging hardon even more so). He'd invite them to touch the number and then shift his hips around so his dick rubbed against their hands. His goofing around caused some squeals of surprised laughter.

"See?" Sean observed, "It's good for them to have fun like this the first day. I can guarantee they'll be askin' to take their suits home by the end of practice. They'll wanna play in em and show em off to their dads and brothers."

Sean's skill at this impressed me and again, I envied these boys and how easy-going their introduction to wearing a revealing competition suit had been made.

After a bit, as things settled down, we returned to the numbering ceremony. Sean announced that as the previous numbering assistant, Teddy would go next and would choose the teammate to assist. Then that boy would be the next to be numbered, and so on.

The method worked well and proceeded smoothly. The element of suspense as to who would be called next to assist kept all the boys engaged. Sean regularly instructed the boy assisting to move his hands until they made contact with his teammate's balls. After a while this ceased to cause dismay and became routine.

Sean also continued to instruct each boy to circulate among his mates right after his numbering so they could take a close look at his number. And since the hands-on element had aroused many of them, the viewing took on an added ribaldry that held everyone's attention.

"It's good for them to become comfortable as men with how our bodies function." Sean explained to me afterwards, "The last thing they should feel among each other is embarrassment or shame when their bodies behave as nature intended."

This was so different than my own first experience on a swim team, when I spent nearly all my time out of the water with my back against a wall and hands folded in front of me to hide any evidence of my male anatomy.

Finally, the last boy was numbered, and Sean led the group in a final applause. As the boys clapped, Sean leaned close to repeat that he had an extra suit that would probably fit me. He asked if I wanted to dress out and wear it during practice. I wasn't sure and hesitated to respond.

"Hey, guys," Coach Sean hollered to the boys, "who wants to see Coach Hank here wearing our team suit?" They all cheered and hollered making me laugh. Panicking, I did some quick thinking and said, "Well, let's see how you do first part of practice and then I'll know if I wanna be part of this team or not."

That seemed to pacify them. We headed out to the pool where Coach Sean assigned four boys to each lane. He started them off doing sets of easy laps as warm up. After about ten minutes, he blew the whistle and got them to wait at the bottom of their lanes for some tips and pointers.

I noticed that Coach Sean tended to walk along the edge of the pool and stand at each lane with his legs spread. It occurred to me that it must have made an impressive view for the boys gathered at his feet. Sure enough, most had their eyes locked on his suit.

After he had visited all the lanes and explained the next series of drills, Sean asked me, "Hey, you mind keepin' an eye on `em for a sec? I'd love to get a few laps in." Of course I agreed, and he dove into an empty lane and put in an impressive set of laps, alternating free style with breaststroke and even butterfly.

Laps completed, he hauled himself out of the water and headed my way. I'd picked up a towel to offer him, but he politely declined. He explained that he liked to stand in front of the boys, especially the shy ones, with the wet suit plastered to his body.

"It gets `em used to how the suit fits and feelin' comfortable with our anatomy. And you can see everything pretty good, right?" he gestured for me to look down. I'll admit I'd been eager to take a look and was now glad to have permission to do so at leisure.

Scanning the fit closely I had to nod my head in agreement. An advantage of the looser fit of his suit was that it allowed the fabric to stick to every nook and cranny of his privates. The thin silky material bonded to him like a coat of powder blue spray paint.

Pleased with my reaction, Sean headed over the pool's edge to resume his brief pep talks and advice sessions. As his suit dried a bit and the fit became less revealing, he'd jump back in the water to quickly demonstrate a turn or some other technique.

Once finished, facing the boys with his back to the pool wall, he'd reach behind to hoist himself out of the water and sit on the ledge, once again placing his explicitly visible bulge right in the boys' faces.

In retrospect, I'm not sure I ever even saw one of my swim coaches get wet during practice, so you can imagine the envy I continued to feel towards these boys. At that age, the chance to freely inspect a grown man's anatomy satisfies a burning curiosity and I could tell the boys were finding it very motivating.

After visiting all the lanes, Sean returned to my side. "Ok, so ready to wear the suit and be part of the team?" Of course, I was hesitant but after watching his demonstration, I couldn't resist. I laughed and agreed to give it a try. He told me I'd find the suit in his locker, number thirty-seven.

With a quick nod I headed to the locker room and found Sean's locker. It was unlocked. I opened it expecting to find the suit easily. But what greeted me was a messy pile of clothing and gear. I started picking through it carefully.

On top was a light blue silky T-shirt. As I picked it up it almost felt like one of the competition suits. I held it in one hand while I continued digging through the pile with the other.

Next, I came to an old pair of briefs, more holes than fabric, in even worse shape than some of my oldest pairs. They felt incredibly soft as I held them, and I resisted a strange sudden urge to sniff them.

Under the briefs I came to a white swimsuit with red trim. Clearly not a competition suit, it was more of a gym short cut, but small and very stretchy. The fabric looked so thin and sheer, I realized it must turn transparent when wet. I was surprised to find a red `lifeguard' emblem on one leg.

Lifting the suit, I froze at what I saw next: a jockstrap. I'm not sure why the sight had such a big impact on me; it was hardly unusual that a coach should have one in his locker. Perhaps knowing it was Sean's made it somehow more compelling.

I noted that, not surprisingly, it was a swimmer's jock, with the thinner waistband. It looked to be of high quality and relatively new, but there was something odd about it. I couldn't quite tell from the way it was doubled over, but something about the pouch seemed unusual.

I'm not sure how long I stood glued to the spot. At some point a banging pipe roused me from the spell. I set the clothes I was holding on a nearby bench and turned my full attention to the jockstrap. I picked it up with both hands and held it in front of me.

As I turned it this way and that, I saw that the pouch was riddled with small holes and tears. This puzzled me greatly. I knew this could sometimes result from a from an encounter with an unfriendly wringer washer, but Sean struck me as a guy very unlikely to carelessly toss such a nice jock into a washing machine.

Unable to tear my eyes away, the analytical part of my brain tried to mentally calculate its likely remaining functional capacity. In other words, how much support might this pouch still provide when Sean wore it? I assumed he used it for swimming here at the pool, possibly with the white swimsuit, given its flimsy sheerness.

But very soon another part of my brain took over, leading my imagination to conjure up a dizzying flood of images of Sean wearing the jock first by itself and then under the white swimsuit. I next pictured him hauling himself out of the water wearing both and asking me to inspect him and tell him in detail how much of his genitals I could see.

Had I mentioned I was an engineering major? The future engineer part of me jumped in to ponder just how much more loss the pouch could sustain and still function. I then tried to picture what would be the absolute minimum amount of thread and fiber that could still provide support for the male anatomy.

And then I imagined a laboratory where such experiments were conducted, where male subjects were tested with fewer and fewer jock pouch fibers until complete loss of support was declared. I doubt my professors had this sort of application in mind during their lectures.

The logical part of me thought I must be going crazy to imagine such thing, and worse, to find them so exciting. I had seen countless jockstraps in my time on sports teams both on guys and off and had never given them much of a second thought. They were basically just another piece of safety equipment.

But the past week at Buck's had opened a whole new world for me. While I had spent my life up to then ashamed and embarrassed by my male anatomy and doing my best to hide it, Buck was teaching me to take pride in it and in all the care and attention that it required.

I was starting to taste the joy that men feel when celebrating their maleness together. So, if Sean's dick and balls were partly or mostly visible when he wore this jockstrap and suit, rather than a cause of embarrassment and hiding, it was something to celebrate and enjoy.

The remaining question for me was, what did it mean that this joy and celebration was increasingly accompanied by arousal? So often when these situations arose, when guys' anatomies were displayed and admired, erections followed. Was something wrong with me?

I couldn't deny that in the past week I'd experienced the best orgasms in my life and that they'd happened in the company of men nearby. I had to admit that having the captain and Mr. Akins and Buck just feet away cheering me on as I brought myself to climax had been mind-blowing.

I wasn't sure what that meant but I also wasn't super anxious to pursue the question at that moment. I was content with the growing self-confidence and pleasure in my body that I was feeling.

I next found myself studying the contour of the pouch on Sean's jockstrap and wondering how much it conserved the shape of its previous contents. I gently shook it up and down, imaging how Sean's balls might bounce in it. It felt like a deliciously forbidden pleasure to play with his jockstrap.

At some point I realized I was taking a long time and worried that Sean might come looking for me. I set down the jock and dug some more until I found the suit, which had been half tucked into the back pocket of a pair of scruffy jeans.

I quickly changed into the suit, leaving my jock, cut offs and shirt on a hook. I took a minute to assess the suit. I tugged it here and there and rubbed my hands over it, front and back. I loved the familiar silky sensation of a competition suit.

I walked to the mirror to check out the fit. I was pleased to see a fit similar to Sean's. The front was loose enough to allow my meat to flop forward a bit and as I practiced walking towards the mirror, I could see it shifting a bit with each step.

I turned to check out the back and was relieved that only and inch or so of my ass cleavage showed. In the past, I'd have been freaked out to show any cleavage at all, but Sean's encouragement about feeling no shame in our male bodies was taking effect.

A mix of pride and bashfulness poured through me as I headed out to the pool deck. Once out the door, I saw that Coach Sean had alerted the boys to anticipate my appearance. They were all waiting at the pool edge and clapped and cheered as I stepped out.

My initial impulse was to fold my hands over my lap and cringe, but then the past week at Buck's took over, and imitating the football poster in the gym, I clasped my hands over my head and pumped them in victory.

The boys went wild cheering. The sensation was intoxicating for me, like the fantasy I entertained in my room whenever I took off my jockstrap. But now I was living it for real. I slowly turned as though acknowledging fans all around me.

My shyness had evaporated. I tilted my hips, jutting my crotch forward as I moved into a front double biceps flex. The boys shouted approval. As if in a dream, I shifted to a side chest pose. I was loving the novel sensation of being admired.

The boys started chanting, "Coach, coach!" and he jumped beside me and started mirroring my poses. Smiling at each other and laughing, we took turns flexing and then imitating the other. It was silly Saturday morning fun and made me think of Charlie and his imaginary muscle man competitions for his little brother.

"OK," Sean called, shifting gears, "Great show, huh, boys?" Several shouted in agreement. "But let's get back to work. And if you work hard, one day your suit could fit ya like Coach Hank's here. How `bout that?" More cheers followed.

I playfully punched Sean in the arm. "Say," he said just to me, "why don't you give the boys some pointers from the end of the lanes? I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

Timidly at first, I approached the edge of the pool at the far lane and just stood there. Seeing me, the boys soon paused in their laps and waited below, staring up at my suit. Again, my first impulse was to shyly turn away, but then I remembered the rush of flexing in front of them and my bravery returned.

I gave them some tips about getting the most out of each stroke. To stabilize myself, I spread my lets wider. As I rotated my arms to illustrate proper crawl stroke, I could feel my meat bouncing a bit in my suit.

At first, this made me nervous but then I warmed up to it. I remembered how Charlie had bounced around in that suit we'd found for him and how cool I'd thought that looked. I glanced over at Coach Sean and noticed that as he addressed the boys in each lane, he bounced on his heels and otherwise kept in motion to keep the position and contour of his bulge constantly shifting.

I started to enjoy showing off and merrily moved from lane to lane, sharing insights and an overhead view of my bulge.

"Hey, now it's your turn to get wet." Coach hollered. I jumped in an empty lane and did a few leisurely laps. As I pulled myself out of the pool, Sean was waiting for me. "Well, well, well," he cooed admiringly, "Now I see what these boys are gawking at. Pretty amazing."

I blushed but was determined not to cower or try to cover myself. I stretched my arms and locked them behind my head. "Hey, dude," Sean whispered, staring more closely, "are you uncircumcised?"

"Yeah," suddenly, I felt shy all over again. "Can you tell? Think I oughta dry off or change back?"

"Dude," Sean continued as though he hadn't heard my question, "That is so cool! Y'know, my dad is uncircumcised. One day in the shower I asked him why he had me trimmed and he said, `Your mom insisted.' Damn, I wish I still had my foreskin to play with. Must be awesome, man."

I'd never heard this reaction before, and it made me feel better. Sean slapped me on the butt, "You should definitely go give some more tips to the team, they're gonna love it." I warmed up to the idea and headed back to the lanes.

As I dipped in the pool and came out dripping wet with my suit plastered to me, I could tell many of the boys had noticed the outline of my foreskin and were fascinated, elbowing and whispering to each other.

I felt good about demonstrating a healthy confident attitude about my body, wishing I'd had such a role model in my youth, aside from my uncle, who, as I've often said, was great but sadly not around near as much as I'd wished.

The rest of practice passed by quickly. In no time it seemed that Coach Sean blew his whistle and hollered, "OK, out of the pool in two minutes!" He called me over beside him. "OK, you stand there, and I'll stand here, you take those three lanes and I'll take these and we'll count how many boners we see and we'll see who wins. Loser buys beer next time."

I took up position where Sean had pointed. As the boys started filing out the pool, their suits plastered to them, out of habit, I silently noted the position of each as he passed. "Three o'clock," "seven o'clock," "midnight."

I thought Sean had been joking about erections, but sure enough, several of the boys walked past with discernible hard-ons jutting under their suits. I glanced over at coach's line and noticed one boy trying to cover his erection with his hands.

"Arms up, Bobby." Coach called, and when the hard on was revealed, praised him. "Good work there!" With a wink he added, "That's what we call really swimmin' hard."

As the last boys passed, Sean came over to me and said, "Hey, I'm thinkin' of makin' jock straps mandatory for the team. Y'know, swimmer jocks, with the thinner waistband. Think that's a good idea?"

"You really think these boys need jockstraps?" I was surprised by his idea. "They don't get enough support from the suits? Also," I continued, "in my experience, not many guys wear jocks under their suits these days."

"Yeah, I know," Sean countered, "but y'know, a lotta these boys don't even know what a jockstrap is. I think it's a great opportunity to introduce em to the need for good support and good for em to get used to wearing a jock, especially around each other."

"And," he went on, "I think it'd help `em feel more confident about their growing bodies and becoming men. And besides," Sean grabbed my arm for emphasis, "ya ever seen how cool the pouch looks under a wet racing suit when it's just plastered to it? Man, I love that!"

"Well, yeah, sure." I had to agree, remembering the few times I'd seen such a sight. "But you know these competition suits are getting briefer and briefer. Do you think a jock will fit under them? Won't the waistband stick out the top and the leg straps out the back?"

"Maybe," Sean admitted, "But is that such a bad thing?" Sean's question made me pause. "That way it's easy to tell which boy is strapped up and who's not. And again, helpin' `em get comfortable with their jocks showin' helps them on their road to manhood."

I looked at the floor as I pondered Sean's words. He added, "Y'know, I mentioned the idea to the head coach here and he really liked it."

"Really?" I asked, a little surprised but for some reason glad to hear it.

"Yeah, Coach Tim. You met him yet?" I shook my head no.' "Great guy. He's the one that started the dress out' policy."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Some boys wanted to come wearing their suits under their clothes so they wouldn't have to dress out in the locker room. Coach Tim got the funds to purchase all the suits and keep `em here."

"This way we take care of washin' em, making sure not to use bleach or hot water or anything that could ruin em. He says we could do the same with the jockstraps. Then when they get here, I'd hand out their jocks and suits, which'd be a nice kind of bonding activity."

"Hey," Sean's face lit up and he punched my arm, "you could join me, and we'd hand `em out together!"

I laughed, not exactly sure how serious he was about that last idea, though any reason to hang out with Sean sounded good to me. I'd been experiencing so many new situations and emotions lately; I was eager to talk about them with someone I could trust.

Since Sean was a little older and more experienced, not to mention so at ease about the process of boys growing into men. He seemed like he'd be a great guy to consult about some of my body issues and how I was starting to get erections at all these weird times.

I also wondered if I could ask him what knew about cocksuckers and if what I'd heard that morning from Buck's buddies sounded true to him. And if so, wouldn't he worry that wearing that ripped up jock and sheer white lifeguard suit might not attract a cocksucker's attention?

Back in the locker room, several boys started asking if they could take their suits home with them. Just as Sean had predicted, a few wanted to show them to their dads or brothers. Sean remained firm reminding them that rules were rules.

He also assured them that their suits would be there the following week and that at the end of the season, they'd be able to take them home.

"And if you really want your dad or older brother to see you in your suit," he added, "tell `em that ole Coach Sean can always use a helper at practice. That way, they'll be able to see your suits in action."

To me Sean urged, "Come hit the showers with us and you can help me keep an eye on things."

I was afraid that would mean I'd have to strip completely, but Sean said `not yet," which puzzled me. He then explained that that he would tell the boys that the first swim meet they win, in the showers afterwards he'd take his suit off. That seemed like a very cool motivation technique to me plus calmed by worries about joining them.

After the shower, we grabbed towels from the stacks and dried off. Sean told me I could use the coaches' office to change. I asked him if he was going to get dressed and he said `no,' that the next hour was master swim class, and he really enjoyed joining that.

"It's great group of guys," he said, "most of em older but lots of fun. You should join us one day, especially for the evening workout, after closing. I lifeguard for em when my buddy Chad can't."

I immediately thought of the white suit and ragged jockstrap in Sean's locker. Images of Sean lifeguarding in that suit flooded my brain. I was determined to join the master class the first chance I got.