My First Time

The College Swim Team: Part 1

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The College Swim Team: Part 1
College swim teams sometimes went nude, in the
'50s. I joined one.

Based on a post by AnonymousPerv.

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Stories.



The old College Journal.

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 ass on the front porch and
either bitch to myself about the news, or think on old times. I'm a
stereotype old fart, now.

The memories keep me going, though. From the last

vacation that Edna and I shared together in Vancouver, to the first
time I broke the Kansas state record in a freestyle 100-meter swim
match. I often thought about the short stint I had on the Olympic
team, before my knee problems, 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 to Penn, for their university swim team in eastern
Pennsylvania. Technically it was an academic scholarship, but all the
Ivy league schools somehow happened upon star athletes when looking
for intelligent students.

I moved into my athletic hall dorm room with only one

day to spare before classes officially began. It was a single bed
dorm and a perk of the scholarship, as most students roomed together.
I'd acquired enough trophies back in Wichita to merit the interest of
several colleges, and high enough GPA for a 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 sophomore teammate,

talking to me, a short guy with dirty blonde hair. "Where are
you from again? Penn 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. “Besides, the original Greek
Olympians all competed in the nude. It's also mandatory at the YMCA,
ya know.”

I later found out that the YMCA, which was for men

and boys only; did keep that same policy for another 10 years.

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 young fellas were striding out the
door, starkers. I followed suit; without my Lasstex swimsuit. To my
utter horror and shock, as I trailed behind my teammates, three girls
walked past, giggling as they checked out our dangling packages.

“What the hell?” my chin dropped and my

hands cupped my package.”

Unlike us, these 3 coeds had the old Lasstex Rubber

bathing suits on, though they were school-sanctioned, come to find
out. They were thick 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 bosom that you could see
her tits bouncing firmly under the material as she moved. Lasstex was
a rubberized fiber that allowed some stretch and reset, but not a lot
of either. These thick women's fabricated maillots would be phased
out in the sixties, by a new swimwear company called 'Speedo' . They
pitched a line of very thin nylon knit suits. Very form-hugging and
tight. Years later they introduced Lie craw blends and very
form-fitting silhouettes.

"Why aren't they naked?" I whispered to the

sophomore teammate in front of me.

"Huh? What is wrong with you, man? Modesty.

They're virtuous ladies. 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."

"Hmm. I don't know any college athletes with

modesty or virtue; and I bet you had to change the water in the pool
every damn week. But then, you live in sod houses, too; right?"

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
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
Ivy League. I'm sure you're all honored to be here." Coach
Robertson barked out.

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 minds, your competitiveness; and your bodies, your
speed and endurance.

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 Kansas 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, At least 2 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 coach, 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 tits were a bit
bigger than average, maybe a C cup (but 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.

"Oh, good. Men, I would like to introduce you to

Dr. Tammy Wynn. While she was finishing her doctorate at UCLA, she
ran the strength and aerobics camps for both their male and their new
female swim teams. Those teams went on to win back-to-back national
championships during her short time with them."

I knew about the UCLA wins, but not much else.

A bit of historic background;

Very few colleges had female competition teams, but

the women's intramural teams at several area colleges, including the
'seven sisters' college group, began holding unsanctioned swim meets,
in conjunction with the men's teams. Byrn Mawr college, here in the
Philadelphia area, is one of those legendary 'seven sisters'
colleges. It was the female counterpart to the Ivy league men's
colleges, a century ago. They also used the natatorium at Penn, for
their practices and a few competitive events. Penn had a coed policy
for several years, but other Ivy League schools were just catching
up. Prior to that, Bryn Mawr College ladies used to host the Penn
male students for several social events and 'mixers'.

The coach continued, "UCLA 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, our natatorium; 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 Ivy League 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 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, from 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?"

"Yeah. 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 cock 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 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, "Hmm."

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 Peterson
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

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