My First Time

The College Swim Team: Part 2

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The College Swim Team: Part 2
We have to share practice time with the girl's
squad.

Based on a post by AnonymousPerv.

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Stories.



I wouldn't be surprised if most of you don't believe

my history up to this point in the story. You might think the idea
that men swimming naked in public pools in 1959 is crazy. I would
agree it is crazy, but it doesn't make it less true. Turn on your
google, or whatever it is, if you don't trust me and look it up
yourself.

Perhaps the hardest pill for you to swallow, is that

I had such an intimate sexual experience with the female coach, Dr.
Wynn. Well, it happened. I always kept that secret to myself, up
until now. There were more events that occurred during this joyous
time in my life and I'm happy to share them with you before I go, but
I'm warning you: If you haven't believed my story up to this point,
you may as well quit reading now. It gets crazier.

It was about a week later, following a Friday

afternoon practice, when things really took a turn. Coach Andersen
had the team line up at the end of the pool. "Gentlemen, in
three weeks we start competition. I am more confident in this squad,
than any other I have ever coached. You make me all very proud."

It was nice getting the acclaim. We had survived

several weeks of practice and conditioning, injury free, and three
more weeks of it seemed ever more grueling, even though we were
seeing the benefits of the hard work. All nine of us had rippling
hard bodies, what many would consider to be "peak" physical
condition. Knowing Coach Peterson and Dr. Wynn, they always set the
bar higher.

"Unfortunately, boys, we are faced with a

challenge. I am offering you the opportunity to make a big decision."

The nine of us, all naked and still wet, began

mumbling among each other.

"Settle down, settle down. Here's the issue. The

pool at Drexel has cracked its foundation. They will be rushing to
repair it, but in the meantime, our old rivals have no way to
practice in a proper 50-meter pool. That is, unless they bus over
here daily. They called and asked if we would be willing to give them
access to our pool every day at 7 pm., until the season officially
begins."

Seven o'clock is when the girls usually start

practice. We're 4 to 6:30, and they're 7 to whenever. The break,
between the two squads coming and going, usually prevented any of the
girls from accidentally stepping into the pool area while we were
there. Although it was allowed and tolerated for girls to be around,
I had discovered that it wasn't considered good etiquette, unless one
was a coach or a lifeguard.

That first day of school, when I had experienced

being naked in front of several girls, had perhaps skewed my reality
of the situation. I even noted that when Dr. Wynn did stop in during
our afternoon practices, she never over-extended her stays, always
doing her best to make the boys feel comfortable. Still, whenever she
was there, I popped wood.

Pete Wilkinson on the end spoke up, "If Drexel

can't practice, we'll trounce 'em in competition!"

Buddy Preston raised his arm. "Do we really want

to win that way?" Buddy was well-liked by everyone, and if it
weren't for me, he would have been the fastest on the team. "You
know that's no way to win a meet." The others agreed, me
included.

"I thought that's how you would see it,"

said the coach. "Obviously, this creates problems with how we
share our facility. Coach Bradley's squad will have to forfeit their
time for Drexel. She and I discussed it, and feel we can effectively
utilize the space by giving her girls the west side of the pool, and
we'll take the other. We'll have fewer lanes to practice in, but we
can resolve this by coming in at 3:30 and staying until Drexel
arrives at seven."

It sounded to me like they'd already made up their

minds. Strangely enough, after more than a month at the school, I had
yet to meet Amanda Bradley, the woman who many considered to be Coach
Peterson's equal. I knew she'd been the girl's coach for more than a
decade, and had a winning record almost impressive as her
counterpart's.

Coach Peterson paced as he debriefed us. "I'll

call Drexel and tell them they can start Monday. It will give us
enough time to make arrangements over the weekend." Suddenly, he
stopped. "Do I have to remind anybody to be on their best
behavior in the presence of the girls' squad?"

We all shook our head and mumbled "No," but

Scott Thomas raised his hand. I remember it was Scott, because if
there was one person who might have been more socially awkward than
me, it was him. Also, he was standing right next to me. Still, he
didn't get stiffies every time Dr. Tammy Wynn stopped by. It appeared
only I suffered that humiliation.

"Um; Coach Peterson?" he asked. "I;

uh; know the girls can wear their swimsuits and all, but while they
practice with us, it will be mandatory for them, right?"

I jerked my head to him. "Mandatory?" I

whispered. "What the heck are you suggesting? They have to wear
suits, of course!"

Coach Peterson started laughing, shaking his head.

"Oh, Mr. Thomas; and you, Mr. Feller." He slowly walked up
to me, standing not two feet away. Thank goodness Dr. Wynn wasn't
there. Otherwise, my penis would not have been flaccid. "For as
fast as you swim, you really ought to know more about what it is you
are swimming in. Without going into the history of this great sport
and leisure activity, here are the rules: stay in your lane, don't
jump in until you hear the buzzer, and abide by all dress codes."

"I do, sir," I insisted. "I was just

saying, so do the girls. They abide by the rules, by always wearing
their suits."

The coach sighed, "Apparently, you are still in

the dark over our protocols. Boys, why do we not wear suits in the
pool?"

One at the end of the line shouted, "Fibers in

the pumps and filters. Clogs them up, making us have to replace
them."

"I thought it was checking for rashes and

wounds," said a boy on the other end.

"Yeah, to ensure we're clean, everybody knows

that," said another.

"It's all those things," cried the coach.

"There is every practical reason to swim in the nude, Mr.
Feller. Not to mention, we have long standing traditions here."

I nodded, not wishing to upset the coach with my

ignorance any further.

"Back to your question, Mr. Thomas. Will the

girls be required to wear their suits? I'll discuss it with Coach
Bradley. I think it is a reasonable request."

Again, my curiosity got the best of me. "But

wait, I don't;"

"What is it you don't understand, Mr. Feller?

The girls don't have to wear their suits, but should they prefer to
protect their modesty, they may. We offer the school sanctioned suits
for that reason."

"You mean they can also practice naked?"

The thought of it sent blood rushing to my cock, but the look on my
coach's face helped to keep me in check.

"You really are from Kansas, aren't you? Most of

them wear their suits, I suppose. Sometimes one or two of them go
without, so I've known, but it's a girl's privilege to protect her
modesty, especially against young men like yourself. We wouldn't want
any of you boys getting impractical thoughts." The coach paused
again, looking directly at me. "So you all try to control
yourselves."

I blushed, looking down. I suspected Dr. Wynn had

told him about my problem, that every time we practiced together, I
had an erection. It didn't matter if I kept my mind on other things,
it just seemed my penis autonomously got hard in the presence of a
female. Especially her.

Hopefully, Dr. Wynn hadn't revealed that she had

swallowed my cum once. I felt fairly confident she kept that a
secret, like I did. How I wished she would let me do that again, but
she'd acted very professional ever since. I guess she meant it when
she said it was a one-time thing.

Coach Peterson raised his hand before dismissing us.

"Mid-morning practice tomorrow, then take the rest of the
weekend off, boys. You deserve it, you really do. Even you, Ryan."
He winked at me. "I know you've been working hard."

I wasn't sure if that was a double entendre, or just

a simple compliment. I headed to the locker room with my teammates,
already dreading the coming Monday. We were to arrive early to
practice, giving me barely any time between it, and my last class for
the day. I had to pack a snack for in between, since it would be
three and a half hours of grueling drills, all while the girl's team
worked their side of the pool. That was the real beef. I was filled
with anxiety thinking about how I would handle myself, naked, in the
presence of so many girls.

The temperature was surprisingly cool that Monday

morning, but while I meandered from one class to the next, I was
sweating buckets. I couldn't stop time. It was bound to come, and the
minutes passed far too quickly. 'Please don't get a boner, please
don't get a boner,' was all I could think about, repeating over and
over in my head. When I got to the locker room to undress, some of
the others were whispering to each other, pointing at me. Pete
snickered and threw me a thumbs up sign.

"What?" I asked.

"They're making bets on how long before you

sport wood."

I went flush. It was so humiliating. I guess it had

happened enough times, and was now a well known fact, that I always
got hard around girls; just like a dweeb. I was unable to contain
myself around girls; at least when I was naked.

Look, it wasn't unheard of to happen to someone when

swimming. Strapping, young men pop random wood on occasion. It's
understood that it happens, and when it does, the rule of thumb is to
ignore it. Still, it's somewhat frowned upon. And people like me; who
do it all the time; weren't usually welcome in the pool, I had
discovered. I suppose I was lucky that Dr. Wynn had been so forgiving
of the issue. Having practiced with her so many times, she could
probably pick my hard cock out from a lineup.

I looked at the small group of kids mocking me and

stared them down for a second, before throwing my towel to the floor.
"Put me in for less than a minute."

It was perhaps the first, genuine bonding moment I

had with any of my teammates. Up to this point, they kind of avoided
me. My highly competitive spirit set some people off, while others
were just jealous of my talent. But self deprecation goes a long way,
I guess, and the boys broke into howls when I admitted I had a
problem.

Scott slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't feel

bad, man. With all those girls swimming nearby, wearing those
loose-hanging suits, I'm pretty sure you won't be the only one
challenged with the problem."

"No shit," said Pete. "It's been

bugging' me all weekend. Damn, can you imagine? When Mary Jenkins
comes out of the water? Woah, I can't wait, but I am gonna have a
hard time not popping wood." Others laughed again, when Pete
said, "Maybe not like Ragin' Woody Ryan here, but I'll
definitely be struggling. I might have to jump in the water
periodically."

Others snickered and clapped, nodding their heads.

Pete's moniker stuck. From that point forward, I was known as Ragin'
Woody Ryan. At least, far more often than by my short name. We
finally shuffled to the pool, making our way to our corner of the
large, open room. The girls were already on their side, circled
around a woman. From my distance, I couldn't really make her out, but
she stood almost a foot taller than any of the swimmers.

Coach Peterson snapped us to attention and we lined

up in front of him. "OK, boys, we're going to start with laps.
Since we only have five lanes available, five of you go now, ten
minutes later, the other four."

Always eager to get in the water, I volunteered with

four others and made my way to the third lane down. As I was about to
get on the block, I noticed the girl's squad was still circled around
their coach, who was dressed in one of those school sanctioned suits.
With her standing so high above the squad, I finally got a good look
at her. Late 30s I would guess and extremely top heavy. She made the
redhead I met on my first day here look small in comparison.

A blonde girl who faced the coach, with her back to

me, had one knee on the floor. I remember thinking she was so thin,
because I could see her spine. It took a second for that to register
in my brain, but I suddenly realized she didn't have anything on at
all. Not a stitch of clothing! I whipped my head back to the water
the moment I realized, desperate to jump into the pool, before my
penis responded to the mental stimulation of a girl being naked in
the same room with me. I dove in straight away.

By the time I started my stroke, my cock was raging

hard. I was so grateful it was under the water, because it took the
entire ten-minute run of laps for it to finally go away. I was
desperately trying to focus on anything other than the girls. I swam
hard, focusing on my form and the fury of my stroke, when just before
time was up, it finally went flaccid again. I remember being so
relieved when coming out of the pool.

That was, until I realized we had to sit on the

bench; which faced the pool. I knew I'd be tempted to look to the
girl's side. They weren't close, but close enough to fantasize about,
and soon, I would be struggling to save face again. Scott Thomas
flagged the coach down, just as we neared the bench. "Coach, I
thought all the girls were going to be suited up, and uh; um; I saw
one of the"

"Oh, yes, about that." The coach stepped

closer. The five of us who had just come out of the water huddled
around him. "Dr. Wynn and I discussed it with Coach Bradley, and
we determined that it was best not to make any extraneous rules
during this short matter of inconvenience."

"But;" Scott started.

"No buts. It was actually something Mr. Feller

said to Dr. Wynn, I believe, that helped make our decision. 'That men
would behave no differently around the women, than they do us.' It's
quite forward-thinking, progressive; and dare I say, debatable, but
it was decided. If some of the girls happen to go without their
suits, I expect you all to ignore it. Understood?"

We all nodded and made vocal affirmations, though I

think we all were rather scared; scared of the prospect of having
reactions around naked girls. We weren't superhuman, and though it
may have been considered inappropriate to get erections while
swimming with others, deeming it "inappropriate" didn't
stop them from occurring. I'm guessing I was more worried than most,
considering my track record.

The coach continued, "Never mind the girls. The

only things you should be focusing on right now are your times. I
want to see those relay scores improve. Considering your individual
runs, it ought to be better."

We nodded again and grabbed our towels. As I was

about to sit down, the coach tapped my shoulder, likely because I was
closest to him. I should have kept a distance. "Hey Ryan, run
this over to Coach Bradley. We must have swapped clipboards this
morning. Ask her if she's got mine."

Coach reached out, handing me a clipboard with a

dangling pen, attached to a thread. Several sheets of paper were
tightly clipped to it, and it did look a lot like Coach Peterson's. I
could see how they may have swapped them, but I wasn't thrilled about
returning the item to Coach Amanda Bradley, who was now seated on the
opposite end of the pool, on a bench that was against the wall,
mirroring ours. I started the long walk over.

For those unfamiliar with the size and scope of a

natatorium, allow me to explain. The pool is 25 meters wide (80-ish
feet) and 50 meters long. The diving pool, located at the other end
of the facility, is deep and also large, though not nearly the same
scale as the Olympic pool. Our locker room entrance was situated
somewhat between the two pools, on what was now the girls' side of
the pool.

The distance between our bench and the girls' was

about a hundred feet. Try looking at something from that far away.
You can see it, but you can't make out the details. So from this
distance, the boys weren't too concerned about being seen naked by
the girls. Of course, the boys swimming in the two lanes nearest the
girls' lanes knew they were at risk, to some degree. It was bound to
happen, and I envied those who could manage it, without getting an
erection.

Because now, as I slowly made my way over to the

girl's coach, I felt my penis already twitching. I knew I was doomed,
but I was trying my damndest to think of anything other than girls,
or my nudity. I thought about my math test, the previous week's
baseball scores, and anything else I could come up with, but I knew
if I caught so much as one girl glancing at my package, it was over.
I was already half stiff when I was within twenty feet of Coach
Bradley.

I held the clipboard slightly in front of me, trying

to cover. How I wish we had the same options as the girls and could
wear suits. The women's coach was currently focused on one of the
girls in the water, when she turned to a student on her left, an
attractive brunette. "Make sure we tell Wendy to bring her arms
up more on that forward stroke."

"Excuse me, ma'am? Coach Bradley?" I

stiffly kept the clipboard in place while addressing her.

She looked up, pausing at my chest, before darting

her eyes to my face. "Yes?"

"Coach Peterson asked me to return this

clipboard to you. He thinks he may have swapped his with yours."

"Oh, he did! In my office. I noticed after he

left, but I left his there. I figured we'd get them sorted after
practice."

"Oh, okay," I said, beginning to turn away,

thinking, 'Please let me keep the clipboard, please let me keep the'

"Do you know where my office is?" she

asked. "South Hall, fifth door on the left." That was
further down the hall than Dr. Wynn's office, but I knew where it
was. "It's open. If he needs his clipboard, just go get it."

While walking to the girl's side of the pool, and

being in the direct presence of Coach Amanda Bradley and several of
the female team members, I had somehow managed to keep my willy from
going nilly.

Had it not been for my impeccable effort of

maintaining eye contact, I am certain my rod would have stiffened
faster than Billy the Kid could ever draw his weapon. This was
because, below Coach Bradley's eyes were perhaps the two largest
mammaries I'd ever seen. I noticed it the moment I crossed into the
girl's area, and looked away to keep my mind on other things.

In that brief glimpse, I noticed how the terrible

shape of the school-sanctioned swimsuit made her body looked more
"ballooned" than it likely was, because her legs appeared
to be thin and tone. I dared not risk taking a closer inspection of
her body, and as we engaged our short conversation, I proudly managed
to keep my cool.

It was short lived;

"He probably wants his clipboard, right?"

the coach asked, as I kept staring at her contemplating what I should
do. "Just give me mine, and go fetch it. Come on. Get going,
already." She held out her hand, expecting me to hand over her
clipboard.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Fourth door on the left?"

"No, fifth. Fifth door." She turned to her

student again. "Allison, why don't you just take uh;"

I had not yet surrendered the clipboard, but said,

"No, no, it's okay, I can find it."

"Don't be silly. Allison just gave her lane up

to Mary a few minutes ago. She's got time."

"Oh; well, okay, then," I said, defeated.

The coach thrust her hand out again a

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