My Underwear Fetish
My personal fetish today is looking at guys in any kind of underwear. I'm partial to briefs. I love seeing guys with boners in their underwear. The tents that they make are really what turns me on. My fascination began in gym class. Seeing guys in the jock straps was a real turn on. When I was eighteen, a high school senior, we got a new gym teacher. Greg was fresh out of college and there was something about him that made me want to make him like me from the first day of class. I didn't know what it was at first. I just liked everything about him, from his handsome face to his voice.
He moved with a grace and just watching him walk across the gym stirred me with longing. I chose to play soccer but was not very good at it. Before one practice session, Greg called me aside. He had some suggestion and wanted me to think about changing my sport. I stood in front of him, in my sneakers and regulation gym clothes, panting and sweating, gasping for air from having just run four times around the track, a mile in all, in four minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Greg stood staring at his stopwatch. Most of the class was over a lap behind me, including a few soccer jocks who had jeered me the week before for not coming near the ball when I finally did make it on the court to play. But I was a good runner. I always left the other guys far behind when we did laps.
"What's your name?" Greg asked me. "Bob, but my friends call me Lightning -- Light for short." I said, just beginning to catch my breath. "Light, as in faster-than-the-speed-of," he said, confirming the nickname I got in the neighborhood for being able to outrun everybody, and the fact that I ran everywhere, even to the store. "Come here Light" Greg said. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me his suggestion. He said I was a half decent soccer player but that he wanted to make a track star out of me. I said, "OK, whatever." He hugged me so tightly that my face was crushed against the metal whistle that hung on a silver chain around his strong neck. He rubbed my hair vigorously. I hated when my relatives did that but it was different when Greg did it. I smelled his body, as my nose brushed against the black hair on his chest, which ran high up and shown at the open neck of his shirt. So with that, I joined the track team.
There were only five guys on the high school cross-country team. In after-school practice, Greg ran along with us. Greg had been a miler in college but told us he wasn't built for it, and had never been very good. His legs were too muscular, he said. I thought his legs and his whole muscular body were beautiful. Maybe he didn't have "a runner's body", but to me, it was perfect. I had seen it when he showered with us after work-outs. He seemed self-conscious, but a little proud . . . . .
Click here for the rest of the story
|
|
