I had my first serious male crush on a PE teacher when I was in junior and senior high. I had him for all six grades, because he happened to transfer to the high school the same year I graduated from junior high. He was also an assistant track coach, and I went out for track specifically for that reason. Although some of the PE teachers were arrogant arseholes, he was always encouraging to all the boys and repeatedly voted best teacher.
He was a very hot stud and not unlike Kevin in size and proportions. He was just 22 when he became a PE teacher when I was in seventh grade, having just graduated from college the year before. I also had him for several years in Health because I always made sure I signed up for his classes. My favorite moments in high school were when he would pay individual attention to me during track practice, often walking beside me with an avuncular arm thrown over my shoulder. I've always wondered if he had any inkling of how I felt about him because he was straight and ultimately married. I had all sorts of fantasies about him and another track coach, who was bloody hot, as well.
He now coaches at the college level and I've seen pictures of him occasionally in the media over the years, sometimes alone or sometimes with his son, who attends the same school. In the last one I saw, he was probably about 50 and still looked fantastic. I sent him a congratulatory email once after his team won a championship and said I had been one of his students. He said he remembered me and, so many years later, that reawakened that wonderful fluttery feeling I had back in my high school days. I told him that I still ran and worked out almost every day, although I didn't tell him I took about the five-year hiatus when I turned into a dumpling.
I'm sure I'm not alone in having had a PE teacher as a first crush. In some school somewhere in Los Angeles, Kevin may not realize he's awakening feelings in a whole new generation of men.
Truly a god amongst men...thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteWow ... he is drop-dead gorgeous!!
ReplyDeleteXOXOXO
Very nicely written post... I always find a quotient of imagination at the end of your own story which makes it very interesting...You know how to play around with imagination...
ReplyDeleteKeep it up...and thanks for the wonderful posts daily..I never miss it even from work.
Cheers
.... in dreams.
ReplyDelete- Montana Cowboy
Good post. I can still remember standing in the lunch line next to one of the coaches at my junior high. Now that I think about it, he wasn't that tall - though still taller than me at the time. But he had a great build, and incredible calves. I actually have fairly decent calves as well, probably the only muscle where I seem to have genetics on my side as they pump up nicely :).
ReplyDeleteAnyhow, he was wearing those knit coaches shorts they all seemed to wear back then so his butt looked great, his thighs were taut, and those massive knotted calves were on full display. It was the first time I realized I was checking a guy out and that he knew it, which is funny considering I didn't come out til nearly a decade later. But I knew I was enjoying him being next to me and being able to check him out so well as he went through the line, reaching for items and talking to the lunchroom staff.
It's funny now to wonder what he could possibly have been thinking, aware that this 8th grade kid was eying him. strange memory . . . thanks.
You reckon he doesn't know? Looking at the smile in his eyes, I think he knows exactly the effect he's having. He may not realise it's *guys* he's having an effect on, but on the other hand ... I often wonder why men pose for pictures like this - surely they realise that the stats say it's most likely not women who are looking at pictures on the internet?
ReplyDeleteIn any case, I have my own story about a high school coach I had a crush on. He had the most beautiful legs and arse I'd ever seen, and smelled just the right blend of blokey funk and cheap after shave to make my knob throb every time he was near, and he carried himself like a proud horse. I never got even a finger inside his tight, tight, short shorts - though others did. There were a number of blokes at my school who used to hang around his officer after hours, and it was a badly-kept secret that, when certain guys were with him, his office door would be locked. I was jealous of one of them, a boy with dazzling blue eyes and soft, black hair ... until I discovered he had a crush on me too, and we did something about it.
But the coach ... I left high school in my final year to travel overseas for 12 months, and when I came back to finish high school, the coach was gone. I had an idea he'd left under a cloud, but nobody really wanted to talk about it. I could only imagine what it was.
There's a sad ending to the story. About seven years later, I was in the city, got off a train and needed to use the men's room. And there was the coach, standing at the urinal and obviously interrupted from having beat sex with the bloke standing next to him. I don't think he recognised me, but I was shocked to see how bad he looked. He looked like he'd been through hell; his eyes were dead and sunken, he looked broken and dissipated, and he looked old, well beyond his years. I didn't say anything to him - how do you start a chat with someone standing in a public toilet with his swollen cock in his hand, obviously not far short of cumming? But in the years after, whenever my thoughts have strayed in his direction (and I'm not thinking of him with some of the football players behind his locked door, and my own cock isn't in my hand!), I've often wished I'd said something friendly, whether the timing was good or not. He really looked like he needed someone to, much more than he need another cock up his haughty arse.
Strange, isn't it? I used to think of him, and never getting at what was inside those tight shorts, as a missed opportunity. But since that moment of seeing him mid-wank in a railway station toilet, it's a whole different kind of missed opportunity with him that haunts me.
Well, I can't say my story ranks right up there, but I too was probably oblivous to the obvious gay man blossoming inside of me, and I hated P.E., being a fat kid in Junior High. (I've long since "recovered" from that.) But I vividly recall the day Mr. Morgan, the youngish P.E. teacher, coming out into the student locker room in nothing but a wife beater and tighty whities. It only happned once, but I'll never forget it. (He had a flattop haircut, which I've always found hot too.)
ReplyDeleteThere was just nothing like a PE teacher lining all the boys up, giving all a quick look over, and then shouting out "showers". He would join the line as we ran down and after unlocking his office door he would turn on the gang showers and stand with his hands on his hips. There was no drying room and he did not want want towels out of the shower area so best to say we all put on a good show for Mr. D. Some days he would even have us line up in front of the showers and tell us just the one to stand under! Thanks Coach.
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