Like a kid in a candy store, there is nothing better than a guy with a gear fetish finding his way into a high school locker room just before an afternoon football practice. As a high school sophomore it was my first time in that sacred, testosterone filled shrine glorifying the all American boy.
A senior stud and player led me in to pick something up that needed to go in the school's football program. I had to see an assistant coach who was on the phone behind a half closed door when we arrived. I waited just outside next to a long bench against the wall.
To my left were two guys I knew sort of—one I drooled after and the other who today reminds me of Woody Harrelson in a kind of smart ass way. They were looking at some porn rag. I could see a girl and pussy on every page. The drooled over one was sitting on the bench in just his jock strap with a rock hard on jutting straight out parallel to his thighs. It really took me by surprise. I guess I thought I would see naked guys but I never thought I would see an erection or another guy sitting so close, staring at that magazine hovering right over that engorged monument to budding manhood. Fuck I was already at DickCon 2 as my stiffy began to harden uncontrollably.
Just then my senior escort called me over and asked me to spot him on a chest press. I stood nervously over his head, his body sprawled out before me with his chest and shoulders outlined so perfectly by a snug tank top. No matter how much I willed it, the blood just refused to reverse course and back out of my dick. I know he had to notice it. Hell it was right over his head. When he finished I turned to go back to the coach's office but as I did someone called out my name.
I looked around to see where the voice was coming from. Wouldn't you know—it was the open ended shower room. A junior I had known since childhood motioned for me to come over. As I headed in his direction psychological war broke out in my head. Equal parts dread and exhilaration rushed through by body. My wet dream was coming true as I headed into the bastion of masculinity and sexuality—the football team's shower room. Unfortunately I feared everyone—led by my long-time friend—would realize just how excited I was to see them, to see him—stark raving naked with soapy dicks and balls just a swinging. I had to be oozing pre cum—if I wasn't now, I never would be.
The entrance to the shower room was wide open. It wasn't really a room, but more of an end of the locker room with shower heads and tile. See one, see all. So I stood there talking to my friend who was standing at the edge of the room as water and soap dripped off of him and steam swirled around him. The other guys soaped up and goofed off behind him. I just kept saying to myself, "thank god you aren't naked, too." Without denim binding me tight, my 6.5 incher would be searching the sky like a telescope looking for the moon. And man oh man would it have found some moons. We talked awkwardly for what seemed to be an eternity. My blushing nervousness had to be evident to anyone watching. Finally I escaped with images of fucking fine ass studs burned in my mind to this day.
I headed back to the coach's office. His door was open so I stuck my head in and saw him sitting on the side of his desk tying his shoes. He must have just changed because he was wearing khakis when I first saw him. Now, he had on coaches shorts—perhaps the most perfect, form fitting short ever made for men in their prime 30s and 40s who lead impressionable young studs into battle.
Good thing I didn't walk in with his pants at his ankles and ass hugged by the luckiest strap this side of Brett Favre's. I could only take so much. Had that happened, I would have pulled my dick out and jerked right there, consequences be damned. As it was, he was a hot dude with dark brown hair, broad chest and tanned arms and legs with huge fucking thighs. He had often been the object of my fantasy jerks.
I finally got out of there, my semi still intact, and head straight for student parking and my car. Fortunately this was before the days of surveillance cameras every 10 feet. I got in my car, pulled my pants down and inspired by an abundance of erotic images burned into my memory, rubbed out one of the most powerful and explosive orgasms of my then short life. I covered my legs, the steering wheel and a good part of the dash with some of the thickest semen I've ever produced. Months later I was still finding it in cracks and crevices of the car. When I go to a gym locker room today I always have this unnatural fear that I am going to be overtaken like Kim Catrell's character in Porky's—the scene where she has jock strap sniffing, howling sex in the boy's locker room.