The Swimming Lesson
Posted: Sun Feb 04, 2024 10:21 pm
My primary school had an open-air swimming pool. The thing was awful. Faded blue tiles with a line of black-green mould at the rim from the months, sometimes years, the thing lay there stagnant. We always knew when the school was about to use it because it needed to be disinfected and we could smell the chlorine. The pool was the far side of the playing field, but the smell still carried all that way to the tarmac playground.
Using the thing was a pain for the school staff. They needed to send letters home with the kids to make sure we brought our swimming kits & towels. The weather needed to be acceptable and the on-duty teachers needed to have all the correct first-aid knowledge and training. So it was quite an effort to arrange a swimming lesson.
It had a shed that was used as a changing room. Originally painted black and white, the thing was now a dull grey and sickly cream with paint peeling off it everywhere. The wood inside was permanently soaking wet, covered in mould and cobwebs. The floor was a slippery, freezing cold stone. In short the whole thing was deeply unpleasant. We all loved going swimming.
Why wouldn’t we? Anything that wasn’t ‘normal’ PE or any other usual school lesson was automatically better than anything else. Plus swimming was fun, no matter how heavily chlorinated the water, or how unpleasant the necessary buildings were.
As we settled in Class 2, we’d have been 10-11 years old at the time, we were asked to gather our swim kits and we were all prepared to make the trek across the playground, across the field to the changing shed, but instead the teacher, I forget her name, picked up her book, settled in her chair and instructed us to get changed. Right there and then.
There was a collective gasp from everyone in the classroom. About 20 of us. A mass gasp of “Huh?!”’s and “Wha!?!”’s and we looked panicked around the room and took in what was being asked of us. The teacher didn’t flinch, she just motioned us to continue.
I remember one girl say something along the lines of: “It’s fine. We used to change together all the time in class 1.” Which was true – except we were much younger and we would have been changing into our PE kits – which meant keeping our underwear on.
Still, after another instruction from the teacher, we all started undressing.
I was panicked. The classroom was split into a number of tables. 4-6 kids per table and an even number of boys to girls at each table. At my table the other boy, Robbie, was away. Leaving me alone, facing down Katie and Heather. As I sat, pulling off my shoes and socks, I tried to think of a way I could undress without exposing my privates to the two girls who were now rapidly dressing presumably so they could focus their attention on me and the other rapidly denuding boys in the classroom.
The girls, of course, were experts at this task, and were perfectly adapted to doing it. They all just slipped their knickers off from under their skirts and then whether they had one or two piece suits, they could don their bottoms and then they just had to be bare chested for a few moments. Which for kids their age was no big deal. Us boys, on the other hand, were far less adept at doffing our clothes, and wearing far less practical clothing.
We did have towels, however, and a number of boys either sat with the towels over their laps, or wrapped them around themselves before removing their underwear. I was not confident that I could secure the towel around my waist, and having it draped over my waist left it very vunerable to being snatched away - so instead I made the choice, as did a few other boys, to stand and pin the towel under my chin so it draped down infront of me.
I glanced over at the teacher as I drew my underpants down, fully aware that they were getting a full view of my bare bottom. But they were reading their book. Or at least I thought they were – to this day I’m unsure why she made this choice – we would go on to take our clothes with us to the changing shed at the pool and dress there, and this would be the only time any of us would be asked to change for swimming in a classroom. Were they really just not bothered about out privacy or did she have some other nefarious goal?
I successfully pulled my underpants off my feet while keeping my towel pinned in place under my chin, draping down over my chest and dangling down to my knees. I reached over to grab my bright red swim trunks. By now both Katie and Heather were finished and watching me intently. There were other laughs and squeals from elsewhere in the classroom but I could barely pull my eyes away from the stares of the two girls stood opposite me as I manoeuvred my trunks over one of my feet. But as I did, I lost my balance. I dipped sharply to one side, had to stamp my foot down on the ground – pinning my trunks under it, and the shock caused my towel to slip from under my chin and fall to the floor.
My shock was such that I barely heard the initial squeal from Heather. I froze. Instead of bending down and correcting the situation, instead I looked up at the two girls, no doubt with pure panic in my eyes. Kate had gripped Heather’s arm and both were pointing and laughing at my now exposed, bare, bald, little willy. I quickly turned to look at the teacher, somehow expecting her to come over and help, but she was still reading her book (or at least making it look as though she was) I had to fix this problem myself. And quickly.
I didn’t bother grabbing my towel. Instead I bent down and tried to pull my trunks up. But they were still pinned under my foot so my first few tugs did nothing but leave me bent over with my bottom presented to the teacher, and my bare skin exposed to the whole classroom. At least bent over like this, my little dick was mostly hidden away.
I have no idea how many people saw me in that state. Completely naked in the classroom, my one bit of clothing stuck under my foot and my towel pooled infront of me, useless on the floor. The anxiety of the situation shrunk my whole world down to just my trunks and the two laughing girls and the sensation of cool air over my most private parts. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.
Finally I unpinned the suit from under my foot. Panicked and not thinking straight my instinct was to pull the trunks up to my knee and then manoeuver my other foot into the hole. It would have probably been quicker to put both feet in before pulling them up, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and one-leg-at-a-time was how I was used to dressing
So for several unbelievably long, agonizing seconds I was stood on one leg, desperately trying to fit my other foot into my trunks as I held them at knee-height. Meaning my exposed willy was dangling and jiggling in all sorts of directions all for the pleasure of the two girls opposite me. I could have probably fixed the situation quicker if I'd have looked at my trunks, but instead my eyes were locked on the laughing faces of the two girls.
After several attempts I finally did it. Finally slipping the bright red garment up and tucking my penis away into the tiny garment. I turned away, gasping in panic, and trying to calm down as my shaking hands picked up my towel and went to put it and my clothes into my kit bag. My face was burning and I could only look down at the desk.
I don’t remember much about the rest of the lesson. Or of that day. I remember the giggles from Kate and Heather that continued for pretty much the remainder of the school year, and I remember the feel and sound of the towel falling to the floor, the sensation of empty space surrounding my genitals, and the pointing and laughing of the girls, all of which still appear occasionally in my dreams. It was a moment in time burned into my memory, formed of intense emotion.
Whether this experience helped formulate my fascination with this particular kink, who can say? Maybe I’d turn out this way regardless of the experience. But either way, it was a double edged sword. While this kind of situation is certainly one I desire greatly in my fantasies, it was a particularly stressful thing to actually experience. Given the wisdom of years, I don’t regret it. But at the time I would have done anything to have just been able to think straighter and make better choices, and keep my penis out of the gaze of those two girls. And whoever else saw me.
Using the thing was a pain for the school staff. They needed to send letters home with the kids to make sure we brought our swimming kits & towels. The weather needed to be acceptable and the on-duty teachers needed to have all the correct first-aid knowledge and training. So it was quite an effort to arrange a swimming lesson.
It had a shed that was used as a changing room. Originally painted black and white, the thing was now a dull grey and sickly cream with paint peeling off it everywhere. The wood inside was permanently soaking wet, covered in mould and cobwebs. The floor was a slippery, freezing cold stone. In short the whole thing was deeply unpleasant. We all loved going swimming.
Why wouldn’t we? Anything that wasn’t ‘normal’ PE or any other usual school lesson was automatically better than anything else. Plus swimming was fun, no matter how heavily chlorinated the water, or how unpleasant the necessary buildings were.
As we settled in Class 2, we’d have been 10-11 years old at the time, we were asked to gather our swim kits and we were all prepared to make the trek across the playground, across the field to the changing shed, but instead the teacher, I forget her name, picked up her book, settled in her chair and instructed us to get changed. Right there and then.
There was a collective gasp from everyone in the classroom. About 20 of us. A mass gasp of “Huh?!”’s and “Wha!?!”’s and we looked panicked around the room and took in what was being asked of us. The teacher didn’t flinch, she just motioned us to continue.
I remember one girl say something along the lines of: “It’s fine. We used to change together all the time in class 1.” Which was true – except we were much younger and we would have been changing into our PE kits – which meant keeping our underwear on.
Still, after another instruction from the teacher, we all started undressing.
I was panicked. The classroom was split into a number of tables. 4-6 kids per table and an even number of boys to girls at each table. At my table the other boy, Robbie, was away. Leaving me alone, facing down Katie and Heather. As I sat, pulling off my shoes and socks, I tried to think of a way I could undress without exposing my privates to the two girls who were now rapidly dressing presumably so they could focus their attention on me and the other rapidly denuding boys in the classroom.
The girls, of course, were experts at this task, and were perfectly adapted to doing it. They all just slipped their knickers off from under their skirts and then whether they had one or two piece suits, they could don their bottoms and then they just had to be bare chested for a few moments. Which for kids their age was no big deal. Us boys, on the other hand, were far less adept at doffing our clothes, and wearing far less practical clothing.
We did have towels, however, and a number of boys either sat with the towels over their laps, or wrapped them around themselves before removing their underwear. I was not confident that I could secure the towel around my waist, and having it draped over my waist left it very vunerable to being snatched away - so instead I made the choice, as did a few other boys, to stand and pin the towel under my chin so it draped down infront of me.
I glanced over at the teacher as I drew my underpants down, fully aware that they were getting a full view of my bare bottom. But they were reading their book. Or at least I thought they were – to this day I’m unsure why she made this choice – we would go on to take our clothes with us to the changing shed at the pool and dress there, and this would be the only time any of us would be asked to change for swimming in a classroom. Were they really just not bothered about out privacy or did she have some other nefarious goal?
I successfully pulled my underpants off my feet while keeping my towel pinned in place under my chin, draping down over my chest and dangling down to my knees. I reached over to grab my bright red swim trunks. By now both Katie and Heather were finished and watching me intently. There were other laughs and squeals from elsewhere in the classroom but I could barely pull my eyes away from the stares of the two girls stood opposite me as I manoeuvred my trunks over one of my feet. But as I did, I lost my balance. I dipped sharply to one side, had to stamp my foot down on the ground – pinning my trunks under it, and the shock caused my towel to slip from under my chin and fall to the floor.
My shock was such that I barely heard the initial squeal from Heather. I froze. Instead of bending down and correcting the situation, instead I looked up at the two girls, no doubt with pure panic in my eyes. Kate had gripped Heather’s arm and both were pointing and laughing at my now exposed, bare, bald, little willy. I quickly turned to look at the teacher, somehow expecting her to come over and help, but she was still reading her book (or at least making it look as though she was) I had to fix this problem myself. And quickly.
I didn’t bother grabbing my towel. Instead I bent down and tried to pull my trunks up. But they were still pinned under my foot so my first few tugs did nothing but leave me bent over with my bottom presented to the teacher, and my bare skin exposed to the whole classroom. At least bent over like this, my little dick was mostly hidden away.
I have no idea how many people saw me in that state. Completely naked in the classroom, my one bit of clothing stuck under my foot and my towel pooled infront of me, useless on the floor. The anxiety of the situation shrunk my whole world down to just my trunks and the two laughing girls and the sensation of cool air over my most private parts. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.
Finally I unpinned the suit from under my foot. Panicked and not thinking straight my instinct was to pull the trunks up to my knee and then manoeuver my other foot into the hole. It would have probably been quicker to put both feet in before pulling them up, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and one-leg-at-a-time was how I was used to dressing
So for several unbelievably long, agonizing seconds I was stood on one leg, desperately trying to fit my other foot into my trunks as I held them at knee-height. Meaning my exposed willy was dangling and jiggling in all sorts of directions all for the pleasure of the two girls opposite me. I could have probably fixed the situation quicker if I'd have looked at my trunks, but instead my eyes were locked on the laughing faces of the two girls.
After several attempts I finally did it. Finally slipping the bright red garment up and tucking my penis away into the tiny garment. I turned away, gasping in panic, and trying to calm down as my shaking hands picked up my towel and went to put it and my clothes into my kit bag. My face was burning and I could only look down at the desk.
I don’t remember much about the rest of the lesson. Or of that day. I remember the giggles from Kate and Heather that continued for pretty much the remainder of the school year, and I remember the feel and sound of the towel falling to the floor, the sensation of empty space surrounding my genitals, and the pointing and laughing of the girls, all of which still appear occasionally in my dreams. It was a moment in time burned into my memory, formed of intense emotion.
Whether this experience helped formulate my fascination with this particular kink, who can say? Maybe I’d turn out this way regardless of the experience. But either way, it was a double edged sword. While this kind of situation is certainly one I desire greatly in my fantasies, it was a particularly stressful thing to actually experience. Given the wisdom of years, I don’t regret it. But at the time I would have done anything to have just been able to think straighter and make better choices, and keep my penis out of the gaze of those two girls. And whoever else saw me.