Seventh Grade Swim Class, 1967

[Lord Byron]

Seventh Grade
By Childe Harold

Barryport High School
Barryport, Wisconsin
Sept 11, 1967 4:00 PM

The boy's locker room in Barryport High School—which comprised both junior and senior high grades—was typical: sand colored ceramic tile; four rows of lockers with benches in front of them; an open shower room with six shower heads on each side and soap dispensers beneath; a continuation of the shower room itself, but without showers, and with two four foot long pipes on the floor, each with holes along the length; and a final open area with a door labeled “Pool” at the rear. Toilets were in a separate room off the locker area. The air was humid, smelling of disinfectant, soap, and chlorine from the pool—generic locker room scent.

The twenty boys seated on the bench regarded the woman in front of them with varying degrees of awe, some open mouthed, others bug eyed, some just silently staring. All their eyes were on her boobs, occasionally straying to her face, equally fascinated.

She sighed inwardly, noting that that 7th grade boys in 1967 were the same as 7th grade boys in 1966, but with slightly longer hair and more bell bottom jeans. And obsessed with boobs.

Barton Halverston, age twelve-nearly-thirteen, gaped at her. Who is she?, he thought. His eyes swept her from top to bottom. Her hair was almost blonde, cut short in shag style; her eyes were incredible, the soft blue of an October sky; her skin was slightly tanned; her lips, slender, the mouth finely drawn. Even her neck caught his attention, a pedestal for the face that absorbed him. She was wearing a red swim suit. It was cut low in the front, exposing the curves of her breasts. He was mesmerized by them, their size (large, but not excessive), their perfect round shape, the way they expanded when she inhaled. He followed the outline of her downward, where it angled in at the center of the hourglass, then blossomed out into wide, female hips. The swimsuit was cut high on the sides, exposing more flesh. The skin on her legs was perfect, almost a creamy complexion. The well defined thigh muscles bulged slightly as she shifted her weight to her left hip.

Sitting three boys down from Bart was John March. Taller, lankier, with blonde hair, he stared at the triangle between her legs, noting the faint outline of a vertical slit he would later learn was called “camel toe”.

She knew what she was going to say, just waiting for them to finish the introductory ogling she got from every new freshmen class. Finally, they seemed to be looking at her face, so she took the opportunity and began to speak.

She pulled out a clipboard, and took the roll, calling twenty names, all of whom responded.

She explained that this was 7th period introductory swim class for freshmen boys. The class would be broken into two semesters, would consist of learning the essentials of water safety, testing for competence, basic strokes, diving, and a final at the end of each semester. Her name was Karen Anderson; she was 25 years old, held a bachelors in physical education and psychology, was working toward a masters. She was to be addressed as Mrs. Anderson. Next to her was Nancy Boone, who was to be addressed as Miss Boone. Miss Boone would act as her assistant.

The boys had barely noticed the slightly slender brunette next to Mrs. Anderson. She was a bit taller, dark hair held back in a pony tail, dark brown eyes, a pretty face and nice smile. Dressed in the same red suit, displaying a nice pair of perky breasts and curvy legs.

Their eyes shifted back to Karen.

“Ok,” she asked, “how many of you boys have been swimming at the YMCA or Boy's Club?”

Four hands went up. She picked Nick Lassandro, the dark complexioned Greek boy, and asked him what he had worn.

Nick's face turned almost red as he replied, “Nothing.”

Every one laughed at this, and she allowed herself to smile.

“Did you ever have a female lifeguard or teacher?” she asked.

He could only shake his head no.

“Well, then,” she said, trying to be as positive as possible, “this will be a new experience for you!”

Time to drop the bomb.

“The Barryport school board has a long standing policy by which all male students are required to take swim classes in the nude. What that means is that for the next six years, for one hour a week, you will be naked in that pool with Miss Boone and I teaching you swimming.”

Her voice, Bart thought, her voice is so....wait a minute? What did she just say?

She had trained herself not to smile during this part of the speech. She knew to wait ten seconds or so for the import to set in.

There was absolute silence in the locker room, the only sound was the background hissing of the girl's showers next door. Two boys finally giggled, slapping each other on the back; two looked like they'd just gone into shock. The rest were a mixture of bulging eyes, blank stares, and gaping mouths. Some just stared off into space. At least they weren't staring at her boobs anymore.

“I can tell that some of you are a bit concerned about this. Well, you have my sympathy, for what it's worth. But the fact of the matter is that you will be bare in that pool, with me as your teacher, and Miss Boone, for one hour a week and we will see every inch of your bodies. I realize you won't like this at first, but you'll get used to it. I found most boys are a bit embarrassed at first, but after a few weeks it works out. So, let's start getting accustomed to the idea right now. I want you all to stand up and turn around."

Slowly, they did so, realizing this was a command.

“Now, take note of the locker number in front of you. Miss Boone will need it when she passes out the locks. Put your books in the locker, then strip. Take everything off, close the locker, then turn around and face me.”

No one moved.

“Boys,” she said, “that wasn't a suggestion; it was an order. Get your butts bare! When you turn around, all I want to see is twenty penises and forty testicles staring me in the face!”

Nancy suppressed a laugh.

Penises, testicles, Karen thought. Like thirteen year old boys would know what those are. She preferred the simple dicks or cocks, and nuts or balls, but if she used terms the boys knew, it would somehow get back to the parents, who would complain about “vulgar” language. Mustn't use “vulgar” language in front of their naked sons! Anyway, she wasn't being vulgar or coarse; she had to deal with naked boys all day, and she couldn't afford the luxury of sanitized, clinical language. It had to be words they understood.

Slowly, as though moving through fog, they started to strip. Bart looked at Tim Snell, the boy next to him. He was on the heavy side, with short cut brown hair, glasses, and a usually broad smile. He wasn't smiling. Bart could see the pupils of his eyes were dilated. They took off the shoes and socks first. Delaying the inevitable, Bart took off his shirt next, then his pants, then his t shirt, and finally, his underwear.

He stared at the closed locker for a good twenty seconds, certain he could feel the two women's eyes boring into his bare ass, before he could turn around. He put his hands over his genitals, staring at the wall, carefully avoiding eye contact with the women. On an impulse, he looked down the line. All the boys but one, Hank Banfield, at the end of the line, covered themselves. Hank had his hands behind him, a slight smile on his face.

Karen inhaled. Time to drop the second bomb!, she thought.

“Boys, it doesn't seem as though we'll actually get to swim today,” she said, looking at her watch. “We've used up too much time on the preliminaries. I do, however, need to cover a couple more points. These are Mrs. Anderson's rules for boys' swim classes. You either obey them, or make the acquaintance of the Board of Education.”

All eyes shifted to Miss Boone, who was holding a two foot long wooden paddle with holes bored through it. There was a wicked smile on her face.

“If you violate my rules, which are also the school board's rules, the Board of Education will be applied to your naked butts with sufficient force to propel you across several state lines and render your back side a boiled lobster, blister laden pink. Do you understand?”

Everyone nodded.

“Ok, no towel snapping in the locker room. It's more dangerous than you think. A couple of years ago, one senior boy got mistakenly hit in his sack with a wet towel and had to go to the hospital. Miss Boone will be monitoring the locker room. In the pool itself, no running,” she held up a finger as each point was made, “no horseplay, do not push another boy into the water, do not enter the water until I tell you, keep your hands to yourself.”

Bombs away!

“And no covering up. Your are required to be nude for class. Nude means no clothing and no covering up. So, you must keep your hands at your side or behind your backs at all times!!”

She paused again.

“I can see that only one of you understands this, so I want you to do this--everyone put your hands behind your head, and spread your legs apart.”

No one moved.

“Don't make me repeat myself or my friend the board will visit us. Do it now!”

Slowly, hands moved behind heads, legs spread. Bart thought, I'm naked; I'm naked and two girls are looking at my willy!! He had never been naked in front of adult women before; even his mother hadn't seen him nude for years. He stared at the wall, eyes straight ahead, distracting himself with the fantasy that he could stare it into a crumbled mass of stone.

“The reason I am so adamant about this rule is that boys your age like to touch themselves way too much. And I won't allow this in my class! Understood? You are not to cover or touch your own genitals, or any other boys' for that matter. If you want to masturbate, do it at home, not here.”

She paused to look at them. Twenty naked twelve and thirteen year old boys. She'd seen so many, they all looked the same. With the exception of Nick, their flesh was the bleached white of a dead fish; their bodies were proportioned wrong, the legs too long; their butts looked like two mounds of mashed potatoes; they had small pieces of flesh, like Vienna sausages, between their legs, and what sacks she could see seemed to have two marbles in them. At least they were all circumcised, so a foreskin check wouldn't be necessary. She wondered if they knew what was meant by the word masturbation.

“The pose you're in is called naked parade rest. Every now and then, we'll ask you to assume this pose for one reason or another, but for now, you can put you hands down. At your side, remember!”

Arms came slowly down, and legs closed.

“Now, let me explain what will happen next week, during our first real class. You go to your locker, strip, lock the locker. Behind me are the showers. You take a shower and soap up really well. Clean every part of your body, and I mean every part, before you rinse off. Especially clean your butt hole; there will be an inspection before you enter the pool. Once you've showered, rinse off all the soap. Next, you see that long pipe in the floor just past the showers? That's called the trough. It shoots a fine spray upward. It's for washing your boy parts. Just spread your legs and walk over it. Once you've done that, line up in front of the door, and I or Miss Boone will open it for you. Once inside, the first thing you do is put your hands behind your head do a full three sixty turn; that's so we can see if you have any soap left on you and so you can duck back into the shower and rinse it off if necessary. Then, line up single file against the wall. When we tell you to do so, turn around, bend over and spread your cheeks so we can do a quick anal inspection. Once that's done, we'll take roll and begin the class. Any questions?”

One boy raised his hand timidly and asked, “What's a anal inspection?”

Nancy, who had smiled when she heard “boy parts”, rolled her eyes at this.

Karen looked down the line of naked boys, and pointed to Bart. “Would you come here, please?” she asked.

Bart's insides froze. He looked at the boy next to him, but realized she meant him! He managed to walk without stumbling, acutely aware of his nudity and of his dick wobbling as he did so. He stopped in front of her. His eyes were level with her nose. He didn't dare make eye contact. His entire body was goose pimples. Her perfect skin, the slender lips, the full rack of boobs was no more than two feet from him! He was having trouble breathing properly. He caught a whiff of her perfume, and he suddenly felt something completely new—a tingling in his dick!

She asked his name, and he manged to croak it out.

She put her hands on his shoulder and smiled at him, “It's ok. Relax. We don't bite.”

“Now, Bart, I want you to bend over at the hips until your head is as far down as it will go,” she said, pushing him down gently. She bent forward, taking each of his hands in hers, which sent a slight shock wave through him, and put one on each side of his butt. “Now, lift up and pull them apart”. She pulled his hands to the proper position.

Addressing the boys, she said, “This is what we call an anal inspection. Anus is the proper term for your butt hole. I or Miss Boone will take a flashlight and visually inspect you to make sure you're clean and have no soap in the crack. A thousand students a week use this pool and it's important that we keep out as much bacteria and soap as possible.”

Bart's brain was racing, trying to process what was happening. He felt the cold air on his butt crack. He was naked, his butt hole on display to nineteen other boys and two pretty, adult women!! His breathing was labored, and he knew he was sweating. Through his legs, he could see Miss Boone behind him. She was examining his crack with a penlight flashlight!!

Karen finally told him to stand up.

She moved around in front of him. She saw his face was flushed, the jaw muscles tight; he was breathing heavily and his eyes seemed unfocused. He was obviously, intensely, embarrassed! She felt a pang of guilt, which she assuaged by reminding herself she didn't formulate policy, the school board did, and she was just an employee. Then felt another slight pang when she remembered every Nazi had said something similar.

“Bart,” she said, moving his chin so that their eyes met, “thank you for your assistance. You can go now.” Then, she leaned in and whispered to him, “It's ok. Trust me. You'll get used to it.”

Bart got back in line, his eyes still unfocused, as Karen addressed the boys.

“Ok, boys, we have...”, she looked at the wall clock, “fifteen minutes left. Just enough time for Miss Boone to give you your locker assignments. Then you can get dressed, and wait for the bell. I'll see you next week.”

He watched her walk away. Her swim suit had bunched up between her butt cheeks, exposing them both. He was fascinated by the way they changed shape as she walked, from perfectly round to oval, the slight convex depressions on each side appearing and disappearing as the muscles flexed themselves then relaxed.

Butt cheeks? He thought cheeks were on the face. Where did butt cheeks come from?

He felt that strange tingling in his dick again. He looked down at it and it seemed longer!! He almost moved his hands to touch it, then remembered the lecture and the Board of Education.

Miss Boone sat down on a bench, a cardboard box and a clipboard next to her. She ordered the boys to form a line in front of her.

Reluctantly, they lined up in front of her, single file, each keeping his eyes straight ahead and a couple of feet between him and the next boy, all with hands at their sides.

Nancy stood beside them, reviewing the line.

“Boys, I want a tighter line,” she said, as she pushed the second boy up against the first, his chest flat against the other's back, the stomach into the small of his back, and hips into hips. “Let the other boy know you're there, skin to skin,” she ordered as she walked down the queue, nestling bodies into bodies.

Bart was third in line, and when she pushed him up against the boy in front, a jolt went through both of them; he felt his dick and balls shoved into the boy's buttocks. Another jolt when he felt something make contact with his back. He sensed the rise and fall of breathing, someone's chest. And something rather soft and squishy made contact with his butt—the dick and balls of the kid behind him! He wasn't embarrassed; he felt a sense of shock, confusion, but he maintained the position. And that strange tingling in his dick had returned. What is that?, he wondered.

Nuts to butts. That's what one of the male gym teachers had called it. Karen had told her to do this with the boys. They were going to have to come to accept their public nudity, and to speed up that process, a little flesh to flesh contact would help break down barriers.

She called the first boy forward, recorded his locker number and name, gave him a combination lock, and the combination on a slip of paper. She looked up directly into his face as he spoke his name, then her eyes moved down his body, stopping briefly at his genitals, before she handed him the lock and combination. Karen had told her to do this as well. These boys had to get used to the idea that two women were going to supervise their naked asses for an hour at a time. A direct gaze at their genitals was a reminder that they couldn't hide anything from them.

Bart stepped forward, glad to break contact with the boy behind him. She looked up at him, then at his genitals. She couldn't suppress the smile. The little devil's hard, she thought. His nub of a dick, maybe three inches long, was sticking out and actually throbbing! She made a mental note to keep a watch over him, wondering how his pea sized balls could supply enough testosterone for a boner.

Bart took the lock and got to his locker as fast as possible. He hadn't dared to look down while standing in front of her, but at his locker, with the door open to block everyone's view, he examined his dick. It seemed to be bigger than before, sticking out, and not as soft. There was a drop of clear fluid on the end, and he wiped it off. He got dressed as quickly as possible. But his dick was still stiff, pushing out on his pants. He didn't know what to do, so he put his hand in his left pants pocket, grabbed it and pulled it to the side, where it was less visible.

Finally, the bell rang, and hand in pocket, he exited as fast as possible.

As he walked out into a warm fall day, Tim Snell caught up with him.

“Man, this is pure homo,” he said. “We gotta be naked with two girls watching us?”

Bart asked what he meant by the homo reference.

“Didn't you feel something on your butt while we were lined up? I did,” he said, almost shivering. '”You'll get used to it,'” he mimicked Karen, in a sing-song voice. “Not me, man; I aint no homo. I don't like this.”

Bart didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't clarify what he was felling—anticipation, fear, and a curious bit of excitement.

But he know that in a day full of shocks, this had been the worst.

[Massageguy]

Good stuff. Hope you'll continue!