Kendra Teaches Swimming

Rockwell Junior College (post graduate high school, as a friend put it) was next to a small river on a group of hills in northern Illinois. On a brilliant autumn day in September of 1970, I opened the door to the gym building. It was the on the highest hill of the group, and the rays of the setting sun slanted bright red and gold through the floor to ceiling glass walls. I headed for the men's locker room, which was supposed to be at the end of the right hallway.

For some reason, Rockwell required all students to take one semester of swimming, even though we'd all had swimming in high school and junior high. The only class that would fit my schedule was 8:00 pm on Wed, the last class of the day. For us males, it would be nude, of course. I could only hope a college p. e. instructor might be different from a high school swim teacher.

Those were universally loathed. They were all ex drill instructors, or had the mentality of same. Barking orders, screaming at us, humiliating us, all the more excruciating because you were naked. They were only concerned with discipline, and if they managed to teach you something about swimming, it was only because the forgot for a moment to check to see if you were standing at attention! They seemed to see us as their nude teenage boy army ready to take on an enemy in an aquatic version of Gettysburg.

I found the men's locker room, the familiar scent of soap, after shave and sweat assailing me. There were 14 other guys already sitting on benches. I recognized a couple of them and nodded. One guy waved me over to him, and I took a seat.

Then I saw them. Two females standing next to the shower room. One was a slightly plump brunette, pretty, large breasts, wearing glasses. She was in a skirt, one of the shorter ones that had become fashionable, and all of us noted her nice legs. She was followed by a slightly taller blonde girl, about the same age, late twenties or so, wearing a red swimsuit that was skin tight. It showed off her curves, and shapely legs, and even a bit of what I would later learn was called camel toe! This blonde was quite pretty, athletic, short hair, lean, muscled legs and nice full, round boobs. She held a clipboard in her hands.

She addressed us.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I count fifteen of you, so you should all be here. And the first thing we must do is make certain you are all in the right place. Your schedules should say P.E. 101S 70902."

"Ok," she said, "let's take roll. Just respond when I call your name."

Of course, I almost missed it when she called my name.

"Ken Harris? Mr. Harris?"

I finally answered.

Roll call finished, she grasped the clipboard to her chest, faintly elevating her breasts, and forcing me to realized finally that I was getting a bit stiff.

"Very well, to complete the introduction, my name is Kendra Anderson. My assistant is Betty Roberts. You should address me us Miss Anderson and Miss Roberts, and we shall address you as Mr. It's important to maintain decorum even when wet."

"I'm twenty eight years old, I hold degrees in p.e., physiology, and psychology, and am a certified lifeguard. Miss Roberts also has a degree in p.e. I will be your teacher for this semester."

"Ok, first things first. I know what you're asking yourselves. And the answer to your question is yes. You will be required to take swimming in the nude. The same as you were in junior high and high school."

There was absolute silence in that room.

"I can tell some of you are a bit nervous about this, even if you won't admit it. Let me assure you there is no need to be. I spent all my college years teaching part time swimming classes at YMCAs, YWCAs, Boys Clubs and schools. Almost all of those classes have been male, and every class was nude. The college refuses to compromise on this—male students have to swim naked."

"Now, you're all big boys here, old enough to be secure in you manhood, but still I realize some of you have never been nude in front of an adult woman before, at least not for an hour at a time. How about a show of hands? How many have had a female swim teacher?"

No hands went up.

"Well, you have my sympathy, for what it's worth. But the fact of the matter is that you will be naked in that pool, with me as your teacher, and Miss Roberts, for one hour a week. I realize you won't like this at first, but you'll get used to it. I found most males 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."

Reluctantly, we all did so.

"Now, open your lockers."

We opened them.

"Now, strip down, put your clothes in the locker, then turn around and face me."

We all looked at each other, confused.

"Hurry up. We haven't got all day. Everything off and in the locker. When you turn around, all I want to see is thirty nuts staring me in the face!"

The rest of it seemed to happen in slow motion. I did my best to avoid removing my pants until the last. The shirt, the shoes, the socks. Finally, the pants. There was no sound but that of belts unbuckling, clothes sliding over flesh, shoes being thrown in lockers. I looked to the guy next to me and his eyes were as wide as mine. There was no sensation but the air wafting around every inch of my now naked body, and my heart hammering away. No thoughts but that this couldn't be really happening. I finally worked up the will to turn around, barely managing to breath again.

She looked at us, and barked a command, "Ok, now I want you all at attention. Put your legs apart, father, a couple of feet, and lock your hands behind your head."

I remember just barely being able to do it, and how it made me feel even more vulnerable. I was actually starting to shake with fear or embarrassment. I was too confused to know which. This was all too much and happening too quickly.

Then, she went to the front of the line, with Miss Roberts in tow, and started walking slowly down it. She stood close to us, no more than two feet or so, hand on her hip, lips pursed, contemplative. She looked each guy in the face, then slowly down the length of his body, pausing to stare, sometimes almost belligerently, other times thoughtfully, at each one's manhood, occasionally allowing a faint smile to cross her face. Some of them were fully hard, but most of us were just too shocked for an erection. She looked at each one, sometimes mumbling to herself, or whispering to Miss Roberts, who was taking notes on a legal pad.

When she got to me, she looked directly into my eyes. She had gorgeous blue eyes, the color of the sky on bright October day. Her eyes moved slowly down my body. From the face, to chest, to abdomen, pausing at my half hard member to smile quite prettily, then down my legs. She noticed me trembling, and touched my arm, telling to calm down, it'll all be ok. She then walked back to the head of the line, told us all to remain at attention, but to turn around. She went down the line again, and I could feel her eyes on my ass.

I was surprised that I had been shaking. I guess it was the combination of her fresh faced beauty, her forceful demeanor and my nudity. I hadn't experienced these things before.

Finally, she backed up and told us we could stand at ease. We all covered our genitals with our hands.

"Well," she said, "most of you seem perfectly healthy. Some of you, maybe too healthy." She shared a smile with Miss Roberts, and they both looked at one of the ones who had been fully hard as he blushed.

Then she gave us the speech. You know, the rules—no horseplay, no running, we obey her orders, etc. Then she outlined the semester. How the class broke down into sections, what we would be learning, Miss Roberts's role (locker room attendant and assistant teacher.) Then, she said she had one more thing to talk about. That we should listen very carefully to this. These were her rules, ones that she had adapted after teaching swimming to nude young males.

She took a deep breath.

"Ok, you're all legal adults, but you're just past teenage years, which means your hormones are still raging. I think male hormones don't stop raging until the age of 50 or so."

We all laughed.

"You may be legally adults, but you're still essentially adolescent males. When an adolescent male finds himself nude in a group, and especially when there is a female present, certain "physiological reactions" often occur." She paused, considering. Then leaned against the door, arms crossed, apparently loosening up a bit.

"Never mind that. You're probably unfamiliar with the term "involuntary erection" anyway. It's what's commonly called a hard on, or a boner, or getting wood, or what ever slang you want to use. It's very, very common among teen aged boys and young men. In every class, and I mean every class I've ever taught, guys have got them. Even adult men sometimes loose control and get them. I have three brothers, one boyfriend, and thousands of naked males I've instructed over the years who all say the same thing, that at your age, it's close to impossible to control. I have no problem believing this."

She walked forward, to a few feet in front of us, hand on her hips, the thin swimsuit covering stretched across semi hard nipples.

"So, here are Miss Anderson' rules for male swim classes. First, all of you put your hands at your side." No one moved. I thought I hadn't heard her properly. Did she tell us to uncover? My brain was racing. I was getting stiffer by the second. Ogling her beautiful butt hadn't helped. I was almost fully hard. I couldn't take my hands away! She'd see.

I looked down the line, where no one was moving, but you could hear the heavy breathing and the room almost shook with our racing pulses.

We all hesitated, so she repeated the command, more forcefully.

And we did it, most of us slowly, turning beet red as we did! I looked down the line, saw guys with deer in the headlights looks. About half were fully erect, including me! The others were half hard, and some were still coming up.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

There was some laughter at this.

"Excuse me, I mean difficult. If you're embarrassed, don't be. I'm just looking at what I saw a few minutes ago. You must always keep your hands at your side. Or behind you, or anywhere else. You are not—repeat NOT!-allowed to cover up. Now, I have a reason for this. If you get involuntary hard, well, no cause for alarm. As I said, it happens. I intend to take no note of it, neither will Miss Roberts. But some of you jokers are show offs. You'll manipulate yourself into a boner just to strut your stuff, and I will NOT ALLOW THAT!"

"I'm sorry, guys. I know most of you will be gentlemen and behave. But if I had a nickel for every horny ape whose come on to me, I could retire now. I expect there to be no lewd comments or innuendo, and keep your hands to yourself."

We all were quiet and still, our hands at our sides, all of us to one degree or another, engorged!.

She turned around, leaning on her left hip. Now we could see again what a fine ass she had. Taught, firm and round. And the suit had begun to ride up the crack of her ass, exposing even more butt cheek.

The half hards became fully stiff, and those of us who were hard began to throb.

She turned around again.

"Ok, lets go over it one more time. No running, no horsing around—you're too old for me to have tell you this, aren't you?- obey me and Miss Roberts, no covering up or touching your own genitals. Or any one else's for that matter. Now, if you'll just get in your birthday suits, Miss Roberts will now give you your locks for your lockers. And I'll see you in the pool."

She was done, and left for the pool, all of us staring at her perky backside as she walked away.

Miss Roberts took over, had us line up for lock assignments. A line of nude young men formed in front of the table where she sat. She would look up at us, smile, making eye contact, handing us a note with a lock combination on it, then her eyes would drop down, always (always!), stopping at our cocks, sometimes smiling to herself.

By the time we got in the pool, the period was nearly over. Miss Anderson blew the whistle and announced free swim. I was so glad to get in that pool, where she couldn't see me, and where the cool water would keep me soft. Hanging on to the side, I saw her standing directly above me. I had never realized how erotic it was to look at a girl from that angle—the shapely legs that became smooth thighs; the triangle between her legs, where camel toe was even more obvious; the ride up her flat stomach to the mounds of her breasts.

Bob, a friend of mine, showed up next to me.

"Christ, do you believe this? A freakin Playboy Centerfold for a teacher and we're all naked."

Even the cold water couldn't stop it. I got a full blown hard on.

She finally blew the whistle, signaling the end of the class, and I swam to the end closest to the locker room, to make a mad dash for the door. I don't care what she said, erections are embarrassing! Once in the door, locker room attendant Miss Roberts saw me, looked at my erection, and wryly smiled while rolling her eyes.

"Mr. Harris, didn't you hear what Miss Anderson said. It's ok to get hard. Perfectly natural for young men."

I stood there with a blank look on my face. I managed to stammer out that it was easy enough for her to say, she wasn't naked.

"No," she said, "and I'm not gonna be; you are, so you'd better get used to it."

She shook her head, slapped me on the butt, and said, "Get dressed and go home."

When the two women were gone, there was a chorus of exclamations—holy shit! Jesus Christ! Wow, man! The general consensus was that Miss Anderson was an incredibly hot babe whom we'd all love to bang. And none of us knew how were going to keep it down in front of her.

Or, as one guy put it, "Hey, she said boners are ok. Let's see if she means it." Everybody laughed at that.

Getting dressed, I tried to sort out what I was feeling and thinking. It reduced to two emotions—embarrassment and excitement, excitement tinged with fear. I understood the embarrassment part; I'd always hated nude swimming in school, a large part of it had to do with the teachers, but the rest was the simple and irrefutable fact that nudity makes you vulnerable. Then there was the fact that she was the authority figure, and she would be clothed. That left no doubt who had the power in this configuration.

It may be almost impossible to believe, but I was an almost twenty one year old virgin. I had never even had a girlfriend. One more reason I hated high school nude swimming was that I was the fat kid, meaning nudity was even more humiliating for me.

I had ballooned up to near 300 lbs, until the year before, at nineteen, I lost weight. I mean a significant amount of weight. Another whole person—125 lbs! I was at the proper weight now, and it had presented a few problems I'd never thought about before. Buying clothes, for example; I'd always had to buy whatever might fit my over sized frame. Now, there were whole racks of clothes that would fit me. What should I buy?

And sex. Let's be blunt here—teenage girls want nothing to do with a fat guy. I guess I could understand that, the choices available to them must have been much more tempting. I used to look at the fat girls and see the same sense of despair on their faces, but I never approached them, either, presuming they'd also reject me. I thus had no idea how to deal with girls on sexual level.

I had developed, almost as a form of defense, a verbal facility. I could talk to pretty much anyone about anything; it was only a matter of adapting to the audience. Except girls, and except about sex.

So, if I knew the nature of the fear part, the simple humiliation of forced nudity (and we couldn't even cover ourselves, for Christ's sake!), but what was this excitement I felt? Was it just her? She could certainly raise our blood pressure. And other things.

We universally considered her to be gorgeous! We all saw that. We all knew a pretty girl when we saw one and I thought I had seen on all those other faces, even the ones flushed with embarrassment, the longing she engendered.

Wait a minute. Judged. That was it! I hit upon what caused the excitement and fear. My pulse went up when I realized what scared and excited me was the fact that I was going to be judged, and on the most basic level possible, by her, while naked! My breath was ragged as considered it. No, it would be like a doctor with his patients, right? They're clinically detached, no matter how many naked bodies they look at.

Then I realized how silly that was. Doctors are only human. They might look at nude female patient with some objectivity, but still, they're people; at a basic level, he would judge her to attractive, unattractive, or somewhere in between. Granted, that information wouldn't be in her file, and probably wouldn't impart that judgment to anyone else, but he would make it, anyway.

And so would she. She'd have to. She was only human.

A beautiful girl was going to see me naked, every goddamned inch of me, in all kinds of positions, and pass judgment on me. God, where would I fit on her scale? Would she look at my pathetically inadequate body and run screaming into the night? She had to have high standards, after all.

And what about erections? She'd probably seen every kind of cock there was, doubtless more than I had. Jesus, I didn't want to get hard in front of her! I think none of us, except the three jocks, who took every opportunity to display their bodies to anyone, did. I knew I didn't have the biggest one in the class, it was fairly average, in fact.

On her scale, I would be toward the bottom. Ranked only slightly higher than an armadillo.

I was getting nauseous just thinking about it.

I got dressed, and as I exited the locker room, I saw her and Miss Roberts walking in front of me, talking about something. I held back, not wanting them to see me or have to talk to them. I watched Miss Anderson walk, and I realized I liked the way she dressed. She was wearing a short (thank you God for the miniskirt!) light blue dress patterned after a Roman toga and simple flats that matched her skirt. I even liked the way she dressed! The skirt accentuated sway of her hips and I realized she was confident enough to wear clothes that actually flattered her.

I waited until they were outside and gone before I left.

The next week was typical, except I saw her one day while in the student union. She came in, dressed in a red miniskirt, the same sensible flats as before, and a white, fitted top. She went over and got a cup of coffee, and while doing so, pulled down the top, accentuating the outline of her boobs. I could feel my cock starting to tingle.

She paid for the coffee, and left. A lot of male heads turned at her passing. Also, a number of females. You didn't need to be an interpretive genius to read the jealousy in those stares.

That Wednesday night, I entered the locker room, stripped, and headed for the showers. I had been thinking about this all week long, and as I got undressed, my stomach was roiling.

Miss Roberts, standing at the entrance to the showers and dressed in a blue swim suit, greeted each of us with a bubbly "Hi" and as would become her custom, dropped her eyes to our cocks, without any hesitation as though she were keeping mental note of who was soft and who was hard, and a few of us already were by that point.

The guy next to me had his hands covering his genitals.

She looked at him and said, "Mr. Williams. Hands."

He blushed and took them away. He was fully hard, one of those that pointed upward to his stomach.

Naked in the showers with the other guys, warm water washing over us, I realized that I, and most of them were at half mast. (I never remembered that happening with male teachers; we were all soft, and stayed that way for the whole class.) At that point, we were thinking of what came next, the long nude march out the shower to the opposite end of the pool; or her; or them. The roll call, probably calisthenics, all of us naked and watched by two women! On the deck was the worst part; open, exposed, and warm. In the water, the water that shriveled everything and cooled it off, would be much easier.