To The Showers
The most difficult among the first things required of eighth graders in high school is gym class. Because, after gym, we all take showers together, naked, with everything that had up till now been seen only by God'Me, and is on display for all the horrid boys to look at.
We were all about 13 around this time. And to most 13 year old boys has come the devil of puberty (as I saw her then) and we were on our way to manhood (no manhood jokes, please). I started to "grow" when I was about eleven, and it scared the shit out me. I had been content for all of my life up until then to look like a girl, with a worm. This was normal, the way God intended, I suppose, for me to live out my life, hairless and small was my comfort zone. No one, not Dad (though I should have guessed something was up since I had seen him naked, and he was fully equipped) told me what was coming, and certainly not Mom. When old Gus the puberty angel stuck his wand up my ass, I was not less than flabbergasted.
I cried about it too. It was the end of a good, long eleven year run of boyhood. And now here were hairs growing everywhere (mostly around my dick, for God's sake!) and I noticed my penis getting bigger. This, I was unsure about. It looked nicer. But how long was it was going to grow? And when would it stop?! I was, as you can see, in a panic. I had no one to talk to about it. I suffered greatly.
So, when high school came around and naked showers with other boys were the order of the day, I just about fainted. One kid, Doug, took the first shower in his underpants. But as stupid and ugly as my man-boy set looked, showering in your underwear just was too stupid. Even for me, a truly stupid and confused person.
Gym ended that first day. The boys piled into the locker room and without even looking around to see who might be looking, they started peeling off their clothes with abandon. This perplexed me. They were mostly Christian, but I wondered also, had they seen naked people before? Maybe even a naked girl? I'd seen pictures of course. But these animals were heading towards the showers like they were wearing Sunday go to meeting clothes. Me, my dick, my hair pulled a towel around my waist. What what! What what! I could have run howling and screaming home to Mom. But what would I tell her? That I was the only boy (including underpants boy) not to shower after gym? Mothers don't understand that.
Let me pull back two years for a moment. When I started the process to manhood, Mom caught me crying in my bedroom all about it. She asked what was wrong. I told her and even let her have a very small peek at my problem that was crucifying me. She said that all boys go through that and not to worry about it. That was the only conversation about this, and, well, I did feel a certain comfort in knowing that Mom knew I was dying of puberty. But it didn't help me with the other boys. No one could see my stuff, ever! And when I started to have sex (I knew all about that by then) all I would have to do was squeeze my cousin's bosoms, and then I would get that "good feeling". I looked forward to a full sex life of feeling girls up, pulling their panties off to see what was in them, merging with bosoms, and all of the other regular stuff. Most of all I really looked forward to bosoms, bosoms, bosom!
Back at school; I was now naked with a towel covering me, while all of the other boys ran to the showers. Gee, it was like they were getting a birthday party, or double allowence, not forever exposing their goodies for all the world to see.
Then I noticed the great variety. I came later to understand that at the age of 13 there is much difference between how far along young males have come. Some looked like they were seven years old. Nothing there. Nothing to worry about. Others, the same age, about, looked like my Dad, some even more advanced. Oh God, this worried me even more. I was just me. Not much, but some. But standing there in the damp lockeroom by myself was drawing pointing, and "hey Joe, what's the matter, you scared, you pussy". I didn't want to be naked in front of all of those stupid boys. My stuff belong to me and God, and was not to be put on public display, like a zoot suit, jangling along the sidewalk looking for a good time. Oh, God! What if my penis decided, on its own, with no input from me that it wanted to have a good time. I wasn't a fag. But I could get a boner like playing guitar.
I did the best I could. I draped the towel along my shoulders, down to my waist, covering, but yet not covering, got to a shower, took off the towel, and did my thing. I was mortified. But thankfully, no one else seemed to be paying attention to my horror.
I seemed to be starting a pattern.
Joey Postove
We were all about 13 around this time. And to most 13 year old boys has come the devil of puberty (as I saw her then) and we were on our way to manhood (no manhood jokes, please). I started to "grow" when I was about eleven, and it scared the shit out me. I had been content for all of my life up until then to look like a girl, with a worm. This was normal, the way God intended, I suppose, for me to live out my life, hairless and small was my comfort zone. No one, not Dad (though I should have guessed something was up since I had seen him naked, and he was fully equipped) told me what was coming, and certainly not Mom. When old Gus the puberty angel stuck his wand up my ass, I was not less than flabbergasted.
I cried about it too. It was the end of a good, long eleven year run of boyhood. And now here were hairs growing everywhere (mostly around my dick, for God's sake!) and I noticed my penis getting bigger. This, I was unsure about. It looked nicer. But how long was it was going to grow? And when would it stop?! I was, as you can see, in a panic. I had no one to talk to about it. I suffered greatly.
So, when high school came around and naked showers with other boys were the order of the day, I just about fainted. One kid, Doug, took the first shower in his underpants. But as stupid and ugly as my man-boy set looked, showering in your underwear just was too stupid. Even for me, a truly stupid and confused person.
Gym ended that first day. The boys piled into the locker room and without even looking around to see who might be looking, they started peeling off their clothes with abandon. This perplexed me. They were mostly Christian, but I wondered also, had they seen naked people before? Maybe even a naked girl? I'd seen pictures of course. But these animals were heading towards the showers like they were wearing Sunday go to meeting clothes. Me, my dick, my hair pulled a towel around my waist. What what! What what! I could have run howling and screaming home to Mom. But what would I tell her? That I was the only boy (including underpants boy) not to shower after gym? Mothers don't understand that.
Let me pull back two years for a moment. When I started the process to manhood, Mom caught me crying in my bedroom all about it. She asked what was wrong. I told her and even let her have a very small peek at my problem that was crucifying me. She said that all boys go through that and not to worry about it. That was the only conversation about this, and, well, I did feel a certain comfort in knowing that Mom knew I was dying of puberty. But it didn't help me with the other boys. No one could see my stuff, ever! And when I started to have sex (I knew all about that by then) all I would have to do was squeeze my cousin's bosoms, and then I would get that "good feeling". I looked forward to a full sex life of feeling girls up, pulling their panties off to see what was in them, merging with bosoms, and all of the other regular stuff. Most of all I really looked forward to bosoms, bosoms, bosom!
Back at school; I was now naked with a towel covering me, while all of the other boys ran to the showers. Gee, it was like they were getting a birthday party, or double allowence, not forever exposing their goodies for all the world to see.
Then I noticed the great variety. I came later to understand that at the age of 13 there is much difference between how far along young males have come. Some looked like they were seven years old. Nothing there. Nothing to worry about. Others, the same age, about, looked like my Dad, some even more advanced. Oh God, this worried me even more. I was just me. Not much, but some. But standing there in the damp lockeroom by myself was drawing pointing, and "hey Joe, what's the matter, you scared, you pussy". I didn't want to be naked in front of all of those stupid boys. My stuff belong to me and God, and was not to be put on public display, like a zoot suit, jangling along the sidewalk looking for a good time. Oh, God! What if my penis decided, on its own, with no input from me that it wanted to have a good time. I wasn't a fag. But I could get a boner like playing guitar.
I did the best I could. I draped the towel along my shoulders, down to my waist, covering, but yet not covering, got to a shower, took off the towel, and did my thing. I was mortified. But thankfully, no one else seemed to be paying attention to my horror.
I seemed to be starting a pattern.
Joey Postove
posted by Mr. Liberty at 1:02 PM
2 Comments:
I feel your pain.
(Lame, but that's all I could think of to say).
Back to more puzzling Life questions:
Did Uncle Joe move kinda slow at the Junction because he drank water from the tower the 3 girls bathed in?
There's a topic for your next post, Joe!
~phil
That water was perfumed with the sweet taste of Kate's gals.
I did move kinda slow at the junction because, because of Kate's untimley demise, I wasn't really excited anymore about women.
Except Mrs. Oliver Wendell Douglas!
Yeehaw!...Heehaw!
Joey
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