My underwear fetish

My personal fetish today is looking at guys in any kind of underwear. I'm partial to briefs. I love seeing guys with boners in their underwear. The tents that they make are really what turns me on. My fascination began in gym class. Seeing guys in the jock straps was a real turn on. When I was eighteen, a high school senior, we got a new gym teacher. Greg was fresh out of college and there was something about him that made me want to make him like me from the first day of class. I didn't know what it was at first. I just liked everything about him, from his handsome face to his voice. 

He moved with a grace and just watching him walk across the gym stirred me with longing. I chose to play soccer but was not very good at it. Before one practice session, Greg called me aside. He had some suggestion and wanted me to think about changing my sport. I stood in front of him, in my sneakers and regulation gym clothes, panting and sweating, gasping for air from having just run four times around the track, a mile in all, in four minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Greg stood staring at his stopwatch. Most of the class was over a lap behind me, including a few soccer jocks who had jeered me the week before for not coming near the ball when I finally did make it on the court to play. But I was a good runner. I always left the other guys far behind when we did laps.

"What's your name?" Greg asked me. "Bob, but my friends call me Lightning -- Light for short." I said, just beginning to catch my breath. "Light, as in faster-than-the-speed-of," he said, confirming the nickname I got in the neighborhood for being able to outrun everybody, and the fact that I ran everywhere, even to the store. "Come here Light" Greg said. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me his suggestion. He said I was a half decent soccer player but that he wanted to make a track star out of me. I said, "OK, whatever." He hugged me so tightly that my face was crushed against the metal whistle that hung on a silver chain around his strong neck. He rubbed my hair vigorously. I hated when my relatives did that but it was different when Greg did it. I smelled his body, as my nose brushed against the black hair on his chest, which ran high up and shown at the open neck of his shirt. So with that, I joined the track team.

There were only five guys on the high school cross-country team. In after-school practice, Greg ran along with us. Greg had been a miler in college but told us he wasn't built for it, and had never been very good. His legs were too muscular, he said. I thought his legs and his whole muscular body were beautiful. Maybe he didn't have "a runner's body", but to me, it was perfect. I had seen it when he showered with us after work-outs. He seemed self-conscious, but a little proud too, of being so hairy. Even before I saw him in the shower for the first time, I remember finding his crotch captivating, the way it strained at the fabric of his shorts. In the shower, I noticed that his balls were very large, which were the reason for the bulge in his shorts. His dick was a nice size. What I liked most though was the thick bush of public hair that ran right up his chest. 

My own pubic hair was still not fully grown out and I prayed that I'd grow a quarter of what Greg had. I had daydreams about Greg in his gym shorts, walking up to me. I would drop to my knees and he would let me feel his legs and bury my face in his crotch.

Greg acted very differently during cross-country practice compared with the way he acted in gym class. He was much quieter on our runs, running along with us, or giving pointers on running style. Teaching gym class required that he maintain discipline. But I could tell he wasn't the kind of rigid person that gets off on giving orders. It was obvious to all of us in his gym class, that he was only strict because the other teachers probably told him it was the only way a teacher in his first year could act, unless he wanted his students to think they could get over on him. 

After a few months I had gotten to know him well enough to tease him a little about his drill sergeant act in gym class, not in front of other students of course. He took my ribbing in stride. Sometimes it was only a fleeting exchange of glances between us, an understanding that people who are close to each other develop after a while, but I could tell he liked me and understood me, even if I didn't understand myself at the time.

Since there were only five guys on the cross-country team, Greg drove us to out-of-town meets in his own car. I always sat in front next to Greg, on the hump, because I was the smallest, but I really liked sitting there just to be next to him. The sight of his hairy arms on the steering wheel gave me a sense of security. When we went around curves, our sides and legs would often touch. This physical contact, which he probably didn't even notice, was lighting the fires of a passion like I've never known since. I jerked off regularly and the only fantasy person I could think of was Greg. He was driving me insane and if I hadn't had running to keep my emotions level, I probably would have killed myself or gone mad.

Greg was married. His wife came to some of the local meets, always carrying a book with her to read. She wore thick glasses and looked intellectual. She was an odd wife for a gym teacher, but Greg wasn't your average gym teacher. He probably picked her because she had brains.

That year, the State finals were held a small town downstate. I was the only guy from our school to qualify and Greg called my parents to get permission to drive me to the meet, and spending a night over in a motel since it was a 3 hour drive, each way. My father liked Greg a lot because if his job, he was away a lot and thought he was a good influence on me. He used to say, "Greg is a real man's man." So he gave his permission.

At the meet I didn't fulfill the early promise to myself for becoming a star marathoner. For one thing, I didn't have the drive to push myself to extremes in training. Greg could see this. I enjoyed running and Greg was instrumental in teaching me that running was for both for mental and physical fitness, not just to win. 

When I crossed the course finish line in 6th place at the State finals, Greg ran up, put his arm around my shoulder and said "Light, you did just fine, now lets go eat
After taking a shower at the hosting high school, Greg drove us to a diner. "You'll never guess what I majored in, at first, in college," he said as we began our meal. I assumed that he'd gone to college majoring in phys ed and I couldn't even guess at anything else. 

"Philosophy!" he said, laughing, "but then I switched to phys ed." His talk about college years kept me mesmerized. He talked about other personal things too, just like he would to a friend. It was the first time I was with him completely alone, without other runners, and he seemed to like being with me as much as I did him.

Evening approached as we arrived back at the motel. The small room had a black tiled bathroom and a television with only one rabbit ear. However, it was clean and to be with Greg alone anywhere, even in the city dump, would be better than a suite at the Plaza with my family, as far as I was concerned. As soon as we got back to the room, Greg put on his sweat pants and headed out for a quick run and I turned on the TV while awaiting his return. I couldn't very well go along with him since I'd just finished a ten-mile race.