Nude In Swim Class, Reappraisal

It was September 1962, and I was 12 years old. A month before the
Cuban missile crisis, for God’s sake!
I just entered the 7th grade at a junior high school in
Rockford, Ill. At our first swim class, we went into the locker
room and the teacher told us to sit down. He gave us a quick over
view of swim class. And at the end of it, almost parenthetically,
as though you can drop a bomb parenthetically, he told us to *****,
take a nude shower and come into the pool. There was a faint pause
that he followed with something to the effect that we wouldn’t like
this at first, but we’d get used to it.
I had never heard of nude swimming before, so I thought he’d just
forgotten the part about putting on the suits, and I wasn’t certain
what it was we wouldn’t like but would get used to. So, I went to
the locker and started to undress. Sweater, shoes and socks, pants,
shirt. Shirt was last, and here, I hesitated. I was, at the time,
the fat kid, and I had fat on my chest, like everywhere else, which
meant I had enlarged, almost female, breasts; and that was more
embarrassing than having my *** hang out. Finally, the shirt came
off, I locked the locker and stood there for a second, feeling the
odd, curiously sensual touch of cool air all over my body, both a
bit afraid at this new sensation, and savoring the unusual
experience of it.
I went the shower room behind me, large L shaped affair with shower
heads on the wall and a naked boy under each one. We were all kids,
12 or 13 so, all nude, none with any pubic hair and we stood under
those shower for a few moments, the warm water spraying over us,
wondering what why we were doing this, given that there wasn’t even
any soap, and wondering more importantly, what would happen next. I
remember how the water felt, slipping over my body, the pin *****
needles of it on my ****, the warmth of it like some kind of cloak,
protecting me from the cool air that slapped my skin and reminded me
I was nude and vulnerable.
After a while, I noticed a line of boys in front of the door to the
pool. I got in line, one more naked body, and it was only at this
point that I realized something was wrong; we hadn’t been told to
bring suits, and I had presumed they would be provided for us, but
here was a long line of nude boys and no pile of suits next to the
door. I had just the summer before take a swim class from the YMCA;
it was at a local junior high school pool (not this one) and we all
(boys only) wore suits—of course we wore suits, didn’t every one?
Just as the door to the pool opened and a line of nude boys began to
file in did it occur to me (with my heart pounding in my chest) that
when had said to come into the pool, there was nothing mentioned
about putting on a suit! Jesus Christ, we were going to swim nude!
All 50 of us! As we entered the pool, the teacher had each boy put
his hands on his head, and rotate 360 degrees, so he could check to
see that we had no soap on our bodies. This was especially strange,
given that there was no soap provided in the showers, anyway, but I
would become accustomed to strange, alien things in that pool. The
smell of chlorine assailed me as I entered the pool, the sound of my
feet slapping on the tiles; the sunlight filtered through the glass
block windows, bounced off the water and waved weirdly off the
ceiling; the air was oddly warm, and as I walked to the other end of
the pool, I tried to sort out what the hell I was thinking and
feeling. First, I had to calm down. Quell the sense of panic I felt
at being nude. I tried to concentrate on something, but all I could
see was the bare *** of the boys front of me.
Off to the side of the pool was an area of viewing stands, and in
front of it, the entrance to the pool from the hallway, which was a
short corridor with doors at each end. This was covered on the side
toward us with that opaque, rippled glass through which you can
vaguely see objects, but discern nothing in detail. The door to the
pool itself was at one end, and next to that door was a box on which
the teacher would place an attendance sheet to be picked up by a
runner at the beginning of each class. I almost had a heart attack
when I looked over and saw what was clearly a figure in a skirt ( a
girl!!) enter the outer door. Oh my God, my brain raced, is that
door locked? I saw her go to the box, pick up the attendance sheet,
turn around and leave. Whew!! This was what always scare me the
most, the idea that a girl would somehow get in there!
I got to my squad and waited with the others as the rest of the boys
came in. The teachers, always neo military types, had us line up in
squads, stand at attention, no less, and take roll. Then we learned
the finer points of other irrelevancies, like dressing right, and
such nonsense. I had never been nude with so many other people
before, and I noticed things I’d never realized before—as each boy
walked, his **** danced from side to side; balls are do not hang
evenly, one is always higher than the other, and most obviously, we
were a bunch of pasty white little kids! I was to note other
things over the years. What amazing differences there are in *****,
long, short, fat, skinny—although I don’t think I saw one foreskin
in all that time; one guy, quite tall and otherwise imposing had a
ludicrously small ****; another had the oddest shaped one I’ve ever
seen—small right at the beginning, bulging outward halfway out, and
tapering to a point at the end; they hang differently, some swooping
outward before drooping down, others just flopping down, and still
others turned to the side. I realized that while I had an average
sized ****, my balls were big! I had (still don’t have) any idea
what that means, whether good, bad or indifferent. I discovered
that dicks under water are like women’s breasts in that they tend to
float. I witnessed the ludicrous sight of the guy in front of me
diving dive into the water; he was bent slightly over, hands out
behind him, butt up in the air, which of course, spread his butt
cheeks so you were looking up the crack of his ***, not to mention
his balls hanging between his legs! I thought that was almost
unbelievable; how much more privacy could you lack than to have a
pool full of people look up your ***. I even thought it was funny
until I got to the head of the squad and bent down to dive, only
then realizing the people behind me were looking up my *** and
watching my balls dangle.
I remember that first day better than the others, though I did this
through junior high and high school, five years, once a week. I
remember that vulnerability and embarrassment, but after that, it
all kind of blended into one stream of memories, of being wet and
naked. I do remember some specific things that somehow stick in my
brain, like what it felt like to dive into the water, the coolness
of it slipping around your body like silk, caressing you, the water
I invariably got up my nose, and climbing out at the other end, the
suddenly aware again that you’re naked, and the air licking at your
bare ***, and your **** waggling all over the place. I was acutely
aware of it, of course, but if you cover yourself up, you draw more
attention to your nudity—nothing to do but try to be blasé. One
teacher, perhaps in the 9th grade, was a thorough sadist; he had us
doing jumping jacks. In the nude!! Yeah, let your mind wander—it’s
just like you imagine!! He, and all the other teachers, all male,
wore suits, of course. There were times, when we were lining up
for something, like the diving board, for example, when I would feel
something soft up against my butt; later, it would be something soft
with hair above it; and, sometimes, I also bumped into the guy in
front of me, smacking his butt with my ****. This had no sexuality
attached to it; in part because I’m boringly straight, and in part
because at the time, I really had no notion of sexuality at all. It
just seemed really weird to be naked and touching someone else, or
being touched by someone else that way. Weird, but not in a
threatening sense, just an odd sense. I was so socially and
sexually retarded at that age that I could have brushed up against a
nude Raquel Welch and it would have had no impact; I didn’t lose my
virginity until my 20s, after I lost a lot of weight. (Although one
didn’t lead directly to the other, there was some relationship
between the two, no doubt.) Nudity was not yet sexual, it was just
embarrassing. I was outraged, having 4 sisters, and no delusions
about girls, to discover they were not forced to suffer this kind of
humiliation. I simply can’t imagine what you guys who had female
teachers or life guards must have experienced.
You know what I don’t remember—a hard on. Not one, not on me or
anyone else, in all those five years. The closest I came to it was
almost at the last, which would have been when I was 17. I was
standing there naked with the rest, the teacher droning on about
something, and somehow my mind was invaded by the image of the
Playmate of the month. Her name was Gwen Wong, a statuesque
Oriental girl with big boobs, and gorgeous legs. Suddenly, I noted
a slight tingling you know where and incipient verticality. I
immediately kicked myself in the brain—God, not here, please!! I
shifted my thoughts to anchovy fishing off the coast of Paraguay,
the gross national product of Poland, iron mining in Pennsylvania,
anything but sex, and mercifully, it went down!!
I’ve wondered over the years about that—why no boners. Any women
reading this won’t get it, but all men remember what it was like to
be a teenager armed with a ****; it was like having a gun that would
go off on its own and when ever it wanted. You had absolutely no
control over it; I would get a ***** staring at a parking meter!!
So, why, in this situation so rife with eroticism, albeit an asexual
eroticism, in the sense that nudity is sexual, weren’t there boners?
(No, I’m not inviting the nudists to enlighten me that nudity isn’t
sexual; it isn’t to YOU: it is to the rest of us.)
When I got out of high school, the humiliation of this (and my
inherent dislike for pe teachers) turned me into a non swimmer. I
detested it then, but over the years, I’ve come to regard it as
almost a masturbatory fantasy; I’ve done a 180 on it, remembering it
now as a something that was fun and liberating (to employ an over
used word), while simultaneously slightly sexual.
In that context, I’m amazed by these cfnm posts. At that age, to
have been nude with a female teacher would have been such exquisite
humiliation I believe I would have simply passed out from
embarrassment. Now, it’s a fantasy I wish I could have
experienced. I don't doubt them at all, however; I knew a woman in
college who said she spent the summer (of 1973) as a lifequard in a
YMCA (somewhere in Indiana) where the boys and men were nude.
Does anyone else remember it this way, or am I just getting old, and
need my medication, but I can’t remember where I put them.
I’m very glad this is the internet, where one is guaranteed
anonymity. Otherwise, I’d never had told this stuff to anyone.
An Ep User An EP User
1 Response Jan 13, 2013

Part of the confusion is our limited vocabulary on this matter. Nudity can certainly be SENsual because all of your body is allowed to experience all the sensory and sensual wonders around it. This also includes any eroticism that might come along with being nude around others. But you pointed out yourself that there wasn't anything to turn you on at the time, and that's the point.

But if one goes looking for an erotic element one will no doubt find it. That's why people these days find it so unbelievable that guys swam nude back then because they can only view it through that prism of eroticism that is forced down their throats by advertising and whatnot all the time. But you know better. You can see both sides. I think we've lost something but here we are.