I am a college coach. I do not fit any given renditions that are formulated out, approved, and switched 'on' to function in the oft ill-designed machine of the educating of what dodgers have deemed "what you need to know to get some sheepskin around here". What I coach is how to be human according to standards that have yielded the best aspects of civilization throughout time.
A culture is known for the tools it uses to survive. I believe the body is the most useful tool, or vehicle or what-have-you word of analogy to "It's a big fucking deal". Being human would of course bring the mind, and faculty of emotion into the consideration gymnasium. Another big fucking deal and this is one Big Fucking Deal! is where the body, and mind, and emotions intersect in what is wrongly called the sexual dimension. A main demonstration of this Venn diagram of vexation is sex, it is not a stand alone act.
I understand well my potential and the limitations of being given the opportunity to teach in this setting. Part of being human is understanding the differences, which are many, between right and wrong. This walks in step with knowing the rules of the road. The road to being human is getting rougher and rougher. On occasion someone will come along who wants to learn more than what is colored between the lines of college etiquette. They understand that what they need is not taught in ivory towers.
Jim was one of those students. He was driven by an itch that he couldn't quite get to no matter how hard he reached. For Jim, his reaching was to get ahead of the pack however he could. He fell into competitive swimming naturally. Water was all around San Diego, where he grew up. When he was not at practice he was surfing, or studying. No one saw that Jim was driven by fear. He had learned early that his physical presence kept him safe. He knew that his social position won through his medals kept him safe. The college town where he studied and trained was a safe place where he could explore safely. His explorations, known as extra-curricular, were about sex. He felt safe among the other students who were exploring how indulged they could be. "Live and Let Live" loosely translated to college jargon of the day, "Have it any way you want, and don't be a dick".
There are boundaries of right and wrong. There are boundaries made by rules. A human has the skill to recognize and navigate these boundaries, even though, and especially, when they cross. Jim and I were naturals at feeling out the nuances of how we work it - creating and entering a safe space.
Nods, smiles, friendly noises and other signs men make to acknowledge they are not a threat to each other. Fear based men, especially alpha males, are driven deeper in their passions to understand. We had exchanged more than the social appeasements as we chatted about the Eastern philosophies about the body, mind, and soul. Physical fitness, manliness, and sex are treated differently there. Most likely stemming from a lack of Hell in their fairy tales. More than once the words Kama Sutra, sexual yoga, and the ever mis-used word Tantra were thrown out. I knew that they were water testing lines. I had flashed "I am Bi!" in response to the obvious exhibition of his hard cock, accompanied with a big smile asking "How does it look?"
We had given each other enough signals. I could feel it in the air, the sexual tension. An attraction that hasn't found its way. Yet. Jim had always looked his best after his 400-meter Butterfly and Freestyle Thursday workout. He was always last out of the pool. Thursdays were usually slow, and tonight his and my cars were the only ones in the university parking lot.
Jim was walking almost wobbly as he turned a corner to see me by the vending machines right before the locker room. He took me in, holding a chilled electrolyte drink. Chills came over me as the smile widened. The look in his eyes was delight.
"Thanks, Coach." He took the bottle from my hand and put his hand on my shoulder as he leaned back. He arched as he tilted the bottle high. I could feel he was letting me look at his body... he knew it was perfect. Lean, well-defined muscles, wide shoulders, narrow waist, and all the rest a lifetime of competitive swimming yields.
It was natural that we walked to his locker and made small talk along the way. He knew I liked checking him out. He almost floated as he would sway his rippling legs. He looked over at something to give me a good look.
There is a moment I like to freeze in my mind. It was when the moment we would start to do what we both wanted but never talked about, hinted at but never made real. This is where real tension builds. I put the back of my hand against his abs, gliding slowly up and down. We looked into each other's eyes. His breath quickened as did mine. But there was a back-off, a nervousness.
"Jim, it's OK, no rush, we can talk about it at the diner," I said.
Jim started to chuckle amidst his near inability to speak.
"No coach," he looked at me, and the desire shone bright, "it's just... I haven't ever, well rarely... I, ah..." I could just feel how right this all felt. So I leaned, my hand on his beautiful pec, pressing gently, but the strength was felt.
"Let me guess. You fooled around with a friend when you were just starting to sprout pubes. Then there were girls and romance and breakups and trying to get laid. Now you are in college, and you are having thoughts about guys, sexual thoughts." As I spoke, my hands slowly glided over his torso. I could feel his heart racing.
My attitude was grounded, sexual, and masculine. My palm was letting out Macy Parade fanfare as my fingers rubbed on the string that held up his speedo.
"How did you know?" was such a toss-off line. We both knew we had moved to play.
"We're the same model - different years." I pulled the string and opened up his speedo. His hands were on my shoulders, and he was out of the chute, unbridled, going where he'd always wanted. I pulled up the front of my shirt, our abs touched, and sparks flew.
He was grabbing for my shirt, and it was immediately snatched and gone. His eyes were full of lust as he massaged my chest. Body worship is what I call a beautiful man's body being felt, completely felt through the fingers and hands. Touch is a magical way to know.
"God, I feel like such an idiot... I don't know what to do."
