Subject: Gym Orientation “Hey son, we got something in the mail!” his father yelled. “We did? Both of us?” he answered and ran down the stairs. When you’re that young, you never get mail. He was excited. It was addressed to both of them, a big box with a return address from the school where the son was starting at the end of the summer. When they ripped it open, sitting on the top was a white T-shirt for each of them with the name of the son’s new school on them. One was bigger and one smaller. Then, a pair of shorts for each, also dad-sized and son-sized and also with a school logo on the leg, what little there was of a leg. As they continued to pull out the contents, next was a pair of plain, white, athletic socks for each of them and then a pair of plain, white, low-top, boring sneakers–the non-descript kind you might find in a bin at a dollar store–in each of their sizes exactly. And last was a jock strap for each of them, again one bigger than the other. The son at first had the bigger one, and they laughed as they switched, still unaware of what it was all about. A letter in the bottom of the box explained that they were both invited to an orientation for the son’s new school, specifically for the Physical Education and Health and Development classes, and gave a number to call with any questions. It said that the uniforms were mandatory for both of them. “Oh, I guess that’s what that big form I had to fill out was for,” the dad said, explaining how they knew both their sizes and how they knew how to address the package. “My friend Jay, from camp, said I’d have a Gym Class Orientation over the summer now that I’m going to his school,” the son said. “And that he had one when he was in my grade.” So they marked it on the calendar that hung on the fridge, and on that morning they got up and had a hearty breakfast before heading upstairs to change out of their pajamas, shower, and get dressed into the gym uniform. Actually seeing each other in the get-up was even funnier than imagining it. The son thought his dad looked silly. The dad said it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be. The shorts were short, but he remembered his own uniform for P.E. in school, and it was really embarrassing and uncomfortable. He looked at his son and asked, “Hey, did you… did you put on, uh, underwear?” The son replied, a little sheepishly that he didn’t, what with the jock, and his father said that he hadn’t either. Each was thinking about the other and kind of picturing it and feeling the pouch hold them snugly and the snappy elastic around each leg. They agreed that the jock was the same thing but that it was a little weird not having underwear on and going out. But out they went, wearing their matching, white, tight, short, kind of embarrassing school gym class uniforms, expecting to see other dads and sons dressed the same when they pulled into the parking lot, but the few pairs they saw had decided to bring the uniforms along and change into them. The father’s friend, who held the door, said that he and his son decided on wearing them underneath their clothes like how they wear bathing suits under their clothes when they go swimming. But soon enough everyone was getting changed into the matching uniforms, after following signs to the locker room. The gym teacher, a slightly older man who was also wearing that same uniform and who had arranged the whole event, was greeting everyone and checking off their names and casually telling them to just call him Coach. “We’ll start in here when everybody’s ready,” Coach said over and over again as each new pair arrived, inviting them to hang out in the locker room. Both the father and son thought he was friendly and easy-going, and thought it was nice to get to know him before school started. There was no other orientation besides this, and it was unusual, but everyone was saying that it was a good idea, especially for gym class, which can be a little intimidating. The son was indeed a little intimidated by the situation. He had never been in a locker room like that before. He had only played sports a little, but not the kind where you’d change together, and gym was basically recess at his old school. But here were guys his age, some he knew and some he didn’t, and also their fathers, all together in the altogether undressing and half dressed or totally naked and stepping into jock straps, turning their bare front sides away and ending up end up, turning their bare back sides towards somebody. Those who were dressed were standing around, and those that weren’t were quickly and discreetly shucking and stripping and pulling on the matching attire with a laugh, all holding onto that brief few seconds of modesty. The son was thankful that he was already dressed and also kind of thankful that his dad wasn’t getting changed in front of him. Some dads who knew each other were joking about their physiques, patting their bellies, remembering their school days, introducing themselves and their sons or having their sons make introductions. “This is Ty’s dad. He was a tight end at State, just like you!” said one son over handshakes. The gym teacher, Coach, was reviewing some details with his assistant coach, waiting for the last few people on his list. The father stood next to a conversation of a few other men, one of whom had already gone through this orientation with his older son the year before last. He was talking about how it was a good opportunity to meet everyone else and get ahead of some first-day anxieties. “I remember back to my first day sitting next to this big senior, easily twice my size or more. I’m glad Coach started doing this.” The son looked around at his classmates, one with his older brother instead (maybe college aged or just over) and one with a man noticeably older than the rest of the dads, making a few wonder if he was a grandfather or older uncle or maybe just had his son later in life. But everyone was relaxed şişli travesti and comfortable, and soon everyone was there and dressed for gym. Coach gathered everyone together, not a very large group but plenty, in the center of the locker room in front of cement benches and stood next to a board and one of those TVs on a wheeled cart and a place to hang up things like diagrams. He thanked them for coming and explained that he teaches gym and that it involves coming to this locker room, changing into these uniforms, and getting exercise up in the gym or outside on the fields. “How do you feel about these uniforms, guys?” Coach asked. Everyone laughed and murmured. Coach explained that they’re like that for a reason, light so they don’t weigh you down even if they get sweaty, short so they don’t inhibit movement, and the same as everybody else so everybody focuses on getting exercise instead of looking cool. “And I wear the same thing, so you’re not dealing with anything that I’m not, and that includes this, the jock strap.” With that, he tugged down the side of his shorts to pull out the waistband underneath, with his fingers around the top and the bottom. More than one guy was surprised to see a little skin and hair down there, to see a teacher like that, surprised that Coach would not only lower himself down from a professional pedestal but let himself be just another guy, same as the rest around the room. He explained that they’re going to start the day with some jogging and leg lifts, and that they’d all quickly see why a jock strap is a must for keeping you in place and secure, nothing bobbing or flopping or getting squeezed or squished. The father knew exactly what Coach meant, especially when it comes to leg lifts. “Now, did anybody have a problem with the jock strap they received?” Coach asked. “I think this kind is a lot better than what you’d find in a store, but maybe it’s just not big enough for you?” The son’s friend, Ed, and his dad raised their hands together, and everyone looked down at how they were stuffed into the little shorts. Coach instructed them to go with his assistant to check out a limited supply of heftier apparel. One dad quietly said to his son, “These jocks are good.” He had worn maybe 50 different kinds over the years playing sports. Coach knew that gym clothes are usually terrible, universally hated, often lost, and an annoying expense if the school makes you pay extra for them. And that impacts how effective he can be as a teacher. When he started teaching and coaching at this school, he reviewed the whole program and built it how he wanted it. He made sure that the shorts weren’t too short or fabric too stiff or flimsy that it would be a distraction. He made sure that he could get sizes for every size possible and in bulk to afford them and jock straps that did their job well; a project that took time and research. “Buddy of mine gets me a good deal on ’em, and another buddy gets me a good deal on cleaning ’em all, AND all the towels,” he said, “which you’ll be using…. after the showers.” With that he walked over, past shelves of clean towels, to the shower room, gang style as in one big room, heads against the outer tiled walls and multi-head stations in the middle. Coach walked everyone into the dry room, freshly cleaned, and explained that it is kept clean and that he makes sure that the students’ schedules have enough time for them to shower, dry off fully, and change before their next class. “That is,” he said, “as long as you’re not goofing around in here. There will be no running, shoving, tackling, towel snapping, or anything else besides showering or else we will be discussing it.” The authority figures gave the standard disapproving look, but Coach explained that it’s also a safety concern, that a slippery room can turn into a broken arm if you’re messing around. “We don’t need that, right?” He said that gym showers can be weird, that we’re used to showing alone, and that it’s one of the big reasons he wanted to get these guys used to the idea and maybe have a talk with their dads beforehand if they wanted to. Then he pointed to the corners, “if you need a little more privacy some days” and explained that he’s pretty laidback but definitely won’t tolerate anybody being picked on or made to feel like they can’t just do gym and get cleaned up without somebody being an asshole. The curse got the point across clearly but shocked a few. Coach apologized, said it slipped out, and used it as an opportunity to talk about how when the guys come to gym and health that it’s just guys. “No distractions, and a chance for us to talk as guys,” he said. He explained that health class (which was almost canned by the school) would be small groups, same grade so just a bunch of these guys in the room, talking about… And then he listed off some off the topics as much for the dads as for the sons, “the human body and how it develops, hygiene, hormones, stress, sex and contraception, the emotions you’re dealing with, sexual attraction, drugs and alcohol, pornography, masturbation, dating and respect and consent and diseases and how to prevent them, all kinds of stuff like that.” Some were a little shocked to hear those words in school from a teacher, even in a locker room. Again, that was part of the reasoning; better now all at once than in rumors or said bluntly at the dinner table when asked about school. Coach said that the discussion needs to be open and frank, that sometimes he’ll give them a little time to talk among themselves without a teacher, and that sometimes, “sometimes I might invite a couple of you fathers to join the conversation if you want, share your experiences from when you were in their shoes.” One of the fathers raised his hand, “I’ve seen how this program has helped my older son through some things, and I’ve come here to listen and talk at one of these classes, and it was really a good, helpful thing.” beylikdüzü travesti Coach thanked him for sharing that with everyone and thanked him for coming that day, and said, “Well, why don’t we head up to the gym?” and looked the way. The whole group followed and were immediately swept into laps, everyone’s favorite. But Coach kept telling them all to go slower, to jog, just to get the heart pumping. One dad remembered his old gym teacher standing and shouting, humiliating the slowest runners, and was glad his son wouldn’t have to deal with that. No, Coach dressed out and jogged along and was keeping it manageable. The clumped-together mass of men, young and old, occasionally bumped elbows. The son felt hands on his back and recognized it as his dad’s touch, even though it was rare. He just felt like making that connection. When they stopped, one father said, “Whoo! I’m exhausted already.” Coach replied loudly, “And that was just the warm-up. Now, if you ask why the lawn isn’t mowed, maybe you’ll remember that your boy ain’t just sitting around all day.” Then they all lined up in rows and started stretching, their shirts lifting up at the bottom when they reached high. The son noticed that his dad’s jock strap waistband was noticeably higher than the waist of his shorts, which must have sagged a little from the jog. But after a few stretches, nearly everybody was adjusting something, shifting or tugging. The man in front of the father leaned over, flat back, and the straps under each cheek became visible through the tight, white shorts. They reminded the father of watching football and being aware of what was underneath. They all bent over to stretch and adjusted themselves when they got up. Then all on their backs for leg lifts, raising up both legs just a few inches, then separating them apart and then together again, then lowering them. More than one leg lifter thought to himself, “Hey, my nuts aren’t getting squeezed,” and one began a new routine of always wearing a jock strap when working out and playing tennis. When his play improved, he wouldn’t tell what his secret was. Coach always tried to plan for a sunny day, and this one was bright and warm, the kind of day when you want to be outside. He said they’d head out to have some fun, but on the way he wanted to show everyone the Wrestling Room. Tucked away in a corner, the cement Wrestling Room was lined with padded mats and smelled a bit. Coach led the group in, all walking on the mats like they were walking on the moon. “Hey guys!” said a young man with a strong physique. He was a science teacher and also an assistant coach. He had wrestled when he was younger. The father recognized that impact that wrestling has and how wrestlers always give back to the next generation. The students and their dads got a tour of the equipment and watched some upperclassmen who were there working out even though it was summer. The son and his father both observed closely how these wrestlers had the kind of strong, tight muscles you get from real work, rather than the swollen kind that a lot of guys focus on, for looks. The son watched as one guy’s face got sweaty, and he lifted up his shirt to wipe his forehead, in the process revealing a very firm stomach and a bit of underwear waistband. “Son!?” yelled his dad, “didn’t you hear?” While he was staring, the teacher had asked everyone to have a seat. He got the biggest dad and the littlest son, and he showed how science and finding the center of gravity could help drop him. Everybody was wowed and some wanted to get into wrestling, but that was it for the day. Everyone filed out to go outside. The football field was set up with a lot of gear, little cones and goals. They went through exercises and games. It was a hot day and sunny. The skimpy uniforms let in a breeze up a sleeve but didn’t cover much. Pretty soon, everybody was pretty sweaty, with splotches down the back and under each arm, wiping their foreheads and with wet hair. The father felt a pool at his lower back, moistening the tall elastic waistband under his shorts. When he adjusted the straps of his jock under each leg, he noticed that his son and another boy were staring and then looked away. Coach was looking at his watch and standing with his assistant off to the side, but nobody noticed. Then the sprinklers went off, timed to wrap up the day’s events with a cool-off. As he expected, it was met with surprise but relief. After getting so hot and sweaty, everybody enjoyed the cool water, jumping through the spray. After goofing around for a bit, the group was wet and more than a little messy, with blades of grass and dirt smeared, and as they were called into a circle by Coach, they all started to notice how see-through the uniforms had become. Chest hair was visible through the wet, white, tight shirts. Sons pointed and laughed at seeing their dads’ butts through the fabric. Straps and labels were clearly visible, and even through the pouches of the jocks in some cases you could make out the shape and size of what was beneath. Coach started talking about the showers, how they can be intimidating at first, embarrassing, awkward, and different for different guys. “But you can see it all now anyway, and you guys are going to have to get used to what it’s like,” Coach said to the group, looking around at muddy knees and everything else. “Let’s hit the showers!” The walk together up to the doors and into the building and up to the locker room gave anybody who was a little nervous a little time to think about it and ready himself. Some were ready to rinse off, removing their clingy shirts along the way and feeling the warm sun on their wet skin. When they got in, they stripped their uniforms up and down and off and tossed them into a big laundry bin that was waiting. It was like a stampede, shoulders and elbows bumping, bare feet stepping over the tile and up into the shower area. Where there had istanbul travesti been formality and politeness before, personal space, now the group moved in a flesh blob, all skin and bones and hands steadying each other from bumping and slipping. No “excuse me,” just stepping out of the way to share the soap dispenser as each body pushed and even slid beside another. The son looked around to see where his father had gone, but they must’ve gotten separated and were in different waves. Not everybody could fit at once. The father was waiting outside, stripped off and with dirt and grass stuck to his legs and arms, but none higher up his legs. His untanned backside was also undirtied. As he stood, he noticed a little twinge and fullness below, but he’d felt that come and pass without too much embarrassment before. Coincidentally, he noticed some hands trying to cover up something. He turned away and helped shield it behind his back. Coach yelled to move it along and let more guys in. Clean, wet bodies, big and small, stepped out and grabbed from the shelf of towels that stood waiting. They dried off and wrapped and covered curves and bulges. The son found himself staring at his friend’s dad’s towel front, even though he had just seen what was now only hinted at. He dried himself and stood chatting with a group wearing towels. Then he was joined by his dad, also wrapped in a towel from the waist down. They both realized that they had nothing to put on. They looked around at everybody else getting dressed, some pulling a change of clothes from a gym bag or backpack. Soon they were standing in front of Coach who was buck naked and kind of a sight to see. He stood there, unashamed, talking with them. “Gimme a couple minutes, guys. I’ll get you a couple clean uniforms.” He had to get dried and dressed himself first. They just waited for him, standing there while everybody finished up and started leaving. Their towels wet and wrapped around the waist, feeling like soggy lettuce, they could’ve tossed them and gotten new dry ones to wear. They both felt the saturated towels now basically wetting them back after drying them off. The father took his off, held it heavy in his hands, felt himself revealed, and finally discarded it, standing naked and pocketsless and plucked-chicken-like in front of his son for the first time. The son stared and then realized he was staring and started to stop and then stayed on. His dad allowed him. The son suddenly, eagerly, took off and tossed his, standing almost for inspection. He was grown bigger, all over, and at that age time is in huge stretches. They let each other look and loitered in the lockers. The dad had round parts where the son had straight parts. Some parts were thin or thick, smooth or furry, beefy or bony. The wall had a big mirror, and they looked at each other and themselves together. They thought about the next steps; learning to drive, graduating, leaving home, growing into a man. “Will I look like him when I’m older?””Did I look like that when I was his age?” “You don’t need a jock, though, right?” asked the assistant coach, interrupting their thoughts. These were just to wear home and return later, but the absence of the strap made the shorts seem even shorter and more revealing. As they dressed, the son found himself thinking that he was glad Coach didn’t see him like that. But then, he would eventually, and after all he just saw him in the buff. He had heard that term before and liked it, in the buff. They left and drove home, each thinking about getting older. The dad remembered some things he used to do. The son had movies in his mind, replaying what he saw that day. “Whew, I’m beat after all that. I think I’m gonna take a nap.””Yeah, me too.” They each went to their bedrooms. They each got on the beds, the son on his back and the dad on his belly. The house was quiet, but then their rooms weren’t close to each other. But still the son played some music, not so loud that his dad would complain. The son was used to locking his door every time lately, so he didn’t have to get up again. He pulled the T-shirt up off his back and up his stomach and over his neck and head without sitting up. He looked at his flat body. Meanwhile, his father was feeling the absence of the elastic under each butt cheek. You get used to feelings quickly and notice when they go away. He felt himself being out, sticking out one of the wide shorts legs, feeling the fabric on his hardening member. He ran his finger along its length, reaching beneath. His shirt was up a bit, and he ran his other hand along the waist, feeling the fabric. He thought he better take this uniform off and slid it off his body without getting up, flicking the shorts off his toes. As he hugged his big soft bed against his naked body, freshly showered, his son was pulling a rod out but leaving the shorts on. He liked to look down at it, sitting with it. Lately he’d sit on his bed and hold his hardness, just feel it, not even really jerking off just being hard, being this arrow. As he began fucking his hand, his dad was fucking his bed. He remembered being his son’s age and doing that, but not since. He felt his whole body move and push and grind, not just his hand. The sensation made him drop a couple decades. He felt his hanging balls glide over his sheets, soft and sensual. He was leaking and sliding against some wetness. Meanwhile, his son was fantasizing that Coach was in the room, naked again, watching. Then he was back in the shower room and all the guys watching, and then everybody joins in jerking too. It’s a race, and he’s winning. He’s so hard. He loves the feeling of jerking faster and faster. His dad is humping slow and soft. The son is beating it. They’re both moaning and grunting now. If somebody came in the front door, they’d hear both rooms. Closer, almost, stroking and pounding, he’s close. He’s shooting. Squirting up in jets, one two, a third, an ooze over his knuckles. His balls tightening and lifting. His father fucking harder, sliding, letting it wet out all over, smearing, squeezing his firm, manly butt cheeks tight into rounded dimpled buns. They both collapse and relax. The son can’t wait for gym class.