Physical Co-education Ch. 01

The students in this story are in their final semester of high school, and all of them are 18 years old. Copies of their birth certificates are on file in the principal's office.

*****

The girls always took a little longer than we did to get ready, and so we always had to wait for them to come out. We'd mill around self consciously in the middle of the gym. You put fifteen naked guys together anywhere and they're going to mill around self consciously.

Finally the girls would come out, in a single tight little group. Even clear across the gym you could see that they were naked too—bare legs, bare feet, bare chests, bare everything. They shuffled their way toward us, just as self conscious as we were.

There was Gretchen P, who just fifteen minutes ago in Civics class had answered a tough question about the Supreme Court with the confidence of a National Merit semifinalist, now embarrassed to have the whole world see that her breasts and her bottom were just as perfect as her SAT scores.

There was Nancy W, who sat beside me in Calculus, blushing for all she was worth and trying to remain inconspicuous in the middle of the pack.

There was Harriet T, whom I'd known since kindergarten, trying to pretend she didn't mind that I was looking at her vagina.

And there were our fifteen teenage penises, fully exposed, nowhere to hide, getting more and more self conscious with every step closer they took.

—

Mr Palmer blew his whistle. We formed up into two parallel lines, the boys on one side, the girls on the other. Mr Palmer had played basketball in college and took it for granted that everyone knew. He called the roll, strutting up and down in his faded gym shorts and open-mesh jersey. His pretty assistant, Ms Latimer, stood to the side.

After roll call came the inspection. Mr Palmer inspected the girls, and Ms Latimer inspected the boys. Ms Latimer was just a couple years out of college herself, with a perky, athletic figure and a jaunty blonde ponytail. She was wearing baby blue cotton shorts and a navy sports top.

We boys were supposed to keep our cocks and our balls clean shaven, and our pubic hair trimmed to regulation length. Ms Latimer had told us that most girls these days, herself included, found the nude look to be much more attractive than the unruly rats' nests we'd had at the beginning of the semester. Needless to say, nobody wanted to be seen as unattractive in Ms Latimer's eyes. We all took our grooming pretty seriously.

She walked down the line, scrutinizing each of us in turn. Most of us still couldn't make it through the inspection without getting a boner. She just took them in stride, knowing we couldn't really help ourselves. In fact, it made the inspection a little easier for her.

If she was satisfied with your trim—no missed spots, no errant hairs—she'd look up and give you a friendly nod of approval. And her eye would always have a little twinkle in it, as if to say that, just between the two of you, she wasn't really as immune to your manliness as she was pretending to be.

Meanwhile, Mr Palmer was inspecting the girls. The code for them was about the same as it was for us. They had to shave or wax their vulvas and keep their pubic hair trim and tidy. But they also had to shave their legs. Mr Palmer made it a point to run his hand over each girl's thigh, front and back. He never touched anything else, but he always felt their thighs. For whatever reason, he always seemed more embarrassed than they did.

—

After inspection, Mr Palmer always started us off with calisthenics: jumping jacks, running in place, jazzercise kick-boxing. Because our two lines faced each other, we couldn't help but see the way the girls' boobies bounced around during these exercises. Nor could we help letting them see the flipping and flopping of our cocks. It was an object lesson for all of us never to take ourselves, or each other, too seriously.

Then sit ups. Then push ups. Then leg raises. Then halfway back and hold it. Nobody was thinking much about cocks and boobies now. Glycolitic depletion turns out to be a pretty powerful anaphrodesiac. Finally, mercifully, Mr Palmer blew his whistle. We collapsed to the floor. And as we lay there panting, Ms Latimer read out the partners for the day.

I got Meg B. Meg was one of the more reserved girls in class, someone you didn't always think of right off the bat. But, in fact, she was not a bad person to have as a partner. She was trim and reasonably fit, with pretty, petite breasts and pretty chestnut hair bobbed just above her chin. And, actually, a sweet, shy smile that kind of reminded me of the little mermaid. She smiled shyly as we paired up. The blood was starting to find its way back to my penis. And back, apparently, to her pretty mermaid nipples as well.

—

The day's activity was rope climbing. It was set up like a race to keep things exciting. Three pairs of students on each rope. We had Donny M on our team, so there was no way we were going to win. But at least we could shoot for not coming in last.

When it was our turn, Meg went first. She grabbed the rope, jumped up on the knot, reached higher, hauled herself up a good several feet, wrapped the rope around her leg, and stepped on it with her other foot to brace for the next haul.

From my vantage point below it was a pretty explicit lesson in neuromuscular movement science—the strain and release of her biceps and shoulders, the flexing of her buttocks, the tautness of her calves. And of course I couldn't help but notice the pursing and unpursing of her pretty anus as well. It's kind of intimate, I guess, to be given such a close-up view of your classmate's private parts. But it's kind of sweet too.

Eight pulls and she touched the bar, then slid back down, breathing deeply, her chest deeply flushed. "Good job," I called as she jumped down and I jumped up. I used to worry about my equipment getting tangled up in the rope, but that doesn't really happen. I concentrated on climbing and tried not to be too self conscious about the anatomy lesson I was providing to Meg.

Three climbs each pair, in rotation. The first pair in each team wore a sash around their waists so we could keep track of how each team was doing. First and second place were pretty well assured, but we battled hard for third and won it by half a rope. Bashful shoulder hugs all around.

—

The position of the day was something called the Catherine wheel. This was the most nerve-wracking part of the class, hoping to avoid being chosen for the demonstration. Fortunately, Mr Palmer called on Ned B and Susan C. They went sheepishly forward, and the rest of us breathed a collective sigh of relief.

It was one of those complicated kamasutra positions, and Mr Palmer and Ms Latimer had to go over it a couple of times to get Ned and Susan arranged the way they wanted them. He ended up sort of half sitting on the mat, half lounging back on one elbow, with her sitting on his lap and leaning back on both of her arms. She had her legs wrapped around his middle, and he had one of his legs hooked around her waist. The demonstration never involved actual penetration, and so Ned's erect penis was sticking out perpendicularly, poking between Susan's thighs. The two of them were red with embarrassment.

"You're on top in this position, ladies," lectured Mr Palmer. "You control the action. Brace yourself with your arms and thrust yourself back and forth." Susan did her best to illustrate, hyper aware that what everyone was looking at was the way her pussy lips kept kissing up to the underside of Ned's rigid cock.

"But you boys have to help," Ms Latimer chimed in. "Use your leg and your free hand to guide your partner's movement." Presumably, that's what Ned was trying to do.

"You can also use your hand to stimulate her manually," Mr Palmer continued.

"To gently caress her clitoris and her breasts," Ms Latimer explained. Susan's slit was already glistening. Ned brought his hand up and teased it gently.

"Although you can't really reach her breasts very well in this position," Mr Palmer clarified.

"Unless you try," said Ms Latimer, a bit sarcastically, and more to him than to us. Ned reached up and easily petted Susan's breast. Mr Palmer blushed. We loved the way that the two of them bantered back and forth during the demonstrations. It was pretty clear that they tried out all the positions themselves ahead of class. We liked to think that underneath their no-nonsense demeanors they were really kind of sweet on each other.

"The main thing, boys," Ms Latimer went on, leveling with us now in her sincere, if-only-someone-had-told-us- when-we-were-eighteen voice, "is to make sure to provide your partner with what she needs. That's the real secret of lovemaking. She's listening to a different drumbeat than you are. Try to remember that. Do your best to listen for it too."

Even though Ned's cock and Susan's pussy were only in superficial contact, her thrusting and his petting did indeed seem to be striking the right chord. She had her eyes half closed and was no longer paying any attention to the instructors, or to her audience.

I was getting pretty turned on myself. I playfully nuzzled my hard-on against Meg's thigh. She reached back and grabbed it to keep it from getting us into trouble. Her nipples, though, I noticed, were standing on tiptoe themselves.

—

It was our turn pretty soon anyway. Susan and Ned were allowed to continue on their own, and the rest of us spread out our sheets.

"Are you . . . ready?" I asked. Meg blushed in reply. Just to make sure I gave her a little hug, nuzzled the base of her neck, ran my hands down to caress the swell of her fleshy mermaid tail.

We got down on the sheet. I reclined back onto my elbows. She crouched down tentatively astride my thighs. My cock was standing at full attention between us. Just to make double sure I reached past it to run my fingers up and down her shy but slippery slit.

Meg was shy and quiet, sure, but she was fully aware of her budding womanhood, and kind of enchanted by it. She knelt up, took hold of my cock, and fit the mouth of her vagina around it. She squatted down, squeezing it half way in. Up again and down, wetter this time, less plowing, more gliding. And again, and again, and this time she managed to get me all the way in. She settled herself comfortably back onto my thighs and gave me a shy, but confident, grin.

Then came the tricky part. She had to bring her legs up and wrap them around my waist. She leaned back on her arms, but she couldn't get her knees all the way unbent without my cock popping out. She arched her back and straightened her legs. I held my cock for her and she crab-walked herself back on. She was plenty wet. I was plenty stiff. She slid herself all the way on, then rested her weight back down on my thighs and tightened her legs around my sides. From my vantage point it was sexy as hell.

"That's right," said Ms Latimer, making her rounds. "Now the male hooks his leg."

I had to rotate further onto my left leg to free up the right. It took a bit of maneuvering, because every time I made an adjustment Meg had to make one too. But eventually I was able to bring my leg around her and rest the foot on my left knee. Voila! The Catherine wheel.

Meg and I exchanged a glance of mutual accomplishment. It was kind of a nice position actually. I had my legs completely wrapped around her, and she had hers completely wrapped around me. I gave her a little squeeze. She blushed and gave me a little squeeze back.

Everything was conveniently laid out right there between us. Her beautiful nude body right there on my lap: her ruddy slit, her narrow mermaid waist, her perfect little breasts, all right there within easy reach. She started to try her thrusting. My line of sight ran directly down the axis of her cunt. I could see the way my cock slid further into her as she thrust down, and further out of her as she eased off. I tried my best to lever the tip up to massage her special spot as she did it.

I realized that I hadn't been paying enough attention to her drumbeat. To tell you the truth, I wasn't really sure exactly what I was supposed to be listening for. She still seemed to be concentrating on getting the mechanics right. My own drumbeat, on the other hand, was getting louder and more insistent.

"Um, . . ." I said. I sucked in my stomach to retract back as far as I could. She eased way off, somewhat begrudgingly, to let me pull out. I pressed down to deflate the slippery, bulbous head, the way we'd been taught. Then I held it steady and she slid herself back on.

I tried to massage her from the outside as well as the inside. I gently palpated her mound and her hood, catching an exciting feel of her stiff little nubby. I reached up and let her nipples brush against my fingers. They were nubby with excitement too.

I found I could reach her pretty mermaid face, gently caress her parted lips with my thumb. She invited it into the wetness of her mouth. From a nearby sheet came the familiar yip-yip-yip of Marilyn P. We didn't pay it any attention.

My cock was massaging circumferentially now, pistoning the full slick length of her plush canal. Her breathing was becoming more rapid, more excited, her thrusts more tidal, more wave-driven, more kelp-like.

Her legs were so open, her plushness so snug, her breasts so ripe, her gaze so intent. My alluring siren classmate, fixing me in her shimmering sea-gaze, so intent, so ripe, so open, so snug.

I gave her what I had to give. Every measure. Every drop. I gave, and she accepted.

—

One shortcoming of the Catherine wheel is that it's not very good for snuggling after. Meg and I disentangled ourselves and rearranged ourselves more cozily.

"Kind of . . . acrobatic," she summed up, in a soft voice. She had her head on my shoulder, her sticky leg nestled atop mine.

"Yeah," I replied. Her hair smelled softly of . . . cinnamon. "But pretty sweet."

She cuddled her agreement.

We weren't really that close of friends, Meg and I. We were classmates. We interacted once in a while, like classmates do. We'd been gym partners once before. But it was nice to lie there with her, playing a pair of affectionate lovers, tired and happy at the end of a busy afternoon, more perfect together than apart.

Chances are neither of us would ever do that much rope climbing in our future lives. Probably not that much calculus either. But I had to think that both of us would have cozy afternoons like this, and special, cinnamon-smelling someones to share them with.

—

But school days roll on. Mr Palmer blew his whistle. We got up. We gathered up our sheet. Meg let her breast brush one last time against my arm. I let my hand trail one last moment on her thigh.

She headed off with the other girls to take her shower. I headed off with the boys to take mine.