But I could tell he wasn't the kind of rigid person that gets off on giving orders. Teaching gym class required that he maintain discipline. He was much quieter on our runs, running along with us, or giving pointers on running style. Greg acted very differently during cross-country practice compared with the way he acted in gym class. I would drop to my knees and he would let me feel his legs and bury my face in his crotch. I had daydreams about Greg in his gym shorts, walking up to me. My own pubic hair was still not fully grown out and I prayed that I'd grow a quarter of what Greg had. What I liked most though was the thick bush of public hair that ran right up his chest. In the shower, I noticed that his balls were very large, which were the reason for the bulge in his shorts. 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. He seemed self-conscious, but a little proud too, of being so hairy. I had seen it when he showered with us after work-outs. Maybe he didn't have "a runner's body", but to me, it was perfect. I thought his legs and his whole muscular body were beautiful. Greg had been a miler in college but told us he wasn't built for it, and had never been very good. In after-school practice, Greg ran along with us. There were only five guys on the high school cross-country team. 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. I hated when my relatives did that but it was different when Greg did it. 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 said I was a half decent soccer player but that he wanted to make a track star out of me. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me his suggestion. "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. "Bob, but my friends call me Lightning - Light for short." I said, just beginning to catch my breath. I always left the other guys far behind when we did laps. 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. 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. He had some suggestion and wanted me to think about changing my sport. Before one practice session, Greg called me aside. I chose to play soccer but was not very good at it. He moved with a grace and just watching him walk across the gym stirred me with longing. I just liked everything about him, from his handsome face to his voice. 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.
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When I was eighteen, a high school senior, we got a new gym teacher.
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