My personal fetish today is looking at guys in any kind of underwear. I'm partial to briefs. I love seeing guys with boners in their underwear. The tents that they make are really what turns me on. My fascination began in gym class. Seeing guys in the jock straps was a real turn on. When I was eighteen, a high school senior, we got a new gym teacher. 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. I didn't know what it was at first. I just liked everything about him, from his handsome face to his voice.

He moved with a grace and just watching him walk across the gym stirred me with longing. I chose to play soccer but was not very good at it. Before one practice session, Greg called me aside. He had some suggestion and wanted me to think about changing my sport. 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. Greg stood staring at his stopwatch. 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. But I was a good runner. I always left the other guys far behind when we did laps.

"What's your name?" Greg asked me. "Bob, but my friends call me Lightning -- Light for short." I said, just beginning to catch my breath. "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. "Come here Light" Greg said. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me his suggestion. He said I was a half decent soccer player but that he wanted to make a track star out of me. 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 rubbed my hair vigorously. I hated when my relatives did that but it was different when Greg did it. 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. So with that, I joined the track team.

There were only five guys on the high school cross-country team. In after-school practice, Greg ran along with us. Greg had been a miler in college but told us he wasn't built for it, and had never been very good. His legs were too muscular, he said. I thought his legs and his whole muscular body were beautiful. Maybe he didn't have "a runner's body", but to me, it was perfect. I had seen it when he showered with us after work-outs. He seemed self-conscious, but a little proud too, of being so hairy. 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. In the shower, I noticed that his balls were very large, which were the reason for the bulge in his shorts. His dick was a nice size. What I liked most though was the thick bush of public hair that ran right up his chest.

My own pubic hair was still not fully grown out and I prayed that I'd grow a quarter of what Greg had. I had daydreams about Greg in his gym shorts, walking up to me. I would drop to my knees and he would let me feel his legs and bury my face in his crotch.

Greg acted very differently during cross-country practice compared with the way he acted in gym class. He was much quieter on our runs, running along with us, or giving pointers on running style. Teaching gym class required that he maintain discipline. But I could tell he wasn't the kind of rigid person that gets off on giving orders. It was obvious to all of us in his gym class, that he was only strict because the other teachers probably told him it was the only way a teacher in his first year could act, unless he wanted his students to think they could get over on him.
After a few months I had gotten to know him well enough to tease him a little about his drill sergeant act in gym class, not in front of other students of course. He took my ribbing in stride. Sometimes it was only a fleeting exchange of glances between us, an understanding that people who are close to each other develop after a while, but I could tell he liked me and understood me, even if I didn't understand myself at the time.

Since there were only five guys on the cross-country team, Greg drove us to out-of-town meets in his own car. I always sat in front next to Greg, on the hump, because I was the smallest, but I really liked sitting there just to be next to him. The sight of his hairy arms on the steering wheel gave me a sense of security. When we went around curves, our sides and legs would often touch. This physical contact, which he probably didn't even notice, was lighting the fires of a passion like I've never known since. I jerked off regularly and the only fantasy person I could think of was Greg. He was driving me insane and if I hadn't had running to keep my emotions level, I probably would have killed myself or gone mad.

Greg was married. His wife came to some of the local meets, always carrying a book with her to read. She wore thick glasses and looked intellectual. She was an odd wife for a gym teacher, but Greg wasn't your average gym teacher. He probably picked her because she had brains.

That year, the State finals were held a small town downstate. I was the only guy from our school to qualify and Greg called my parents to get permission to drive me to the meet, and spending a night over in a motel since it was a 3 hour drive, each way. My father liked Greg a lot because if his job, he was away a lot and thought he was a good influence on me. He used to say, "Greg is a real man's man." So he gave his permission.

At the meet I didn't fulfill the early promise to myself for becoming a star marathoner. For one thing, I didn't have the drive to push myself to extremes in training. Greg could see this. I enjoyed running and Greg was instrumental in teaching me that running was for both for mental and physical fitness, not just to win.

When I crossed the course finish line in 6th place at the State finals, Greg ran up, put his arm around my shoulder and said "Light, you did just fine, now lets go eat
After taking a shower at the hosting high school, Greg drove us to a diner. "You'll never guess what I majored in, at first, in college," he said as we began our meal. I assumed that he'd gone to college majoring in phys ed and I couldn't even guess at anything else.

"Philosophy!" he said, laughing, "but then I switched to phys ed." His talk about college years kept me mesmerized. He talked about other personal things too, just like he would to a friend. It was the first time I was with him completely alone, without other runners, and he seemed to like being with me as much as I did him.

Evening approached as we arrived back at the motel. The small room had a black tiled bathroom and a television with only one rabbit ear. However, it was clean and to be with Greg alone anywhere, even in the city dump, would be better than a suite at the Plaza with my family, as far as I was concerned. As soon as we got back to the room, Greg put on his sweat pants and headed out for a quick run and I turned on the TV while awaiting his return. I couldn't very well go along with him since I'd just finished a ten-mile race.

The TV was shitty so after a few minutes I turned it off and started pacing around the room. Greg's gym bag sat on a chair near one of the beds, and on the back of the chair were his clothes that he'd removed a few minutes before, before going out on his run. I touched his red sport shirt, feeling under the arms, which were slightly moist, and then put my fingers to my nostrils to breathe in the aromatic smell that was Greg. I picked up his brown leather belt, running my fingers over its gold buckle, and then trying it on for size, pretending it was Greg wrapped around me. On the floor, just hidden by the bedspread, he'd tossed his dirty underwear when he changed into his jock strap.

There they were, white Fruit of the Looms, blue stripe on the waistband. I picked them up and brought them close to inspect them. A few of Greg's pubic hairs clung to the cotton inner pouch and I brought his underwear to my face and breathed in deeply, trying to imagine his big balls and warm genitals and that mass of thick dark hair caressing my face. I wanted to jerk off right then with his underwear on my face. Since he said he was coming back in a few minutes, I resisted the impulse to jerk off, but thought I had to keep them as a souvenir. I thought Greg probably wouldn't even miss them. At the same time, I was feeling perverted for stealing his underwear, but I took the chance. I put them in my gym bag, wrapping them inside one of the extra T- shirts my mother packed.

I turned the TV back on and pretended to be absorbed in it when he came back in the room and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. The door to the bathroom opened and the whole room filled with the warm steamy smell of Greg. He emerged, a white towel wrapped around his waist, and stood at the bathroom door with his hand on his hip. He seemed puzzled.

First he moved toward the chair beside his bed then looked around on the floor. He said "You know, that's funny, I forgot to bring a clean pair of underwear, and I can't seem to find the pair I took off before I went running." I tried to look casual but I felt as though I was caught. He got down on his hands and knees and started looking under the bed. I grabbed my gym bag and headed into the bathroom quickly, shutting the door behind me. After flushing the toilet, having pretended I had taken a leak, I came out holding his underwear in my hand and tossed them to him, trying to control my voice as I said "here they are, you must've left them in the bathroom."

He smiled and put them on. I turned the TV to an even fuzzier channel and noticed that Greg was not getting dressed any further, he just sat in his underwear as if in deep thought over something. Finally he said, "you took my underwear didn't you." I looked at him in mock surprise, trying to act as though the accusation was outrageous. I knew I couldn't lie.
He'd figured it out some how and there was no use lying. After a pause I said "yes," as the skin on my face turned into a burning blush. He could see that I was embarrassed and he didn't want to prolong my agony. I was slightly relieved to see he was reacting well but still felt embarrassed. He acted like he was almost pleased, but I was hardly aware of his reaction.

Greg jumped up from his bed, turned off the TV, and stood facing me wearing only his underwear. I couldn't look at his face. I turned my head to the side and looked down at the bed. "Aw, come on Light, it's no big thing", he said as I felt his hand on my shoulder. "If it matters to you, I feel the same way about you" he said in a softer voice, in a manner that allowed me to look up at him. I felt that I might be dead or dreaming, but the look in his eyes told me he meant what he said and that he was really there. Tears came pouring silently out of my eyes.

"Aw, come on Light, don't cry" he said softly, as he drew me into his arms and put his face right up to mine, and licked at my tears with his tongue, like a dog might. Dreamlike, I opened my mouth and kissed him, sucking at his mouth like it was a nipple. I could feel his hardon pressing on my leg as we lay back on the bed, and my own cock sprang to attention. He kissed and licked me all over, and as he undressed me, he took off his underwear. He stood up next to me and bent his knees so that his crotch was next to my face.

I put my face into his thick public hair and breathed in, while feeling around his chest and thighs with my hands. I let my lips touch his balls and then tasted them, licking them slowly as I let my tongue glide up the shaft of his hard dick. As I took his cock into my mouth he moaned with pleasure and positioned me on the bed so we could both suck at the same time. I came once, and during the next few hours, came four more times, each time as intense as the last.

From the exhaustion of sex and running, we fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning, I woke up to see him propped on one elbow, his face a few inches from my own. "Did I ever tell you, you are beautiful" he said, as he touched my forehead and played with a shock of hair that always managed to stand on end. His words about my beauty sounds like a clichй now, but Greg spoke them with sincerity.

We made love again, and then dressed and headed for breakfast. When we got back to the room, we gathered our things together and I took a long look at the bed where "it" happened, and shut the door. Sliding into the front seat of his car, he handed me a small brown bag. "Here's a present for you to remember our trip by." Inside were his underwear, the one and only pair used to wipe his semen off me the night before. "If it hadn't been for these, we might have never found each other", he said, as he pulled the car out of the motel lot.