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It’s not because I am under-endowed or anything. I can hold my own in that department, of which, back then, I got plenty of practice. But I hated showering after rugby. It may have been my conservative upbringing. I never even saw my older brother naked, despite sharing a bedroom with him. We were taught to wear undies at all times, even under our pyjamas as we slept, and we only ever changed them when we bathed.
Once, when I was seven, I was in the bath and desperately needed to pee. I ran out into the hallway completely naked, on my way to the toilet in the next room. My father caught me, grabbed me by the arm, and spanked me square on my bare butt. ‘Don’t let me ever see you like that again,’ he shouted. It was the only time he ever hit me. I never understood what I’d done wrong.
Having said all that, he was a good man. A no nonsense, hard working dairy farmer from the sticks north of Wellington, just like his father before him, and where I was raised. He wanted nothing but the best for us. Trouble was the only way he knew of achieving this was to work hard, be stoic and never show your penis. It was the way back then.
The other thing about being a farm boy in New Zealand was the rugby. We all played it. Luckily I happened to be quite good at it, even making representative teams. I liked it most for the friendships and sense of belonging. Unfortunately, it also meant showering together, naked. In fact, I tried not to shower after the game at all, if I could help it. A little bit of mud never did anyone any harm. Don’t get me wrong. I loved seeing other guys naked. That was the problem.
Living out in the country has other drawbacks. There’s nothing much to do, apart from helping out on the farm, playing rugby and taking a girl out to a local dance in a pickup truck, with a crate of beer rattling in the back. I’d done all that already. That’s mostly why I moved to the big city lights of Wellington, New Zealand’s capital city, at the age of twenty two. It was about time.
I found an apartment, enrolled at University and trained with my new rugby team, all in the space of a week. After the first game, I was just pleased I had not made a laughing stock of myself. Sure, I was good, but all the moves seemed to unfold at twice the speed I was used to. I needn’t have worried. I knew I had played well when a number of teammates tapped me on the bum as I walked off the field, the ultimate of compliments for the big city boys, as long as there’s nothing sexual in it, of course. Nothing like that ever happened with my old team. People just played for the fun of it, out in the country. Besides, a tap on the bum might have been considered gay, and no butch country boy wants that label.
I had to admit, scoring the winning try was no fluke. I knew exactly what I was doing. I sat on the bench in the corner of the changing room, comparatively reserved. Quiet in my contentment for my first city game. The mood was more self-congratulatory than I was used to, more boisterous, more noisy. Although the smells were familiar. That strange mixture of menthol skin linament and fresh male sweat, which strengthened every time a teammate removed an item of their playing kit. Then it waned when another exited naked, through the shower room doorway. By the time I bent over and slipped off my boots, the showers were already in full steam.
Suddenly, I saw the outstretched hand, in my peripheral vision, out of the top of my eyes. I glanced up towards the guys midriff, and then further up to his face, and then back down to his abdomen. “Nice game Jeff,” he said. It was Gary Williamson, the team captain.
It was the fright of looking up and being confronted by Gary’s flaccid junk, at eye level, just hanging there innocuously, inches away, that almost made me say something I might regret. Hanging there is a perfect turn of phrase. Boy did it hang. Like the trunk of an elephant. I turned my eyes away from his sizable genitalia and stood, still in my complete playing kit, wiping my hands down the sides of my dirty shorts before pushing out my limp right hand towards him. I placed it in Gary’s, as I was invited to do and I felt his firm grip, shaking his hand tentatively.
I guess you could say that Gary was the team hunk. Now I knew why, having seen him from a close-up perspective, as nature intended. At least I could turn my head forward now that we were both standing. Gary’s junk didn’t seem anywhere near as daunting from there.
“Thanks Gary,” I said nervously.
“I was impressed,” he added.
I withdrew my hand and shrugged my shoulders bashfully.
“I didn’t realise you were that good a player,” he said. “They breed them good up there in Oaksville then? Good farming stock, I suppose eh?” He patted my back heartily. “I’ll tell you what. Pop into the showers with the lads. Get cleaned up. Then we’ll drop into the clubrooms for a beer. You’ll have the chicks eating out of the palm of your hand in no time. I’ll introduce you to some of them, if you like.”
“Chicks?,” I asked.
“Haha, izmir escort you country lads, you’re all the same. Yea, you know, females, women.”
“Sure,” I replied, hesitantly. I had hardly managed to string two words together so far. My lack of enthusiasm for the idea probably stuck out like a sore thumb.
“No need to be nervous. Our chicks are a friendly bunch. I’ll catch you in the showers,” Gary added, smiling broadly, before turning his back and walking through the shower doorway.
I sat myself back down on the bench and removed my socks at a dawdles pace.
“You coming to the showers mate?” Another naked teammate sat down beside me and planted his hand on my dirt covered knee. “You’d better get your skates on.”
“Sure. In a minute,” I replied, smiling awkwardly at him, careful to avoid another eyeful of male genitalia. “Save me some hot water?”
“Should be enough hot water. There’s some hot tubs in there too. Good game,” he said as he slapped my thigh, in a congratulatory way, and stood before walking to the showers to join the others.
Just brilliant, I thought. If anything should lead to an embarrassing erection, it will be a heap of soaped up guys writhing around naked in a hot tub. I was lagging way behind, the last person left in the changing room, and I was still completely clothed in my playing gear.
I pulled my soiled rugby jersey over my head and chucked it into my open bag on the floor beside me. Then I sat contemplating for a bit. There sure was a racket coming from the showers. I could make out a version of We are the Champions, but it bore little resemblance to the one sung by Freddie Mercury. Occasionally, a chorus of laughter drowned out the attempt at a mass singalong. I rummaged in my bag and pulled out my clothes, which were folded neatly inside a plastic bag. I didn’t seem that dirty. A bit of mud on my knees perhaps, but nothing much else to write home about. The clothes would hide most of it anyway, I decided. And I’ve never been one to sweat much during the game.
I held my black dress pants aloft at the waist and gave them a shake, hoping to smooth out any creases. Then I laid them out carefully on the seat beside me. Remaining seated, I slid off my dirty rugby shorts and threw them on top of the already discarded jersey in my bag. Sitting there in my underpants was about as naked as I was willing to get today. I hardly knew any of these guys after all.
As I stood, I pulled my pants up my legs and fastened the button around my waist. It was then I became aware of the sound of the cascading water in the shower area. Through the comparative silence came a shouting voice.
“Hey whizkid, Jeff mate. Get your arse over here into the showers. Come on man. Don’t you like us mate?”
I instantly recognised the voice, if only for the addition of the word mate to the end of my name. It was that cheeky guy called Matt. The guy who had just played eighty minutes of rugby beside me in the centres.
“Hurry up mate,” Matt joked. “We don’t bite. Are you scared we’re going to fuck you in the arse or something man?”
“Yea, come on Jeff. Matt’s just dying for a piece of your arse. He sure as hell doesn’t get any action from any of the chicks,” yelled someone else, to uproarious laughter. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt, Matt’s got a small one anyway.”
“Shit.” I said quietly to myself. This isn’t going to work. I reluctantly unfastened the button of my pants and pushed them down my legs, before removing them and throwing them untidily back in my bag.
. . . . .
It was just as expected. I stood briefly at the doorway to the showers, assessing the layout. There were no petitions … no curtains … no privacy. Just one giant open bathroom, with a heap of shower nozzles spread down three of the walls, and a large tub in one corner. Pretty much everything rugby players expect from their shower room. It was steamy, like a fog on a cold winters morning, especially looking from the door. Everyone was naked. I knew that much.
Suddenly, it seemed, I was the centre of attention. The talking became whispers. Guys turned their heads in my direction, and they squinted through the jets of water and streams of shampoo falling down their faces. Then their eyes followed me as I walked towards a vacant shower I had spotted at the very end of a side wall. I stood myself at the shower, facing the wall, and I placed my hand on the tap.
It was Gary Williamson who broke the ice. “You’ve gotta force that tap Jeff if you want hot water. Push it around hard. The showers are hopeless here. The club’s trying to save money. You know, funds are tight.” he said.
As I opened the faucet and the shower sparked into life, I heard some laughter behind me, across the way. I ignored it at first. I held my arms out in front of me and felt the temperature of the water with my hands. The sniggering continued.
“Hey mate. What are you doing?”
I turned my head. I could sense my teammate’s eyes, as if I alsancak escort was the headline act at a circus. The voice was Matt’s.
“What? Ah, you talking to me?,” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“What are you doing?,” repeated Matt. “You’ve still got your undies on mate.”
I didn’t know what to do, how to react. I was speechless. So was everyone else, it seemed. There was silence.
“Shut up Matt. It doesn’t matter,” said someone, attempting to smooth over an awkward moment.
“But why is he showering with his undies on?,” Matt said incredulously. “That’s just weird man.”
Someone else tried to make a joke of it. “It’s a good idea Matt. You can have a shower and clean your undies at the same time. It saves water,” he said to laughter. “Funds are tight, remember?”
Matt seemed adamant. “He might get clean undies mate, but he’ll have a dirty arse. How can you clean your arse while you’re wearing undies?” he said. “It’s just crazy.”
“Matt, you just worry about your own arse,” said someone else. “Why should Jeff listen to you? He looks quite capable of taking care of his arse. Since when did you become the arse police? Matt, turn around for a minute. Let us look at your arse. Is it clean? Who here wants to volunteer to check Matt’s arse?”
If I was under the influence of alcohol or something, I may have put my hand up at this point. He was good looking, after all. I closed my eyes, feeling the warm jets of water on my body, and tried to shut the conversation out.
“Mate, it’s just that I’ve never heard of anyone having a shower in their undies before,” said Matt, resigned to the fact that everyone else appeared against him.
Gary chipped in. “I’ll tell you what Matt. If ever you should become as good a player as Jeff, you can shower in your underpants too. Then I’ll personally come and clean your arse for you.”
I laughed to myself, with my eyes shut and I began to relax. I gently rubbed my face, then my chest and arms repeatedly, trying to forget my surroundings. I was awoken from my shallow daydream by a voice.
“Hey mate,” the voice said.
I opened my eyes. I could see no one. I looked to the side, and then over my shoulder. There was just one lonely, naked figure, standing under a shower, across the room. It was Matt.
“Hey mate,” repeated Matt. “Do you mind if I come over there and use the shower next to you man? There’s no one to talk to over on this side.”
I didn’t even have time to answer. Matt was soaking himself in the adjacent shower before I could open my mouth. “I was just about to finish up actually Matt,” I said belatedly.
“Don’t go mate. I want to talk you.” Matt stood side on to the wall to face me, as the water tumbled down upon his nudity. “Where are you from?,” he asked.
It seemed rude to look at his naked flesh from so close, but it seemed even ruder not to face him as he was talking. I turned my body. We stood face to face. I looked into his eyes as he spoke, very keen to at least glance down at his manhood, but I knew he was watching. I could sense his dark pubic hair down below. I pretended to wash my face with my bare hands, parting my fingers so that I could briefly glance down through them.
“I’m from up north,” I answered eventually.
“Oh yeah? Me too. Whereabouts?”
“Oaksville, up by Masterton. You?,” I asked.
“Really mate? Oaksville eh? I’m from Waitohe, just up the road from there.”
“Oh, cool. I know the place. Small world eh?”
“What does your old man do there then?,” he asked.
“Farmer. My father milks cows. As well as keeping the fences in order and stuff. A general jack of all trades type. You?”
“Um, me? What mate?”
“Your father. What does he do then?”
“Oh, he’s a wanker,” said Matt.
“My old man, he’s a wanker. A wanker mate.”
“Yeah, a professional wanker.”
I laughed. “A wanker? What do you mean, a wanker?”
“A wanker mate. You know … a jerk.”
“Oh, a wanker. I think I get the picture. How could your family afford to live off such a low wage?,” I joked.
Matt laughed. “That was quite funny. So you’re a bit of a comedian then? That’ll go down well around here. What do you do then?”
“Computer programmer,” I replied. “Well, I hope to be. I’m studying.”
“Man, a brainbox too. You’re the complete package!”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” I said sheepishly.
“Brainy, sporty, funny … good looking.” Matt picked up a bottle of shampoo from a shelf braced to the wall. He squeezed some of the liquid onto one hand and applied it to his hair. “Shampoo?,” he asked, offering it to me.
“No thanks. It’s ok. I washed my hair this morning” I lied.
Naked with both hands lifted to his head, Matt looked a great specimen of healthy masculinity. Everything looked so well toned and symmetrical, and yet not overly muscled. Looking into his eyes helped me appreciate just how handsome he actually was. They buca escort were eyes that smiled mischievously at you, even moreso with his hair lathered up and water flooding down his face, causing his eyes to flutter. It wasn’t until you consciously thought about it that you noticed the short, black stubble covering his jawline.
We watched each other, eye to eye, as he lathered. Some shampoo dribbled down into his eye. He squinted and wiped it with the back of his wrist and then rinsed it under the water. Suddenly Matt’s eyes took a dart downwards, then they paused briefly and shot back up. “You’re circumcised,” he said.
“What?,” I stammered. I wasn’t sure I heard correctly.
“Mate, your circumcised. You don’t have a foreskin. Those undies don’t leave much to the imagination when they’re wet. You may as well take them off. It’s easier that way. No one’s going to look.”
“I’m not taking my underpants off Matt,” I said, pretending to laugh.
“I’m quite happy leaving them on thanks.”
Matt continued to lather. I noticed he made two or three more glances downwards. Then for a few seconds he gazed ahead in thought.
“I’m not,” he said.
“You’re not what?,” I asked.
“Circumcised. I’m not circumcised mate.”
“Oh … aren’t you?”
“Nah mate. Can’t you tell?”
I couldn’t believe it. Nothing like this ever happened out in the country. My heart skipped a beat. Matt had invited me to examine his penis. I wasn’t sure what to do. My instincts told me to look, so I did. Eagerly, I glanced down towards his genitalia. Just as I did so, Matt’s cock bounced as he made a step to one side. Then he stood under the falling water from his shower, in order to wash away the shampoo from his hair. I looked away momentarily, before remembering that he wanted me to look. When I looked back, his cock bounced again. So did his balls. His scrotum hung low, warmed by the heat of the shower. A stream of soapy water cascaded down his front, over his abdomen, through his black pubes, down the length of his generous, uncut penis, covering it with slippery, white foam, and then over his dangling ball sac and down his thighs.
I looked back up to Matt’s waiting and smiling eyes. “You’re not either,” I said, trying not to sound as though what I had just done was anything out of the ordinary. “You’re right, You’re not circumcised.”
I could feel it happening, almost immediately. It started with that pleasant feeling in my groin. And then the tightening, which became more and more intense with every second. My soaked briefs started pushing outwards. The beginnings of a bulge.
Matt’s glances at the front of my underpants became more of a stare. Then I turned my back on him as the feelings intensified. I tried to secretly rearrange everything, straightening my dick upwards and sidewards, towards my hip, so it had more space in which to lengthen. I wondered whether Matt had noticed anything. The answer came quickly.
“You’re going to have to take them off now mate. Otherwise it will only make it worse. There’s nothing worse than having a stiffy inside a small pair of wet undies, and you’ll have bugger all chance of getting rid of it if you keep them on.”
Of course, Matt was grinning. At least, I presumed he was. “Fuck,” I said, out loud. I reached my arm out to the side, and turned off my shower. Then I cupped my hands over the front of my briefs and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?,” asked Matt.
I stopped, and without turning to face him, my hands still cupping my genitalia, I said “To get changed.”
“But there’s still guys in there.”
“Shit. What shall I do then?,” I asked, in a panic.
“Turn around. Let me have a look. I’ll see if anyone will notice anything,” said Matt.
“No! I’m not showing you that,” I said, incredulously.
“Do you think I’ve never seen another guys erection before? How do I know whether anyone will notice it if you won’t show me mate?”
“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” I said. “They’ll notice.”
“What exactly is happening then? Describe it for me. That might work. Is it popping out the top of your briefs?,” he asked.
I uncupped my hand and looked down. “Almost,” I replied. “It’s mainly to the side though.”
“So it’s poking out of the leg hole then?”
I looked over my shoulder. Matt faced my back and lathered his chest liberally with soap. “Yeah,” I said, turning my head back away from him. “Oh shit, a little, just the top bit.”
“The top bit?”
“You know … the head, the glans, the tip of my penis, oh shit, this is ridiculous.”
“How much of the head, exactly, is poking out then?,” he asked.
“Probably about half. They’ll definitely notice it.”
“Can you try pushing it back up into your undies so that it’s not poking out?,” suggested Matt. “What happens if you try that?”
“Yea. I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work. There’s not enough material.”
“Man. You must have a big one. Either that or very small undies. How big is it?”
“Big enough. Shit, this is embarrassing,” I mumbled.
“Try pushing it so that it’s straight up in your undies, instead of to the side. How does that go?,” he asked.
“No good,” I said, after attempting Matt’s suggestion. “It puts too much strain on lower down.”
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