The Girl in my PE class

Illustrations by Marcus, Grumblebee.com
P.E. was the one class I had that wasn't an honors class, the one class where I hung out with kids from my own neighborhood and in many ways the one class where, for better of for worse, I'd be myself.

In eighth grade Jeremy shared with me that a 9th grader was letting him feel her up. It was cold enough that it made sense to huddle beneath a blanket while waiting for your turn to be up at bat. Jeremy and I didn't care to be up to bat and the other kids would just as soon not have us up to bat either. So long as the coach was distracted trying to impress the girls in our class with how cute and funny he was nobody noticed us sitting on our asses through most of the period. Jeremy invited me to share the blanket with him and this older girl. The next thing I knew I was feeling her up too. I pet her thighs and breasts, while contantly scanning to see that nobody else was wise to what was going on. I tried to stop with enough time before the bell rang that I could get to the locker room without an erection showing beneath my gym shorts. It never worked. The erection didn't want to go away and I didn't want to stop touching her. I would take advantage of the blanket cover to get my excitement tucked safely under my wasteband. I'd pull my t-shirt low and hunch over and hope that the other kids didn't catch on.

I felt trashy and gross and completely addicted. Eventually the 9th grade girl landed a high school boyfriend and Jeremy and I were cut off, cold turkey. I was thankful, and I hoped that not too many people knew what I had been up to. I hadn't even shared this, or Jeremy and I's other hobbies with Kim and Jeremy was sworn to secrecy.

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