Dēda

Nicknames

Most guys have nicknames that reflect something about themselves or their appearance. Well, I'm no exception. It's only that I don't tell just anybody my story, but after almost fifty years, it won't hurt to share my secret. It happened when I was thirteen and we moved to a new town and I was the new kid in my class. Proving myself to the other boys in the class happened in a most unusual way.

I still remember my mom driving me to my new school and coming inside to the office with me. I needed a parent with me in order to get registered and to get my class schedule. Being in junior high in the seventh grade, in those days, you didn't have much choice when it came to subjects plus you were required to take 'phys-ed' or gym.

I didn't mind taking gym, after all, I was pretty good at basketball and that's what they did most of the time in the school's gym classes while the 'coach' stayed in his office and worried about his next ballgame.

In those days, at thirteen years of age, I stood 5ft 8in [1.70 m] tall and weighed about 145 lbs. [66 kg]. If you had known me a few months later, you probably would have figured that I was a 'jock', but at the time, that was still in my future. My hair was brown with blond highlights, straight, and cut short. From the sports that I had played at my old school and the work that I did mowing lawns, I was in good shape with a slim well defined body. When I went shirtless, you could tell that I was well on my way to having well-defined arms and shoulders as well as noticeable abs.

My problem was that I really didn't want to have to take a shower and let the other boys see me naked. It wasn't that I was ashamed to be naked in front of other boys like a lot of the youngsters are today. Well, it was just something else. It was something physical about me that I didn't want to share with the other boys in my class. Not even my mother was aware of my 'problem' and I didn't even know how to talk to my dad about it either, even if he was a guy.

It had not been a problem at my old school. We weren't required to take showers after gym class there. As a result, I just never took one and no one ever asked why.

Things went pretty well that first day. I hadn't brought my gym clothes with me for my first day at school and the coach let me shoot a few hoops with the rest of the class once I had locked my shirt and wallet in a kit locker. However, he made it clear that I was expected to bring shorts and an extra tee shirt as well as a towel to class when we met again on Wednesday (This was a Monday and the class only met every other day.) I was stunned when he also made it clear that all of his students were expected to take a shower at the end of gym class.

You may not understand just how godlike coaches were in those days. If he had told me to strip off naked and go outside and run around the school grounds, I would have done it, no questions asked. His word was law. Not obeying him never even entered my mind.

Needless to say, I spent the whole next day and a half trying to think of some way to get out of gym class. I couldn't claim that I was sick without a note from one of my parents and even if I forged one, that would only get me out of class for one or two sessions. If I claimed that I had forgotten my towel, the coach would just give me a bad mark for the day or maybe make me use an old towel from his 'lost and found' basket. I spent much of Tuesday night sleepless trying to think of something that would get me out of taking a shower, but nothing that I could think of seemed to solve the problem.

When Wednesday rolled around, I gave up and packed my gym bag with the required tee shirt and shorts and the required towel. (Since we all wore tennis shoes to school in those days, I didn't need any extra shoes for gym.)

In the locker room, I changed into my gym shorts but left my underwear on under them. Then, I heard some fat kid say "You're supposed to take off your underwear for gym."

I just glared at him and he went back to changing clothes. I figured 'It's worth a try' and ran out to the basketball court where the coach would be taking roll.

After he checked class attendance, he divided us up into teams and had us play half-court basketball for half an hour. Then he blew his whistle and announced: "That's it for today. Everybody hit the showers."

Twenty other boys and myself ran or walked into the locker room. Most of them started to strip off their now sweaty tee shirts and shorts and get towels from their lockers and head in the direction of the big communal shower room. The fact that they were all soon naked in front of one another didn't seem to bother any of them at all.

I fumbled around my locker until most of the other boys were in the shower or on their way there. Slowly, I slipped off my sweaty tee shirt and then slid my shorts down and off. With a sigh, I dropped my underwear and quickly wrapped my towel around my middle. Then, I slowly and very reluctantly walked in the direction of the showers.

I swallowed hard and was shaking slightly as I made it to the door of the big shower room. At least fifteen other boys of my age, none of whom I more than barely knew, were soaping themselves and rinsing off suds while naked in front of each other. It was also apparent that they were completely at ease. I saw all sorts of bodies as well as penises and balls as well as boys with little or no pubic hair all the way to one or two with respectable bushes.

All of my classmates were preoccupied with showering, talking, and laughing as they worked off steam built up from the just finished basketball games that had taken place in the adjoining gym.

I faced the wall at the nearest available shower. As I faced the tile wall, I took off my towel and hung it on a peg. I turned on the water and let it warm to a comfortable temperature. Facing the shower head, I stepped under the water letting it cascade over my naked body. I swallowed hard and said to myself 'I might as well get this over.' Then I closed my eyes and turned toward the other boys expecting to hear laughter fill the room. There was a long silence broken only by the water hitting the tile floor. Then there was a very audible collective gasp.

I thought that I might cry, but then Bill James, who was later my best friend, broke the silence saying "Jesus, are you hung! How big is that thing anyway?"

He gestured at my package where my 5 inch [12½ cm] flaccid penis and hanging ball-sac stood out from my thirteen year-old body crowned by a fringe of dark pubic hair with a treasure trail that noticeably ran all the way up to my navel.

Yes, I was an 'early bloomer' and already had a very man-sized package. To me, the issue was that I was different from other boys my age. Then as now, at least in the mind of a thirteen year-old, being different was a fate worse than death.

A room full of bug-eyed boys were looking at my large organ. It throbbed slightly and started to rise. Desperately, I tried to will it to go down. Getting hard in front of practically the whole class would be all that I would need to be a living freak for the rest of my school days.

Fortunately, somehow my dick stopped at only half erect. It stood away from my body at a 45 degree angle. At least, it was still pointing down but was throbbing slightly there in the warm water. I guess that it had only grown to about 6 inches [15 cm] long, but it looked to me like it was a foot long. Tears formed in my eyes and my lip quivered as I waited for the teasing that I knew was sure to come.

Bill continued to look at me as he soaped his own three inch [7½ cm] penis and balls. Then, he laughed a friendly laugh and added "They need to call you 'Smoke House'."

"Why is that?" I stammered, befuddled by his comment but grateful that no one was as yet laughing at me.

"Because, that's where the meat is hung!" he laughed.

The other kids started to join in the laughter, only it was friendly good natured laughter. They were laughing with me and not at me. So it was that I became 'Smoke House' for the rest of my school days.

Well, that's how I got my nickname. Bill and I went on to play a lot of basketball together in junior and senior high. After graduation, people slowly stopped calling me 'Smoke House'. I didn't want to perpetuate the name. After all, having to explain why that was your nickname was not something that you could do with just anybody.

The End