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My NFL Tryout, Part 1
by Greg Scott

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All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.

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Some people achieve fame by association.  For example, there's Anna Nicole's baby-daddy or O.J.'s guest house resident.  Still more recently we find semi-hunk Levi Johnston who found a key to breaking through an abstinence oath and "earning" his fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

Over the years, I've known my share of famous people, but I've never had any of their fame rub off on me.  I don't mind.  I don't think I would enjoy being chased by paparazzi or sneaking through the back entrance of the hot club of the moment.  The quieter life is fine with me.

My first university teaching job was at a rather large, highly religious, extremely conservative college in Texas.  At the time, the school was something of a football power house.  I've always been a bit of a football fanatic, although my playing days ended with an injury early in high school. I doubt that even the cheerleaders noticed my absence from the roster.  Having finished my graduate studies at a Big Ten university that was enduring repeated losing seasons, I enjoyed being back at a place where I could be an  enthusiastic fan on Saturday afternoons.

I shouldn't lead you astray, though.  I didn't spend my waking hours remembering last week's contest or fantasizing about what might happen next Saturday on the gridiron in front of sixty thousand screaming fans.

Like most first year professors, my nights were spent preparing for a heavy teaching load, and my days were filled with classes, meetings and occasional escapes to the library to continue my research.  I barely had time to visit the men's room, it seemed.  It got to the point where I was fondly remembering the lazy days of graduate school, which, at the time, had seemed anything but slow paced.

About the only times that I could take care of personal comfort needs was either immediately before or after a class.  Of course, that was the time during which the only men's room in my building was at its busiest.  

I can't say that I minded having the company.  In graduate school I had perfected what I called my "askance glance," purely out of curiosity and a desire to populate my late night fantasy sessions.

The architect of my building must have been a sadist, because he had insisted on placing a divider between the room's two urinals.  However, whomever had actually installed the divider was either my kindred spirit or an inept worker, because the divider was placed low enough on the wall that any adult could easily see over the privacy barrier.

Thanks to the low placement, several of my own students began to appear in my mind during countless jack off sessions in my bed.  Of course, those wishes could not become reality.  

While I had no compunction about playing with students, I would never cross the line of having sex with one from my own class rosters.  Still, so far as I could tell, my own students were fair game for fantasies.  I recall one especially stimulating group scene in my office once.  My imaginary office must have been considerably larger than my real office for so many naked young men to have been active at the same time!

After one class during which my full bladder was racing the clock on the wall to see which would finish first, I found the men's room fuller than usual.  The two stalls were occupied as were both urinals.  I squirmed a bit, noticing that there were two guys ahead of me awaiting a shot at the urinals.

One guy left the urinal on the right, and one of those waiting practically jumped into position and began to empty his too full bladder.  I was envious.  

Eventually he finished, and the last of my competition assumed the spot.  I wondered what was taking the other guy so long.  He had been standing in the same place since I had entered.  If the internal pressure had not been so intense, I doubt that I would have noticed how long he stood there at the left side urinal.

Now that I had noticed, though, I studied him.  I detected a slight movement of his head, indicating that he might be sneaking a peek at his neighbor.  I started to grow a bit inside my briefs, adding to my already considerable discomfort.

At last the guy on the right was shaking off his final drops and putting things away.  I was now in even more of a rush, because I wanted to get in position before the guy on the left began to think he had overstayed his welcome.

Unfortunately for me, my target on the left put himself together while intently and rather obviously watching his companion do the same.  I arrived at the urinal on the right just as the gawker on the left turned to walk toward the sinks.  We nodded briefly to each other as we passed.

I was able to quickly assess him.  As I did so, I cursed the bad luck of my timing. He could definitely have served as fuel for a stimulating time of self-pleasuring!

He was rather tall, probably about 6'3" and had the complexion of rich hot chocolate.  He was clearly muscular, but not in the overly chiseled sort of way.  Typically, I go for the more slender, less toned look, but this guy carried his muscles well.  His face was pleasant and friendly but by no means pretty.  Compared to mine, his hands were huge.

I arrived in my position at almost full staff, so I had to hurriedly work a bit to disengage myself from my underwear.  To my dismay, the urine would not come out.  I stood there willing myself to deflate enough to be able to finally pee.  Eventually, of course, I succeeded.  

Focusing upon the task at hand, I absent mindedly realized that the two occupants of the stalls had extricated themselves and exited into the hallway.  Otherwise, I was largely oblivious to my surroundings.

Finally finishing and by now completely flaccid, I easily put myself back in place and turned to wash my hands.  As I was vacating the urinal area, I passed the object of my prior attention who was hurrying to claim the spot that had been just a foot from me just a moment earlier.

This time as we passed we locked eyes.

"How's it goin'?" he asked, glancing to the area just below my belt.

I mumbled, "Not bad," or something equally non-committal.

I washed my hands longer than a surgeon preparing for a heart transplant.  My friend stood motionless in his familiar position.  I wondered if I should return to my former position...or would that be too obvious?  After all, "I'm a professor," I thought.

Still the temptation was awesome.  Just as I decided to go for it, the outer door opened and in walked my short, fat, obnoxious department chair.

I left, determined to return again after that same class.  I would have to postpone refilling my fantasy fuel tank...just as you will have to wait for the next installment of this true tale.

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