A particular gym class

The memory of the gym class incident was still fresh in his mind, a painful reminder of his unique predicament. It had been a simple mistake, forgetting his gym clothes, but the coach had seen it as an opportunity to punish him. He'd been **** to play volleyball in nothing but his sneakers, the rough fabric of the gym floor scraping against his bare knees and palms as he dived for the ball. At first, it was more difficult for his teammates to see James naked, bent over in a receiving position, than for the boy himself. In short, during many volleyball plays, the gaze couldn't help but fall on his swinging testicles, the contraction of the muscles in his buttocks, and even the anus that winked in between. Anyway, James was someone who put his whole self into the games, and this time the definition was as literal as possible. He flexed his muscles, jumped, completely unfazed by the idea that by doing so, his penis, growing with every movement, was moving like the rifle of a slightly confused sniper. The other students had stared at first, snickers and whispers following him as he sprinted back and forth across the court. But as the game went on, something strange had happened. The laughter had faded into a kind of hushed awe, their eyes no longer mocking but hungry, following the play of his muscles and the bounce of his cock with each leap. It was as if they could see past the embarrassment to the raw masculinity he exuded, the power in his nakedness that none of them could hope to match.

James had felt their eyes on him, but instead of shrinking away, he'd found himself pushing harder, jumping higher, serving the ball with a **** that seemed to come from some primal part of his being. He'd felt alive, invincible, the sting of each collision with the floor only serving to heighten his senses, to make him more aware of his body and the way it moved.

The whistle had blown, the game ending with a score that James couldn't even remember, and the coach had called him over. "You've got some potential, kid," he'd said, his eyes lingering on James's glistening abs and the erection that had formed during the match. "But you need to learn to control that."

James had nodded, his cheeks burning as he picked up the forgotten bag of gym clothes, his cock bobbing slightly with the movement. He'd hurried to the locker room, his classmates parting before him like the Red Sea, their eyes wide and their whispers hushed. It's James who breaks the silence saying, "It's my fault i taught the class naked. I forgot my uniform.”

A classmate approaches him and, without realizing it, brushes his hand against his penis. He retracts it, all embarrassed, and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to. Anyway, we thought that when the coach said that anyone who forgot something would have to attend the lesson naked, it was a threat, an exaggeration.”

James, sitting on the bench without even hinting at covering himself with a towel, says, "Don't worry about the hand. And as for the coach, it wasn't a threat, and my bare buttocks are proof of that.”

The joke lightens the mood in the locker room, and James heads towards the shower. He waited to be the only one naked while his teammates had already washed and dressed. He doesn't know why, but he finds this thing of being the only one without clothes, with every part of himself, especially those private parts usually covered, exposed to gazes and comments, his way of feeling special. To make him feel this way, there was also his family, although the behavior of his parents and relatives might seem quite bizarre to an outside observer who happened to visit James's house on certain evenings.