I was 13 years old when I first saw a man in a jock. It was 1979, and I was in my fist week of junior high school. That was 30 years ago, but the memory is forever seared in my conciousness.
His name was David L., and he was a little fire-plug muscle stud even at that age. He had solid, muscular legs; a round, powerful ass; and thick biceps that rested against his chest. David had a mat of dirty brown hair he wore in that late '70s style. The hair in his pits was slightly darker. It fascinated me.
But David really took my breath away when he pulled off his grey Champion sweat shorts to reveal a slightly dingy Bike jock strap. The cheap kind everyone used to wear. I couldn't take my eyes off it. At that time, I had not reached puberty; David was fully a man. His cock and balls filled the mesh pouch, and his pubic hair practically burst out of the fabric.
Because my locker was right next to his, I was able to watch him from the corner of my eye. I could barely contain myself when he pulled that jock off and his fat, cut cock flopped out. His low-hanging balls danced below. I had never seen anything like it, and have seen only a few as beautiful since.
And then, just like that, David turned around and was gone, heading toward the low din of splashing water in the open shower stall.
For the next two years, David and I shared a locker next to each other in that gym. As I began to come into my own physically, I would watch him and mark my own progress. David was sort of my secret benchmark to the changes happening in my own body. Even though seeing him naked became somewhat commonplace, I think every man's memory of seeing a man in a jock for the first time should be as rich and vivid as mine.