Chapter 8: good miss
When I was in junior high school in the mid 1970's the administration made the progressive move of making, on a trial basis, two of the ninth grade PE classes coeducational. One was to be taught by one of the boy's PE coaches, and the other by one of the girl's PE coaches.
The boy's coaches were very selective in their choices for this project: they only picked the best behaved boys, not necessarily the best athletes. I was one of those boys chosen.
While my buddies and I were waiting for the teachers to be announced we speculated and discussed whom we wanted to be our fist female PE teacher. The favorite was Miss Rodgers, a young and slender redhead. The least preferred was Mrs. Cole, a fat, elderly woman who liked boys about as much as she liked slime mold, and girls only slightly better. Mrs. Cole wore her graying blonde hair in a short and severe hair style that screamed 'Butch!' In the end it was Mrs. Goodwin who was my first lady PE Teacher.
This is the story of Mrs. Goodwin and me.
I got along well with Mrs. Goodwin from the start. I was well behaved with good manners. Mrs. Goodwin selected me to lead the group exercises that we did at the beginning of each class because I could bellow like a Drill Instructor. Also, I was entrusted with the running of little errands for Mrs. Goodwin, and that helped be get out of some of the more onerous games, like paddle tennis. Where Mrs. Goodwin and I really hit it off was with our enjoyment of running track. She had been on the track team when she was at university, and was glad to pass on some tips and pointers to me.
In those days the girl's coaches wore baggy navy-blue walking shorts and light blue polo shirts with the school logo on the left breast. Mrs. Goodwin herself was tall, with long legs. She wore her medium brown hair short, with no real attempt to make in stylish. Her face, arms and legs were well tanned. She was not what would be called ravishingly beautiful, with a long somewhat angular, face. She had a sweet smile and her light blue eyes would sparkle when she did. One thing that I noticed early on was the surgery scar on her left knee. She told the class that she had landed badly doing a high jump and had torn the tendons so badly that that ended her track and field career. With all that said, I really liked Mrs. Goodwin as a teacher and as a person.
The highlight of the year in the PE department was the yearly school track meet, and this year the highlight was to be a head-to-head contest of the 4x100 yard relay: Mr. Hannigan's coed PE class versus Mrs. Goodwin's coed PE class. The ground rules were that each class would have two boys and two girls on the relay team, and they could run any leg. After try-outs and practice I was selected to run the anchor leg of this important race.
When the day of the track meet finally arrived I was ready. I did well in my other events: the standing and running long jumps; and the 50, 100 and 440 yard dashes. The 4x100 relay was the last event of the day. I won't bother with the detail of the race, just suffice it to say that Carla gave me a two-stride lead going into the anchor leg, and I never looked back.
I stuck around after the meet to help put away the equipment and bleachers. When that job was done I headed to the locker room to shower and change. When I was ready to leave school I went by the girl's PE office to say good-bye to Mrs. Goodwin.
When I entered the office I didn't see anyone.
"Hello! Mrs. Goodwin?" I called, "its Andrew."
"I'm here in the back," came her muffled reply. "Come on back!
If the girl's PE building was laid out like the boy's, I was headed towards the coaches locker room.
The door to the locker room was about halfway open, so I poked my head in. Mrs. Goodwin was seated with her back to me on the bench in front of her open locker. She only had on her bra and full sized briefs: 'granny panties.'
I stammered an apology and started to withdraw. My thoughts were in a jumble. I was startled, embarrassed and turned on all at once. Mrs. Goodwin looked over her shoulder with a smile.
"Come on in, Andrew. I won't bite."
I entered the locker room, still staying by the door, ready to make a hurried exit if needed.
"You did a great job at the track meet today, Andrew."
"Thank you, Mrs. Goodwin."
"'Mrs. Goodwin' is too formal for friends, Andrew. When we aren't in class you should call me 'Joan.'"
"Ah…Okay, Joan," I sort of stammered. She said we were friends, I liked that. I had always been fond of Mrs. Goodwin. In a heartbeat I realized that all along I had a crush on her. Mrs. Goodwin had shown me nothing but kindness, and I always wanted to please her. My mind was in a whorl. Here I was, talking with my PE teacher, in the coach's locker room, while she was wearing only her underwear. And she was acting as if it was the natural thing in the world to do.
"I've enjoyed having you in my class this semester, Andrew. You have always been such a nice young man.
"Thanks, Mrs. Goodwin," I said falling back into formality. "I've liked being in you class."
"Just another couple of weeks and you're off for the summer. Any vacation plans?"
"I don't think so. Mom has to work, and I'm going to Summer School at the high school." My mom had a rule: unless I had a paying job I had to go to summer school.
"Andrew, would you be a dear and undo my bra?" she asked.
I would have walked on the ceiling if she had asked me to! I stepped over to Mrs. Goodwin. I knew how bras were fastened, having helped my mom sort laundry. I undid the three hooks and gently let my hands fall to my sides.
Joan took the straps off of her shoulder and tossed the now empty bra into her locker.
This was in the days before sports bras had even been thought of, so Mrs. Goodwin had to wear her bra tight to keep her breasts from bouncing too much. I saw the deep marks on her shoulders from the straps, and I felt sorry. I don't like to see anyone suffering. On impulse I reached up and started to massage her shoulder and neck. The simple act of touching her bare skin made my penis stir in my jeans.
"Oh, Andrew, oh…yes, that feels so good," she said rolling her neck in enjoyment.
I worked my way lower down her back. I started to really massage deeply. I could feel the tension squirt out of her muscles, like toothpaste out of a tube. Joan leaned over so I could reach her entire back.
After several moments she let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "Thank you, Sweetie," Joan said looking back over shoulder. "You do that very well."
"Thanks, Joan." I was looking at her panty clad bottom. Her briefs were of thin white cotton, so there was just hint of flesh underneath: a very intriguing sight for a fifteen year old boy.
"You've had a good look at my back, Andrew. Would you like to look at my front?"
I was dumbfounded! Here was a mature woman inviting me to look at her breasts. Not some furtive peeking at some classmates budding titties, just come on and have a look.
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