Our High School Principal was modestly good-looking

 Our High School Principal was modestly good-looking, well-admired by the students, even if sorta short. 

All through High School, I thought of him as not even having a dick, he was "just an Older 'Dad' Guy." After all, all three of his daughters, the Taymor Triplets, were only in the 10th grade, and were Senior popular.

Now, I wasn't experienced in dick categorization, and all, like after Boot Camp, because there, I discovered that Short men, in general, have substantial rods packin'.

 (...There's  always exceptions, after all the well-hung Wagonner, was 6'1", yet, of the 80 guys, there wasn't a single guy, 5'9' or under, with less than a good 5-1/2" showing.)

In fact it wasn't until our 10th Class reunion, that I saw the goods Mr. Taymor sported.

Well, to be truthful, the Kiwanis BBQ lunch the week before, but, it was long ago, and long after school.

Back in the day, Daryll  T. always wore a sport coat of authority until the Friday morning Pep rally, when he'd  take it off ceremoniously, and wear a coach's golf shirt with school colors, through the football game.

Oh, yeah, his dick. 

The fair barns were built before indoor plumbing, and by the time it arrived they just slapped together a crude block building near the door.

Ladies side had 4 toilets (so, I'm  told,) and the men, 1 toilet, 3 urinals. It was built before dividers were a thing.

I walked in and some guy was in a red plaid shirt, standing at the middle one, so I took the left. He lifted the cigarette, from his hip to his lips.

Namely the short fella, was holding his with the right, and I am left handed...maximum show.

The short fella in the plaid queried, "Afternoon Mr. Walrus, how was the Navy?"

"Hey, Mr. Taymor! It's good to see...oop." 

The little shit was hand on hip, balls out of his jean's fly, with an uncut 8 inch soft rod. Cigarette hand barely blocking the view. Respect!

I had just hoisted out my whole set, through my fly, before he spoke.

I was only half-restored at the tine, and had trouble emulating the natural hood he displayed. But, still kidded myself it was convincing at a brief glance. 

I kept my head down, and his was straight ahead. Until I gave my balls a reflexive jostle, the motion caught his eye, and he was looking at my balls-out package, before he even knew.

The cigarette fell from his lips, straight into his urinal.

I made an obvious stare at his meat showcase. Even wetting my bottom lip.

I would probably never get see it again; so I drank in every detail, stitching the current scene into each of my memories of him.

Just as he was about to put it away, frisky local barber, Tom, ponyed up to the other side.

"Darryl"

"Tom."

Now, Tom bumped his hip against my arm, and "frottage-rubbed" his meat on my arm, while he cut my hair, the last time.

I even sagged-off my hand, from the arm rest, and with only a slight twist, of the wrist, was feeling the bulge, dangling along his inseam.

Back in the shithouse, he opened the fly of his blue chinos, and pulled out his semi-firm dangle.

Mr. Taymor started milking before he put his away. Then, packed up and left.

"I remember you from my shop. See anything spread out appetizing today?"

His prodigious dick was pissing straight in, while his low hangers sagged below. A perfect visual, to what I had felt, just last week.

"I had the mealoaf, and taters."

"Old Taymor has a big dick, don't he?" asked, Tom.

"He was my Principal, never even knew he was packin', (I squeaked over to the center pisser,) ...'til just now." Then added, "I didn't know you'd speak to me after I felt your low hanging parts."

"I didn't know you'd come back again, after I brushed them against you."

I reached over and lifted the bare balls. [Oh, boy, we're having a moment.]

He gave my pecker a good squeeze, a tugging stroke, and felt my full balls' bag.

I pulled his dribbling rod up to level, and heard the damned metal door make a scraping sound.

We barely had time to reset, before the dude would pop around the baffle.

My hook up with barber Tom nearly happened, that day...at least I'd fully felt him out, so, to speak.

The next time I was in Tom's shop, I unzipped him, and began a 15 minute hand-set. He stood behind the chair as I stroked with whichever was the closest hand.

The 3 men in the waiting chairs, having awaited their turn, had no clue, there was some cum on the catch-cloth around their necks. .

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