Written by Turbidus
"What's the problem, Rich? You forget where the exit is?"
"No, coach. I was running over the mistakes I made in practice and telling myself to get started on my Freshman English composition."
Rich mentally congratulated himself on staying cool. He'd been busted, sorta. He'd been stalling, desperate for glimpses of his coach walking back and forth from this office to the shower. Coach was careful. He always had a towel wrapped around his waist. Rich didn't care. He'd been stalling longer and longer and now he was paying the price. His coach had not only noticed. He was calling him on it.
He was sitting in the locker room and coach Able was standing with one foot on the bench, drying the inside of his leg, his cock and balls bouncing as he did so. This was a bit of a distraction, given that said cock and balls were less than two feet from his face.
"Uh-huh," his coach drawled. "Looks to me like you were running over what you intend to do with your girlfriend this weekend." His eyes darted to Rich's hardon, then back to the young man's face.
Rich looked down at his cock. He surprised himself by pushing it down and letting it go to slap up against his belly. He looked at his coach and grinned. "This? You know how it is, coach. I don't have a book to hide it behind, that's all. Besides, I don't have a girlfriend."
"Yeah, I know how it is. Get dressed and beat it."
Rich wondered two things as he watched coach Able walk away. Had he put an extra emphasis on the word "know"? And had the coach been making a double entendre when he'd said, 'beat it'? He wanted to beat it alright. He wanted to beat it all over the firm ass cheeks walking away from him.
Rich hadn't signed up for lacrosse because of the coach. He'd never met the man before the first practice. He signed up because he'd played in high school. He enjoyed the sport. The college he'd chosen to enroll at did not have any scholarship sports. It prided itself on old school values and a strong liberal arts education. Its student-athletes were just that, student athletes. The squad were all non-try out and intramural. The college was old school, as well, in its belief that a healthy mind required a healthy body. At least one physical education credit was required each semester, not just freshman year. It was a non-grade credit. You simply had to complete the requirement. The intramural teams counted.
Rich chose the college partly for its academic record partly because it wasn't as expensive as some of the other smaller colleges he looked at, partly because it was several hours from home, and partly because no one else from his high school was going there. By the time he was a junior, Rich knew he was gay. He didn't think anyone else did. He had no plans to spring out of the closet but he'd imagined he'd feel a little, just a little, less frightened of the idea if he wasn't surrounded by people he'd known most of his life. He'd told Cindy, his girlfriend, that he thought college would be a good time to take a break and to see what was real between them. He suspected, and in this he was correct, that she'd been relieved. His secret was not as impenetrable as he'd led himself to imagine. She had nearly asked him on several occasions, hoping to make it clear she didn't care. Well, she did, but only in the sense she didn't want to spend more energy on a doomed relationship. In the end, she let it slide. That was the easiest route.
Rich had been more excited than scared at the idea of leaving home. He loved his parents. They were sort of cute in their cluelessness about his life but he had no doubt that their hearts were in the right place. His roommate, Ben, was awesome - smart, funny and didn't have shitty taste in music. Ben had a girlfriend. When asked about it, Rich simply replied, "no" and Ben let it drop. Rich had been working on his answer, should Ben ever pop out with, "dude, are you gay?". In his head, the answer was always "yeah, you cool with that" but he wondered if he'd be able to get the words past his teeth when, or if, the question was ever asked. The fact he'd been able to handle his coach with relative ease was immensely reassuring to him.
He liked the coach, not like liked, well not at first anyway. Able was a good coach. Like all the coaches, he also taught. Rich was more inclined to art and language courses. He was good at math but he didn't enjoy it. Able taught calc, matrix theory, and a couple other things that Rich had no interest in. What he liked was that the man was smart and he was a jock. He was discovering, at least at a school like this, the two were not as incompatible as he'd assumed based on his high school experience.
Coach had waited until the students were out of the shower before he entered. He was not a sideline coach. He was out on the field, running, demonstrating and working as hard as any of the students. Once the shower room was empty, he came out of his small office, one of five offices along the side of the locker room. The offices weren't much more than glassed-in cubicles. He, as all the coaches, had separate academic offices in their various buildings. Given the small size of the locker room and, for that matter the small number of fields, the intramural sports were staggered. There simply wasn't enough space to have football and lacrosse or football and basketball at the same time. Only the lacrosse team had the field and locker room on Wednesday nights. Consequently, the other offices were dark.
Rich had noticed that coach always delayed his shower until the students were finished. He suspected that was the way the other coaches did as well, or at least the ones involved enough to need a shower after practice. He noticed and then tried to forget he'd noticed. But he found himself taking longer and longer to get his stuff ready to leave. He was stalling and he knew it. He also knew he was stalling in hopes of a glimpse of his coach in nothing but a towel.
His hopes had been realized. That was not a surprise. It was a fucking locker room after all. He'd sat on the end of the bench, pretending to pack up his bag while casting sidelong glances at the wide entrance to the shower room. The shower room was also old school. Four poles behind a chest high masonry wall, each with four shower heads. There was no door, just a five-foot gap in the wall and a three-inch high threshold. He could see the coach's head as well as his chest and shoulders above the wall. When coach lifted an arm up to rinse, Rich could glimpse the dark mat of hair under his arms. The first time he saw that, he bit back a moan, unsure if he was alone and unsure if coach would hear it over the sound of the water.
The lithe body, strong chest covered with dark curls, the flat stomach that sloped toward a towel barely big enough to go around his trim waist were, also, moan-worthy. The way the hair on his belly thickened above the top of the towel and the swaying bulge under the towel as he stepped over the threshold had nearly caused Rich to shoot a load on the floor the first time his eyes had feasted on the sight.
That had been a month ago, and several weeks into lacrosse. The intramural teams did not follow the college schedule. The sport was popular enough that there were fall and spring sessions. The fall session was almost over. There were two more intramural games and one more practice. Desperation had lead Rich to take more chances. He'd moved to a locker closer to the shower and the coach's office. He stayed longer. He stared more, despite trying not to. Coach Able's pattern had changed. Rich noted it and tried not to read anything into it.
Coach was now using one of the middle shower poles. Rich considered this a Godsend. This resulted in Rich being able to see his entire front or back - naked - for brief moments when he twisted and turned underneath the shower. He'd started putting his jock back on before he left to hide his erection. He always managed to time his departure with the coach entering his office. The shades would be closed over the office windows so there was no point in staying. As soon as the coach went in his office, Rich bolted for the door.
Not tonight, however. For one thing, coach Able had showered using one of the jets on the back side of the pole which put him facing the entrance to the shower room. Rich had been in heaven, right up to the point that coach shut off the water and walked over to him, not the office. And his towel was in his hand, not wrapped around his waist. It was then that coach asked him if he'd forgotten where the exit was.
Hurrying to his dorm room, Rich replayed the scene in his head. He groaned to himself as the memory of pushing his hardon down in front of his coach replayed in his mind. What the fuck, dude?! He scolded himself. Are you fucking crazy? That wasn't the loudest voice in his head. It also wasn't the only voice in his head. Did you get a gander at his dick? Fuck! Was he starting to sport wood there at the end? Dude, he wasn't pissed. He was...The louder voice roared back to life, no he fucking wasn't, don't be a fucking idiot, he's a teacher. You need to knock this shit the fuck off and now!
Jerry Able plopped into the old leather desk chair. The leather was old and cracked and gouged at his ass. He didn't notice. He let his head fall back over the top of the chair and stared at the pipes that made a crazy expressionist painting out of the locker rooms ceiling. His hands were shaking. He wondered if the pipes were wrapped in asbestos. Mesothelium was one way out of this mess but it would take too long and probably be quite painful. He sat forward and let his head fall into his shaking hands. A crack in the leather pinched his ass and he shifted without being aware of it.
What was he doing? What had he been thinking? He loved this job. He could not have devised a more perfect job for himself. He loved teaching. He loved lacrosse. He loved men. He suspected most of the faculty knew that but he didn't advertise it. Sure, this was a college town but a very small college town. There were other gay men in town and on the faculty, but he found none of them romantically interesting. He'd not had a serious relationship since he took this job. When he needed a little excitement, he drove to Cleveland, made a weekend of it.
Rich would be surprised to know that Jerry was only twenty-seven, just eight years older than he was, less than that. Rich would turn twenty before his coach turned twenty-eight.
Jerry slumped back in the chair and shook his head. He liked Rich, liked him from the start. He liked the way he played, aggressive but not stupid. He liked the way he cheered when an opposing player made a good play. He liked the way he paid attention. And, goddamn it, he liked it when he realized Rich was eyeing him. He'd wondered if Rich might be gay. Personally, he thought 'gaydar' was mostly bullshit but he did wonder about Rich. He searched his thoughts, tried to organize them, turn them into a math problem. What was it that caused him to wonder if Rich might be gay? Before he realized Rich was eyeing him in the shower, that is. Rich did not 'act' gay. He had none of the stereotypical mannerisms or speech patterns. He didn't think he himself did either. Such mannerisms didn't bother him, they simply weren't part of him. He'd read about gay men going to speech therapist, trying to learn to talk 'straight'. He sort of understood but sort of didn't.
He reminded himself that he'd had an easier time of it than most, especially men a decade or so older than him. He'd simply grown into the realization he was gay. He didn't feel the need to tell his parents, teachers, or friends. It never occurred to him to do so. He realized that was a bit strange to most people. He realized it but didn't quite understand it. When he asked one of the guys in his high school to go to a movie, everyone nearly collapsed in shock. Jerry is gay? As far as he was concerned, Jerry was Jerry. Who cared if he was gay? He'd slowly learned that the answer was - a lot of people. He found it almost as hard to deal with those that treated him like some exotic animal, some rare species of flower, as he did with the homophobes. Why couldn't he live his life as Jerry, math teacher, and lacrosse player?
He wasn't naïve, not entirely. He was aware of the implications of a teacher showing an interest in a student. Hetero, gay, whatever combo would be viewed as unacceptable.
He's not your student?
Yes, he is. I teach him lacrosse. Even if he weren't, the college would not be pleased, even if technically it were allowed.
Why shouldn't it be? He's not a math or science major. He's never going to take a class with you. He won't be a degree candidate in any department you're affiliated with.
He's a student at a college that I teach at. That's enough.
Jerry had this debate with himself on more than one occasion. Despite that, he'd shifted where he showered, knowing Rich would be able to see more. And tonight, fuck, he'd practically put on a show. Worse, he'd basically acknowledged to Rich that he knew he'd been watching him. When Rich had pushed his dick down, Jerry had fled, feeling his own cock responding. He hadn't run but he'd fled nonetheless.
No more. This is it. Only a couple more games. No more. Get a fucking grip. Go to Cleveland. Go to the Eagle. Find someone to take back to the hotel and fuck until you're exhausted and come to your fucking senses.
He couldn't. They had a game Saturday. He got up and shook his head when he saw that his cock had been leaking. Jesus, he was a mess. He wiped the head of his cock with his finger, put it in his mouth, and got dressed.
He didn't jerk off, afraid, or maybe knowing, he'd think about Rich if he did.
He dreamed of him, though. You can't control everything.
"Dude, you okay?"
"Huh?" Rich looked at Ben, confused.
"You've been stirring your ketchup with the same French fry for, like an hour, or something." Ben's plate was almost clean. "Girl trouble?"
"Boy trouble." The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. He stared at his ketchup, afraid to look up.
"Same difference," Ben replied.
When he looked up, Ben was popping his last French fry into his mouth. "You okay with that?"
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Okay with you being an ass bandit?" He laughed at the look on Rich's face. "Dude, I'm sorry. Really, it was just too easy. No, I don't give a crap which gender you prefer. Waste of time, worrying about that shit, in my opinion." He took a drink of his Coke. "Sorry about the ass bandit crack. Don't be pissed."
"I'm not pissed," Rich replied, even managing a smile.
"So, how come you've never asked me out? I'm kinda hurt."
"You have a girlfriend," Rich exclaimed.
"True, and I'm not gay or bi, but still I have feelings. What's wrong with me?"
"How much time do we have?"
Ben cracked up, luckily, he'd swallowed his last drink of Coke or he'd have sprayed it all over the booth and Rich. "I fuckin' deserved that. Excellent. Well fucking played, dude." He nodded at Rich's plate. "Dude, eat. I got twenty pages of Dickens to read still. I'm still looking for one simple declarative sentence in his entire oeuvre."
"'Please, sir, I want some more.' 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times'?"
"Dude, I'm fine with a gay roommate but not a smart ass one. Eat your fucking burger before I leave your ass here to pine over Sir Lancelot."
"Lancelot? Why Lancelot? According to the books, Sir Gawain had the biggest dick."
"Dude, don't get all crazy on me now. Do I need to buy soap on a rope?"
"Asshole," Rich snorted, feeling better. "We don't shower together now do we?" He felt better. He also felt famished. He polished off his burger and fries and grabbed the bottle of Coke. "Come on, let's bounce, you homophobic twit."
"How come you don't have a lisp? Aren't you supposed to have lisp?"
Rich's squad lost the game. Coach Able coached both teams; he always had a perfect season. During the game, Rich was fine. His focus was on winning. It was intramural sports but he still wanted to win. It wasn't until he was in the locker room that he started to tense up. Each squad had ten players. There were twenty guys crowded into the small locker room. There were only sixteen shower heads. Rich waited; he stalled.
He entered the shower, tossing his towel over the wall as the last of players was finishing up. He jumped when his shower shoes squeaked. Jesus, fucking relax, he told himself. He took his time showering, spending a great deal of time on his crotch. He wasn't very hard because his brain kept screaming at him to knock it the fuck off and get outta there.
He was concentrating on forcing his hand to turn off the water, when coach Able appeared in the entrance.
"Oh, sorry, Rich. I didn't know anyone was still here. I thought someone must've left the water on."
The faculty handbook made it very clear that no coach, male or female, should EVER be in the shower at the same time as a student. EVER.
Jerry reminded himself of that fact, repeatedly, as he sat at his desk, pretending to fill out paperwork. He had seen Rich enter the shower and linger there. He was staring at the attendance sheet in front of him without seeing it. The faculty rule repeated on an endless loop in his head the entire time he was taking his clothes off.
He stood there for a minute, looking at Rich's body before he spoke.
"Oh, sorry, Rich. I didn't know anyone was still here. I thought someone must've left the water on."
"Uh, not a problem coach, I was just day dreaming. Water feels good after a tough game."
"You guys played well. A couple of breaks here and there and you would have won."
"Yeah, it was a good game, not as good as if my squad won but a good game." He looked at his coach. "Aren't you going to shower?" Rich couldn't believe he had the nerve to pull at his dick as he was speaking.
"No, against the rules. Take your time."
Coach, turned and left. Rich noticed him look back over his shoulder. Rich pulled at his dick. Coach Able seemed almost to shake himself before he walked away. Rich smiled. He had a full-on boner.
He left the shower and dried off, standing at the end of the row of lockers closest to coach Able's office. The lights were off in the office. The slats on the blinds were closed. Rich noticed they weren't completely closed. He imagined coach peeking out of his office, watching. As the fantasy unfurled inside his head, he stroked his cock. It's not until his hips jerked and he started to lay streams of cum across the floor that he came to his senses. Now it was his turn to shake his head, trying to clear it. He hurried to one of the sinks and pulled out a handful of paper towels. He wiped up his jizz and tossed the mess into the trash bin, jerked on his clothes and hurried out of the locker room.
Coach Able bit his lip, forcing himself to be silent. When Rich's cock began to erupt, he exploded as well. His dick flung cum all over the back of his door. He watched Rich wipe cum off the floor and wished it was on his chest, or face, or in his mouth, anywhere but on the floor. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked. It was cum but not the cum he was dying to taste. After Rich left, he collapsed into his desk chair and wondered what he was going to do.
Wednesday was the last practice and Saturday was the last game and Rich was losing his mind. His studies haven't suffered, quite the opposite. He'd buried himself in homework. That's the only time he can free his mind of coach's cock, the black curls on his chest, his bright blue eyes, incongruous eyes given his dark hair.
It's at night that he falls apart. He lies there, unable to sleep, unable to jerk off. Ben is a great roommate but Rich imagines even Ben has limits and having a roommate jerking off while he's trying to study or sleep is likely to be one of his limits. He lies there going back in forth in his head. In one scenario, when coach sticks his head in the shower, Rich falls to his knees and takes his cock in his mouth. He sees a few issues with that scenario. One, he doesn't want to get his coach fired. Two, he's never sucked a cock. He's thought about it. He's watched it. He's imagined it. But he's never done it. He's a virgin. He never had sex with Cindy. She touched him once, hand down the front of his pants, but that was as far as it had ever gone. Three, he wasn't sure he had the courage, though, to be honest, he's been surprised at how much courage being desperately horny provided.
In the second scenario, he showers, dresses and leaves.
Wednesday afternoon finds him stalling. He waited until there's only one guy left in the showers before entering. He'd barely ducked his head under the water before the last guy left and he was alone. He showered and pulled at his dick. He waited and waited and finally realized coach was not going to peek around the corner. He grabbed his towel and headed for his locker. He'd chosen the one closest to the coach's office again. He stared at the office. There's a faint glow around and through the blinds. As he stared, his cock got hard, as if it knew hidden eyes were watching.
In a trance, he reached down and started to stroke it as it got hard. He rubbed the head, already leaking, and let go. He looked down at it, watched as it grew, and stood taller with every heartbeat. He glanced at the office, at his cock. He milked his dick and resumed stroking.
There was a click as the office door opened.
Jerry peeked around the side of the blind that covered the window in his office door. When Rich exited the shower, he breathed a sigh of relief. He told himself to sit down at his desk but he remained, eye to the crack, devouring Rich's body from a distance. He moaned. He couldn't help it, as Rich's cock came to life. He pulled away from the blind when he caught Rich looking toward the office. The sight of him beginning to stroke his cock pulled him back to the crack. Seemingly on its own, his hand reached for the door knob. Part of his brain screamed at him to stop but he ignored the screams and opened the door.
The door slowly swung open. Rich stared, fist wrapped around his cock. Nothing else happened for a long moment, then coach stepped into the open door.
It was Rich's turn to moan. Coach was naked. His cock was hard and precum dangled from the head. As he stared, coach wiped the head of his cock and put his fingers in his mouth. He licked his fingers, his palm, rubbed his hand over the head, and began to stroke his cock. It was a beautiful cock. Rich watched a reasonable amount of porn and he'd never seen a cock he would rather have in his mouth. He's so fascinated he stopped stroking his own cock. He had no way of knowing that coach Able was thinking almost the same thing, that Rich had a gorgeous dick.
Coach squeezed the head of his dick and then licked his fingers.
Rich followed suit. He tasted his precum but he still didn't resume jerking off.
Coach stroked his cock, turning his hand over and using an over-hand stroke. He flipped his hand back, made fast short strokes over the crown, then resumed long slow strokes, squeezing hard when he stroked forward, milking his cock. He stopped and wiped the head of his cock and slurped up the nectar he'd expressed.
Part of Jerry's brain was telling him that if anyone walked in, he was as good as fired, as good as done when it came to teaching or coaching. It told him to close the door. Now.
Instead, he licked a dollop of precum off his fingers and watched Rich do the same thing.
He stroked the crown.
He held his hand in front of his cock and used his fingertips to rub the crown. He felt his ass cheeks tensing. He grabbed his cock and began to pound it, long hard strokes that sent cum flying halfway to where Rich stood. As his orgasm began to dwindle, he held his left hand under the head and collected the last of his cum. He continued to stroke his cock as he brought cum-filled hand to his mouth.
Rich's moan filled the locker room when he saw coach dip his tongue into the handful of cum he held to his mouth.
He jerked his cock.
Coach opened his hand and licked the palm. He held it there for a moment, allowing Rich to gaze at his cum-coated tongue.
Rich moaned again as his own cum flew. He jerked his hips forward. He wanted his cum to mingle with coach's. Part of his brain told him to drop to his knees, to slurp up the pools of cum, mingled with wet foot prints, off the concrete floor.
As he started to tell himself that doing so would be gross and disgusting, coach stepped out of the office. He had a towel. He dropped it on the floor and used his foot to wipe up the floor. As he did so, he moved closer and closer to Rich.
Jerry found himself walking toward Rich. He dropped the towel and began to wipe the floor with it. He couldn't take his eyes off the boy. He stopped, right in front of him. He looked at Rich, bent and took the cock he had been staring at in his mouth. He sucked, just once. Rich gasped. Jerry turned and walked back in his office. He closed the door.
My cock was in his mouth. Fucking Christ, he sucked my dick.
Rich's mind had no room to process anything beyond that fact. As he left the locker room he noted the janitor making his way down the hall, pushing a sloshing mop bucket ahead of him. Part of his mind understood what the consequences would have been if the janitor had walked in a few minutes earlier.
Later, Rich would have no recollection of the time that passed between Wednesday evening and Saturday afternoon. He would remember very clearly getting to the field and not seeing coach Able. Coach Baker, the football coach, was there and explained that coach Able was unable to make it but sent his thanks for a great season. Rich's squad won, not that he cared.
He tried to get back into the groove. Studying for mid-terms occupied him the next week. His classes weren't in the Science Building but he found himself wandering by there on his way to and from the dorm but he never saw coach Able.
For the first time in a week, he stopped by his campus mailbox. No one used snail mail. Even his grandmother used email. To his embarrassment, his parents used Facebook to keep in touch. The only thing that was ever in his mailbox were credit card offers. Except, that day. That day there was an envelope.
Richard Brady was written on the outside. He ripped open the envelop and pulled out an index card.
Usually home after 7 pm
He stared at the note. There was no date, no phone number.
Jerry had a hard time concentrating on the game he was watching. He was wishing there was a way to retrieve the envelop, but he could not think of one. As the days passed, he alternated between feeling relieved that Rich had more sense than he did and feeling disappointed.
He jumped when the doorbell rang.
His heart pounded. He tried to convince himself it wasn't Rich, couldn't be. Except, he wasn't expecting anyone and the complex didn't allow soliciting. It was unlikely it was the fucking Girl Scouts.
He told himself to not answer it, pretend he was out. He told himself that but his feet carried him to the door.
"Hi," Rich whispered.
Rich decided either no one was home or he wasn't going to answer the door. He'd probably changed his mind. He was turning to leave when he heard the dead bolt being turned.
"Hi," Rich whispered, suddenly intimidated by his coach. It was those fucking blue eyes. They froze him.
Coach nodded at him but said nothing.
"Uh, can I come in or is this a bad time?" Rich asked, after standing long enough that he was beginning to feel awkward.
"Uh, oh, yeah, sure, sorry."
Hearing the nervousness in coach's voice made Rich feel better, much better. Coach stepped aside and Rich moved past him into the apartment.
"You want a soda..."
Rich wheeled around and kissed his coach before the man can finish the sentence.
Coach Able pulled back, startled. He looked at Rich and then grabbed him.
This was nothing like kissing Cindy. There was whisker stubble, his and coach's. And coach's lips felt stronger, harder. When he pushed against his lips with his tongue, Rich didn't hesitate. He parted his lips and felt the other man's tongue touch his own. He moaned into the open mouth.
Jerry pulled at Rich's lower lip with his teeth, earning another low moan that resonated in the narrow entryway. Rich's hands went to coach's crotch. He gently squeezed the growing bulge. Jerry found his mouth again. His tongue danced over Rich's teeth. Rich pushed back, shoving his tongue into coach's. He knew how to do this. He and Cindy had done a lot of kissing. The whiskers were different but the maneuvers were the same.
Beneath his fingers, coach's cock was stiffening. Feeling a boldness, a compulsion that he never had when making out with Cindy, he groped at the top of the man's pants. He found not a buckle or button but a drawstring. He pulled one end of the string, tugged at the waist band, and slipped his hand inside. His breath caught when his fingers touched the hardening cock. He'd never touched another cock before. It felt both like, and unlike, his own cock. How it was different he couldn't say.
Jerry reached between them, his lips still pressed to Rich's, and pushed his sweatpants down. Once they were past his hips they fell around his ankles. Rich didn't moan, he whimpered. Jerry pulled back and leaned against the wall. Rich stared at his coach's cock, fascinated by the way it twitched and grew. He wrapped his fingers around it, marveling at how hard it was. Why had he never noticed that about his own dick? How hard it was? He reached out with his other hand. Coach pushed his cock into his hand. He cupped the balls. He never played with his own balls. They felt heavy in his hand. Heavy balls. Hard cock. His mind was reeling.
Coach reached out and put one hand behind Rich's neck. He rubbed the back of his neck. The hand urged him forward. And down. Rich knelt in the entryway and stared at the cock he'd been dreaming about for the past two months. He'd played out this scene, and many others, in his head dozens of times. Coach's was about the only fantasy he had these days and now it was coming true. Except, he was frozen in place. He didn't know what to do next. He knew but he couldn't work his head around it. He couldn't picture taking a hold of coach's cock and putting it in his mouth.
The voice above him was soft, non-judgmental.
He looked up and Jerry saw the confusion in his eyes. "I've never done this, coach."
Jerry didn't need to ask for clarification. It was clear to him. He swiveled away from Rich and pulled his sweats up.
"Jesus, fucking God, what the fuck is wrong with me." He turned and Rich saw the misery etched in bold lines on his coach's face. "Rich, I'm so sorry. Get up. I'm sorry. Fuck." He turned and started to walk away. Rich jumped to his feet and grabbed him around the waist. He pressed the side of his face against the man's back.
"Don't be sorry. Show me how. I want to. It's not that. I just don't know how. Coach, I'm gay. I know that. I've just never done anything yet."
"Rich, I shouldn't be sorry? I'm your teacher! You're a virgin! A kid! Jesus, what was I thinking?"
"What was your first time like? Huh?"
Jerry stopped, hands in his hair.
"Was it good?" Rich persisted.
Jerry nodded. It had been good.
"Yeah, but it was with another guy, my age, we were both inexperienced."
"Well, that was lucky for you. Would it have been so terrible if someone with experienced had helped you?"
"No, not unless that someone was one of my teachers or someone taking advantage of me."
"Are you taking advantage of me? It doesn't feel like it. You've been reluctant at every step. If anyone has been the aggressor, it's me. Please." Rich let go and stepped back. Jerry turned. He was still holding up his sweatpants with one hand. As he stared, Rich pulled his tee shirt off. He waited a second, then pulled his jeans and underwear down. He toed off his shoes and stepped out of the bundle of clothes around his ankles. He stood there, naked in front of his coach. He shivered.
Jerry opened his mouth, closed it, then opened his arms. He held Rich until he stopped shivering. He stepped away and slowly undressed. He held out a hand. Rich took it and followed him through the apartment to the bedroom.
"It's a little late to be asking, but how old are you Rich?" Jerry was stretched out on the bed. Rich, sat, feet crossed at the ankles, beside him.
"Nineteen, twenty in December."
Jerry nodded. "You cold?"
"No." Rich gave his coach a soft smile. "Just nervous, now that this is happening, I'm nervous." He snorted. "Weird, huh? Fucking baby or something."
"No, it's not weird and you aren't being a baby." He rolled onto his side and propped his head on one hand. "We can stop. You know that, right?" Rich nodded and Jerry continued. "That might be best. This might skate past the faculty review board but I doubt it. I love my job, the fact that I'm risking it should tell you something about the effect you've been having on me. But, all the same, maybe your nerves are telling you something you should listen to, we should listen to."
"Is that what you want?" Rich asked softly, staring at his hands. His dick was still mostly hard and he was covering it with his hands.
"No, not if I'm honest. I wouldn't have dropped that card in the mail if that's what I wanted. I'd be lying to you though, if I didn't admit I've been shitting bricks over it ever since. I've already done enough to get myself canned, if that's what the college wanted and if this ever came out. It's probably just a rationalization but in for a penny in for a pound, is where I'm at, at the moment anyway."
"You've really been thinking about me?"
Jerry rolled onto his back and laughed. "Yeah, Rich, I've been thinking about you." He rolled back onto his side and grew serious. "A lot, I've been thinking about you a lot."
"Why have you been thinking about me?"
"Gee, I don't know, because you're fucking gorgeous and a great coach and a great teacher. I'm just, I'm not any of those things."
"Well, you are fucking gorgeous, so let's dispense with that. Who says you aren't a good coach? You don't have the title but the other guys look up to you. You always encourage them, help them. We don't have team captains. Maybe we should. Who do you think would win that vote, hands down? You. I don't have you in class but I just imagine you're wicked smart. What's your job at school?"
All the students were required to work eight hours a week, regardless of the need for aid. They could work more but even if they were paying cash on the barrelhead, they all had to work, just like they all had to participate in some type of physical activity.
"I tutor Freshman comp and reading."
"I'm not surprised, so in fact you are a teacher as well and, I bet, a good one to boot. So, why do I think about you? All of that and more. I respect the guts it took for you to make it clear you were interested. I'm ashamed I don't have enough guts to make you understand this is a bad idea."
Rich turned at that and looked at Jerry. "It's not, or it shouldn't be viewed that way. You aren't demanding anything, you aren't asking for sex in exchange for a better grade. You don't grade me anyway. And I'm not asking for something from you, outside of this." Rich waved a hand at the room and the naked man beside him.
"I do sort of grade you. There's no grade for lacrosse but I am required to comment on all the participants. That's a type of grading, isn't it?"
"Fair enough," Rich agreed. "But are you going to change your comments based on this?"
"No, but how would I prove that was the case?"
Rich nodded. "This is certainly, uh, unconventional but I don't think it's wrong. Is it because I'm a guy? Would the school look at it the same if you were doing this with a female student?"
"I think they would. I give them credit, Rich. They're very careful when it comes to protecting students, and they should be."
"Well, if you feel that way, I don't have anything to worry about do I? If you really believe that, then you can't very well be a predator, even assuming I'm a vulnerable person, which I'm not. I'm a nervous person, what virgin isn't? But I'm not being exploited; I wouldn't allow that."
"No, I don't think you would. That's another thing I like about you. So, shall we call the question? Take a vote?"
"Sure, I move the committee agrees it is okay for Rich and coach Able to engage in mutually consented sexual activity."
"I second the motion."
"Discussion?" Rich looked around the room. "Hearing none, those in favor of the motion please signify by saying aye."
"Aye," Jerry whispered.
"Aye. Those opposed please signify by saying nay." Rich again scanned the room. "Hearing none, the motion carries."
"Now what?" Jerry asked. "And, by the way, I think you should dispense with 'coach'. If we're going to do this, make it Jerry, please."
Rich nodded. "Can I touch you?"
"Of course. I'd love that. You want me on my back?"
Rich nodded again and Jerry rolled onto his back. His left arm was over his head, providing room for Rich to sit by his left side. Rich wiggled forward. He touched Jerry's cock, just below the V of his crown. During the 'debate' Jerry's cock had lost most of its rigidity but it twitched at Rich's touch.
"Why am I so fascinated by your dick?" he wondered out loud. "I have one of my own."
"True, and I very nice one, I might add," Jerry replied, eyes on the young man's face. "Would it help to know that I'm fascinated by yours and I've had a bit more experience with dicks than you? You're fascinated because it's not yours. You know how yours feels, not mine." Jerry sat up, crossed his ankles like Rich, and faced him. "Look, your dick is bigger than mine."
"Nuh-uh," Rich protested.
"Yeah, it is," Jerry chuckled. "I can deal with that. You aren't a lot bigger but a little." He reached over and wrapped his fingers around Rich's cock. "Most of it's girth but I think you're a little longer than me, as well. Now, look at mine." He ran his finger around the crown. "Mine flares out more than yours. I always feel it makes the head of dick look a little like a Nazi helmet. It's about the only thing I don't like about my dick."
"You're crazy. Your dick is, like, perfect."
Jerry laughed. "Thanks, Rich, but you haven't seen very many but, truly, thanks." His fingertip drew a line around Rich's shaft. "We're both cut. I trimmed my pubes and shave my balls; you don't. You've got a nice full thicket." He leaned over, pushing Rich's cock down as he did, put his nose in the thicket and inhaled. "Fucking lovely, dude, really. You smell like a dude, a little musk, a little sweat and a little cum."
Rich reached out and ran his fingers through the other man's chest hair. "You've got a lot more chest hair than I do."
"I'm a few years older," Jerry reminded him.
"I dig the way it curls around your nipples, like a stockade or something."
"You ever play with your nipples when you're masturbating?"
Rich shook his head.
Jerry licked the tip of his finger and touched Rich's left nipple. It contracted under his touch and a wave of goose bumps washed over his chest. He moaned. Jerry rubbed some more, then pinched, very lightly. Both Rich and his cock jumped.
"That feels good."
"Uh-huh, it does. Some guys like it a little harder, some don't like it much at all. You'll have to discover what you like and what you don't." He leaned over and flicked his tongue over the nipple. Rich grabbed his head with one hand, holding it in place and moaned. Jerry flicked a few more times, then wrapped his lips around it, tugged, kissed. The fingers on the back of his head clenched. He pulled back "Is it safe for me to presume that I can add that to the list of things you like?"
Rich licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded.
"When you've been thinking about me, what is it you imagine?"
Rich licked his lips again. "I imagine sucking your dick."
"Cool. Do you imagine me sucking yours?"
Rich opened his mouth but closed it without speaking.
"It's okay, Rich. If you can come up with something I haven't thought of myself, I'll buy you dinner."
"Sucking your dick while bungee jumping off the Eifel Tower?"
"If I have a purple ribbon tied around my balls, I already thought of it."
"Nope, it was red. You owe me dinner."
"Deal. It will have to be here though. If we're going to do this, we have to be careful." He ran his fingers through Rich's long hair. "You said you've never done this. Any of it? Did you ever do anything with a girl? Get a blowjob?"
"Just kissed. We never had sex."
"Okay, that's cool. Why don't you lay down on your back?"
"Lie, lie down on your back. Dylan got it wrong. It should be 'Lie, Lady, Lie' not lay."
"Okay. I'm a math guy. Forgive me. Lie down, get comfortable." He did and Jerry leaned over him. He kissed him and Rich responded. He put a hand behind Jerry's head and opened his mouth. They kissed for quite a while; the last thing Jerry wanted was to make Rich feel rushed. He began to run his hand over Rich's body, down his neck and chest. He teased him, running his hand lower and lower on his belly, letting the back of his hand brush his cock. He pulled away, held his hand up, showing Rich the precum smeared there and then licked it off.
"Do you ever do that? Eat your precum?" he inquired.
"Sometimes, sure," Rich replied, eyes closed.
"Do you eat your cum?"
Rich's eyes opened. "No. I saw you do it, in the locker room. Do you always do that?"
"Most of the time, yeah."
"I like the taste, to be honest. Plus, it seems like a waste. My body put a lot of effort and energy into making that semen. Why waste it by tossing it in the trash?"
"I thought about licking your cum up off the floor." Richie forced the words out in a jumble, embarrassed by the admission, and a little disgusted.
"Did you? I almost licked my cum off my office door that first time. Did you know I jerked off watching you through the blinds, the first time you jerked off?"
"No, but I had hoped you were. God, that was so hot, watching you jerk off, standing in your office. I imagined us in your office." His voice trailed off.
"What were we doing? Just sucking each other?" Rich didn't say anything. "Where we fucking?" Rich's face flamed. After a moment, he nodded. "Were you fucking me or was I fucking you?" Jerry continued.
"Both, I think. It got all mixed up in my head."
"Right on, I get it. Have you tried anything like that? I know you haven't had sex but when I was your age, I used to put things in my ass when I jerked off. You ever do that?"
"Yeah, once in a while, not often. I don't have a dildo or anything. A banana once. A cucumber." He shook his head. "Even the handle of one of my dad's screwdrivers."
"I shoved the wooden handle of the plunger my grandmother kept in her bathroom. Top that."
"Yeah, way. I was out of my mind horny. I'd used my fingers but I wanted, needed, something more than fingers. I spent fifteen minutes cleaning the handle."
"Uh, yeah. It's messy."
"Yup, it is, unless you plan and take some precautions, but even then, you can't put something in your ass and not get a mess sometimes. It sucks but there it is."
"What do you mean precautions?"
"You do that?"
"Occasionally. If I'm going out clubbing and I feel like being a bottom."
"Do you use condoms?"
"Absolutely, and so will we, if things go that far."
"For sucking, too?"
"To be as safe as possible, yeah, we should. If you don't have bad teeth or gums, it's pretty safe. I usually don't use condoms for sucking dick. But, to be clear, it's safer if you do."
"You're clean though, right?"
"I am. I'm careful and I test myself, and not just for HIV, but you shouldn't trust that, not even with me, not if you want to stay safe. Understand?"
"Yeah, I get it. I've done a lot of research on it. I don't want to fucking die."
"And you shouldn't. Be careful. If something happens, condom breaks, you're drunk and not sure you used a condom or used it correctly, get to a doctor. There're medications you can take, after, to prevent infection."
"I read about that, too."
"Good," Jerry rubbed his fingertip over Richie's nipple. "Now, can I get back to kissing you?" He leaned over and did just that, not waiting for a reply. He worked his way lower. His lips followed the trail his hand left for him, side of the neck, hollow of the throat, nipples, and finally belly button. Jerry rested the side of his face on Rich's stomach. "I'm going to suck your dick now, unless you tell me not to." He paused, "Actually, I won't unless you tell me to. Tell me to suck your dick, Rich."
"Suck my dick, co.., Jerry. Please, I want you to suck my dick."
Jerry knelt beside the trim, beautiful, young body. Rich's cock jutted out over his abdomen. Jerry tilted his head and lifted it with his mouth. The hand beside him clutched at the sheet and a shudder went through Rich's body.
"Oh, fuck, oh my, God," he panted.
Jerry slowly lowered his mouth over the cock until his nose once again was buried in the thicket of musky pubic hair. He held it there, twirling his head in circles, shaking it, feeling the bed bounce as the sensations flooding Rich's brain overwhelmed him.
Jerry pulled away just as slowly. He did this twice more and Rich began to thrash on the bed. His body stiffened.
"Oh, fuck, Oh, fuck, Jesus, fuck," Rich cried, as his orgasm shredded his body.
Jerry held his cock, softly, in his mouth and savored every drop. When Rich seemed to have calmed, he began to slowly move his mouth up and down the softening cock. Rich shivered and put a hand on his head. Jerry paused. Rich said nothing. When he lowered his mouth, the hand on his head followed without trying to stop him. He kept Rich's cock in his mouth until it grew soft then let it fall from his mouth. He kissed it and then stretched out beside Rich.
"I'm sorry. I tried to hold it," Rich whimpered.
"Sorry for cumming in my mouth? Don't be. I wanted you to. Sorry for cumming fast? It was your first blowjob, dude. I'm surprised you lasted that long. Besides, it's not like you can make me cum by fucking my mouth. I'm not a chick. I wanted your cum; I got your cum. No problems."
"I had no idea it would be so different from jerking off, I mean, totally different."
Jerry chuckled. "Yeah, totally different." He stroked his dick. "Hey, you don't have to suck me off. I can jerk off."
"Huh? No, I want to. I've wanted to do that almost as much as I wanted you to do what you just did."
"Are you sure? I mean, I understand. Sometimes after you blow your load, things seem different."
"No, coa.., dude, I want to."
"You do? Okay, fine. Get down there and suck my dick." Jerry put a hand behind Rich's head and pushed, very gently, he was mostly playing a part. He used the other hand to hold his cock up.
Rich shifted position, kneeling now on the bed. He leaned over and placed his hand just above Jerry's. Jerry pulled his hand away. Rich stared for a moment and then opened his mouth.
At first, all he did was hold the head of the cock in his mouth. It occurred to him to use his tongue, just like kissing. He pushed his tongue forward and the tip touched Jerry's slit. He licked. Jerry moaned and put his fingers in Rich's hair.
"Um, that's right, use your tongue. That feels great."
Rich rolled his tongue around the head a few times. He pushed his mouth down a little more.
"Oh, yeah, that's good, Rich. Suck my fucking dick."
Rich hoped he was about to surprise his coach. He hadn't lied. He was a virgin. But, he had spent more time with the banana in his throat than in his ass. One, it was easier to clean up and two, it was easy for him to imagine a blow job, harder to imagine having something as big as a dick up his ass. He'd gotten to the point where he could swallow a pretty large banana without gagging.
He pushed his mouth lower and lower. Jerry's fingers clutched.
"Jesus, goddamn that's good, Rich. Suck it, baby, fucking suck my dick."
He didn't dare try any of the trick's his coach had. He simply pressed his nose hard against the man's lower belly and held it long enough so he'd know his virgin newbie had just deep-throated his cock.
"Fuck, Rich, fuck, unbelievable. Don't stop. Fuck."
Rich's head moved upward and his hand followed. He'd watched enough porn, gay and straight, to know that a blow job was rarely just about the mouth. He deep throated coach's cock several more times; it got easier each time he did it. He tongued the head again. He recalled how, sometimes, he'd just jerk his fist over the crown of his own cock. He did the same thing to coach's dick only with his mouth, not his hand.
"Fucking hell, Rich! Jesus. You're going to make me cum."
Rich moved his head even faster.
"Rich, stop or move, seriously, I'm about to nut, dude. Move if you don't want me to..." The rest was lost in a low shuddering sound that was midway between a sob and a moan.
Rich was surprised cum wasn't hotter. When it landed on your belly it felt hot. It didn't feel hot in his mouth. It wasn't salty, either. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Precum wasn't salty and, although it was true he didn't eat his cum, he had tasted it. It wasn't salty. Too him, it was almost metallic tasting. It reminded him of the time he bit his lip. Cum didn't taste like blood but it had a similar, hard taste. It made his mouth feel tight, almost numb. He didn't really care. What he cared about was the fact that he had just sucked his first dick and he wanted every drop of jizz. He'd earned it.
His mouth cherry had been popped.
Years later, when people asked, they simply answered that they had met in college.