NOTE: Everyone depicted in this story is understood to be 18 years old (or older). The coach's reference to someone as "boy" or "little" is a demarcation of an age difference, not an indication they are under-age for the activities engaged in. Thank you and enjoy - comments welcome!
Coach Anderson did not fuck around. When he came into the pool area, the team was supposed to be on our marks and ready for warm ups. He blew the whistle once, we were in the water, doing laps. The next time he blew it, we were finished for the day. Monday, things were the same as always. Wednesday, he came in yelling at us and we were forced to do extra laps. Friday afternoon, after warm-ups and practice laps, he let us go ahead of time before heading into his office and slamming the door. Everyone else took advantage of this and left, some of them skipping their showers. Me, I took advantage of the alone-time and spent an extra twenty minutes in the shower. When I walked back into the changing room, Coach Anderson was slipping a shirt into an open locker.
"Woods, what are you doing here? Why aren't you gone with the others?"
I hooked a thumb toward the showers. "Thought it would be nice to have the place to myself for once. I didn't bring a towel with me, though. I thought everyone else would be gone."
With one large hand, the coach swiped at a stack of towels and threw one at me. I caught it. He was still looking at me, so I looked back. Coach David Anderson was six feet of broad muscle with a slick head, storm-blue eyes and full lips. His arms were almost the same size as his calves, with his hands being just smaller than his feet. His whole body was dusted with caramel colored hair, giving his pale skin a slight tan. Right now, without his shirt, my eyes were stuck on the deep furrow of muscle between his pecs and the thick trench of curls.
"I thought everyone would be gone, too, but it looks like they're not."
"Coach, is something bothering you?"
His hands went to his trim hips and his eyes bore into me. "What makes you think something's bothering me, Woods? Do I look bothered to you?"
"No, sir. It's not like you to yell at us like you've been doing."
"What should I do, Woods? Apologize? Kiss your ass? You gonna cry because I've been harder on you boys? You can Tweet about it later, it'll give you something to whine about."
I began to dry off. "The speeches you give us about how we're all supposed to be a family, looking out for each other, it doesn't apply to you? We're not supposed to look after you, too?"
"What's your name, boy?"
"Geez, were your parents hippies, Woods?"
"No, sir. It was my great-grandfather's name. My friends, here on the team, call me Will."
"Why aren't you at home, instead of hanging out here in the locker room?"
"Why aren't you home, sir? You're always out of here by four. It's almost five."
"You finished with the showers, boy? I need to get cleaned up."
Without waiting for a an answer, he got out of his shoes and pulled his socks off. I walked over to my locker and opened it. Coach took off his sweat pants, rolled them up and stuffed them into his locker. He was wearing a bright red jockstrap, the open back showing his perfect ass and its light dusting of caramel hair, as well. This wasn't the first time I'd seen him in it. As we were leaving, sometimes, he would do just what he was doing now, come in, strip down and use the showers when we were gone. I took out my own underwear as Coach was taking a towel from the stack.
"You can stop staring at my ass now, Woods. For fuck's sake, take your gay ass home."
I chuckled before stepping into my blue briefs and pulling them up over my hips. I dropped my sandals on the floor and pulled out my cargo shorts. My shirt was hanging at the back of the locker. Before reaching for it, I gave Coach another glance. This time, he was looking at me.
"Why do you do it?" He asked. "Why are you always staring at me, at my ass?"
"You're a smart man, coach, I'm sure I don't have to explain it to you."
He walked over to where I was and pushed the door to my locker closed. "What say you try? Explain to me why you can't ever seem to take your eyes off me when I'm stripped down like this. Maybe dumb it down for me, tell me plain, Woods, why the fuck is your gay ass staring at mine?"
"I guess because I'd like to bend you over one of these benches in here and shove my tongue so far up your fine, hairy ass, you'd taste me in your mouth. Then, when I had you all sloppy and wet, I'd love to fuck you so hard you'd beg me to stop."
Coach smiled. "Fag."
"Asshole," I smiled back.
He ruffled my hair. "Look, I appreciate you asking after me, but I'm all right. There's no need for you to worry about me. Things are just rocky at my place, right now."
"Can I help?"
"Just you asking if you can helps a lot. Now, get dressed and get out before I take you up on your offer. My ass could use some hot tongue and dick."
"The offer's always open."
He turned back toward the shower and I finished getting dressed. I heard the water come on and the sound of it being deflected from hitting the floor. Stepping into my shoes, I opened my locker and took my shirt from the back. Something strange was bothering the coach. He was never so agitated and he always joked back when I said things about doing gay stuff to him. He didn't do that, this time. It made me wonder what could be rocky at his place and why it would be so rocky he would bring whatever it was back to the pool, with us. None of us knew a lot about his home life so it was hard to say. This was what I was thinking about when I started walking toward the door. I glanced over, into the open showers, thinking I'd give coach a final wave. I stopped in my tracks.
Coach was standing arm's length from the wall, one hand bracing his huge form. His other hand was wedged in between the two slabs of his ass. He was sliding two thick fingers in and out of his asshole! Water ran all over his body, steam rising off of him. I watched for a few minutes as he ministered to himself, fingering his hole without a thought for anyone but himself. His right leg was out in an almost straight line, balancing himself, his left one bent at the knee. From his crotch, an impressive piece of sweet meat jutted out in front of him. His body shielded the water from his front so I knew the silvery discharge coming from the head was pure coach-cum!
I took a step toward the mouth of the open shower room and watched with amazement how easy Coach's fingers slid into his hole. Both of them met with no hesitation, they just slid right in. His body responded in every way, too. His chest flexed, his stomach tightened, even his nipples stood out from his chest, two proud points of passion for what he was doing to himself. When he slid his fingers all the way this next time, he turned his head toward me.
"I don't need any help, Woods...you're free to go."
"Right..." I looked at the door, then back at him.
"You wanna watch, Woods?" Coach eased his fingers back out. "That why you're skulking about, hanging around, thinking you and me could get some nasty player-coach fantasy going on?"
When I didn't say anything, at first, he straightened his body and stood up, his hand shutting off the shower. Water ran off his massive body in streams, plastering his hair to his skin. He took a few steps closer to me, his feet slapping the tile.
"I don't swing your way, gay-boy."
"Right," I repeated. "No problem."
"What is it about me that gets you off the most, Willow?"
"Masculinity, sir. I love a hot, hairy man who looks like what I think a man should. You're not like me, at all, and I think it's hot."
Coach walked out of the open shower room and over to one of the benches. "You watch porn?"
His hand slid down the slope of his stomach under his balls. He hefted his dick up, slinging water all over the floor. Angling his body toward me, he gave his balls another tug and his dick slung what I knew to be pre-cum after the water. Under a thick caramel-colored mustache, his lips parted and his tongue slipped out to lick the top one. His other hand tugged on one of his hard nipples. I swallowed hard as he tugged his balls again, making his cock dance for me.
"Tell me something, what turns your crank about watching other men?"
Without waiting for me to answer, he wrapped his hand around his cock and started stroking himself. He worked his fingers in long, easy strokes from head to base and back. At the head, he swiped his thumb through the cum without releasing himself. Using it for lube, he continued stroking. His other hand tugged his nipple so hard, even he sucked in air through clenched teeth at the spike of pain.
"The fact what they're doing feels good to them," I answered, almost forgetting he'd asked. "Like what you're doing, right now. Feels good, huh?"
"Fucking amazing," Coach said. "When I'm at home, I ride a fat black dildo while I'm jerking my cock. Damn, but I love having something jammed up my hole while I'm stroking! I even have some of those suction things on both my nipples, because, goddamn, does it feel good when I take them off."
I was incredulous as Coach continued stroking his cock. He held it up so I could see the thick vein snaking along its length. His thumb brought more clear liquid onto the shaft.
"Gay boys aren't the only ones who know what makes their bodies feel good. They just think they are. It's almost like nobody but them ever had alone time to figure that shit out." Coach looks up at me. "I figured it out when I was ten. I used a cucumber. I slid that bitch so far up my hole, I thought I could taste it - and it got my little dick so hard! I pushed it in and out of myself a few times and came like a rocket! Ever since then, whatever I could find, I pushed it up my ass!"
Again, I swallowed. I couldn't think of anything to say. Coach continued to stroke his cock in long, easy motions. His other hand came down and he double-handed it a few times. More clear cum leaked from the head and he spread it over himself.
"My wife is banging another guy," the man said, not missing a stroke. "Smaller mind, smaller salary, smaller dick, so I don't know what she sees in him. The bitch told me this on Monday. Wednesday, I filed a restraining order against her...so she had to get her shit out of my house. This morning...just after I rode my fat black friend and blew my morning load, I went to my lawyer's office...and filed for divorce. Then, I had to come here and deal with you little shits."
Both of his hands began working his cock harder and faster. The head swelled. His balls drew up around his thighs, tight and firm. His face registered his enjoyment of what was going on.
"I thought...after you little fucks were gone...I could have a hot shower...finger my hole...and blow out another load before having to go home to that whore who shares my last name."
He spread his legs, letting his balls hang. His cock swelled even bigger, the head expanding. Every muscle in the man's body expanded! His chest swelled. Both nipples stood out at once. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was almost like the Sexual Hulk or something! His mouth opened in a long, deep growl - not a moan or grown - but a growl! His teeth were snapped together, his eyes narrowed. He gave his massive cock another good two strokes - then let go of it. Without him touching it, the thing slapped hard against his stomach once, then began erupting! He wagged his hips from side to side, slinging his spurting cum all over like a firehose! Fuck! Cum was flying everywhere as he continued growling. Both hands tugged at his nipples, pulling them until his growls became deeper, more guttural. He bent at the knees once, then straightened, bucking out his hips so his last hard shot of cum went further than the first. It was amazing! Fuck...but it was amazing!
"Goddamn, that was good!" Coach swore, still slinging cum. "You like it, gay-boy?"
"Yes, sir. It was hot!"
"You're damned right it was," the man stepped back, toward his locker. "Sorry you didn't get to swallow down any of my cock-spit but, like I said, I don't swing in your direction. Nothing wrong with giving you a show, though." He opened his locker and fumbled with his sweat pants. "You got a boyfriend, Willow?"
"No, sir." I told him the truth.
He came over to me and handed me a business card. "I really don't swing your way, kid, but my brother does. The son-of-a-bitch is one sweet soul and one hell of an artist. Go by his place, take a look at his work. Don't be a creeper, but say hello and see if there are some sparks."
I took the card. "Why...would you do this, sir?"
One of his massive hands came down on my shoulder. "I see the way you're always hanging behind, the way you're trailing after me. You're one hell of a swimmer, kid, but you're lonesome as fuck and it's starting to affect your stroke. Go meet my brother, strike up a conversation. See what happens. If you like him, cool. If you don't, cool - but you'll have tried. All we can do is try, right?"
Turning the card over in my hands, I nod. "I can try, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Good, now get your gay-ass out of here before I get hard again and change my mind about swinging it in your direction!"
"Okay," I chuckle. "Although I wouldn't mind--"
"Go, gay-boy! Find one of your own kind."
With a playful push, I go toward the door of the locker room. I slip the card into my pocket and pull my shirt on. As I go out, into the coming evening, I hear the water come on again. Coach begins to moan and I'm sure I know why. This might not have ended the way I thought, and I might not click with his brother, but Coach sure did give me a hot set of visuals to keep my pervy little mind going for some time. I wouldn't be without jerk-off material for some time!