I heard a dramatic gasp…
“JASON WHAT THE FUCK!”
Oh no.
I knew that voice. It was deep and familiar. It was a voice that commanded our attention in World History class every other day, one that had cheered our team on from the sidelines at every football game: the voice of my best friend’s father.
Mr. Nash.
My mind went cold, unable to process what was happening. It was impossible. I must have been so high on adrenaline that I was hallucinating. With trembling fingers, I reached up and tore the blindfold from my eyes. The outside swam into focus and there he was, standing a few feet away, his stance guarded, almost fight-or-flight like.
He looked exactly like he did at school, only a thousand times more out of place. He wore a gray hoodie with a bomber jacket over it and a pair of jeans. His short black hair was rigidly in place and his beard neatly trimmed. But his face held pure shock written all over it.
His normally handsome features were twisted, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide with a horror that mirrored my own. Mr. Nash was only 40, having had my best friend Bradley at just 22, and his wife had died five years ago, leaving Mr. Nash alone and widowed. He was the coolest teacher in school and clearly knew me through Bradley.
We both stared in shock, waiting for the other to make a move of some kind. I glanced down and realized he walked in to the view of my gaping asshole drooling cum out of it. My dick was standing straight up at him now, smooth and pointing at the target that had been next in line to tear me apart. My hands flew down, scrambling to yank up my pants with frantic, clumsy movements, desperately trying to cover the damning evidence of what I’d been doing.
A tidal wave of sickening shame washed over me and my power bottom facade vanished, replaced with eighteen-year-old terror from being caught in this fucked up, vulnerable way.
“Mr…Nash?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
My name on his lips had broken the spell, and now his shock morphed into a furious, panicked anger. "What the fuck are you doing, Jason?!" he boomed, his deep voice echoing under the bleachers and rattling me to my core. It was the raw, intimidating voice I’d only ever heard when Bradley had really fucked up growing up. “What were you doing? Why are you…” he wore a look of disgust warring with his own panic.
Wait a minute. He was here too.
My initial shock gave way to my usual aggressive instincts. I was cornered, and decided my only way out was to fucking unleash hell.
"What am I doing?" I yelled back, my voice cracking. "What the hell are you doing here?!”
"I…I was…" he stammered, his usual cool, no-nonsense demeanor completely gone. He looked trapped, his eyes darting from me to the ground and back again. "I heard someone under here and decided to check it out!”
The lie was so pathetic that it was almost laughable. There were zero reasons for him to still be at the field this long after the game and I knew Bradley had probably showered and darted at least half an hour ago. I thought about the profile. A blank face that had read 40 years old, 6’2”, and close enough to likely live within a few minutes of my house. It all clicked.
“You’re trying to pretend you just decided to hang out on the empty field after our game?” I shot back, taking a step toward him. "Don't bullshit me. You came here to try to fuck a guy!”
His face went pale, a ghostly white beneath his tan and beard. He flinched as if I'd slapped him.
"No!” he said, but the denial was weak, laced with a stutter that betrayed him completely. "N-no, I don't know what you're talking about. I wouldn’t…” He shook his head, looking anywhere but at me. "This is a mistake. A complete mistake."
My rage was now mixed with a strange, hollow feeling. This was the dad of my best friend. I didn’t know him that well, as he kept a distance from Bradley’s friends since he was a teacher, but I still knew him enough from class and generally when I hung out over there after school. I’d also watched him mourn his wife, Bradley’s mom, the last five years and had felt sad for him And here he was, lying through his teeth, just as scared and clearly as closeted as I was. We were the same. And I knew how I could turn the tables to protect myself.
"You're a fucking liar.” I spat, the words tasting like acid. “I was just on there to fuck with whoever your profile was. To see who was lurking around. And it was you!”
He couldn't hold my gaze. His eyes were wide with a terror that went beyond getting caught. I saw it all flash across his face: his job, his reputation, his son. The thought of my best friend finding any of this out was like a punch to the gut.
Mr. Nash seemed to have the same thought. His whole body tensed, and the last of his composure crumbled. He looked at me one last time, his expression a chaotic mess of fear mixed with a plea.
"This never happened.” he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You understand me, Jason? This. Never. Happened.”
And then he was gone. He didn't just walk out; he fled, his footsteps pounding on the dirt as he jogged from the field.
Fuck
I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. My entire life flashed before my eyes and the stories I’d told myself about how easy it was to hide what I was doing fell apart in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I found myself strategizing whether I’d deny it if it came out. Or maybe I should just own it? Would my friends accept me? All these terrible questions that my cocky, arrogant, mind had never contemplated rushed through me in the span of eight sleepless hours tossing in my bed.
Ultimately, I knew that, once again, I had to act first and fast to head off where this could go. There was no chance I was about to go through the weekend, or beyond, just hoping Mr. Nash didn’t screw me over. If I could get to him first, then it would be game over and I’d keep the upper hand.
I knew I had to tell Bradley. I couldn't risk Mr. Nash outing me to my best friend and controlling the narrative of why he’d been there. Plus, if I said something first, then I knew I’d have an easier time denying his dad saying that he’d found me like he had.
I waited until after our practice on Monday. It was normal for him and I to take our time in the locker room after to make sure we set the right example for the team to work hard and long hours. This was usually my favorite part of practice because it was when I got to glance over at my best friend’s ass after we used the showers in the locker room. They were private stalls, unfortunately, but him and I had been close for so long that neither of us put much effort into privacy when we were changing.
I sat on the bench in my underwear, waiting for him to finish after practice. Everyone else had already wrapped up and left. I was holding my head in my hands, both because I was still so fucking terrified, but also because I needed to make sure that Bradley saw how fucking distraught I was when he came back from the shower.
He finally returned a few minutes later in a towel and nodded in my direction. He was 6’3” (191cm), so slightly taller than his dad, and was, by far, the most alpha on our team. We were co-captains of the defense and while I was ripped and toned, he was much bigger in stature than I was and played strong safety. His calling cards were his massive hits that he leveled on opposing receivers every game, and they’d earned him his stout reputation. He was relatively tan, handsome like his father, and had a 5 o’clock shadow that suggested he’d have the old man’s beard down the line too.
I usually tried to only catch quick glimpses in the locker room to avoid suspicion but given I needed to draw his attention anyway, I figured that I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to really stare for once. Of everyone on our team, he was the only one who had a legitimate layer of fur both on his chest and stomach, with a thick happy trail over his rock hard abs.
“Sup?” He narrowed his eyes.
Okay so he definitely could tell I was paying attention. I shook my head, knowing that he was drawn in now and would notice that something was different today.
He dropped his towel and kicked it to the side, facing away from me as he usually did. His ass was big and strong, huge and muscular from his weight lifting and tall, meaty frame. He had a plentiful layer of consistent, symmetrical fur across his cheeks, unlike most of the guys on the team. Like I said, he was the alpha. Even more than me.
I licked my lips thinking about his muscular body and tried to look around at his dick but couldn’t steal a glance of it before he pulled his underwear up.
“Okay what’s wrong? You’re being weird.”
“Dude I gotta tell you something but you’re gonna be pissed.” I really played up the shock and awe.
“Shoot.” He was always blunt.
“Your dad…after the game Friday night, he…he tried to get with me, dude…”
Bradley’s face immediately contorted in anger. He looked furious. “What the fuck are you talking about J…” he spat out, his face red with anger. “Why would you lie about that shit.”
I was surprised by the response. I expected a much longer pause or a look of confusion. It didn’t make sense.
"I know it's hard to believe," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "But I'm telling you the truth."
"You're a fucking liar,” Bradley growled, shoving me hard. “Why would you make this up?!”
Okay, now I was really confused. Something seemed off.
“Nash…” I often just used his last name to refer to him. “I’m telling you…”
“Oh yeah? What did he do?” He folded his arms. It took everything in me to keep my eyes up and away from the heavy package bulging in his briefs.
I had been worried about this question but had prepared as best as I could. “I stayed after to do some cardio drills behind the field and he showed up and came onto me.”
He let out a loud snort. “Bullshit…fuck off.”
I didn't fight back but l hoped our strong bond would carry him to question things later tonight. All I needed to do was plant the seed and, thankfully, the groundwork had now been laid. I backed slowly out of the room with my clothes and bag in hand, leaving him fuming behind me.
Part 3
Football practice that week was a fucking nightmare. I was shocked that Bradley barely spoke to me unless it fighting against my schematic audibles on defense. Our coaches were livid that whatever personal spat we had going on was interfering with productivity at practice. It was frustrating that they blamed him and me when he was clearly the one being a dickhead.
I tried talking with him multiple times but he’d blown me off if I got anywhere near him. Class had been even worse. In History, Mr. Nash completely ignored me, as if I didn’t exist. He didn’t call on me one single time, canceled an exam we were supposed to have later that week, and generally seemed like he didn’t want to be there any more than I did. Either he was living in fear of me saying something, or him and my best friend already had it out with each other. I prayed it was the latter and that this was just the aftershock before I was in the clear.
Thankfully our game that Friday night was against a school that had no business sharing the field with us. Midway through the third quarter, we were up 28-0 and I knew coach would be taking the starters out soon. At least here on the field, I knew I could unleash some of my frustration and live freely, flying around the field and laying weaker guys out on the turf.
On a long distance third and fifteen for the opposing team, their last half-hearted opportunity to make this even remotely ‘a game’, I lined up and started barking orders for the defensive line in front of me to bring a blitz. I wanted the audible, and as the leader of the defense who our coordinator communicated plays through, I reserved the right to change the scheme. With how much talent we had, it was rare that I had to do much analysis before the playoffs. I could usually change the scheme to just about anything, especially something aggressive, and it’d likely end with a defensive stop or a turnover.
When the ball snapped, I watched our defensive ends take off like rockets on both edges. The right guard pulled inside to help his right tackle on the outside with blocking our rusher, but that had opened up a hole in the middle for me to bull rush through. Just as I started to hitch forward to take off for the easy sack, I saw the quarterback’s eyes dart slightly to my left, over the middle of the field.
Sensing the ball was about to come out faster than I had expected, I pivoted in that direction and took off as the quarterback flung the ball towards who I now saw was a crossing receiver right near the first down line. I managed to meet the ball just as it was only about a foot from the receiver’s hands, starting to reel it in myself to intercept the pass. I felt the ball make solid contact against my outstretched gloves and…BOOM.
I felt myself flying through the air, forward towards the back field, and landing with a massive thud on the ground. The receiver came with me and his body weight crunched me further into the ground below as the ball fell away harmlessly. I heard the crowd roar as we stopped the offense on third down again but my head was left spinning. I pushed the opposing player off of me and sat up on my butt, glancing around and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened and why I wasn’t sprinting the other direction with an interception.
Nearby, I saw Bradley high-fiving our teammates and bouncing up and down with adrenaline. As I got up and followed my defense to the sideline, I yanked on his face mask and pulled him away from our teammates.
“Did you just lay me out? Are you fucking serious, Nash?” I roared.
“Calm down loser. I trucked the receiver. I guess you just got in my way too...” He grinned, innocently. “Maybe get there faster next time…”
“What the fuck! I had a pick in my fucking hands! I was gonna be heading the other way for six!” I screamed
“I made the play, didn’t I? Get over it, bitch.”
“Nash, what the fuck! Stop being an asshole!”
“Stop being a fucking liar.” He gritted his teeth.
I panicked and my breath picked up. “I’m not lying!”
“Yes. You. Are.” He got up close to my face. “Tell me the truth, Jason.”
“He did what I said he did. I’m not lying you piece of shit!” I grunted back, at a lower volume now.
“And what else?”
His question stopped me in my tracks. I knew he could see the brief look of shock on my face. I backed away slowly, not understanding his response but terrified of what it might infer.
Anyone in the crowd could’ve seen us screaming at each other now, completely unloading on the sideline. I seethed as he smirked at me and walked away. Our coach did take out the starters after that series, which gave me a chance to sulk at the end of the bench, furious with how things had played out. I took my pads and jersey off and sat, frustrated, in just my football pants, not even enjoying the clear stares that girls gawked at me with from the stands. When the game ended, I skipped going to the locker room altogether and walked towards my car, fuming. My knuckles were still white from gripping my helmet on the sideline after I’d fought with Nash.
“Jason.”
The voice cut through the crowds walking towards their cars and there, leaning against the front of a large truck parked away from the other cars and facing the woods, was Mr. Nash.
He was wearing a simple black v-neck shirt and jeans. Even in the dim light, he was imposing, tall and solid, with his arms crossed. My heart hammered against my ribs with pure fear of how things were seemingly spiraling out of control.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pushed off the truck and jerked his head towards the passenger side door.
Every instinct screamed at me to get away from there, but I was frozen. This was the man I’d been slandering to his own kid. I stood shirtless, holding my pads and helmet and feeling much weaker than my chiseled abs would’ve suggested, and nodded my head, needing to try to reset things.
Wordlessly, I walked around the front of the truck, the headlights glinting off the sweat on my skin. I pulled the heavy door open and slid onto the cool leather of the passenger seat. He didn't start the engine.
Finally, he turned to me, his dark eyes unreadable. “You said something to Bradley. And you lied.”
My defensive walls shot up instantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I managed to choke out, the words even feeling pathetic as I said them.
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Just…don’t. I know I fucked up. I’m sorry. But stop the bullshit. You knew what you were trying to do.” He looked straight ahead, through the windshield at the dark football field. “Him and I talked. He’s angry. A little bit at me. But way more at you. For lying…”
My mouth went dry hearing that Bradley had confronted him. “It’s not a lie! I left some stuff out about me, but it wasn’t a lie and you know it…”
He finally turned his head, his gaze pinning me to the seat. “Really? So I just showed up there? Happened to stumble upon you bent over with your ass spread and waiting?”
The air left my lungs. I felt exposed, stripped bare. I had been so stupid. I slumped in my seat. All the anger drained out of me, replaced by a cold dread.
“He’s going to tell everyone,” I whispered, the words barely audible. “I’m so fucked.”
“Who? Bradley?” Mr. Nash asked, his voice softening slightly. “No. He’s not. He would never and he’d be grounded until college if he even thought about doing something that horrible.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. “Jason…Bradley already knew about me.”
I stared at him, my brain not comprehending the sentence. “Knew what?”
“That since his mother died, I’ve been…figuring things out. That I’ve been with men.”
The world tilted on its axis. I had torched my friendship with Bradley to protect a secret that wasn’t even hidden. I felt like the world’s biggest asshole and its dumbest inhabitant.
“I…I didn’t know,” I stammered, looking down at my hands, which were clenched into fists on my padded knees. “I’m sorry. I panicked.”
He still looked angry, but I could tell he was back in teacher mode, trying to make sure I was okay. And also ensure that I’d learned my lesson. “Right now, you have two options.'
I looked up at him, my blue eyes pleading.
“Option one,” he began, holding up a finger. “You stick to your lie. You double down. You keep pretending you’re straight and keep saying shit about me to him...”
My throat tightened. I felt a surge of panic. “Are you…are you threatening to out me?”
He shook his head, a genuinely sad expression on his face. “God no, Jason. Not at all. I would never, ever do that to you. I’m closeted myself, for Christ’s sake. I know what that fear feels like. I would never say a word. I never would have said a thing if you’d just let it go last Friday. But option one still sucks. You know why? Because you lose your best friend and you stay in the closet. He’ll never forgive you and you’ll just keep doing whatever the hell it is you’re sneaking around doing…”
“Okay…what’s option two?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Option two,” he said, his voice gentle now, “is you go find your best friend and own up to it. All of it. You tell him you were scared and you panicked and you acted like an asshole. And you know what he’ll do?”
I shook my head, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path through the dirt on my cheek.
“Probably nothing. I’d best he’ll give you a hard time, be a little pissy like teenagers are, and move on. He doesn’t need to understand you. He didn’t really get me, but he accepted it and supported me, and I know he’d do the same for you.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, feeling utterly drained. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nash,” I said again, my voice thick with shame. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to worry about me either way. It’s your life, bud.“
I nodded, regaining some of my composure, “thank you. Let me think about option 2 but I’m definitely not picking option 1…”
I took a deep breath and even smiled over at him, grateful that I had a path forward and that he was somewhat trying to help.
“Jason…” he said. I watched his eyes glance down at my sweaty abs, glistening in sweat and rock hard. “Forget all of this for a second,” he said kindly but stern. “Forget Bradley, forget the shit storm we find ourselves in. Let’s go back to the other night. When you swiped on my profile. What were you hoping would happen?”
I understood the question. It’s how I would’ve acted if I were him. In so many ways, we weren’t all that different. All the fear and shame was still there, but underneath it, that primal, horny, need roared its head in our guts. I took a shaky breath, met his intense gaze, and let out my unfiltered yearning.
“I’d have wanted you to fuck my brains out...”
A slow smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Would you still want that if we could do it all over again?”
I looked at this handsome, powerful man who had just offered me a path to redemption and who hadn’t put the slightest bit of pressure on me, despite me acting out like an immature brat.
“100% yes.”
He grinned and leaned over the center console but didn’t kiss me. I watched his hand quickly reach down for the laces on my football pants while his other hand brushed over my abs. He popped open the laces and snaps one by one, each of them ringing out with a whipping sound. After he’d undone the last one, the top of the pants loosened enough to spring open just to the point that he could now see my shaven, smooth groin below my waist. It wasn’t enough for my dick to be out, but I saw his eyes devour the V line that went past my waist and down to either side of the prize he wanted.
I bit my lip and nodded him onward, eager for peace between us. He used both hands to pull the tight, sweat-dampened fabric past my hips, thighs, and knees, bunching them around my ankles.
Mr. Nash looked down, his gaze hungry, like he didn’t even care who the cock belonged to. He stared at my six inch (15cm) dick standing at attention, right above my sweaty, grimy, and smooth sack after the multi hour affair of tackling and dominating other football players.
The first touch of his tongue on my cock was electric. His lips were soft, but the scruff of his beard was rough and scratched at my shaven groin. He took his time, teasing the head of my cock with his tongue, circling it, and inevitably tasting the disgusting boy sweat that had soaked into my dick and balls during the game.
“Tastes strong.” He let out a low grumble but kept licking my cock like an ice cream cone, savoring the flavor that each slurp brought.
A moan escaped my lips, a sound I couldn't hold back. I was always in control during my anonymous hook-ups and relished setting the tone. Even now as he had my dick in his mouth, I felt like he was the one calling the shots. He knew exactly what he was doing and eventually took all of me into his mouth, his throat opening to accommodate all six inches.
“Oh fuck, christ…” I moaned. I reached down and held his head in place, letting him enjoy my full base to tip cock in his throat. “Mmhhmmmm, fuccccck…”
I was in heaven and somehow he was able to just hold still, perfectly peaceful and calm engulfing my dick in his throat like it was the easiest chore in the world. I let go and felt his head start to bob with a steady, powerful rhythm, his hand gripping my smooth balls and playing with them like a toy.
I could feel the climax building, a deep, coiling knot in my gut. My hips started to buck upward. “Mr. Nash…fuck…” I gasped out. I couldn’t believe I was fucking the mouth of a man I felt the need to call ‘mister’.
He pulled off just long enough to pass some saliva onto his pointer finger before returning to my dick.
“What’re you doing…?” I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t take anymore, threatening to unload in his mouth.
He didn't slow down, picking up the pace and reaching his finger down under my balls and between my cheeks. He probably didn’t even need the spit on his finger, undoubtedly able to collect more than enough sweat around my asshole to get inside.
I threw my head back against the headrest and moaned as I felt his finger push inside my ass. His mouth and tongue worked up and down my dick while his finger easily found my prostate and began to gently massage it from the inside.
I felt my confidence finally come surging back and, just like last week, I couldn’t care less how raunchy the taste in his mouth or the feel of my asshole were. He may have been in control but I at least had my mojo back. He was the luckiest guy on earth right now.
He worked to literally suck the orgasm out of me, milking me with an authority that finally matched my ego. I arched my back, my head hitting the headrest as the release tore through me.
“Ughhh yeaaahhh.” I didn’t bother warning him before I unleashed hot ropes, feeding him my eighteen year old seed, with wave after wave of ripe cum. He didn't pull away until the last twitch had subsided, swallowing and, I’m sure, cherishing my masculine juices.
He sat back up, slowly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and his dark eyes met mine. The intensity was gone, replaced by a familiar, cool, look he wore in the classroom. My dick was covered in his slobber and my pants were still around my ankles.
He cleared his throat, the sound a stark return to reality. He rested his arm on the steering wheel, turning slightly as if we were just having a casual chat.
“So, Jason,” he said, his voice back to its normal, deep tone. “You like it a little rougher, I take it? Based on how I found you last week?”
I nodded. He reached over and held my slick, sensitive dick in his hands and started to massage the head.
“What…what are you doing?” I stuttered, feeling uncomfortable.
He gripped the head of my dick and started to massage it, overwhelming every single nerve in my body in an instant.
“Stop, stop, stop!” I panted, but I didn’t grip his arm or actually try to stop him.
“If you want to do this again, remember that I’m in control.”
“Aggghh stopppp, fuck, fuck!” I squirmed in his passenger seat, whimpering like a kid, my voice doubling its normal octave.
“Next time, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll have to miss practice for a few days, okay?” He finally let go of his death grip on my cock and just rubbed his thumb in a circle on my frenulum.
“Mmm arghh please stop, it’s so fucking sensitive!” My eyes were squeezing shut. It felt like torture.
“You know how to message me if you decide you’re up for that, okay?”
“Yes! Yessir!” My body contorted, my toes curling on the floor.
He finally lifted his hand off of me. “Good boy.”
My heart felt like it was about to explode and my hair had become a mess from wiggling around. I’d never felt my nerves be so overworked like that in my entire life. It was awful, but incredible at the same time, to feel so alive across every millimeter of my body.
“Put your dick away before you leave.” He commanded me. “ And I need to ask you for a favor before you go.”
I stared at him, my brain struggling to live up. A favor? Now? I couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. I nodded dumbly.
“This isn’t related to anything from tonight, so if you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. But there’s a student in my third-period class, Tucker Danton. Smart kid, but he’s struggling for some reason lately so I offered to pair him with another student for tutoring. I gave him the names of a few of my better students, including you. Apparently he’s a big football fan so he asked to be paired with you.” He paused, looking at me expectantly. “Again, no pressure, but I was hoping you’d be willing to tutor him.”
I sat, half-naked in the passenger seat of his truck, my own cum still coating his throat, and all I could manage was, “yessir, Mr. Nash. I can do that.”
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