Life with Baseball Stud

"Don't sweat it, Kev, the show only gets better" and Danny then slid down his uniform pants to reveal his jock and briefs. By the look of his jock I could tell I wasn't the only one enjoying the show....

“I have to pee” – I stammered and nearly tripped over the bench between the lockers as I tried to escape Danny’s gaze. 

Without looking back, I went to the stalls by the urinals and took a seat, barely able to catch my breath as I tried to process what just happened.  Was Danny just making a joke like the other jocks?  Was he coming on to me?  No, he couldn’t be gay or, if he was, he wouldn’t be interested in me. 

As I sat in the stall, I could hear the football jocks in the shower.  There was a lot of laughter and I wondered if Danny had told them what had happened.  I became angry at myself for not controlling my eyes and at Danny for being one of the obnoxious jocks.    

I decided to wait until I heard the noise of the jocks die down from their showers.  It felt like forever, but when I didn’t hear any more voices and the locker room door slam shut, I ventured back out.  Sure enough, the locker room was empty and I practically ran to my locker to get dressed and to get as far away as possible.

Just as I was about to shut my locker, I heard another door open in the locker room.  Surprised, I peered around the row of lockers, trying to stay hidden to whatever jock came back for something they had forgotten.  Even more surprising was that I didn’t see another jock, but it was the football coach, Mr. Peters – or, just ‘Coach’ as everyone called him.  I had forgotten that Coach had his office attached to the locker room.  Coach was a walking stud of a man – 42, 6’ 3”, 220 lbs of muscle and former military.  Married, with 3 kids and another on the way, the girls (and some of the guys) would trip over themselves when he walked the hallways between classes moving students along to their next class.  He also wore the classic 80s gym teacher outfit – the button up polyester shorts that accentuated his quads and glutes, along with a polo that strained to hold his pecs in place, and the whistle that always seemed to be around his neck.      

Fortunately, Coach hadn’t seen me peering around the lockers and I watched him march around the locker mumbling to himself as he picked up the sweaty clothes and towels left by his players.  “Kids can’t clean up after themselves to save their lives” he said to what he thought was an empty room.  His arms were starting to fill up with towels, shirts, shorts, underwear and then he bent down to pick up a forgotten jockstrap.  Rather than throwing it right into the pile in his arms, Coach paused, looked around the room, and then brought the jock up to his nose, inhaling the scent of one of his players.  Quickly realizing where he was, Coach put the jock in his armload of clothes and headed back to his office to throw everything in the laundry. 

With his exit, I took the opportunity to slide out of the locker room.  Practically jogging down the hallway, I wasn’t looking ahead and ran into someone coming around the corner, falling to the floor.  “Hey, what’s the rush?”, I heard.  Looking up, I was looking right into Danny’s eyes.  I froze again, like a deer in headlights.  “Kev, it’s cool.  I was waiting around to talk to you after you took off to the stalls in the locker room.  How about we take a walk?”

(To be continued)