Mr. Meyer Makes a Man of Me

In the days that followed, I was too freaked out to dare beat off again.

Worse, our training sessions started to feel… strained. At least for me. I had finally started feeling confident in my own skin, but with this… I was thoroughly spooked. And I’m sure Mr. Meyer could sense it; he wasn’t his bold, larger-than-life self, either. Which made me spiral even further… did I just royally screw up the best thing I had going on in my life?

And that thought penetrated deeply. This was the best thing I had going on. I realized just how… ferociously I looked forward to time with Mr. Meyer. Drinking in his strength. Feasting on his masculinity. Eating up his….

Eating…

His…

God help me. I had visions now of… my face… my mouth… against him. Against his… the taste of his…

It was torture.

The scenes came to me fast and furious, and suddenly I was throwing wood like all the time. Like when I had just hit puberty. What gives?!? I wasn’t a kid anymore. How could I….

My resolve to not beat off faded with the onslaught of testosterone constantly flooding my body. My jerking sessions becoming savage. My stupid cum-sock I kept under the bed to mop up with was soon crusty and hard enough to crack concrete blocks.

Weeks passed, and the cycle ground on relentlessly. And the times I spent with Mr. Meyer were making it worse and worse. Maybe it was my ongoing neurosis, but I was sure he was still being more aloof. He wasn’t as hands-on as he was before. But that just meant that every time he did touch me was like an electric jolt. I deliberately burned every casual brush with him into my mind as fuel for my masturbatory fantasies later.

This one session together was particularly bad. He had patted my ass for nailing a routine perfectly. It was nothing—just the common, stupid, “homoeroticism-masking-as-straight-guy-rough-housing” kind of maneuver all jocks do. But it set me off. I could barely hide it. I was terrified that he might see. That he might somehow guess. So I made up some crap about having forgotten something big at home, ended things, and all but ran off without going back to the locker room to change.

I pulled myself short.

Real smart, Troy. Real smart. There was no way I was going to make it home in nothing but my workout gear, especially with the cold at this time of year. I swallowed hard and humiliatingly made my way back to the locker room. I quick changed as fast as I could, desperate both to get away and get back home to rub one out… but as I was leaving, I realized something.

The door to the gym teachers’ office was ajar.

Holy crap.

I wasn’t surprised, as Mr. Meyer was the only one there and he probably thought I was nearly home by now. No need to be fastidious in making sure the door latched. So I cautiously slipped in.

Not sure why. Not sure what I hoped to achieve.

Again, the main part of the office was a shared administrative space, but behind there was a mini-locker room, just for the teachers/coaches. With showers. As I crept forward, I could hear water running.

Mr. Meyer was showering.

Oh God.

My stomach was turning summersaults. My hands shaking. I think I was starting to hyperventilate.

I crept in and cautiously looked around the corner. The shower was definitely going, and by the irregular splashes and sounds I could tell he was in there, washing himself off. There was a small row of lockers, with a bench in front of it. I could see his gym bag, and clothes nonchalantly laid out. I slooowly peeked toward the showers. From that angle he was well hidden. Safe for the moment.

But then the gym bag grabbed my attention.

There. Right on top. The last thing he removed when he undressed. Mr. Meyer’s used jock.

Oh God. OhGodOhGodOHGODOHGOD.

No! This couldn’t be happening! This was too much! Too much!!! OH GOD.

Without hesitation, I grabbed it. Touching it. Feeling it. And then, God help me…

…I ground it into my face and inhaled as deeply as I possibly could.

Ohhhh…

Myyyyyyyyyy…

GOOOOOOOOOOD!

His musk exploded any rational thought I could have ever had. Far stronger than his sweaty shirt from last summer. Far more potent. It floored me. Every neuron in my brain started going off like a pinball machine.

His scent was rich, sharp… aggressively masculine. Raw. I huffed it, again and again, making myself dizzy. All my dreams about manhood were there, alive in that earthy, dank man-stink. I instinctively shoved my hand down the front of my pants to grab my throbbing dick. Every part of me feeling… alive. Feeling…

CRAP!

In my mental frenzy, I realized the water had turned off. How long ago??!? OH GOD. There was NO TIME. I had to….

And just like that, my world ended. Plummeting from the highest high of my life to the lowest low I could imagine…

…Mr. Meyer came around the corner, drying himself off.

And he saw me.

I was too terrified to scream, let alone move.

“Troy?” he asked, startled. “What are…? What…? What… are… you… doing?”

I couldn’t answer. There was no possible answer for why I was standing there with his jock in my face and my hand in my shorts. That… pretty much spoke for itself.

There was a sing-song cadence to his words. “You’re… in… my… stuff….” His voice had a timbre I had never heard. It drained away to nothing. The same way all my blood had drained from my face.

He stood there. Naked. Water sluicing off him. I dreamed about this for so long. And now it all felt so… empty. Ruined.

He was now looking down. I couldn’t read him. Not at all. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur. “You… like that? Don’t you?”

“I… don’t… think….” Not my most eloquent moment.

Then, he… surprised me. He… laughed. Not a big laugh, just a a low rumble. An ironic chuckle, as he slightly shook his head. He threw the towel around his shoulders and pressed on. “No fucking shit. Troy, tell me straight. You like that, don’t you?”

My initial shock had well and truly given over to raw panic. “I don’t know… what you mean…?” My voice all but cracking.

“Oh, I think you do,” he said. And to my fascinated horror, his voice started to sound sounding like a predatory lion on the prowl. “Here all this time I thought it was just me. That I was the sick perv. Afraid. But I think we’re in this together.” He approached me. I tried to back away but my muscles had entirely deserted me. I was hoping to God I wasn’t wetting myself.

He took the jock from my helpless fingers, and raised it to his own nose. He inhaled. “Mmm. Man-scent. Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

That word. Hearing him say that word. I about jumped.

“The smell of men, in all their sweaty glory. The smell of dick and balls. Raw. The smell of sex.”

I swallowed hard. Desperately trying to make sense of him. To sense if I was in some sort of trap.

“Troy, let me tell you something. Every coach realizes a few men on his team have more than the usual attachment to their coach. Sometimes it's a daddy-son relationship, sometimes it's a straight forward liking for authority figures. This happens with such regularity I realized it was a natural relationship common to all men on team sports. So don’t be scared. You, son, are part of deep, long-lasting fraternity.”

“Uhhh, no…. I mean, I’m not…. I don’t feel….”

“Don’t worry, Troy… I feel it, too. We're alike.”

“WHAA-?? No! I… I… I can’t! I don’t think of myself like that! I’m not….”

“It doesn’t matter what thought of yourself. It doesn’t matter what you think at all. You know you feel it inside you.”

At that moment, I was in full fight-or-flight mode. More terrified than I had ever been in my life. What did he mean??

I found out soon enough. He reached down and gripped my crotch in his huge, meaty hand.

I gasped.

There was no way he didn’t feel how rock-hard I was. Even through my jeans.

Wait… think about it, Troy. Oh God… I was… rock-hard. I was.

Oh God! He knows! He was gonna kill me! He was gonna….

Wait….

He was… feeling… me.

Feeling me.

Our eyes locked.

“You've been thinking about me this whole time, haven't you. Sweating through the night. Day dreaming about things you shouldn't be. Thinking about... men. With a hunger eating you alive. Been there, Troy. I know the drill. Lots of guys do. So. Here we are. We understand each other. We can be honest with each other. Will you be honest with yourself?”

I looked at him. Saw… things… in his eyes. Things I’d been feeling. Things I’d been hiding.

No, I wasn’t… I shouldn’t….

What the hell should I do????

Screw it. I remember Mr. Meyer’s life lesson. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?

So.

I took a breath and breathed it out. I found my voice—a growl that matched his own. “You don’t know how many loads I’ve blasted thinking about you.”

A sinner’s smile spread across his face. “I can imagine.” His voice was golden-smooth. Undeniable. He shifted his hand, and drove it down my shorts to grab me, skin-to-skin. “Yeah. I can tell.”

I gasped. My knees all but buckled. If I hadn’t been backed up against the lockers, I would have certainly collapsed in a pile of hormone-laced goo. 

No one had ever grabbed my dick before. Certainly not any of those abortive attempts I had with the girls in my class. His hand started to roughly work me over. He had my Un. Divided. Attention. Looking into his eyes. Seeing... something. Something that not that long ago would have terrified me.

“You’re hard, Troy. Nearly hard as I am.”

He shifted, and I could see him. Him. Oh God. The biggest dick in the universe. Hard enough to drill through steel. Huge. Monumental. And standing at attention. God. Damn. It. The most roaring, powerful piece of masculinia that I could imagine. Thunderously raw. Curved. Surrounded by a mane of tangled hair, like a sequoia towering over the forest brush.

My mouth went very, very dry.

“So,” he growled. “What do you think of, when you’re jerking off, thinking about me…?”

I barely had control over my voice. “Everything. Your hands. Your smell. Your taste. You taking me.” He leered at that. “But right now, I can think about is your dick.”

“Touch it.” When I didn’t react, he growled sharply, “Do it.”

My hand was trembling so hard I could barely control it. But I reached out… reached out… and for the first time in my life, I ran my fingers around another man’s cock.

Oh God.

Mr. Meyer shuddered for a second as I got my grip, and then let out a rumbling sound of approval.

I was scarcely able to believe my good fortune. All my dreams. My sweaty nights. My jerkoff sessions that left me raw. My fingers embraced him. I was amazed at the feel of him—both harder, and softer than I thought. He was thicker than I was used to. God. It was so… raw… to jerk him. Slowly. Intently. Feeling his fingers on me, matching my motions. The glide of his skin sliding under my trembling hand. Our shared breaths, coming in sharp intakes. My whole body alive. My pulse racing. Feeling on top of the world. Feeling him. His male power.

“You want to suck on it.” He wasn’t asking.

I didn’t trust my voice to answer him, not with my pulse pounding in my throat.

“Do it. C’mon Troy. You want it. So do I.”

Ah man. I leaned in. Terrified and exhilarated. His huge mushroom head flared in front of me.

“Don’t think. Do it.”

Oh GOD. I reached out with my tongue and touched him. Just the tip. Flicking his piss slit.

He smirked. “You’re gonna need to go harder than that.”

Yeah, Troy. Quit being a pussy. Be a man.

I opened my mouth...

...and took him in.

Mr. Meyer hissed. “Careful son, watch the teeth.”

Oh God. I was humiliated. Mortified. I pulled back, lowering my head and murmuring, “Sorry.”

He enfolded my head with his meaty hand, and scritched me companionably. “You’re doing great, and your heart’s in the right place. Or at least your dick is!” he joked. I smiled sheepishly. “Just roll your lips over your teeth. It’ll feel awesome!”

I tried again. This time, Mr. Meyer simply growled in a way that could not be mistaken for anything but masculine pleasure. “Ughnnnnaaaaah. Yeah. Fuck yeah! Yeah, suck that fucking cock!”

Jesus. That… vulgarity again. Words my mom would kill me if I ever said out loud. But here this… well, this fucking man was growling it out. Naturally. Like a man. The perfect word. His voice drenched in sex, making it real. Drenched in arousal. Arousal… for me.

As my mouth started working his hairy dick. It was… raw. Nasty. Taboo. And above all, it was primal. Primal masculinity. Not giving a shit about propriety, decency, or anything civilized. Just like masculine sex.

And for the first time in my life, I felt like a fucking MAN.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

I laid into him. Deep. Fascinated. Feeling something inside of me that I couldn’t explain, but needed to let out. I mouthed him, trying to imitate the few dirty movies I had watched on the sly with my friends. Working that massive cockhead of his. Tickling him with my tongue; he liked that. Above me, Mr. Meyer had put both hands on my head and started working me, guiding me as he swayed his hips. Working me over like I was some human sex toy or something. Using my mouth.

And I was right there with him. Wanting nothing more than to make him as excited as I was. The… sounds… he made almost terrified me. Full-throated snarls, growls and moans. Barely human. Male. Rich in their arousal. OH MY FUCKING GOD

“Suck it, Troy… suck hard. Suck like you mean it! Atta boy… YEAHHHHH!”

I’d never been so turned on in my life. This is what it felt like to be a man! Everything in my body focused on that cock in front of me. Doing everything I could. My free hand started roughly squeezing his hairy balls, rolling in my hand. OH MY GOD. Wanting more… wanting everything… wanting….

“FUCK YEAH, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. WORK ME! WORK MY FUCKING COCK!” I grabbed him, my hand gripping his shaft while my mouth worked his head. I started jacking him, knowing how much I loved that feeling. His skin slick from the shower. Jacking him. “YEAH RIGHT THERE! RIIIIGHT THERE! C’MON!!!!” Jacking him. Jacking him!

Fucking JACKING HIM!!!

OH MY FUCKING GOD

His hands crushed me into him, harder than I could believe. His body started convulsing. Rapid grunts interrupted by gasps. A roar building. His eyes rolled back….

And to my utter astonishment, he fucking blew. Cum. Cum everywhere. Filling my mouth too fast. Drowning. Drowning in cum. CUM! I wrenched my head back and started spit-coughing his cum out. Desperate to breathe. Panting. OH MY FUCKING GOD

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

But we had no time to collect our thoughts. Outside, we could hear the locker room door get flung open, and the booming sounds of excited guys starting to come in.

My heart sank. My excitement burned away into raw terror. Panicked. Unable to move.

Oh GOD.