Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 My Coach - Part Two - The Initiation

   The following is a work of fiction meant for adults.  If you are under
18 stop reading now and do not download this story.

   It involves sexual contact, including bondage and discipline, between a
man and a teenaged boy.  The story is set in the early 1970s, so even if
this was a true story the teen would be in his 50s now.  Nevertheless, if
such stories offend you, stop reading now and do not download this story.
(Mm bd Mdom)

   If such stories are illegal where you live stop reading now and do not
download this story.

   I really like SPECIFIC feedback on my writing.  Good or bad, it helps me
improve.  I also like story ideas, though I can't guarantee that I will use
every idea.  Email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com

   If you just want to tell me I'm a pervert, save your breath; I already
know that.

   NOTE: You will find that this story makes more sense if you read part
one first.  It is creatively titled "My Coach - Part 1 - Freshman Year."
Parts one and three of this story, as well as all of the other fiction I
have published to ASSTR, can be found at

http://authors.asstr.org/cgi-bin/filemanager/filemanager.cgi?curdir=0

   -----------------------------------------------------

   My Coach - Part 2 - The Initiation

   By Jordan Bradders

   (c)Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders.  The author reserves all rights. 
Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only.  It may
not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite block,
golden tablet parchment, papyrus scroll or book without my prior
permission.





   During my freshman year in high school I involuntarily joined the
football team.  For various reasons, I was the only 9th grader on the
varsity team.  Toward the end of the season we were invited to play an
out-of-town away game.  I was assigned to room with an assistant coach. 
While showering, I suffered a massive leg cramp.  The coach stretched out
the muscle then massaged my legs.  This led to our first sexual encounter.
The next day I suffered my first major injury, which sidelined me much of
the rest of the season.

   I attended most of the practices over the next few weeks, unless I had
an appointment with the doctor or for physical therapy, and the coaches
kept me busy keeping stats and the like.  In the second week, the doctor
cleared me for some light exercise, but no contact.  Coach Duffy hardly
spoke to me but he seemed to treat me with less disdain than he had before.


   Finally, towards the end of the second week, he called me over to where
the coaches were gathered and told me to meet him in the trainer's room.  I
grinned and asked "You gonna let me play?" He just rolled his eyes and
pointed at the locker room and turned his attention back to the head coach.

   The rest of the team was on the way out to the field as I pushed my way
past them into the locker room.  Alone, I stripped off my clothes, put on a
pair of gym shorts that hadn't been washed in far too long, and sat down
against the locked door to the trainers' room.  After about ten minutes,
Coach Duffy unlocked the door and led me inside.  Pointing at the
examination table, he gruffly said "On your back." Then he carefully
unwrapped my knee and spent several minutes poking, bending, and prodding
it, much the same way the team doctor and physical therapist had done.

   I was thrilled when he casually put one big hand on my upper thigh and
started kneading the muscle while he examined my knee.  Then he moved his
hand up and pressed it against my balls, which were hanging out of the
shorts, and looked at me, the same questioning look in his eyes, as if to
ask "You still okay with this?"

   In answer, I shifted my position, grinding my genitals against his hand.
The outline of my erection was clearly visible through the thin material of
the gym shorts.

   Grinning, he motioned for me to turn over and went to the cabinet to get
a tub of an analgesic ointment called "Atomic Balm" and a smaller tube of
K-Y Jelly.  He smiled when he saw my look of alarm, but simply said "Don't
worry."

   Then it was my turn to grin.  He pushed my shorts aside and squeezed
some of the K-Y into the crack of my ass, squeezed some more onto the
fingers of one hand, then plunged the other big hand into the tub of what
the players called "liquid heat." He started to massage the thigh of my
injured leg with the analgesic, as he used the other hand to work on my
anus.  I shuddered when he said "We have to work on loosening you up, boy,
or I'm gonna end up splitting you in half."

   He pushed one finger, then two, then three, into me, wiggling and
thrusting, and occasionally pressing against my prostate.  It felt
wonderful, and just like before, it didn't hurt at all.  I lay there; limp,
as he worked on my leg and my ass, my cock stiff and throbbing under me.

   After about fifteen minutes, he stopped, moved my shorts back into
place, and said "Don't move." He left the room for a few minutes, then came
back, apparently satisfied that we were alone in the gym.  Locking the door
and blocking it with a chair, he carefully washed his hands.  Then he put a
cushion under my belly, smeared more K-Y on one hand, and then put the
other in the small of my back, pressing me down against the table.  Without
warning, he plunged his thumb into me.  Wrapping the fingers of that huge
hand under me and gripping my balls, he proceeded to fuck me with his
thumb. This was the first time he hurt me, but it was a good kind of hurt.
Within seconds, my cock was spasming, pumping hot boy spunk onto the vinyl
of the examination table.

   He stopped when I collapsed, spent, but didn't pull his thumb out of me.
We had hardly exchanged a word until that point, but he leaned down and
whispered "You think you can handle my cock back there, boy?" as he
squeezed the most intimate parts of me between the thumb and fingers of his
huge hand.

   I moaned loudly and nodded as my eyes teared up with the pain.  When he
relaxed his grip, I whispered "Yeah, coach.  I want you to fuck me with
that huge cock.  Do me now.  Please!" I know that sounds like dialogue from
a bad porno movie, but I'd never seen any porn.  I meant it; and he knew
it.

   Coach turned without a word, washed his hands, and started towards the
door.  "Clean up that mess before you go." With that, he was gone.

   I felt so alone.  I struggled to my feet, wiped off the table, and
limped into the locker room.  I took a long shower, careful to wash off the
analgesic ointment before I touched my balls.  I'd made that mistake once
and knew how badly that would burn.  Then I carefully washed my very tender
ass, pushing my finger into it to check for injuries.  As before, there
were none.  Then I got dressed, threw my gym shorts and some other things
into a bag, and walked out into the gym.  I could hear the whistles
signaling the end of practice, so I sat in the bleachers to wait, the
painful throbbing in my nether regions serving as a reminder of what had
just happened.  I knew only that I wanted more.

   When the team had gathered in the gym I joined them in a circle around
the head coach.  He made some announcements, including the fact that I'd be
"on the bench" another week.  I was gratified to hear some groans at that.
Then the equipment manager asked for volunteers "from the bench" to paint
helmets after practice the following night.  I knew this was a weekly
ritual that often lasted late into the night, or even overnight.  I looked
up to see Coach Duffy's eyes on me.  When I put up my hand to volunteer, he
nodded and turned away.  I moved my gym bag in front of me as I felt my
dick stiffen in my pants.

   When my mom picked me up after practice, I told her I'd been asked to
stay late to paint helmets the following night.  I said I'd either get a
ride or sleep in the gym, explaining that some of the boys did that every
week and the equipment manager stayed to supervise.  She initially said
"no," but when I explained that I hadn't been feeling like part of the team
since my injury, she relented.  "Okay, but if you're not coming home by 10,
I want a phone call." When we got home, I washed out my shorts in the sink
before tossing them in the hamper, not wanting to explain a cum stain on my
gym shorts.

   Friday night after practice, Coach Duffy took me aside and told me he'd
called my mom and told her I'd be staying overnight in the gym.  He then
instructed me to meet him across the street at 10PM.  He didn't wait for my
answer, but walked away to join the other coaches.

   The helmet painting party was actually fun.  We spray painted 50 or so
helmets in a small room, and probably got a bit high from the fumes.  At
about 8PM, the equipment manager sent out for pizza and Cokes, saying he
didn't allow anything other than Coke in his domain, "and none of that diet
weasel piss." We all laughed like we thought that was very funny, though I
suspected that most of the other boys had heard it before.  We talked and
ate while we waited for the helmets to dry so we could apply new decals. 
The party broke up at about 9:30.  Some of the boys were old enough to
drive so almost everybody was gone when I slipped away just before 10PM.

   I stood where the coach had directed, almost invisible in the shadows of
some trees at the edge of a supermarket parking lot.  When he pulled up I
jumped in his car and we were gone.

   He took me to his apartment, which showed signs of a roommate.  When I
asked, he explained that he was away for the weekend.  It scared me a bit
when he said "If he was here, we could really have some fun with you," but
I shrugged it off, assuming he was joking.

   He told me to "make myself comfortable," then walked into his bedroom.
Not sure what that meant, I just sat on the couch to wait.  When he
returned, he stood staring at me, an incredulous look on his face. 
Sternly, he asked "Why are you still dressed, boy?"

   I jumped up and pulled off my clothes as quickly as I could, then stood
in front of him, naked.  He sat down, pulled me into his lap, and kissed me
full on the lips.  When I gasped in surprise, he slapped me - surely not as
hard as he could have, but it stung - and said "When you are here, I own
you.  I want you naked from the moment you get here till the moment you
leave.  And I'll do what I want, when I want.  Got that?"

   I nodded, trying hard not to tear up as I waited for instructions.  I
was excited but scared.  When he told me to kneel at his feet, I did so
immediately.  Then I waited, puzzled, while he read a magazine.

   Eventually, he put the magazine on the table and smiled at me.  Patting
my head like a dog, he said "Good boy.  Very good.  As a reward for your
patience and obedience, you may lick my toes." I froze, not believing what
he had said, and then I opened my mouth to speak.  He slapped me, a little
bit harder this time, and said "Have you forgotten the rules already, boy?"

   I bent down and removed his shoes and socks, then started to lick his
toes very tentatively, only flicking them with my tongue.  He reached down
and pulled me up by my hair.  "I want to feel your tongue between my toes.
Or you can suck them, one at a time.  Your choice, boy."

   I did as I was told, tears of embarrassment and humiliation running down
my face and onto his feet.  Because my tongue doesn't extend past my lips,
I was forced to suck each of his toes.  When I'd finished, I remained in
position, my face by his feet, until he told me to stand up and put my
hands behind my back.

   Once again, he picked up his magazine and read.  I noticed for the first
time that it was a gay porn magazine.  I hadn't even known there were such
magazines.  I stood there, thinking `What have I gotten myself into? 
Nobody even knows I'm here.' I shuddered in fear.

   After a few minutes, he looked up at me and said "Get me a beer." Then
he went back to reading.  Sensing that it would not be OK to get something
for myself, I brought him a can of beer and a glass, and then returned to
my subservient position in front of him.

   There were no clocks in the room, so I have no idea how long I stood
there.  My injured knee was starting to throb by the time he gave me my
next instruction.  Standing up, he said "Strip me, boy." My fingers
fumbling, I unbuttoned his shirt, and then undid his belt.  When I found
that he was wearing button-fly jeans, I knelt down in front of him,
thinking `He wore these pants on purpose to make this harder for me.' For
some reason, I took a perverse pleasure in that realization, perhaps
understanding for the first time that I was important to him.  `This is all
planned,' I thought, wonderingly.  I pulled down his briefs, for the first
time freeing that huge cock that both fascinated and frightened me.

   Without a word, he pushed me back to my knees.  Spreading his legs wide,
he said "I know this has been hard, but you've done well so far.  You may
not touch my cock, but I want you to lick and suck my balls."

   I moved under him and tilted my head back as far as it would go, then
started to lick at his balls, my visual field filled by the immensity of
his genitals.  My back and knee ached as I licked and sucked, but I didn't
stop until he told me to.

   "Stand up, boy," he said as he sat down on the couch.  "You've done
well, but I don't know if you're really ready.  If you tell me you want to
go home, I'll take you now.  But if you stay, there's no stopping until I'm
finished with you.  Do you understand?" I stood there staring at him for
what felt like a very long time.  A placid expression on his face, he gazed
back, waiting for my answer.  Finally, I said "Tell me what you want me to
do now, sir."

   Smiling, he said "Maybe I was right about you after all." He stood up
and walked into the bedroom, but I just stood there, my hands folded behind
my back, awaiting instructions.  After about a minute, he said "Very good.
If you had followed me without permission, I was going to take you home. 
Now, come in here." I was only barely able to stifle a gasp when I walked
into the bedroom.  The bed was outfitted with leather restraints, and he
was holding one of them in his hand.  "Come lay down, boy.  We're going to
have some fun now." Without hesitation, I climbed onto the bed and offered
him my wrist.  My erection was throbbing and my heart was beating like I'd
just run a mile.  I had no idea what was going to happen next but I wasn't
scared anymore; just excited.

   I was a bit disappointed when he motioned for the other wrist. 
Apparently, he wanted to bind me face up.  To be honest, though, I was also
relieved, because I was still terrified of that huge cock.

   Once he'd secured my wrist he bound my other limbs.  I smiled when I
found that I could move about pretty freely because of slack in the lines
and thought `I guess he was never a Boy Scout.' Then he reached under the
bed and I felt the straps pulling tight.  Finally, he ran a strap over my
waist, firmly securing me to the bed.  Reaching into the bedside table, he
pulled out a red rubber ball and something that turned out to be a gag. 
Pushing the ball into my mouth, he secured the gag over it.  He laughed
when I looked up at him, terror in my eyes, and said "I told you we were
going to have fun.  I guess I should have said `I'm going to have fun.'"

   Coach Duffy stood at the foot of the bed studying me for what seemed
like forever.  My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest
as he started poking and prodding me all over, examining my feet and my
legs and my genitals and my belly, gently stroking the hair between my legs
and under my arms.  I'd never been so scared in my life as I thought of how
helpless I was and what he could do to me.

   What he did next amazed me.  He climbed onto the bed, put his arms
around me, and cuddled with me!  He did that for what seemed like about ten
minutes, but could have been longer - there were no clocks visible in this
room, either - then he started to gently stroke his hands over my body,
kiss my face, and nuzzle my neck.  I was just starting to relax when he
reached down, grabbed my balls, and squeezed hard enough that I tried to
scream into the gag.  Then he got up, turned off the lights, and walked out
of the room.  I heard the familiar sounds of Johnny Carson on the
television, then the door closed, and I was alone in the dark with my
throbbing balls.

   Remarkably enough I fell asleep, in spite of the pain and the terror. 
Or maybe because of it.  When I woke up, I wondered if all of this had been
a dream, but then I felt the restraints and the gag and knew it was all
real.  It must have been the sound of my captor moving around that woke me,
because he walked in at that moment.  A huge smile on his face, he asked
"Did you have a nice nap?  Are you ready to play some more?"

   He attached something that looked like a winch to the head of the bed.
Then he went to the foot of the bed, unhooked one of the ankle restraints,
and attached it a ring on the winch cable.  He did the same thing with the
other ankle restraint, and then turned the handle, pulling my legs up over
my head, my body bending at the waist but held in place by the waist strap.
`God,' I thought.  `He's done this before.'

   He went to the closet and brought back a blue plastic tarp, which he
worked under me, apparently to protect his mattress.  When he returned to
the closet, I was afraid he'd come back with scalpels or saws, but he
didn't.  Instead, he carried something I'd only seen in my grandparents'
bathroom.  It was an old-style enema bag.

   His voice still cheerful, he excused himself to go into the kitchen.  I
could only barely hear water running over the sound of my own pulse
thudding in my ears.  When he returned, I could see that the bag was full.
Looking at it closer, I could see that it had several feet of orange hose
coming out of it, with a clamp and some kind of nozzle at the end.  I knew
that my grandmother used one of these things, so it couldn't be dangerous,
but I wondered `What's this freak gonna do to me now?'

   He didn't explain.  Attaching the enema bag to the ring over my head, he
moved the hose over my body, taunting me.  I flinched when he squirted a
little bit of the warm fluid onto my belly.  He laughed.  Then he put some
K-Y Jelly onto the nozzle.  `At least he's not trying to hurt me,' I
thought irrationally, as he skillfully pushed the nozzle into my anus.

   He pulled a chair to the side of the bed, opened the clamp on the hose,
and sat down.  I immediately felt warm fluid running into me, but was still
mystified by what he was doing.  His eyes never left mine, an avid almost
scientific curiosity apparent.  I looked back at him, my eyes pleading.

   At first, it felt good, but over time, I felt some discomfort as my
belly seemed to fill with fluid.  I felt an overpowering sense of needing
to go, and was relieved when he closed the clamp and pulled out the nozzle.
Then he shoved in something hard and left it there.  He sat down, the same
calm but somewhat amused look on his face, and stared into my eyes.  I
stared back, my eyes pleading with him for release, as I was wracked by
increasing abdominal pain.  I felt like I was going to explode but realized
that he'd plugged me up!

   I must have passed out from the pain, because I woke up in the bathtub,
the blue tarp under me.  The stench was horrible.  I reached down and found
that the plug was gone from my ass, and my lower half was covered with a
thin mixture of water and shit.  I was completely grossed out, but there
sat Coach Duffy, that same serene look on his face.  "You might want to get
yourself cleaned up, boy.  I called for pizza.  It should be here soon."

   I tried to stand up but found that I was unsteady on my feet, so I
turned on the water and cleaned myself up as best I could.  Coach Duffy
stood in the doorway watching me while he pulled on some jeans and a
tee-shirt.  When the doorbell rang, he went to pay for the pizza.  I
thought about yelling for help, but . . .  didn't.

   Duffy came back in and helped me up.  "Good boy," he said.  "I knew you
wouldn't call for help.  Now let's go have something to eat." He helped me
into the other room and sat me down at his very typical looking kitchen
table.  `You'd never know this was a torture chamber' I thought ruefully.

   We had a very normal meal together, except that he allowed me to drink
beer and I was naked.  I didn't ask about any of the things he'd done to me
and he offered no explanations.  When we'd finished, he said "Let's go sit
on the couch and talk," in an amazingly reasonable tone.

   I followed him in, waited for him to sit, then took a position at the
far end of the couch.  He looked at me, a wounded look in his eyes, and
patted the seat next to him.  I obediently moved where he'd directed and he
pulled me close.

   "You've done really well, but I guess you're wondering why I did all
that to you."

   I nodded, but didn't say anything.

   "That first night in the hotel, I knew something about you that you
didn't know.  You still don't know." He sounded sad.

   I looked at him, confused.  "What are you talking about?"

   "You remember when you rolled over on your belly for me?" I nodded.

   "I knew then that you are a `sub.' That's short for "submissive." That
you'll never be happy until you figure that out and learn what it means. 
What it'll take for you to be happy."

   I turned my head and looked at him for the first time.  "So . . .  all
that was to make me happy?  You really hurt me, Coach!"

   Coach Duffy turned me towards him and kissed my cheek tenderly.  "Stand
up.  Walk around.  Check yourself over.  Touch yourself everywhere.  Are
you hurt?  Nothing I did tonight caused you any harm . . .  just pain." He
gestured at my knee.  "Football has done you more harm than I ever will;
and that's a promise."

   I did as he said and checked myself over as he watched me avidly.  I
could still feel some pain in my balls but there was no swelling.  The same
was true of my belly.  The only real pain I had was in my knee, and that
had happened weeks before on the football field.  I sat down and asked
"Will you hug me now?"

   The Coach wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me close.  "I want to
tell you something.  I didn't like you when you first joined the team.  But
I saw something in you that night in the motel, and over the past few
weeks. You're something special, and I want to help you find yourself."
That was a phrase we used back then so I just nodded.

   "You said I could have left.  Did you mean it?"

   He nodded.  "I'd have driven you home if you asked me to; but once we
moved into the bedroom, I couldn't let you leave until you understood.  I
hope you do, cause you could do me a lot of harm now . . .  not just hurt."

   I nodded seriously.  "I still don't understand what you're telling me,
but I can see that you didn't mean me any harm.  I'm not gonna tell anybody
about any of this." I laughed and said "Who would believe me, anyway?" I
was starting to feel the same sense of safety and security I'd felt in his
arms in the motel.

   "When I was about your age, I met a man who helped me to figure out that
I am what they call a "Dom."

   I interrupted "I guess that means `Dominant,' as compared with the `sub'
you say I am?" I couldn't help but think that this sounded weirdly like a
seminar at school.

   He nodded.  "It doesn't mean I think you're weak or cowardly or
anything. I think it takes more courage to be a sub.  But it means that you
have needs that you can best meet through allowing yourself to be
dominated. Does that make sense?"

   I nodded slowly, my mind churning away.  "So what you did to me tonight
was to teach me about myself?  Why couldn't you have just told me all of
this?  Or had me read a book?" This was many years before the internet made
this kind of information readily available to anyone who knows how to use a
mouse.

   Coach Duffy laughed.  "Do you really think any of this would have made
sense?  You'd have thought I was nuts ... or called a cop."

   I turned and kissed him on the cheek and wiggled my butt back against
him.  "I never would have called a cop.  From the first time I saw you in
the shower, I wanted you." I told him about my previous relationship with
my Scoutmaster, leaving out details to protect the man who had meant so
much to me, and admitted that I'd been missing the sex.  I explained that I
knew that I needed it to be with an adult man, but hadn't understood why
until now.

   He stopped me and said "No, it doesn't have to be with an adult.  It
needs to be with a Dom ... and that could be somebody your age or younger."

   I nodded.  "Can we just go to bed?  No sex.  Will you just hold me like
this while we sleep?  I promise I'm not gonna tell anybody.  I trust you
and still want to learn more, but I can't take any more right now."

   Coach Duffy nodded.  "One more thing.  You know how I kept checking with
you to see if it was OK?"

   I nodded, but looked towards the bedroom.

   "That's called `consent.' Even though you're a sub you're always in
charge.  You have to remember that."

   I stood up.  "I didn't feel in charge when you had me tied up, but I
think I understand.  Please?  Can we go to bed?  I want you to hold me
while I sleep."

   Then he took me to his bed.  Not the bed he'd used to torture me.  He
didn't really have a roommate, though he did have some friends I would meet
later; that room was used for `play.' He took me to his own bed, where we
slept, my body cradled in the hollow of his like I was a toddler.  He was
nothing but gentle and loving that night, and many more after that.

   In the morning Coach took me to breakfast then drove me home.  This was
not the end of our adventures by any means.  Those continued for almost two
years.  But this seemed like a good place to end this installment.

   ==================================================

   Parts one and three of this story, as well as all of the other fiction I
have published to ASSTR can be found at
http://authors.asstr.org/cgi-bin/filemanager/filemanager.cgi?curdir=0

   If you enjoyed this story, please do two things.  First, drop me a note
at The following is a work of fiction, meant for adults.  If you are under
18, stop reading now and do not download this story.

   This work of fiction involves sexual contact between a man and a
teenaged boy.  The story is set in the early 1970s, so even if this was a
true story, the teen would be in his 50s now, and the man would be dead. 
Nevertheless, if such stories offend you, stop reading now and do not
download this story.

   If such stories are illegal where you live, stop reading now, do not
download this story and consider moving to a less repressive country.

   I really like SPECIFIC feedback on my writing.  Good or bad, it helps me
improve.  I also like story ideas, though I can't guarantee that I will use
every idea.  Email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com

   If you just want to tell me I'm a pervert, save your breath; I already
know that.

   ===================================================

   My Coach - Part One

   By Jordan Bradders

   (c)Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders.  The author reserves all rights. 
Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only.  It may
not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite block,
golden tablet parchment, papyrus scroll or book without my prior
permission.



   Most of my life, I'd been a skinny little boy, charitably described as
having "a runner's build," though most kids just called me a "shrimp." But
between my 13th and 14th birthdays, I shot up from 5 feet tall and 85
pounds to 6'1" and 160 pounds!

   I'd never liked or even been interested in football, but once the head
coach saw me my fate was sealed.  He met with my mother and seduced her
with tales of college scholarships, as well as the positive influence the
coaches would have on her essentially fatherless boy.  For the divorced,
working mother who'd always worried about her honor student's lack of male
role models, this was irresistible.  I was given no choice but to play.

   My High School was small, with less than 1000 students in four grades,
and I was big, at least for that school.  I made varsity almost
immediately, and was assigned what has to be the simplest position in
football, that of "Defensive Noseman." My job was to line up across from
the Center, the guy who snaps the ball to the Quarterback, and launch
myself into him in the hopes of causing him to fumble.  Unofficially, my
job was to maim him; to injure him badly enough to take him out of the game
and to scare him and all other Centers I might face in the future.  My
coaches were most excited on the three occasions in two years when Centers
were taken from the field on stretchers.  I was considerably less excited
the two times I left the same way.  Each left me with a serious knee
injury.

   Though my school was small we had lots of football coaches.  As a
defensive lineman, my coach was Mr.  Duffy.  He was a big man, 6'7" and 250
pounds, all muscle.  He'd played college ball and even one year at the
semi-pro level.  He lived, breathed, ate and drank football.  We used to
joke that the reason he didn't have a wife was they wouldn't let him marry
a football.  I was to find out later that this wasn't correct.

   We won our first four games and were invited to play an invitational
game halfway across the state.  This was considered to be a huge honor,
especially for the coaches.  We players were excited because we were going
to get to play in a college stadium.  I'd never stayed in a motel in my
life, so was really looking forward to that.

   It was a Sunday afternoon game.  Our buses left early Saturday morning
and we arrived in the capital city in time to get in a short practice in
the stadium.  We were awed by the size of the place and made lots of
mistakes, so the coaches worked us hard.  By the time we were done we were
anxious to get to the motel and collapse.

   The equipment manager gave out room assignments on the bus.  Most of the
players were assigned to bunk with one another in groups of three, but I
was surprised to learn that I was with Coach Duffy.  He'd never seemed to
like me because I'd been a walk-on; and worse, I hadn't wanted to play. 
The manager explained that because I was the only freshman on the varsity,
the head coach was afraid the other boys would haze me, so wanted me with a
coach.  Looking around to make sure nobody was listening, he added that
Duffy was the newest coach so he got stuck with me instead of being with
another adult.  I didn't care because I was excited to be rooming with the
big man anyway.

   You see, I'd known I liked guys since I was eight years old.  I'd had
only one sexual relationship so far, and that was with an adult.  He was
still my friend - more like my father, really - but I missed the sex.  I
was, after all, a horny 14-year-old boy!

   I'd seen Coach Duffy in the showers several times and knew he had a
truly magnificent body.  Let's just say that he was big "all over." I was
encouraged by the fact that nobody had ever seen him with a woman and
thought ... well, I'm not sure exactly what I thought.

   When we got to the room, the coach took the bed by the window and told
me to shower first.  I dropped my bag on the bed, stripped off my clothes
and walked into the bathroom, deliberately leaving the door open.

   I scrubbed the sweat and grime from my body and washed my hair as
thoroughly as I could, careful not to use more than half the contents of
the tiny shampoo bottle.

   I wondered how I could approach the coach, but then the problem solved
itself.  I was extremely prone to leg cramps in my calves, thighs and
buttocks.  The trainer had taught me how to stave these off by stretching
out the offending muscle, but when I felt a cramp starting in the thigh
muscle of my right leg - one of the biggest muscles in the body - I
deliberately did the opposite of what I'd been taught, straightening my leg
instead of bending it.

   I screamed and fell to the floor.  I wasn't faking.  I was in agony,
tears streaming down my face.  Once that kind of cramp starts, especially
in a big, powerful muscle like this one, it's pretty much impossible to
stop it yourself.  I lay there, writhing around on the floor of the shower,
helpless.

   The coach ran in when he heard me scream.  He'd been preparing for his
own shower and was naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist.  It's
funny what you remember.  I still giggle when I remember how tiny that
towel looked, wrapped around his huge body.  He turned off the water,
scooped me up in his arms, carried me into the next room and stretched me
out face down on the bed.  He knew just what to do.  Climbing onto the bed,
he lifted my leg and put it on his shoulder, pinned the other leg to the
bed with one knee, and rocked forward over me.  The effect was to bend my
leg up behind me and stretch out the cramping muscle.  He also started
kneading my shoulders and neck, whispering "It'll be OK, Jordan," in a
surprisingly gentle voice.

   The worst of the pain dissipated as soon as he stretched me out, but I
was left a quivering mass, lying flat on the bed, helpless.  Every time
coach released the pressure on my leg, the cramp returned, so we stayed
that way for what seemed a very long time.  Finally, he was able to put my
leg back down on the bed.  Standing up, he told me to roll over on my back.
I couldn't see through my tears at first, but when they started to clear, I
noticed that coach's towel had fallen off in the excitement.  The sight of
the big man standing there sporting the biggest cock I'd ever seen caused
my own dick to stiffen in spite of the residual pain.  He didn't show any
sign that he'd noticed my erection.  All business, he straddled my lower
legs and started to massage both of my thighs.  It hurt . . .  it always
did after a cramp ... but I loved every second of it.  His eyes never left
mine and he smiled each time his hands "accidentally" brushed against my
throbbing genitals, earning a shudder from me each time.

   I smiled when he rested his big hand on my hard-on, his eyes still on
mine.  We didn't talk at all.  He leaned down and kissed me, again with
surprising gentleness, then he slid down my body and started licking at my
balls and my dick.  Like the rest of him, his tongue was huge.  Its rough
texture felt amazing as it laved my privates.  When I started to moan, he
stopped and looked up into my face, as if waiting.

   I knew exactly what I wanted.  I'd had it before and missed it.  But at
the same time I was terrified by that huge cock.  In spite of my fear, I
turned over on my belly, presenting myself to him like a gift.

   I was surprised again when he leaned over me and kissed the back of my
neck and my shoulders, and kissed his way down my back to my ass.  He
spread my cheeks and pushed his tongue into my crack, teasing, and then
pushing into my tight asshole.  I buried my face in the pillow to stifle a
loud moan, and my body writhed under him.

   He didn't take me that time, but used his tongue, and then his fingers,
to prepare me for what was to come later.  He went to his luggage and got a
tube of K-Y jelly, and slathered a generous amount between my cheeks, and
even more on his fingers.  Then he oh so gently pushed one finger into me
and started wiggling and thrusting at the same time, earning more moans
from me.  I couldn't believe how good it felt, and the gentleness of the
huge man.  My Scoutmaster, though much smaller in every way, had hurt me
every time he entered me.  This man was gentle, and seemed so loving, even
though we hadn't passed a word since we started.  I was confused, but
happy.

   After a while he reached under me to stroke and caress my dick while he
pushed a second finger into me.  He kept this up for what seemed like
hours, his fingers pressing against my prostate every once in a while,
eliciting moans and shudders from me.  I was certain it would start to hurt
when he added a third finger, but it didn't.  `Coach,' I thought, `really
knows what he's doing.'

   I reached behind me and tried to touch him, but he stopped me, returning
my arm to its place up by my head.  I took this to mean "Let me do this for
you," but he didn't say a word.  That was to be our pattern.

   I couldn't believe it when he added a fourth finger, fucking my ass with
his oversized hand.  My body writhed on the bed and my moans got louder and
louder, until my dick exploded with the most powerful orgasm I'd ever
experienced.  I hadn't known it was possible to cum with so little
stimulation of my dick.  I had so much to learn, and coach, I knew, was
going to be my teacher.

   Finally, he stopped.  He lay down next to me and kissed me over and
over. I returned his kisses and then gave him a quizzical look, my eyes
darting down to his cock.  Breaking the silence, I said only "Can I?"

   When he nodded, I kissed my way down his chest, licking and sucking at
each of his nipples then down over his hairy belly until I was face to face
with that huge organ.  Taking a deep breath I went to work, tonguing his
balls, and then up along the eight inches of his shaft until I opened my
mouth and took in the mushroom shaped head.  Wrapping both of my hands
around his massive balls, I sucked for all I was worth, moving my tongue
over the rounded head, exploring the pee slit, anxious to taste his cum.

   I wasn't disappointed.  After only a few minutes I felt his hands on the
back of my head, pressing me down over his cock as it exploded, filling my
mouth with his hot seed.  I had no choice but to swallow it.  My mouth was
completely sealed by his hot flesh.  Though he'd cum quickly, it seemed
like his cock spasmed forever, firing salvo after salvo of his thick jizz
into my throat.

   When he released his grip on my head, I came up for breath, but then
returned to licking and sucking at his organ, not wanting to waste a single
drop of his cum.  When he pushed me away with his hand, I climbed up and
lay on top of him, kissing his face over and over as if to thank him.

   We lay there together for a while, my weight not seeming to bother him
at all.  Finally, he sighed and said "I guess you need another shower now."
Rolling me off him, he stood up, picked me up like a ragdoll, and carried
me back into the bathroom.  There wasn't much room, but we showered
together, washing one another.  Not for the last time I marveled at the
gentleness of those big hands.

   We slept together that night, spooning, my body tucked into the hollow
in front of his.  I felt so safe and warm that way that I didn't want to
get up in the morning.  But we had a game, so my magic moment was over.

   We got up and got dressed, packed up our things, and were about to leave
the room when coach went back in and messed up the other bed, leaving the
sheets in disarray.  Caution was the first of many things he taught me, but
not the most important.  We went downstairs, climbed on the team bus, and
went to breakfast at one of the University dining halls.  Mr.  Duffy sat
with the other coaches, not even looking at me, and I joined a group of
tenth-graders at a table on the other side of the big room.  I was bursting
with excitement, wanting to tell someone about my night, but I knew I
couldn't.  This, I had already learned, was the worst part of being a
closeted gay kid in a Catholic school.  Instead, we talked about the
upcoming game.  Nobody dared say it, but we all knew we were going to lose.
But we were determined not to go down without a fight.

   I sustained my first major injury in that game.  When I lined up against
the Center, he looked like a wall.  As it turned out, he felt like a wall,
too.  On the third play of the game, I tried to drive into him as I'd been
taught, but he just rode up and over me.  He dropped on top of me, his
weight bearing me into the ground.  My leg bent under me at an impossible
angle, and I felt something pop in my knee.  It was my turn to leave the
field on a stretcher.

   Once again, I was in agony, but I smiled when I looked up in the
trainers' room and saw Coach Duffy looking down at me.  I could hear that
the game was still in progress, so was surprised to see him.  The other
team's doctor had come to check me out and the coach talked with him for a
few minutes, then came over and assured me I'd be OK.  While he talked, he
gently squeezed my upper thigh and then was gone.  In spite of the pain, I
was happier than I'd been in a long time.  We lost of course, but I didn't
care.  I'd won.

   ------------------------------------------------------------

   Parts two and three of this story, as well as all of the other fiction I
have published to ASSTR can be found at
http://authors.asstr.org/cgi-bin/filemanager/filemanager.cgi?curdir=0

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