Date: Sun, 10 Apr 2016 20:03:15 -0600
From: Jordan Bradders <jordan.bradders@writeme.com>
Subject: Jordy Stories - My Coach - Part One - Freshman Year

Jordy Stories - My Coach - Part One - Freshman Year

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not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite block,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.

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.

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

Jordy Stories - My Coach – Part One - Freshman Year

      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.

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

This is the end of part one, but not the end of the story.  There is quite
a bit more to tell about young Jordy's adventures with his first Dom.

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

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by emailing
jordan.bradders@writeme.com

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