Date: Tue, 12 Oct 2010 09:11:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Journal Man <journalman1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mr. Sanders (Chapter 2)

It may have been the sport of basketball that awakened my attraction to men and
forged my friendship with Mr. Sanders, but it was baseball that kept it going.
He was the town's high school baseball coach.  And I think it was my admiration
of him that made me like baseball better than other sports.  Naturally there was
the desire to please my own dad, but I also wanted to please and impress Jake
Sanders.

When I entered the local junior high school, I decided to try out for the school
baseball team.  I had played little league as a pitcher, so Dad encouraged me to
ask Mr. Sanders to help me.  Even though we had grown closer through his visits,
somehow the prospect of asking him this favor was very hard for me. The first
time I tried to ask him, he was in my bedroom after one of his showers.  I
couldn't muster up the nerve.  He knew something was on my mind, and he kept
asking me, but I couldn't form the words.  Unfortunately, during dinner, my dad
brought it up, and that made me doubly embarrassed.  I was embarrassed about the
request, and I was embarrassed that Mr. Sanders now knew that this was the thing
that I was struggling to ask him about.

He responded with enthusiasm about helping me.  He had watched a few of the
games when I was pitching.  He had always been very supportive, but my
insecurity led me to believe that he was just being nice.  As a result, I was
inclined to believe that he would sugarcoat his coaching of me.  During the
first session, he spent most of the time just talking to me, and asking me
questions.  I think he was trying to assess my dedication.  I look back now and
believe that he had a pretty good sense that my drive to play was inspired more
by my crush on him than by my love of baseball.  The truth is that it was a
combination.  I did really like playing baseball, and I think I had some natural
skills as a pitcher.

After the questioning, his tone sort of changed.  He went more into his coaching
mode.  Coaching is what he did for a living, and a high school coach is very
different from a caring parent or friend.  He was pretty demanding, and he
wasn't afraid to be critical.  He instructed me in a positive way, but it was
very different from how we had interacted before.  The funny thing was that I
really liked the "coach" side of Mr. Sanders.  It excited me.

There were times that it excited me in another way.  My form wasn't very good
when he started working with me.  He would show me how, and then I'd try to copy
him.  When I didn't get it right, he would come over and make physical
adjustments.  It would turn me on to have him man-handle me, and in more than
one case I sported some wood as a result.  It was embarrassing; it was plain for
him to see.  He was so focused on what we were working on, however, that he
didn't seem to notice my erections.  He never hesitated to grab me and shift me
into the right pitching positions.

During our first few sessions, he just concentrated on my pitching, but after
that he began to include drills for my hitting, running, and fielding.  He
stayed for dinner after every session, but only after he began coaching me on my
hitting, did he want to take showers.  These sessions involved a lot more
running around, and he worked up more of a sweat.


When we came in the house after the first one of these sessions, he greeted my
Dad and said, "Hey Paul, we're pretty sweaty, so we're going to hit the shower
first before dinner."  He then turned to me and said, "Josh, you want to go
first, or do you want me to?"

"Ummm, I don't care" was all I could muster in the midst of the shock of hearing
him suggest that we were going to trade showers in my bathroom.

"Why don't you get started," he said as we both filed into my bedroom.  I was at
a loss when he followed me into my bedroom.  We had been in there together many
times, but I had always been the one fully clothed, and he had been the naked
one.  I was too shy to undress in front of him.  He closed the door behind us,
and pulled his shirt over his head.  When his shirt cleared his face, and he
could see again, he paused.  "What's up, why aren't you getting undressed?"

It sounded like the coach mode, and it startled me because I didn't have an
answer.  I said, "Oh, sorry" as I started fumbling with my own shirt.

He kicked off his shoes, and yanked his shorts and underwear down while looking
up at me and said, "You want me to go first?"

"Oh, Okay."  I was just getting my shirt off, and he was already naked.  I was
relieved that I wouldn't have to strip in front of him.

He headed for the bathroom, but turned back to me and looking down at my shorts
and said, "Well get those things off, and come on in here so we talk."

He vanished into the bathroom, and I reluctantly stripped.  I waited until I
heard him climb into the shower before I entered the bathroom naked.  I sat down
on the toilet and didn't say anything.   Suddenly he yanked the shower curtain
away from the back of the tub to check to see if I was there.  He began talking
to me without closing the curtain.  He talked about the session and where he
thought I was improving and the things he wanted me to work on before the next
one.  All the while he was soaping up his body parts right in front of me.  It
was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.  I had to hide my hard on.  I wanted
nothing more than to jump in there, soap my hands up like he had done and slide
them all over his body.

This is what I was thinking about, when he looked in my eyes and said, "Well,
come on and get in here."  I thought he had read my mind, and that made me freak
out inside, but then he finished his sentence.  "...because I'm done."

I didn't want to move because of my hard on.

Still in the shower, he said, "Well, come on."  I had no choice but to stand up,
but I grabbed a washcloth to hide myself.  He saw what was going on and he just
laughed.  "Oh to be a teenager again."

I had no idea what he meant by this.  Of course now I reflect back on that
cryptic response and I think it's hilarious, but at the time I thought he was
making fun of me.  I remember I climbed into the shower with him, my hand firmly
clutching the rag covering my dick and I looked up at him and said defiantly,
"I'm only twelve!"

Mr. Sanders beamed, and said, "Well Josh, you're getting to be a man, so maybe
you should take care of that like men do."  I tried to act like I knew what he
was talking about, but he realized that I was clueless.  "Paul has told you
about jacking off hasn't he, Josh?"

"uhhh, well..."

"Masturbation?"  No matter what he called it; I was at a loss.

"Oh, hell." He looked at me in exasperation.  "I'm going to give you Dad hell
over this, you can be sure."

"Don't tell my Dad!"

At this Mr. Sanders' bemused look turned serious.  "Hey buddy, I'm not going to
do anything to embarrass you."

"Well don't tell my Dad about it."

"Josh, it's nothing to be ashamed of.  You're starting puberty, and all guys
have that problem.  Their dicks start acting out when they least expect it."  I
couldn't believe he was talking about it so nonchalantly. "Look, you're just
going through a period when your dick is very...., well excitable."  He looked
at me waiting for some expression of comprehension to cross my face.  "Paul has
talked to you about sex, right?"

"Sure" I said, relieved that I finally could answer something truthfully.

"Well, when guys go through puberty, their body starts wanting some
stimulation.  The type of stimulation one gets by having sex.  It's your
sex-drive, buddy.  Your twelve year-old dick is just waking up to the delights
of sex."

"But I haven't had sex!"

"Of course not, but you're getting the urges.  It's like an itch that your dick
wants scratched.  So when it happens, you can help it pass by scratching it in
the way it wants."

I only vaguely understood what he meant, but his words really resonated with my
feelings, so I definitely was interested in hearing more.

"You know what an orgasm is?" I didn't, so he continued.  "Well think about the
best feeling in the world, and multiply it by ten, and that's what an orgasm
is.  It's the thing that happens when a couple has sex.  It's how your sperm is
delivered to a woman.  When you have an orgasm, your sperm shoots out.  And you
can make it happen by rubbing yourself as if you were inside a woman.  And
that's called masturbation."

"So you're saying that's what I should do?"  This discussion had done nothing to
help my dick go down, so it was standing at full attention.

"Sure, you just soap-up your hands and begin to stroke yourself like this."  He
gave a couple of yanks on his own dick.  "Trust me, you won't have any problems,
but you need privacy for it, so let me get out of your way.  I'll see you at the
dinner table bud, okay?"

"Okay."

And the rest, as they say, is history.  My first jack-off session was coached by
Mr. Sanders and assisted in my mind by the vision of him standing a few inches
from me in the shower showing me how.  Little did I know at the time that
jacking-off in the shower was a daily ritual for him.