Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 23:13:26 -0500
From: Cameron Coppinger <ccopp8x6@hotmail.com>
Subject: Brandon's Secret - Ch. 5 (m/t)

Brandon's Secret
Chapter 5 (m/t)
by Cameron Coppinger


This is a fictional story from only my imagination.  It is erotic gay
fiction. If you are under 18 or these materials offend you or your community
values, please stop reading now and close this window.

I froze in fear as the knock on my office door came a second time.  There I
was in my teaching close.  My nearly 8 inch cock was still rock hard and
straining against my slacks, aroused from the load I had just sucked out of
Brandon's hot senior cock.  Looking over at Brandon, he definitely had not
gone fully soft and a noticeable lump puffed out the front of his cargo
shorts.  I leaned down and gave his a quick kiss on the lips.  He slipped
his tongue forward, but I broke the touch before he could enter my mouth.
"Just follow my lead," I whispered to him.

I walked to the door as he stood behind me.  I motioned him to the door and
opened it up, to find Coach Moore, the school's athletic director standing
there.  "Hey coach," I greeted him, "come on in, we were just finishing up."
  Turning to Brandon, I said, "Thanks for coming by and sharing that with
me.  It's a sticky situation, but I am sure we can work it out.  I'll give
it some thought and we'll meet again after practice to go over it some
more."

Brandon clearly caught the double entendres and both blushed and grinned.
He clearly wanted to get on his own in. "OK, coach," he replied as he walked
out the door, "I am just trying to do my job as captain. The way I see it,
it's time for me to take some of the load off of you."

OK, that was clever, and it definitely sounded promising.  I smiled and told
him goodbye as I sat down to visit with Coach Moore.  "What's going on,"
Coach Moore asked puzzled.

"Nothing major," I assured him, "Brandon was just telling me about some
personality conflicts on the team.  He doesn't want any cliques to develop.
He is really motivated to make the most of his senior year.  It would be
nice if the program could make its first playoff appearance during his last
year.  He has been a huge part of building the program up the last three
years."

"Not only that," Coach Moore told me, "he is a great kid.  Teachers are
always telling me how well he represents the athletes.  I understand he is
up for the Outstanding Senior award, and the principal wants to appoint him
as the Student Representative to the Board of Education's athletics
committee.  You have really helped him grow up over the last couple years."

I beamed from Coach's praise as well as out of pride for Brandon's
accomplishments.  Coach Moore was a big reason I came here.  After finishing
my college playing career, I spent a season as the assistant coach for one
of the top boy's programs in the state.  I had planned to spend three or
four years studying under the coach there, before looking at a move to
another one of the top programs.

A little over five years ago, I was one year into my plan.  My team had just
been eliminated in the regional finals for class 5A.  The head coach took me
and the team trainer out for some beers to drown our sorrows.  I was taking
the loss hard; we gave up the winning goal with just 50 seconds left in the
game.  I couldn't understand how the head coach could be so calm.  He
explained how he had been here before and how he knew this was one of his
weakest teams in the last ten years.  To him, even making the playoffs was a
victory.  Making it to regionals was beyond his wildest dreams at the start
of the season.  Then he turned to me, and told me that I was the difference.
  The way the players responded to me and worked for me in practice, the way
I was able to share my own experiences had raised the team beyond what he
had thought possible.  I mumbled some thanks, still inconsolable over the
loss.  The head coach put his hand on my shoulder and said he thought he
might be able to cheer me up.  That's when he told me.

He and Coach Moore had been coaches together at a number of schools over the
last 20 years.  One seemed to follow the other, getting inside tips on
openings and putting in a good word for one another.  Now, he explained,
Coach Moore had been offered the AD's job at Sunset Valley High, a new
school opening up in the suburb across town from where I was coaching.  I
knew the area, and knew there were a lot of good young players who would be
going there over the next few years.  The he dropped the kicker: Coach Moore
had called looking for recommendations for a soccer coach.  The head coach
had given him three names of established coaches around the state.  After he
had run down the pros and cons of each of them, he gave Coach Moore his
recommendation: forget those guys and hire his assistant coach.  I was only
23, but he assured Coach Moore that before I was done, I would be better
than any of the names he just gave.  It was a risk, but one that would pay
off big he said.

My head was spinning as coach wrote Coach Moore's number on a napkin and
told me to call tomorrow.  I was filled with doubt.  Was I ready?  Could I
lead a team on my own?  How would I handle players barely 5 years younger
than me?  As if reading my mind, coach promised me he would be a phone call
away if I needed any advice, and that I was ready to do it.  My own program
to build from the ground up.  That was a daunting thought.  I wrestled with
the decision all the while I was interviewing with Coach Moore and the
principal.  When they offered me the job, I took a week off to think it
over, try to analyze the situation.  Then out of nowhere, it came to me.
They had looked at the others and decided I was the best choice.  I had to
take that confidence and run with it.  I called Coach Moore and accepted the
job.  Now here I was, putting together a team that could make playoffs and
an opening game against the school I had left as an assistant to take this
job.

They were ranked #6 in the state in 5A; we were still a 4A school, and had
gotten a few votes in the rankings, but not enough to crack the top 10.  On
paper Buchanan versus Sunset Valley was a mismatch.  I had scheduled it
believing that it would be the best team we would see all year.  If we could
hang with them, the teams on our actual conference schedule would look like
they were in slow motion.  As all these memories flooded back to me, I tuned
back in to what Coach Moore was saying.

I had meetings all the times with Coach Moore, but none like this.  He spent
at least 20 minutes telling me what a great job I had done, how much I meant
to the school and my players, and where this program and the athletic
department was going. "We want you to be a part of our family for a long
time," Coach Moore finished.  I assured him I was happy here and very
pleased with where the team was going.  Having Brandon and Bobby around
wasn't exactly a bad thing I thought to myself.  What a strange meeting.
Coach Moore excused himself and wished me luck with the season.

I closed the door and started to work on my practice plan for that
afternoon.  I had a couple of classes to teach today, but those lesson plans
had been done for weeks.  I was planning to work on some restart situations
and defensive tactics.  My planning was disrupted by the phone ringing.  I
picked it up and was pleasantly surprised to find Buchanan's head coach on
the other end.  I wondered if he would call this week and give me some good
natured ribbing.  Sure enough, we traded vague and understated opinions
about how our teams were looking.  I decided the underdog role suited me
well.

"Coach, I really appreciate you scheduling us as the opener," I told him,
"we are gonna learn a lot from this game.  It's hard to look at an opening
loss as a good thing, but we will really be ready for conference."  Maybe I
could lull him into a little overconfidence.

"Well, I don't know about the loss part," he answered, "I've seen some tapes
from last year, you guys are going to push us hard.  You have #12 returning
don't you?"  He was asking about Brandon.

"Yeah, we sure do," I said, downplaying any excitement, "he's a good player.
  But you know, he's a little small. He can do OK against 4A teams, I don't
know how he will handle your horses."

The coach chuckled, "Nice try," he said, "that kid would start for us and
you know it.  It's gonna be a good game.  But that's not why I was calling."

"What's up?" I asked.

"Well, I wanted to visit with you about something," he said, "I decided over
the summer that I was going to retire after the season.  I am planning to
recommend you to take over the Buchanan program."

I was shocked.  I knew I was pretty well thought of in the area, but
Buchanan was one of the top programs in the state.  Thirteen straight years
in the playoffs, 2 state championships and five state finals in that time.
There is no doubt it was going to be the top job open after the season.  I
didn't know what to say, but now I understood the meeting with Coach Moore.
He obviously had been tipped off to this.

"I really appreciate that, Coach," I said, "I'm pretty happy where I am, and
I like where this program is going."

"I know that," he answered, "I just want you to think about it.  We won't be
doing anything to fill the job until after the season, but until you tell me
positively you aren't interested, you are the front-runner.  If you want it,
it is yours for the asking."

"Well, I guess we can talk more after the season," I said, "Right now, I
need to focus on getting this program to the playoffs."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," he assured me, "I'll see you
Friday.  Maybe we can grab a beer after the game."

"I'd like that.  So long as you don't beat me too badly."

"Stop with that, I'm too old to fall you those tricks," the Buchanan coach
laughed, "we'll see you Friday."

He hung up and my planning was done for the day.  All I could think about
was this offer.  If not for Coach Moore's visit that morning, I would have
chalked this up to gamesmanship designed to distract me leading up to the
game.  I looked over today's practice plan, made a couple of last minute
changes, and stuck it in my drawer.  It was almost time for class, so I
grabbed my lesson plans and headed out.


Practice couldn't come soon enough.  The team was sharp today and we got a
good session in.  I sent them to the showers and Brandon lingered behind.

"Did you mean what you said this morning about meeting after practice?" he
asked hopefully.

"I'm glad you caught that," I answered, "just stop by my office after you
shower."

"OK, see you in a few," Brandon said, and ran to catch up with the team.

I finished locking up the gym, as I slowly watched the team exit the
building.  When I went to check the locker room, Brandon and Bobby were
standing bareassed at their lockers, chatting and putting their training
gear up, before they bothered to dress.  I am sure Brandon was fighting a
hard on with all his might.

"Let's get going guys.  I don't want to stay here all night," I said.

They tugged up their boxers in unison and started to finish dressing.  Just
then David came out the the bathroom area bareassed as well and headed to
his locker.  David was the most hung kid on the team, soft at least.  I had
sadly never seen him hard.  He was only about 5'8", with dark curly hair.
He was Honduran, and had the deeply tanned brown skin of a Central American.
  He was fairly hairy.  Thick black hairs covered his stout legs and a happy
trail that was more like a happy forest would its way up from his pubes to
his navel.  No hair could be thick enough to conceal the huge piece of soft
meat between his legs.  It was 6 inches soft and thick as his wrist.  This
stocky little man has two fat balls hanging below as well.  I stared, he
caught me looking, laughed and made his way to the locker to finish
dressing.

I headed back to my office and Brandon walked in the open door and
announced, "everyone is out.  I shut off the lights."

"Well come on over here then," I said, pulling him to me and kissing him
deeply.  He kissed back, our tongues caressing one another ever so tenderly.
  I ran my hands over his back, feeling the little ripples of muscle beneath
his smooth skin.  He moaned softly and I swear I hear him whisper "I love
you" as he kissed more vigorously.  He moved down and began to suck on my
neck as my hands traced circles around his hard nipples, adding a light
pinch occasionally which would cause him to shudder and begin to grind
against me.  His right hand moved to my crotch.  He laid it across my
bulging shorts, which I had not bothered to change from practice.

"You are so huge," he gasped as he groped my bulging cock through my shorts.
  "I owe you one, Coach," he said as he began to tug my shorts down.  I knew
the building was empty, but just in case I shut and locked my door.  I
finished taking my shorts down, and Brandon peeled my blue jockeys off as
well, releasing all 7 3/4  inches into the air.  Brandon grabbed it as it
bobbed in front of him and began to stroke up and down the shaft.  His small
hand barely fit around my 6 inch girth.  He stared hypnotized at it, as his
smooth strokes evoked the first drops of precum from my slit.

Slowly, Brandon's head bent toward my cock.  I could feel his hot breath on
the tingling skin of my hard rod as he hovered just above it.  He opened his
mouth and his full lips disappeared over my mushroom head.  I felt his
tongue lick all over my glans.  I shuddered with pleasure.  Brandon did not
attempt to slide any more of my meat into his small mouth.  He just held the
head inside him and rapidly worked his tongue all over the head like nobody
ever had before.  I felt his tongue feel its way to my piss slit.  He bent
his tongue and actually tried to fuck it into my slit.  He pulled off and
grinned at me.  "How was it," he asked.

"Oh baby," I moaned, "that was so good.  I am so hard right now.  Keep
stroking me."

Brandon obeyed, grabbing my shaft a beginning a steady rhythm of stroking.
After all the attention his mouth gave my tip, his hand was now pleasuring
my shaft.  He stroked up and down then entire shaft, but always stopped just
short of the ridge of my cockhead.  Every bit of my shaft was being given
this wonderful massage from his slightly sweaty hand.

I was in near agony as Brandon's steady stroking had me moving closer and
closer to the edge, but never quite gained the pace to bring me off.  All
the while he was stroking me, Brandon's lips were exploring parts of my
body.  He licked my balls briefly, he sucked on my nipples, he kissed all
over my stomach.  He had worked his pants down to his ankles and his hard
cock was peeking through his boxers.

He finally had me lay on the floor and he brought himself alongside me.  His
mouth was planted to my chests as he worked my nipples over.  His cock
humped my leg slowly as he continued his steady stroking.  He was moving his
hand more quickly over the shaft of my cock.  He lengthened his stroke to
polish my helmet on each upstroked.  I was thrusting into his palm now,
feeling my balls begin to draw up to my body.  My cock pulsed and I fired an
enormous shot up onto my chest, the second shot hit my abs and a third
pooled just above my pubes.  Brandon kept milking me but my 28 year old cock
softened a bit faster than his teen piece.  He was still thrusting against
my leg when I felt his gooey sperm coat me.  He lay beside me, sweaty,
covered in cum, and nuzzled into my side.  I held him tenderly.  Sniffing
his just washed hair, I planted a kiss on the top of his head.

We dressed slowly, holding each other often.  As we left the school, we
stole a quick kiss beneath the lamp post before I headed to faculty parking
and he made the long hike to the student lot.

I won't go into what we said that night before we left, but I could live to
be eighty and the words we shared will still be burned into my brain.