Date: Thu, 4 Oct 2001 20:13:28 EDT
From: RMar562282@cs.com
Subject: Fantasy Football Camp - Part 2

Chapter 2 - Hard Lesson at Safety

Just then the whistle blows and Coach Hendricks calls out for us to change
positions.  I'm in a bit of a daze, and almost need for Coach Blackledge to
tell me that I don't have to follow his last order to bend over and start
snapping.  Seeing me hesitate, which at this camp would usually get me in
trouble for not following orders and hustling, he stands to my side, which
shows the other coaches that he has final instructions for me, puts his
long arm across my shoulders and squeezes me into him.

Looking down at me he says: "You did well, son.  You were the best center
I've had so far.  If none of the other boys is as natural a center as you,
then I'll get you for my team."  "Thank you, sir," I respond bashfully as I
look up at him, enjoying his praise and the additional contact.  "Now, the
whistle blew and I've got another boy to train, so show me some hustle,
son, and run along to your next station," he orders as he leans down and
gives me a final swat on my butt.  "Yes, sir," I say over my shoulder as I
hustle off.

As I run I'm preoccupied by what has just happened.  I can't believe I got
hard in front of Coach Blackledge!  I've never gotten hard from contact
with another man before.  Why now?  I'm here at this football camp, and I
really like it.  I'm working out hard every day, even harder than I did
before I got here, and that was hard.  But here the coaches push
constantly, both to make us learn good technique and to run drills and
scrimmage.  Which is surprisingly motivating, since I really want to please
them.  I really like getting their gruff, manly praise, which they don't
give unless I earn it.  I haven't gotten much of that in my life, so I'm
enjoying having to answer to them.

More surprisingly, I even like having to look up at all of them and that
they're all so much bigger and stronger than me.  The "shortest" coach is
6'3", the "lightest" is 225 lbs. (although with only 5% body fat).  Even
though I'm average sized (5'9", 175 lbs.), they make me feel small.  I've
never really liked feeling little.  Yet their powerful bodies and equally
strong attitudes give them such authority that, not only do I look like a
kid next to them, but I feel like a kid, and I like it.  They say they
don't care what we do for work or how much money we have.  We came to the
camp to learn how to play football, and that's what we're going to learn,
as long as we hustle, try our hardest, and follow orders.  The camp's motto
is: "Please your coach for the sake of the game!"  And that's what I'm
trying to do.

Of course, it helps to be around the other campers.  They're all fired up
and determined and all in pretty good shape.  Some of the guys are really
fit, especially Scott, John, Steve and Tim.  I've been able to keep up and
have really liked how much stronger I feel from the running we're doing and
also the weight work.  I've never felt so strong, with so much stamina.
And I like being able to look at Scott and John, to motivate me, since they
are in great shape.  Scott has a leaner build, maybe 5% body fat, although
he has sculpted a nice cover of taut muscle on his 5'7" frame.  John only
has about 8% body fat, but he's real thick, muscular, and strong.  He's the
biggest camper at about 5'10", 195 lbs.  He'd be a great partner for the
fireman's carry drill.

So things have been going along so well at the camp.  What happened?  Just
a bit ago someone on the sidelines three patted me on the butt during a
drill, which shouldn't have made me notice.  Yet I felt that contact even
after I had returned back to the huddle.  That had never happened to me
before.  I've been patted on the butt before even here and never felt it
long, never even really noticed it, just normal guy stuff during sports.
But this time, not only did I notice it but it really felt good.  Then,
when Coach Blackledge worked alone with me at center, he patted my butt
many times to help me get used to the position and I can still feel that
contact.  It's like he knew I liked it.  It must have been him on the
sidelines before.

And the whole time he was working with me, he called me "son" and "boy."
I'm thirty-six and haven't been either for a long time, and he's only a few
years older than me, but it seemed natural.  Some of the coaches are even
younger than me, yet they're calling me "son," "boy," and "Bobby."  Even
when I was a kid I never liked being called boy, and I hated being called
Bobby. Yet much to my surprise it feels strangely good to hear these
powerful men call me by a kid's name, to make me feel small by their words
just as they make me feel little by their size.  And even if it didn't, I
sure wouldn't be in a position to object.

Even so, where did all this "sir" stuff come from?  I've never called other
men "sir."  It seemed too demeaning.  But these coaches have such a force
and presence, walking around like they own the place, and ordering us
around, that "sir" just comes out of my mouth.

Even more surprising, I actually got hard when he was up under me to
receive the snap.  What's that about?  Okay, he said that happens to him a
lot when he's up under center, with those great, large, powerful hands.
And he said it was okay, remember.  So maybe it does happen to him a lot,
and it's not just me.  In fact, why wouldn't it, since it is intimate
contact, especially since I'm not wearing a cup and pads, only a jockstrap
and thin shorts?  Yeah, it must be common.  And he did have great hands,
like he said.  And guys get patted all the time playing sports.  I did say
I'd be a good camper and follow the coaches' orders, so if Coach Blackledge
says he gets guys hard, that it's normal and that I shouldn't worry about
it, then I won't.  I guess I just must be charged at being here with all
these guys.

Okay, what's my next station?  I don't remember.  I look around, trying to
remember, and happen to look down and see that my shorts are leading me.
Oh no, I can't let the others see me still aroused!  Coach Blackledge is a
quarterback, so he's used to causing it.  But the other guys would think
it's weird.  And I can't go up to my next coach with a boner.  He'd punish
me for sure.  I know, I'll tie my shoes and hope it'll go down.  After a
slow retie of each shoe, I get up, subtly trying to reposition my dick so
it's less obvious and then start to run again.  Only, I still don't know
where.  Oh wait!  I'm supposed to be at strong safety.  And now I'm late!

As I race over to Coach Lynch, I can tell he's not happy.  He already has
Scott working on an up-and-back drill.  "Put your weight in your legs, boy!
Drop you butt and make your legs do the work!" barks Coach Lynch at Scott
when he returns after completing a 20-yard up and back.  Just as I arrive
he says to Scott: "You've got to use your legs when dropping back to cover.
Even though you've got short legs and a little butt, Scotty, you have to
use them to get in position.  Now do it again, 5 more times, and if I see
your butt in the air, I'll paddle it hard ("thwack" I hear as Scott jumps a
little.) and then you'll do 5 more!  Got it?"  "Yes, sir!" yells Scott and
he hurries to backpedal and get away.

"Sorry I'm late, Coach.  I forgot my station and had to tie my shoe." I
offer my lame reasons, figuring it's better to get started.  However, Coach
Lynch doesn't respond.  He just keeps looking with his fierce blue eyes at
Scott running the drill as I fidget nervously.  Should I say anything else?
Should I start doing the drill?  No, I better not.  I heard Coach Lynch was
tough.  I better wait and not do anything until he says to.

After Scott completes his second set, Coach Lynch finally says to me: "Did
I ask you for an excuse, boy?"  "No, sir."  "But you gave me an excuse,
didn't you, boy?"  "Yes, sir."  "Now you're going to give me 50."  "50?" I
ask, dismayed he didn't say the usual 25.  "You got a hearing problem, boy?
50!  Now!" he orders as he takes one big stride and gets right in my face.
At his towering height of 6'4", he's in my face, but I'm looking straight
ahead at his tee-shirt collar and thick delts.  Coach Lynch is 27 years
old, 225 lbs. with 5% body fat and just has testosterone oozing out of him.
"Yes, sir!  Fifty, sir!" I yell and drop down to do 50 push-ups.

The fear takes over and I find the strength to do them the right way.  When
I jump back up I see only his lean, well-defined chest and strong neck
because he hasn't moved an inch and I feel the heat of his intensity coming
off him.  "Now, maggot, I don't know why you think I'm here, but it isn't
to be waiting for you to show up.  I already gave the instructions and
you're behind, so Move!" he spits.

Move I do.  I've never backpedaled so fast in my whole life.  Even though
Scott is usually as fast as I am, by the time he finishes his fifth time, I
finish my fourth, then quickly finish my fifth.  "Get over here," orders
Coach Lynch.  "What did I tell you about getting your butt down?"  "Uh,
nothing, sir," I pant.  "What?!!  I told you to keep your butt down and use
your legs, numbskull!" Coach growls, as he leans around and gives me the
spank he promised Scott.  Even though it hurts, I don't move as I start to
tell Coach he told that to Scott, not me.  But before I can say anything,
Coach says: "So, you need it harder, do you?  Your butt's meatier than
Scotty's, so I'll have to make sure you feel it."  With that I see out of
the corner of my eye as he winds up and comes down on my butt with powerful
force.  "Ow," I squeak as I jump, "I feel it, sir."  "Yeah, well you were
late and you didn't do what I told you, you need to learn how to follow
instructions, so you're going to feel it some more," says Coach through
gritted teeth as he spanks me several more times.  Each time I can't help
it and say "ow" and jump a little.  But Coach has blocked any forward
movement (away from the sting) with his strong body and I sort of jump into
his hard, unyielding chest and shoulder, which I didn't realize leaves my
butt even more exposed to his punishing hand.

I've never been spanked before and it's like he's trying to make up for
that with each hit as he keeps his fingers spread and succeeds in covering
each half of my butt with alternating swats.  It sounds so loud I wonder
momentarily if the whole camp knows I am getting spanked.  How humiliating.
But the other players know better than to let on and then the next hit
comes and I can think only of how much it hurts.  Finally after three
forceful spanks on each side of my butt, Coach barks: "Do it again, right
this time!  And keep your butt down!"  "Yes, sir.  Five more, sir," I
respond, as I make sure to keep my stinging butt down.

As I finished backpedaling, I see Coach Lynch towering in front of Scott,
who is only 5'7", with a fierce look on his face.  To my surprise he
reaches around and gives Scott a mighty spank, punishing him for my failure
to follow instructions.  The sound is like a shot; it's so loud.  Scott
squeals and jumps to get away from the sting.  Only Coach has bent down
enough so that when Scott jumps, he goes right over Coach's shoulder.
Immediately Coach straightens up to his full height and continues paddling
Scott on his now fully exposed butt.  With surprising detachment I notice
that Scott's butt is tight and muscular, but it is small, and it's now
higher in the air than his head usually is when he's standing up.  Coach's
hand actually covers most of it when he connects.  Even though Coach has
softened his delivery (he must have felt how little Scott's butt is and
remembered that he doesn't have to connect with it as hard as mine to get
the same effect), Scott squirms each time Coach connects.  Coach has to
hold down Scott's legs to keep Scott stable on his shoulder.  Again with
detachment I notice how Scott's legs are lean and not very big relative to
his well-sculpted upper body and then wonder how I'd look with my muscular
butt and legs draped over Coach Lynch's shoulder getting a paddling.  What
kind of thought is that?  Why am I thinking that?  Coach Lynch keeps Scott
bent over his shoulder the whole time I am running, spanking his taut butt
each time I finish a set, yelling at me to go faster.

Seeing Scott paying the price for my stupidity, I run as fast as I can to
finish the drill.  Once finished I run up to Coach Lynch, panting hard as I
look at his domineering frame with my buddy Scott draped helplessly over
him.  "Finished, sir," I gasp, stating the obvious in the hopes of saving
Scott from another round.

"Is that the best you can do?" Coach Lynch sneers, "Do three more, only
this time MOVE IT!"  So I backpedal again, not believing how fast I can go
and for how long or that I haven't thrown up yet.  All I know is that I
must follow Coach's orders with all my effort.  My purpose is to please my
coach for the sake of the game.  And I don't want Scott to get punished any
more.  Part of me is afraid of Coach's anger, but part of me would like to
take Scott's place.  I don't know what to make of this strange thought, and
I finish before I can think it through.

As soon as I am done, Coach Lynch bends down, keeping his eyes on me and
putting his hand firmly on Scott's worked over, shorts-covered butt to hold
him securely in place.  Then he stands Scott upright next to him and wraps
his muscular arm around Scott's shoulders and squeezes him tight.  Scott
buries his face into Coach's panther-like chest as he sheds a few tears.
As I take in the scene, I notice to my surprise that Scott's shorts are
stretched out in front of him.  "Good boy, Scotty.  You took that well.
Now you get to watch Bobby run the one-on-one drills," Coach says.  "Move!"
he barks to me, which I do immediately.

As I line up to cover Steve, who is about 5'9", 165 lbs., I am determined
to cover him closely.  Coach Lynch wouldn't like it if I let Steve catch
any balls.  He'd get even meaner.  I could take that, I think.  In fact, I
would deserve to go up over Coach's shoulder if I let Steve catch a pass.
But Coach Lynch might take it out on Scott rather than me, which I couldn't
stand.  So I won't let that happen, even though I have run a lot of drills
and am a little winded.

I blanket Steve with my coverage the first five times he runs a pattern.
On the sixth and last route Steve does a nice juke inside, then cuts
sharply to the sideline.  Desperately I race to catch up.  As the ball
arrives, so do I, and I stick my arm in to break up the pass.  But I have
too much momentum and Steve and I go tumbling out of bounds, all wrapped up
together.  As Steve lies on top of me momentarily, I can't get enough air.
Finally some guys pull Steve up and then I find myself being pulled up.  As
I stagger a bit back toward the field, I feel three quick smacks on my
butt, which in my winded condition feels really good.  They aren't spanks
of punishment, but pats of encouragement, placed so that the large hand
giving them cups both sides of my butt from the bottom.  I'm glad Coach
Blackledge helped me up and gave me just what I needed.

As I run back onto the field I notice that Coach Blackledge is actually on
the field calling plays.  If he's there, then he couldn't have just been on
the sidelines.  Well, then, who was that?  Coach Blackledge worked my butt
over so well when I worked with him, I just assumed he had connected with
me on the sidelines before.  But it couldn't have been.  I turn around to
see who could have had such a special touch, but once again only see a mass
of bodies.  And I'm not going to be late again thinking about this.

So I hustle back to Coach Lynch.  When I get to where Scott is standing, he
says: "Good job, Bob."  Then Coach comes up beside Scott and says to me:
"Nice work, Bobby.  You covered him so tight it looked like you were inside
him.  That's just what I like to see," as he ruffles my hair.  He then
looks down at Scott and says: "I know I worked you over hard, Scotty, but I
knew you could take it.  Bobby here needed to understand how teammates help
each other out.  There are times for your teammate when you have to take it
on the chin," says Coach Lynch with a look of total intensity, as he
reaches down, clamps his big hand on Scott's butt, squeezes like he means
it, and continues, "proverbially speaking, of course."  Scott and I both
laugh.

"Yeah, Scotty, you did your part well, and now it's time for your reward,"
continues Coach as he slowly, purposefully, deliberately continues to
squeeze Scott's butt.  "Do you understand what I mean, son?" asks Coach
huskily.  While Coach has been squeezing rhythmically, Scott's shorts have
completely expanded in front again.  Scott answers thickly: "Yes, sir.
Th-Thanks for u-u-using m-m-me."  By the time he stutters "m-m-me" his
expression changes and he closes his eyes.  "I (pant) under-(pant)-stand
(pant) now (pant), sir (pant).  Ugh, ........ugh," he groans, and then he
begins to jerk.  "Good boy, I knew you would," intones Coach.

I am stunned into silence, just watching the scene.  What is it about this
camp?  Football is such a tough game, such a man's sport, and Coach is so
rough, he made us work so hard and punished us, yet he seemed to know just
what Scott wanted, and he actually got him off, right out in the open.
I've never seen anything like it before.  Before I can think any more,
Coach motions with his free hand for me to come beside him.  As soon as I'm
in position, Coach reaches down and begins to squeeze my butt like he did
Scott's.

End of Chapter 2