Date: Tue, 11 Jan 2005 21:33:04 -0800 (PST)
From: Mark Wild <markwild082@yahoo.com>
Subject: Boys in Control  pt 1

Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age or if it is illegal to read
materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story
contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys and is for
adult eyes only.  The acts are consensual and are a result of their love or
lust for one another. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions
and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that,
purely similarities.


I would love to hear from you, so negative as well as positive feedback
is always welcome! Please write: markwild082@yahoo.com

This is for my dad, Conner.

I love you, man. Mark.





"Boys In Control" pt. 1

Two coaches



Coach James "Jim" Pierson was panting hard as he pushed open the doors to
the men's lockers. The smell of teen sweat and old jocks, the whoops and
whistles and snapping of towels, peppered with choice appraisals of the
other jocks' girlfriends, washed over him; and he grunted, pawing at the
front of his sweats.

It was a late Friday afternoon, and the Vikings had just finished
practice. The showers were hissing, dirty gear and gymbags lay around
everywhere, old shoes were stinking and slammed into lockers. His boys
were walking around in jocks and towels, or naked, their highschool dicks
flopping around as they walked and grab-assed each other. He belched like
a happy man, and between that and him pulling off his tshirt to mop his
forehead, he ran smack into Tommy Martin who was coming the other way
around a row of lockers.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, coach," Tommy said as their chests knocked against
each other. Tommy Martin was the Vikings' center-forward, five eleven,
weighed one eighty, light brown hair...Jim had all his stats in his
files. And now his nostrils were flaring, close to his coach's hairy
chest. "Aw, sorry, Tommy." He grinned at the young athlete. "My fault,
man. I wasn't watching where I was going. I was too busy wiping the sweat
out of my eyes, haha." Tommy looked up, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, coach,
You're STILL sweaty, man." He looked around quickly, and seeing that no
one was watching, leaned in and eagerly licked one of Jim's hairy pecs.

The sweaty older jock let himself relax a bit, easing up on the tension
he'd been feeling the last couple weeks, resting his big hand on Tommy's
shoulder. He leaned in and said, teasingly, "Where you going, Tommy? You
off to the showers?"

"Yeah, Coach," the boy said. "Good thing I didn't bump into you after I
was already clean, or I'da had your nasty sweat all over me, man." Jim
leaned in a little closer, smiling. "Nasty?" He started massaging the
side of Tommy's neck with his thumb. "You saying I stink, boy?" Tommy
grinned, leaning closer also, nodding yeah. "Damn, coach, I wish I didn't
have to go away with my folks this weekend. I coulda found some time
and..." Jim looked down at the hot young jock, laughing, still talking
low. "...maybe come over to visit?" "Yeah." "Maybe smell my stinky
jockstrap?" "...Yeah." He leaned over into Tommy's ear. "Maybe lick my
big coach nuts, boy?" Tommy moaned, and tried to swallow a little.
"...yeah..."

"Ok, Tommy." Coach slapped his young athlete's cheek a few times, real
brisk and teasing. "Don't keep your parents waiting." His hand brushed
down against the towel covering Tommy's by now half swollen teen dick.
"We'll get together real soon." Tommy looked up brightly. "Yeah, coach?"
Jim grinned back. "Yeah." Tommy ran his hand quickly up Jim's side, up
his lats, pushing a few fingers into his coach's still damp armpit. He
pulled them out, glistening with sweat, and stuck them in his mouth,
licking Jim's sweat off his fingers. Grinning, he marched off to the
showers. Fuck!

"AWWWRIGHT!!" he bellowed, cutting through the noise and the horseplay.
"Listen up!" The boys settled down, knowing it was Talk Time. A locker
clanged, then they were mostly quiet. "Awright. Now listen. There's good
news and bad news. The good news is that, for a bunch of wussies, you
didn't look too bad out there today." His eyes looked around. "Except
you--Jenkins--you looked like shit." Whoops and catcalls erupted from the
team, and some of the boys threw their towels and dirty socks in Jenkins'
direction. "Awright! Awright!" Jim roared, laughing as he watched the kid
dodge his teammates' stinking gear. "So, that means you can all call yer
grammaws and tell 'em they can come to the game and you maybe won't
embarrass them too much." Hoots and snickers. "The bad news, fellas, is
that we got a big game coming up in two weeks, and you all oughta know by
now the Mountaineers are a tight team, and I'm telling ya, if you guys
don't start watching each other better, and taking signals from each
other better, they're gonna wipe the field with ya. Cause--come on--you
know what's happening, fellas, right? Right now they're in the
Mountaineers lockerroom just like you, right after practice, just like
you, playing with their little peckers," (hoots from some of the boys),
"...yup, and planning on how to wipe the field with yer stanky jocks."
More hoots and whistles, and a couple of oink oinks in the background.
"--Manny. Where's Manny?"

Manny raised his tight fist, waving it in the air. "Here, coach." Jim
turned his head in Mannys direction. "You gotta look around more, son.
You're going out for a pass and you ain't looking around enough. You
can't just run, buddy. You gotta look around you while you run, you know
what I mean? You gotta look around and see and know what your teammates
are doing, not just what that guy dogging you is up to, You gotta keep
your eyes moving in every direction. You hear me?"

Manny knew the coach was right, and was now accustomed to all criticism
pertaining to his game. "Yeah, coach...I'll pay better attention, I
will." The coach gave him a nod. "Good, man. You looked good out there
today, son. I ain't saying that. Just always gotta be aware. Parker.
Where's Parker?" There was a pause, then someone said, "He left already,
coach. Said he had some shit to do. Skipped his shower and everything."
Fuck. Jim's heart sank a little, even though he'd already seen that
Parker's locker was shut, which meant he'd probably already left. "OK.
Alright. But it's not just Manny here. It goes for all of you. You all
got your jobs to do, but part of that job is knowing what your other boys
are up to. That's why we call it a TEAM, fellas. You can't pull together
if you don't pay attention to each other." Jim's teeshirt was thrown over
his shoulder, and he looked at his watch. He scratched his hairy stomach
absently and said, "That's all, I guess. I got about half and hour of
paperwork to do, guys, and when I'm done I wanna go home. So get your
asses showered and out of here pronto!" He walked over to his office door
and picked up a clipboard that was hanging from a nail in the wall, and
turned around. "And another thing!" he yelled. "Practice is tomorrow at
eleven. Not eleven o five, not eleven ten. Extra laps after practice for
every minute late. You got it?" There was a chorus of yups and groans and
someone was saying "Manny, you're still a loser, bro. Suck my dick" as
the door closed behind him and Jim was alone in his muffled office.

His hand groped the front of his sweats, and he leaned against the door,
lifted his arm and smelled his left pit, snorting himself in deep.
Through the slats in the blinds he could see his boys hustling around,
hauling ass to get out and start their weekend: it was their last free
one for two weeks.

Next weekend they played the Danville Iron Men, the week after that was
the big Mountaineers game.

The coach watched Tommy Martin bend over more than was necessary when he
slipped on his briefs, like he was showing off his tight round ass for
his coach. When he stood up and grinned at the window Jim sniffed himself
again, and grinned back, unseen. A couple other jocks were still hanging
out, too, shooting the shit, dicks hanging and swinging back and forth
while they toweled off, facing the office window and the half closed
blinds.

Jim had been a highschool phys ed teacher thirteen years, now, first in
Mechanicsburg when he left college, then for the last ten years here in
Seneca Falls. Seven years ago he had been named to the coaching staff
when old Coach Larson had retired, and three years after that had been
appointed by the school board to his current head coach position.
Recently divorced at the time, Jim had thrown himself into his new
position with all the determination his muscled frame could muster. It
showed. After school, Saturdays, foggy autumn mornings he was there with
his boys, grunting, cussing, running plays, slapping asses, dishing it
out and taking it right at their sides. It paid off. After a streak of
losing seasons the Vikings finished their first under Jim a tie. Two
winning seasons followed, and Jim was aiming for his third. Horned up,
riding his new freedom hard, Sheila, his friend Robbie's wife, eventually
got plump from the chocolates Jim brought her every time he drove up to
the house to pick her husband up for their highschool scouting
expeditions. But often, too, he worked alone. He stood at exhibition
games under night lights, standing on the sidelines leaning over the
rails, his sweater pulled up over the narrow waist of his back, checking
out speeds and snaps, meeting staff from other schools.

Back in Seneca Falls, as his team turned around, he got asked more and
more what his secret was. But Jim was discreet, and laughed it off as
beginner's luck. No need for them to know about the junior coach from
Shamokin who had woken up one Saturday morning, his lips chapped, his
butthole deliciously battered, and lifted himself up off the bed to catch
one more whiff of Pierson's ass before Jim pulled on his pants and turned
around to kiss him one more time, reaching down to squeeze his sensitive
nipples. "Thanks, tiger," Jim growled, "I gotta get home now." And the
junior coach rolled back over to a satisfied, well-fucked slumber, never
knowing his playbooks had been rifled through. No need for them to know
about the quarterback from McKeesport who, under Jim's hands, reached
heights of sexual release not previously attained in his young life, and
who found himself eagerly straddling Jim's skilled manhood as they slowly
fucked, his teen cock leaking against Jim's hairy abs, moaning out
secrets of signals and strategy into the cleft between the older man's
pecs.

So, standing there in his office, sniffing himself, listening to the
sounds outside wind down, he thought about how lucky he was. He was
surrounded by hot jocks year round, and year after year he watched his
boys shoot up and move on, and a couple years later their younger cousins
and brothers came along. His boys. He smiled, playing with his crotch.
Yeah, he had a lot of boys, or a lot of jocks who wanted to be coach's
boy, some of them special, like Tommy, some of them just curious and
needing a long massage for a pulled muscle, or a chance to suck on the
big man's hairy pecs awhile. Even Jim had to admit it was pretty easy for
him to get his hands on some hot jock ass pretty much whenever he wanted,
some linebacker or punk boy who wanted to start out acting tough and end
up riding coach's cock all night...Not like Parker, though... Jim huffed,
then sighed, walked over to his desk and started tinkering with his
end-of-week reports. Said he had some shit to do. He hummphed again.
Probably out getting his dick sucked, probably got some girl up in the
bedroom of her house while her mom's downstairs jealous, sinking that
thick meat of his into her formerly-tight, moaning pussy. Fuck!!

He was calmed down a little, initialing schedules when his office phone
rang. He picked it up and said, "Athletics. Pierson here." He grinned as
he heard the voice on the other end. "Jim! You old horndog, what you
still doing in jail, man? It's the weekend, buddy!" "I'm just finishing
up, bud." "Man, I'm still at shcool myself. Listen, hot stuff, Sheila
just called and said she wants to take the girls over to her mother's for
the night. Come back tomorrow afternoon. Whaddya say bud? You got plans?
You wanna go have some beers with your old pal Robbie?" Jim pushed
himself back in his chair, spread his big legs and grinned. "Fuck,
Robbie, I need like half an hour here more, man, but that's the second
best offer I've had all day!" Robbie chuckled on the other end. "Only the
second best, coach?" "Fuck, Robbie, Tommy Martin was showing me his ass
after practice, man, licking my fuckin' pit sweat off his fingers." Jim's
hand snaked down, resting on his dick bulge. "Damn, Jim, he's got a hot
fuckin' ass, for sure. You give it to him, buddy? You slide that big
coach dick of yours up his hot hole?" Jim laughed. "Fuck, Robbie, we were
in the lockerroom after practice, man! We'da had an audience of like
twenty, Robbie!" Jim heard his friend snort through the receiver. "Fuck
yeah, Jim. Bet Tommy woulda liked that, ha!... Okay, buddy, listen.
Downtown, near the corner of Jackson and Adams, they got this new sports
bar just opened--the World Series. I been hearing a lot of hot jocks hang
out there, man. Whaddya say we check it out?" "You're on, man. Gimme half
an hour, forty minutes." "Okay, Jim. I'm a little closer than you, so
I'll probably get there first. I'll try to snag us a booth. Anybody asks,
we're just two coaches discussing intramural sports activities in our
respective schools." Jim knew Robbie was grinning. "Get off my phoneline,
you perv..."

An hour later they were sitting in a back booth at the World Series. The
place had only been open a month, and whether because it was simply new,
or because it was Friday, or because the buzz was out that the frat jocks
and straight boys had a new place to hang out when their girlfriends were
on the rag or pissing them off--for whatever reason, the place was
pulling a nice crowd, there was a lot of hot ass walking around after
work. Jim and Rob had just ordered their second beers, and were checking
out a couple of young men in sports coats sitting at the bar watching
FoxSports reruns. Jim had quickly showered and changed into some chinos
and a polo shirt, open at the neck, that showed off his hairy chest and
arms.

Robbie was leaning in, talking in a low voice. "Aw, look at 'em, man. Two
fuckin' dumb junior exec jocks. We could be eating out their tight asses,
man, while they're chowing down on each other. Maybe they never had a
dick in their mouths, coach, but they always kinda wondered about it.
Shit, maybe they're looking at those studs on TV and thinking about
fucking some married ass...mmm mmm."

Jim laughed."Shit, Robbie, those fuckers are watching tennis, man. You
know they can't be packing much. You'd just be disappointed, buddy!"
Robbie laughed, slapped his buddy's firm thigh and leaned back. "I miss
you, fucker. We don't spend nearly as much time with each other as we
should." Jim agreed. "Yup, but, well, I'm into my season, now..." Robbie
shrugged. "Yeah" Jim went on. "And you got that lovely wife..." Robbie
shrugged once again. "She's a hound from hell, buddy." Jim grinned at his
long time friend.. "And that real sweet mother-in-law..." Robbie gave Jim
a smirk. "A money-hungry bitch that drove her husband to an early
grave..." Jim gave his buddy a weak grin. "And those two cute girls you
got." Robbie stopped. Smiled. "Yeah, they are pretty cute." His eyes
twinkled. "Couple of years their boyfriends'll probably start coming
around..." Jim laughed and squeezed his buddy's shoulder. "You're a
hardened case, Robbie, and that's no lie. I missed you too, dog."

The waitress came back with their beers, leaning over more than was
necessary to pick up their empty glasses. Robbie told her she was a real
nice girl. She had a cute ass, and winked back. Jim looked at his friend.
He was, indeed, a handsome man. About six foot, he wasn't built as big as
Jim was, and had more of a gymnast's physique, neither as solid as the
football jocks, nor as compact as the wrestlers he coached.

They'd met a little over six years ago at an athletics conference in
Harrisburg. They'd eyed each other out real slow at the meet-and-greet,
watching each other checking out all the hot meat and jock daddies,
hanging out at the bar later with a group of other married coaches,
slapping each other on the back at the dirty jokes, eyeing each other up
at the urinals when they hauled out their tools to piss. By the time
they'd stumbled out of the linen closet together at 4:30 in the morning,
Jim was pretty sure he'd found a new best buddy.

By the next afternoon when they snuck out of the seminar on `Building
Self-Esteem: New Directions in Intramural Sports' to coax some hot loads
out of their big throbbers in the restroom off the lobby, Robbie was
starting to suspect the same. And by the following morning, when they
were laughing, half-pushed, half stumbled out of Room 418 after
tag-teaming that sports announcer from Philadelphia and his dick-hungry
camera boy half the night, he was sure of it.

Robbie was two years younger than Jim, who was thirty at the time, and
for a couple of years they got together whenever they could free up time
between work and wives and Robbie's family.

Then Jim had gotten his divorce. That derailed his life for almost a
year, and they'd dropped off each other's radar for awhile. Then, the day
Jim's divorce went through, he had called Robbie up, and they spent half
the night getting shitfaced drunk in a bar downtown till they were so
plastered they could barely hold each other's dicks to piss! They
stumbled out of the bathroom and into a bunch of frat boys playing sloppy
pool and celebrating someone's birthday, drinking fruity drinks and
saving the cherries in a plastic cup so they could count how many they'd
had later.

Robbie passed out more cigars and they all hooted and threw their straws
at each other, chanting "Goodbye, bitch! Goodbye, bitch!" when Robbie
told them the sad story of his buddy's divorce and broken heart, asking
if any of them had sisters.

Eventually the party moved to a table in the back, and Jim found himself
at one point finding it difficult to find the ashtray when he heard a
voice next to him asking him what it was like to be married. He looked up
and saw the tight little jock with latin features who he thought was
named Luis, but couldn't exactly remember. He had very nice lips and
brown, brown eyes. "I dunno," Jim slurred, trying to straighten up.
"It's like a dream I aw ready can't half re...member." He slowly became
aware that the young man's leg was pressed lightly along his, and he
shifted his position, so their elbows bumped together. Robbie was telling
some endless story about the shit his boys were always trying to pull on
roadtrips, and Jim reached over and messed the young man's hair. The kid
looked at Jim like a sweet little puppy, then leaned forward, lowering
his voice, letting his hand rest on Jim's leg. "You got real nice arms,
sir," he said, looking up at the older man. "And you smell real good."

Three years later, here they were again, same old horndogs, still
sniffing jock butt. And the place was filling up, too.

The pool tables were full, the air was getting smoky and louder, guys
were hanging in groups at the bar, and still arriving with their buddies
to relax and swear some. Married guys were sneaking in with their
neighbors to have a few beers before heading out to Home Depot, bankers
in suits were rubbing elbows with some athletes from City U, the boys
from Sal's Plumbing were already hitting the ATM machine hard.

Two cute nurses from the hospital were perched on barstools, their
uniforms hitched up their thighs, giving out dirty blood pressure
readings in exchange for cosmopolitans. Jim and Robbie leaned back in
their booth, legs spread, comparing notes, hauling the school board over
the coals. Finally Jim leaned forward and straightened up, levering
himself up with one hand on the seat and the other in Robbie's crotch. "I
gotta piss bad, motherfucker. Order us some more beers, eh, Robbie? I'll
be right back." "Sure thing, old man. You got half an hour, buddy, then
I'm coming looking for ya." Jim looked fierce, then growled. "Goddamn,
you're as bad as my ex-wife!" He leaned over, squeezed Robbie's crotch
again, his eyes bright. "Forty-five minutes, buddy." Robbie lifted his
hand and ran the back along Jim's abs. He grinned right back. "You got
it, bud."

Perpendicular to the bar, and running behind it, was a short hallway. The
beer cooler and storage rooms were on one side behind the bar itself, and
the restrooms faced them on the other. At the end of the hallway was
another, larger room, more dimly lit, with a sign above the doorway that
said `The Dugout' Jim poked his head in to see what was what.

It was difficult to make things out clearly, but it looked like there was
a stage area over against the back, and a row of lockers lined the side
wall with some benches in front of them. There were a couple weight
benches nearby.

The room smelled like wrestling mats, and had some gymnastics
equipment--some bars, and a saddlehorse--were over against the other
wall. Off behind the stage was what looked like another bathroom, but it
was hard to make out in the dim light. Jim shook his head, impressed. Now
this was a sports bar! There was a little table just outside the door
with some flyers on it. Jim picked one up. Under two crossed baseball
bats and a stadium, he read:

`GOOD CAUSE---GOOD CAUSE--GOOD CAUSE'

`FRAT GUNS JOCKSTRAP ARMWRESTLING `

Every Friday 10:00 till ?

`Proceeds to benefit Armstrong Little League'



Jim shook his head, then read the flyer again, stuffed it in his pocket
and went to piss. As luck would have it, all the urinals were occupied,
so he stepped into a stall, half-closed the door behind him, hauled out
his pussy-wrecker and started to piss.. He read the graffitti scrawled on
the partition while he let his dick drain.

`Call my ex-girlfriend. *number* Late nite +. Black men ++.'

`Like watching NFL with a buddy? Call Doug. *number*'

`Sports gear for sale. Free weights, too. Call Vinnie. *number* `

`Mixed doubles cheerleading practice every Tuesday after 8 PM.

1213 Harrison St. In back.'

When he finished pissing he stopped for a second to check himself out in
the mirror. He pulled out his cellphone to check it. He tucked it in his
shirt, looking at himself critically. Did he look old yet? He smiled and
looked at the little lines at the corner of his eyes. He ran his hand
down his flat stomach, reaching down to adjust his ample package, and
sighed. Yer going to seed, buddy. All that hard living is catchin' up
with ya. Ain't none of them boys gonna want you, soon. Gonna have to
settle for they daddies.... He shook his head forlornly, drying his
hands.

No sooner had he left the bathroom, however, Jim saw a young man leaning
in front of the cigarette machine. He couldn't quite make out his face,
but--that ass...even after all this time...Maybe it was the two beers,
but he spoke without thinking. "Kevin? That you, Kevin Riley?"

The young man looked up. He saw Jim and his face lit up like Christmas.
"Oh my god! Coach Pierson! Oh my god!" They each took a step forward and
shook hands, then looked at their hands and then at each other and
laughed and pulled each other into a big hug.

Jim felt Kevin's strong arms around his back, and felt the young man's
body solid next to him. He could even smell him. Fuck! Jim broke their
hug, holding Kevin at arm's length, grinning. "You're looking good, son.
It's been a long time." Kevin blushed. "Yeah, coach. Wow. Six years..."
Jim shook his head, smiling. Six years. How could that be? "Yup," he
said. "Cause you were away at school all them years." "Yeah," Kevin said.
"I was at school, and then I graduated and...damn, coach, I'm twenty-four
now!" He looked around, and seeing that no one was paying attention, took
a step closer and put his hand on Jim's forearm. "I...I missed you a lot
sometimes, coach." Jim leaned down. "Yeah, I missed you too, Kev." The
young man blushed again, and Jim reached out to mess his hair. "So how
have you been, son?" "I been good, sir, really. I'm working for my dad
now--at his construction company?... He even renamed it Riley and Son!
Ain't that some shit?" Kevin was grinning. "I'm here with my buddies for
a few beers. We just knocked off like half an hour ago." Jim smiled.
"That's nice, son. Real nice." "And, coach...guess what?" Kevin was
tracing his finger down Jim's arm. "What, son?" "Well, um... I'm married
now, coach..." Jim's eyes twinkled, and his grin got even wider. "You
pulling my leg, boy? No shit. Little Kevin Riley, all grown up and
married, too." Jim lifted Kevin's hand up, looked at the ring. "She a
nice girl, Kevin?" The young man flushed again. "Yes sir. She's a real
nice girl. She's at a baby shower right now, and--" "Goddam!" Jim
snorted, clapping Kevin on the back, "don't tell me you're gonna be a
daddy, too!" Kevin stopped and got all flustered. "Oh. Oh no, sir." He
grinned. "It's not for her, sir. It's for her girlfriend. That's why I'm
out drinking with my buddies. But, well..." he said, suddenly a little
shy, "...we're trying, sir." He was pulling lightly on the hairs on Jim's
forearm. Jim smiled. "That's great, Kevin. You're making me proud of you,
son."

Impulsively, Kevin stepped forward and threw his arms around Jim's neck.
"Fuck, coach," he groaned. "I've missed you." Jim punched the kid gently
in the stomach, and pushed him away. "Me too, son. Me too." The young
man's eyes were as clear and green as he remembered. "You oughta come
over sometime, son, when the little lady gives you the day off, haha...
We could hang out, work out some, eh?" "Aw, coach, that would be so nice,
man..." "Yeah? Would you like that, Kevin?" Jim's hand gently brushed
Kevin's crotch, felt the boy's dick bulging out his jeans. "Would you
like to come over and hit some weights with me, man? Maybe wrestle around
a little?" Kevin was moaning. "Aw yeah, coach. Fuck..."

"Okay, then." Jim messed his hair one last time. "You'd better get back
to your buddies before they start wondering about you. Now, I have the
same address on Russell Street, and the same phone number. So you
remember where that is, right?" Kevin grinned. "I sure do, sir." Jim
laughed back. "Okay, then. You call me then, okay?" "I sure will, sir."
Jim winked, and Kevin turned to go. "Hey, Kevin." The boy turned. "Yeah,
coach?" Jim narrowed his eyes. "You still got a stanky jockstrap, son?"
The boy flushed again. "Yes sir, I sure do, sir. Cathy--that's my
wife--she says it stinks up the whole basement, sometimes." Jim's eyes
twinkled. "That's nice, Kevin. Real nice. You call me soon, now."



To be continued: