Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2011 18:22:56 -0600
From: Devon Campbell <peterbilt1228@live.com>
Subject: Knowing I'm Gonna Get Fucked 16

This story is a collaboration by myself and another writer who contributed
greatly his talent and ideas.  If you liked the story---or if you
didn't---we would appreciate hearing from you at Peterbilt1228@live.com and
toddstop@yahoo.com


		       Knowing I'm Gonna Get Fucked

			      Chapter Sixteen

Graduation was two days away.  We had been fitted for our caps and gowns.
I didn't think the day would ever come and now I wasn't sure I was happy
about it.  I was glad to be graduating, a sense of accomplishment, but I
was already feeling melancholy about all I would miss; my friends,
baseball?..the guys on the team in more ways than one.

The seniors didn't have school so I was up early to cut the grass then I
would hang out with some of the guys, maybe get fucked a couple of times.
I had just finished the yard and had the mower tilted up, scraping the
clumps of grass off the blades with a putty knife.  The song that was
playing on the radio in the garage ended and the news came on.  I let my
mind switch to Off-Ignore as I always did when the local news came on.  I
didn't need to hear about somebody's cat getting stuck in a tree, or that
another liquor license had been denied.  But my mind switched back when I
heard the name Justin Walker?.."was killed last night in a one car crash on
Saw Mill Road south of town??"  My mind went numb. I heard the voice of the
newscaster but comprehended nothing more.  I looked down at my hand holding
the putty knife.  My knuckles were white I was holding it so tight, then it
started shaking.  I watched my hand for probably a full minute before I
dropped the putty knife and got to my feet.  I looked around, frightened,
bewildered, lost; it was like I didn't know where I was, nothing looked
familiar.

Suddenly I loped down the drive and ran down the street, aimlessly, the
direction didn't matter, I had no destination.  I just ran.  My body had to
be in motion.  I ran the words over and over again in my head till it
became a mantra, keeping pace with my feet hitting the sidewalk.  I ran
till my legs began to ache, my chest heaving to draw in air.  I didn't know
how far I ran, or where, I just had to keep going, to get away from the
awful lie.  But my brain wouldn't let me.  Justin Walker was killed last
night in a one car??Justin Walker killed last night??Justin killed.  It
kept replaying in my head like a defective movie clip.  Suddenly I went
down.  I thought I stumbled, but as I went down I knew it was my legs
simply giving out from exhaustion.  I fell in a crumpled heap on my hands
and knees with my face in the grass. I gasped for air but couldn't draw it
in.  I heard someone far off crying Justin's name over and over again.  It
sounded like me.  I felt sick.  I was seeing black with tiny stars.  I was
going out???

I was vaguely aware of a pair of powerful arms lifting me off the ground
and a deep voice, but I couldn't make out what the person was saying.  I
couldn't recognize the voice at first, I was fighting to stay in the
peaceful place I'd been.  I didn't know why except that where I was going
from that wonderful peace was an awful place, full of pain and unhappiness.
I wondered if I'd died and was being brought back.  Then the voice
registered; it was Deputy Brady; his muscular arms carrying me to the squad
car.

"Must've passed out from the heat and dehydration," he was saying, to no
one in particular.  "I'll get you in the squad car where it's cool, and get
you some water."

He opened the car door and laid me in the passenger seat and laid the seat
back.  I lay limp as a rag doll. I'd never felt so weak in my life.  He
closed the door and I was suddenly surrounded with cool air.  He got in the
driver's side and put a bottle of water to my lips.

"Drink, slow," he said.  He held the bottle and I drank.

"What happened?  Where am I?" I asked weakly without lifting my head.

"I don't know but I think you must've passed out from the heat and
dehydration," he said.

"I was running, I tripped over something."

"I don't think so.  There was nothing to trip over, except your own feet. I
think you just gave out. You ran a long way.  You're in the 5600 block of
Chestnut; that's damn near out of town."

"I was running to?..oh, God, B-Brady, tell me I was dreaming?..about
Justin???"

"No, Kenny, you didn't dream it.  He was killed last night."

"Oh, God!" I sobbed, and had to raise up to keep from choking.  I leaned
forward with my face in my hands.  "God, no?..it can't be.  There must be
some mistake."

"No mistake," Brady said.  "What's worse, Sheriff Walker was the first one
at the scene."

"Oh, my God!"

"He could barely talk when he called for backup.  He's the one who told us
it was Justin.  I took the call and went. God, I never felt so terrible in
my life. It was awful."

"Justin?..my god, he was supposed to graduate?.." I could barely speak
through my sobs.  "Where's Sheriff Walker now?"

"He's home.  The family's being called.  I don't know what else. All I know
is he couldn't be at the station.  No way."

"Geezuss, what he must be going through."

Brady was rubbing my back and shoulders all the while.  "Where do you want
to go, Kenny?  Is there anyone home at your house?  I don't think you
should be alone."

"No, I??I don't know?..we were out of school today ?.. the seniors.  To the
school?..that's where the guys will be going.  Can you take me to the
school?"

"Sure.  You just make sure you're okay before I let you out."

"I'm okay."

"Like hell you are.  We'll take the long way," he said.

He drove me to the school and I was right.  I saw several of the guys' cars
parked along the street.  Brady got out and came around to open my door
before I had a chance.

"I want you to walk down there about ten yards," he said, pointing down the
street.  I did as he said and then he told me to run back to him.  I ran
back and stopped right in front of him.  He put his hands on my back and
stomach and said he wanted to feel me breathe.  Then he looked into my eyes
and told me to bring my hands straight up over my head then lower them
straight out to the sides and hold them there.  I passed all of his tests.
He reached in the car to get the bottle of water and tossed it to me.

"Call me if you need a ride home."

"I'll get a ride," I said.

Walking up to the door, I poured some of the cold water in my hand and
splashed it on my face.  Inside, several kids came up to me but I brushed
past them, going straight to the locker room.  That's where the guys would
be.  Jocks are like a bunch of homing pigeons when it comes to the locker
room.  There was a kid standing at the door, I didn't even know his name.

"Kenny," he said.

"Hey."

"We're not letting everybody in. Just the jocks, figured you guys would
want to be alone together," he said as he opened the door for me.

"Thanks," I said, clapping him on the shoulder as I went inside.  I heard
the door close behind me as I headed down the ramp. My legs were suddenly
still shaky.  I emerged into the locker room to see the faces I expected to
see there; Tyler, Damon, Luis?.the one face I didn't see was Justin. Nobody
said anything as I moved among them toward my locker, we just clasped
hands.  Luis moved over on the bench but I slid down my locker door to sit
on the floor.

Tyler was standing with his head against his locker door, his shoulders
shaking with his silent sobs.

"It could've been any one of us," someone said.

"But it wasn't. It was Justin."

"God, I loved him like a brother."

"I wish it'd been me."

"No you don't.  What good would it do if it was you?"

"He was better than me.  He was better than all of us, everything he's been
through.  He never even had his mom all his life."

"I wonder if there's any way they can let her know?"

"Like she'd probably care."

"I thought she was dead."

None of it made any sense.  It didn't have to. It was all just something to
say, at a time when nothing needed to be said but maybe it was good therapy
to say it, to hear each other's voices.  I didn't say anything.  I just sat
there, leaning back against my locker with my legs crossed out in front of
me, staring at the weight bench with the barbell on the rack.  I wondered
if Justin's hands had been the last to take hold of that bar.  If they
were, nobody else should get to touch it. That's when I said something.

"Who worked out last?...the last one to do bench presses?"

They all looked at the weight bench then around at each other.

"I don't know."

"Not me, I haven't worked out in a week."

"Had to be Damon or Justin.  None of the rest of us could bench that much."

"Not me," Damon said.

"Justin, then," I said quietly.  I didn't have to say what we were all
thinking.  But Damon confirmed it.  He got a pen out of his locker then
walked over and snatched a notice off the bulletin board and scrawled
something on it. He held it up for all of us to see what he'd written.
NOBODY uses this weight bench or touches the barbell or the weights till
further notice!!

We all nodded in agreement.  It was a useless gesture, but meaningful to
us, when we all needed there to be something meaningful in our lives.

"Somebody will have to clean out his locker," someone said

"The coach."

"No.  Kenny'll do it," Damon said, and nobody disagreed.

I dropped my head and let the tears flow unashamedly.  I heard others
around me, sobbing, and somebody said Fuck!

We hung around the locker room for about an hour, till I decided I needed
to go home; my parents didn't know where I was.  I mumbled that I had to
get home, and left.  I found out later that some of the guys had wanted to
spend the night in the locker room, sleeping on the mats.  I was glad I
didn't stay.  If I had, there would've probably been an orgy.

I was about two blocks from the school when a car pulled over with a quick
beep of the horn.  It was Kyle.  He reached over and opened the door.  I
climbed in. We didn't say anything.  He drove home and I got out and walked
across the street to my house.  Neither of us had still said anything.

My family tried to console me and I tried to let them but I was dying
inside.  I wanted so badly to go to Sheriff Walker to console him, but I
knew there would be family there, and I would be intruding.  He wouldn't
think so, but others would.  I called him when I went to bed.  I didn't
know who answered the phone.  I asked to speak to Jack and said to tell him
it was Kenny.  He came to the phone.

"Jack, I won't bother you.  I just wanted you to know I'm thinking about
you. You know how sorry I am.  My cell phone is under my pillow, I'm here
if you need me."

"I know you are.  Thanks.  It's not all been decided yet, but I want you to
be a pall bearer."

"It's an honor.  Thank you.  So, I'll say goodbye now.  Call me."

I couldn't sleep.  I kept thinking of all the times we'd had together and
after every one I had to tell myself he was dead. I didn't know why I was
torturing myself.  I hated the idea of cleaning out his locker, yet I
wanted to be the one to do it. I thought I should be the one to do it.  My
hand was under the pillow and I felt my phone.  I held it in my hand,
willing it to ring, for Jack to call me?.Godd, somebody just tell me it was
all a mistake. I was wide awake now, ready to scream, unable to arrange my
thoughts.  I wondered what I would find in Justin's locker.  I punched the
stem of my watch to see what time it was; nearly midnight. Not that it
mattered. At the same time I was dragging my phone out from under my
pillow.  I flipped it open and dialed it.  It rang three times before a
deep, groggy voice answered.

"Coach Baldwin, this is Kenny.  I'm really sorry to bother you at this
hour."

"What's up, Kenny?  Anything wrong?"

"Only everything that could be wrong," I said.  "Listen, Coach, I was
wondering if you could let me in the gym, the guys picked me to clean out
Justin's locker."

"Right now?  Tonight?"

"Yes, sir, I wanta do it right now, when there's nobody around.  It
need?..needs to be between me and Justin?. you know?  I really need to do
this, Coach."

"All right.  I can meet you there in about twenty minutes."

"Thanks."  I hung up and turned on the lamp. When I was dressed I went to
my parents room, around to my Mom's side of the bed.  I knelt down.

"Mom?..Mom, I'm going to the school to clean out Justin's locker.  Coach
Baldwin is meeting me there."

It was just like her not to question me.  She simply squeezed my hand and
said, "Okay."

I parked on a side street and walked back to the school. I didn't want my
car seen parked at the school and have somebody come nosing around.  Coach
Baldwin was unlocking the door when I walked up.

"Sorry, Coach."

"It's all right, Kenny.  I understand," he said as he let us in.  We walked
across the gym to the boys' locker room.  Down the ramp, two naked bulbs
cast an eerie light through the room.

"I'll wait for you in my office.  Take your time," he said.

I tried the light switches till a light came on over the row of lockers
that included Justin's and I turned the rest of them off.  I stood there
gazing at the two rows of lockers, at the strip of tape on one door with
WALKER printed on it.  In the deathly silence, I was hesitant to
approach. I tried to conjure up the sounds of the locker room full of guys
but no sounds came.  Only the muffled sound of my sneakers as I walked to
his locker.  I sucked in a deep breath and began twirling the dial on the
lock.  Justin and I gave each other our combinations, but I'd never had a
reason to get in his locker, but the numbers were embedded in my mind.  The
click of the lock being removed then the grating sound of the door being
opened reverberated through the empty room.

For a long moment I just stood there, looking at his open locker.  This was
the last I had left of him and I wanted to burn the image of it in my brain
before I disturbed anything. Then I got to work.  I started with the upper
shelf.  There were two books from the library--I would give those to the
coach--and a spiral notebook.  I flipped through it but found nothing but
assignment notes. A half empty bottle of water.  I began setting stuff out
on the bench.  Some candy and gum wrappers and shoe laces.  A brand new
jockstrap, still in the unopened box.  Why, I wondered, I'd never seen him
in anything but old faithful, as he called his old jock that he'd had since
starting high school.  His batting gloves, and a neatly folded clean towel
at the very back.  I took out the towel and found a strip of three condoms,
plus a single, and a tube of lube.  There was a pair of tennis shoes on the
bottom of the locker with a rumpled towel, and his baseball cleats and ball
glove.

I saved the locker itself till last, where his jersey hung in the back, his
practice shorts and PE shorts on a hook on the side.  His jockstrap hung on
the other side, long since stained past white from not being washed, and
well worn with little tears and pick holes.  I took his shorts out and laid
them across the bench, then laid his jersey above them. I left his
jockstrap till last.  It was like an icon, the way it hung with the pouch
still in the form of his manhood.  It was almost sacred to the touch and I
felt almost unworthy to take it from the hook.  But if not me, who?  It was
an emotional moment for me.  I took it from the hook and brought it up to
my face.  The feel of it, the subtle smell of Justin permeated my senses.
I started to choke up as I remembered the times I'd had this very garment
pressed against my face, bulging with his manhood; how many times I'd
released his cock and balls from the pouch?...

I held it there as emotions washed over me, till tears began to fall and
soak into the cotton mesh material.  As I wiped the tears and held the jock
up to see his name in the waistband, I decided I wasn't going to do this.
I wasn't going to remove everything and leave Justin's locker gaping open
like an empty tomb.  I began putting things back as closely as possible how
I found them, all except the library books.  They were not his.  I hung up
his jersey and shorts. I kept the single condom but put the strip of three
back, along with the lube. I wanted the guys to definitely see that.  I put
the water bottle back.  I hadn't touched his helmet on top of his locker
and I left it there.  I even left the candy and gum wrappers.  I couldn't
bring myself to throw anything away.  Not yet.  The only thing I didn't put
back was his jockstrap and his ball glove.  Instead of putting his jock on
the hook, I hung it over the top of the open door.  I would take the ball
glove with me, give it to his Dad, maybe he would want to bury him with it.

I stood back and surveyed my handiwork.  It looked good.  It looked like
Justin had just walked away to shower and left it open.

I took the books into Coach Baldwin.  I tapped lightly on the door and
opened it without an invitation. Coach was at his desk, reading.  He
slipped the magazine into his desk drawer as he looked up.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"I found these, they need to go back to the library," I said, laying the
books on his desk.

"I can do that," he said.  He leaned back in his chair.  "Listen, Kenny,
there's a rule, in situations like this the principal and one other teacher
is supposed to open the locker.  If anything's said about you doing it by
yourself--I don't think there will be, but I'll take responsibility for
it."

I nodded.  "I pretty much left everything like it was, only open.  I think
the guys should see it the way he left it.  We can decide what to do with
everything later.  Most of it goes to his Dad.  I'm taking his ball glove,
maybe his Dad will want to bury it with him.  I don't know about his
jersey."

"We'll retire his jersey," Coach said.

"Do you have an extra towel, Coach?  I would like to shower if you have
time."

"Sure."  He turned around and got a towel from the cabinet behind him and
tossed it to me. "Take your time. You don't know it right now, but this is
all good for you."

I nodded and left his office.  I took off my clothes in front of Justin's
open locker.  I didn't go to the futile effort of trying to conjure him up
to be there.  I was giving up on that; he was dead and he would never be
there again.  But being there at his locker with so much of him inside it
gave me a feeling of closeness, even pained comfort.

I tossed the towel over my shoulder and walked back along the wide, dark
corridor to the showers.  I'd never felt so alone in my life.  The single
night light gave the showers an eerie, tomb-like aura.  I didn't turn on
anymore lights.  It was appropriately death like.  For some reason I turned
on all the showers.  Maybe I was trying to conjure up past images again.  I
didn't think so, I just wanted all the showers running.  Soon the room was
filled with dark steam that wrapped itself around me like millions of soft
fingers, caressing my body.  It made me feel safe. I took the next to last
shower, the one I always used, next to the one Justin almost always used;
close to me, where I was handy.  These were the showers we used that first
time he fucked me.

I wasn't pulling up old images but I couldn't help thinking about him.  He
was so much a part of me, in every sense; I didn't want to block him out.
I needed him to still be a part of me. I thought he would always be, but
right then I wasn't sure. I didn't know how the death of someone so close
could be dealt with, or how it would affect me in the weeks and months,
even the years to come.  I knew I wouldn't ever forget him.  I leaned my
head against the tile wall and let the memories and images flood my
brain. I didn't try to grab hold of any of them; they wouldn't get away,
they would always be there. Suddenly, I began to cry.

I let that come, too.  There was no reason to try to hold it back. I was
alone, and Justin would understand. Maybe he would even like me crying over
him. I wondered if he could see me.  I wanted him to.  My grief swelled up
and the sobs washed over me.

"Kenny, I can't tell you how sorry I am."  It was the coach's voice, and
his hand on my shoulder.

I didn't start or look around; it was as if I knew he was there.  I reached
back to acknowledge him and felt he was naked.  As he should be; he was in
the showers.  I kept crying.  I didn't feel any need to stifle it; I needed
to let it out, let it drain me of the awful truth and the grief it caused.

Coach brought both of his hands on my shoulders and moved closer.  His
hard, muscular body pressed against me, his meaty cock against my butt.  He
wasn't hard--I didn't know if he would get hard--but he felt good,
everywhere.  I let my hand rest on his hip and clenched my butt muscles to
acknowledge his welcome presence.

"I think this was a good idea, Kenny," he said in a gentle tone that was
unlike him.  "You needed to let it out.  This is a good start; it'll get
easier."

"No, it won't," I said.

"You don't think so now, but it will.  I promise."  Then he asked.  "I only
came back to check on you.  Do you want to be alone?"

"No.  Stay, please."

He wrapped his arms around my chest and stomach, pulling us tighter
together.  His cock felt meatier, I didn't know if it was because it was
pressed harder against my butt or it he was fluffing up.  I didn't care
either way, I just wanted him there, close.  If he wanted to fuck me?..

I didn't dwell on the idea but I didn't reject it either; I didn't know how
I was supposed to feel about it--having sex so soon, especially with Coach
Baldwin.  It seemed a sacrilege in a way, disrespectful of Justin's
memory. But not so much, when most of the memories I had about the guy were
sexual.

Coach's cock was definitely hardening.  He shifted his weight to allow his
cock to swing up and lay up along the split of my ass.  It felt good, even
comforting. Maybe sex would be part of the grieving process.  I didn't know
how to grieve.  I didn't think most kids my age did.  I knew there would be
grief counselors at the school tomorrow.  But for now I felt I had my own
counselor.  He was moving his cock very gently in the crack of my ass.

"Kenny, I?..I don't know if this is the right time, but?.do you want this?"
he asked as he ran one hand down over my butt.  His voice was hoarse.

I didn't hesitate.  "Yes."

He ran his finger along my crack, the rough knuckles scraping over my hole.
I pushed back against his hand.  I felt his warm spit fall into my crack
and he leaned forward to block the shower spray from washing it away. He
lubed up my crack then used more to probe into my ass.  He took his time,
inserting one, two, then a third finger, stretching my hole.  Then I felt
the heat of his cockhead pressing against my hole.  I held firm and braced
myself.  Coach's cock was thick, like the sheriff, and the head was even
wider.  It was going to hurt; it always did. Yet I barely winced when he
entered me, I didn't cry out at all.  In a perverted way, I welcomed the
pain.

He clasped his hands around my hip bones and pulled me back as he shoved in
all the way.  His meaty cock slid across my prostate, causing my eyes to
roll back.  Oh fuck, I thought this is going to be so good, so what I
needed.  He held us tightly together and made his cock throb deep in my
ass, and each throb was like a gentle caress over my prostate.  The
pleasure was building up even before he started fucking me.

I moaned softly, "Ohhhhh, Godddd, Coach," as he eased back and shoved in to
start fucking me. I flattened my hands against the wall and jutted my butt
out for him.

It was a slow, languid fuck, his cock slicing through my hole with a
gentleness that I'd never known from Coach before.  Even the pleasure was
gentle and soothing. He fucked me for a long time, till my legs became
unsteady and my knees felt weak.

"Coach, can we get on the floor?  You've got me weak in the knees."

"Sure, I'll get some towels," he said, and started to pull out.

I clasped my hand around the side of his butt to stop him.  "No, I don't
need towels, the floor is slick."

He took me to the floor on my hands and knees with his cock still in me,
and started fucking me again. With a soft moan, I bent forward with my
shoulders and face on the warm, wet floor.  "We can change positions if
your knees get tired," I told him.

Time lingered over me as I gave myself up to the wonderful pleasure the
Coach was giving me. We could be there all the rest of the night, I
thought.  There was little innovation about the way he fucked me; just a
slow and steady in and out, with a few hip rotations that made me whimper
with pleasure.  He knew that felt good for me but he only interspersed them
in the course of the total fuck.  He didn't want to make it too good too
fast.  He wanted it to last too. I wondered what I had caused him to leave,
at home.  Had he been fucking his wife when I called?

After a while, he said, "Can we do this on your back for awhile?  I can get
the towels."

"Yes, any way you want me," I said. I didn't tell him not to get the towels
this time and he did.  He spread three of them out across the wet floor,
making a pad for my spine. They were quickly soaked with the shower spray
but they felt good.  I lifted my legs for him to take me again.  I thought
I should feel like a slut--Justin was dead and I was lying on the floor of
the showers getting fucked by our Coach--but I didn't.

"Justin would understand, you know," he said. It was uncanny, the way he
seemed to sense my feelings.

"I know.  Do you think he sees us?"

"I don't know how that works, but if he can, he's smiling."

He moved from his kneeling position to lean up over me as he fucked me.
Supported on his powerful arms, he leaned his head down and I almost
panicked as I realized he was going to kiss me.  He'd never done that
before. We were hardly ever face to face when he fucked me; I was usually
bent over his desk. I accepted his kiss and returned it in kind.  It made
me quiver inside.  It had the same effect on him, I could tell by the way
his cock bolted inside me.

"You've never kissed me before," I said.

"I wanted to, but I wasn't sure you would go for it."

"I go for it," I said with a smile.

"Were you in love with him, Kenny?"  It was an odd thing for him to ask.

"No.  I loved him but I don't think I was in love with him."

"I often wondered if he was in love with you," he said.

"No, I don't think he was. What made you wonder?"

"The way he looked at you.  The way he always seemed to want to be around
you."

"I wanted to be around him, too, but it wasn't that kind of love between
us, not with him or any of the others."

"I've seen the guys standing in line waiting to fuck you.  That says
something," he said.

"It says I'm an easy, cheap fuck, I can be had for the price of standing in
line," I joked.

"Don't put yourself down."

"I'm not putting myself down.  I'm happy in my skin. I like the deep
physical contact.  I'm happy being who I am.  If I make other guys feel
good along the way, that's okay, too.  Nobody loses."

Coach smiled.  "This is nice, being able to talk like this while we fuck."

"Yeah, it's not so intense and frenzied."

"Most boys are pretty frenzied when it comes to sex," he said.  "Is it that
way with the guys?"

"Yeah.  It's getting pretty intense right now, Coach."  I could hardly feel
it building up till I realize it's on a higher level than when we started
out, and it's been that way."

"Do you want to cum?"

"Yes, but without touching my cock," I said. "Just keep fucking me till you
fuck it out of me."

He fucked it out of me about ten minutes later.  He also fucked it in me.
I felt his cock swell, then throb violently before it exploded, sending
torrents of cum spurting deep in my insides.  My prostate was already so
sensitive and on edge that the mere throbbing of his belching cock got me
off.

"I'm cumming, Coach."

"I know, I felt the buildup, then your love nut going crazy. Let it go, I
love seeing you shoot your load."

I closed my eyes--I didn't want the coach to see them roll back in my head
if they did--and let myself be swept along in the breathless climax.

"Yeah, it's cumming, I can feel it," Coach whispered as he felt my ass
muscles tightening and fluttering around his cock.  The next instant I was
shooting long ropes of thick cum that went sailing up over my head.  It
started landing on my shoulder and chest, one across my face and several
more across my stomach.

"Geezuss, the way you cum ought to be in the Guinness Book."

"Fuck, Coach, that was so good," I whispered.

"I know you feel better.  I'm glad you called me, Kenny."

"Bet your wife wasn't."

"She understands the relationship I have with my athletes."

"Does she?"

"Well, not that?.this part of the relationship, but she knows I need to be
there for you guys."

He eased us onto our sides and spooned me, his cock still buried deep in my
cum laden hole.  When he slipped out he rolled onto his back and pulled me
in tight against him. Together, we lay on the towels on the locker room
floor with the showers spraying down on us.

"You need to be getting home, Coach, back to your wife," I said after a
while.

"I know.  I would like to stay right here."

I got to my feet and put my hand down for him.  "Go home," I said as I
pulled him to his feet.