Date: Thu, 7 Feb 2008 12:31:45 -0500
From: bob <rfsc48@hotmail.com>
Subject: Coach's FOLs

My personal fetish today is looking at guys in any kind of underwear. I'm
partial to briefs. I love seeing guys with boners in their underwear. The
tents that they make are really what turns me on. My fascination with
underwear began in gym class locker room during basketball practice. Seeing
guys in their jock straps was a real turn on.

When I was eighteen, a college freshman, we got a new coach. I went to a
small east-coast college so our coaches were involved with a couple of
different sports. Greg was fresh out of college and there was something
about him that made me want to make him like me from the first practice
session. I didn't know what it was at first. I just liked everything about
him, from his handsome face to his voice. He moved with grace and just
watching him walk across the gym stirred me with longing. I was chosen to
play center on the team but was not very good at it. Before one practice
session, Greg called me aside. He had some suggestions on how to improve my
game and wanted me to think about changing my sport. I stood in front of
him, in my sneakers and regulation gym clothes, panting and sweating,
gasping for air from having just run a number laps around the gym, a mile
in all, in four minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Greg stood staring at his
stopwatch. Most of the class was over a lap behind me, including a few
jocks who had jeered me the week before for not playing as well as they
thought I should. But I was a good runner. I always left the other guys far
behind when we did laps.

"What's your name?" Greg asked me. "Bob, but my friends call me Lightning
-- Light for short." I said, just beginning to catch my breath. "Light, as
in faster-than-the-speed-of," he said, confirming the nickname I got a
reputation in the high school for being able to outrun everybody. "Come
here Light" Greg said. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me his
suggestion. He said I was a half decent basketball player but that he
wanted to make a track star out of me. I said, "OK, whatever." He hugged me
so tightly that my face was crushed against the metal whistle that hung on
a silver chain around his strong neck. He rubbed my hair vigorously. I
hated when my relatives did that but it was different when Greg did it. I
smelled his body, as my nose brushed against the black hair on his chest,
which ran high up and shown at the open neck of his shirt. So with that, I
joined the track team.

There were only five guys on the freshman class cross-country team. In
after-school practice, Greg ran along with us. Greg had been a miler in
college but told us he wasn't built for it, and had never been very
good. His legs were too muscular, he said. I thought his legs and his whole
muscular body were beautiful. Maybe he didn't have "a runner's body", but
to me, it was perfect. I had seen it when he showered with us after
work-outs. He seemed self-conscious, but a little proud too, of being so
hairy. Even before I saw him in the shower for the first time, I remember
finding his crotch captivating, the way it strained at the fabric of his
shorts. In the shower, I noticed that his balls were very large, which was
the reason for the bulge in his shorts. His dick was a nice size. What I
liked most though was the thick bush of public hair that ran right up his
chest. My own pubic hair was still not fully grown out and I prayed that
I'd grow a quarter of what Greg had. I had daydreams about Greg in his gym
shorts. In my daydreams, he would walk up to me for whatever reason and I
would drop to my knees and he would let me feel his legs and bury my face
in his crotch.

Greg acted very differently during cross-country practice compared with the
way he acted at basketball practice. He was much quieter on our runs,
running along with us, or giving pointers on running style. Teaching gym
class required that he maintain discipline. But I could tell he wasn't the
kind of rigid person that gets off on giving orders. It was obvious to all
of us in his gym class, that he was only strict because the other coaches
probably told him it was the only way a teacher in his first year could
act, unless he wanted his students to think they could get over on
him. After a few months I had gotten to know him well enough to tease him a
little about his drill sergeant act in gym class, not in front of other
students, of course. He took my ribbing in stride. Sometimes it was only a
fleeting exchange of glances between us, an understanding that people who
are close to each other develop after a while, but I could tell he liked me
and understood me, even if I didn't understand myself at the time.

Since there were only five guys on the cross-country team, Greg drove us to
out-of-town meets in his own car. I always sat in front next to Greg, on
the hump, because I was the smallest, but I really liked sitting there just
to be next to him. The sight of his hairy arms on the steering wheel gave
me a sense of security. When we went around curves, our sides and legs
would often touch. This physical contact, which he probably didn't even
notice, was lighting the fires of a passion in me like I've never known
since. I jerked off regularly and the only fantasy person I could think of
was Greg. He was driving me insane and if I hadn't had running to keep my
emotions level, I probably would have killed myself or gone mad.

Greg was married. His wife came to some of the local meets, always carrying
a book with her to read. She wore thick glasses and looked intellectual.
She was an odd wife for a coach, but Greg wasn't your average coach, in my
opinion. He probably picked her because she had brains.

That year, the State finals were held a small town downstate. I was the
only guy from our school to qualify and Greg called my parents to get
permission to drive me to the meet, and spend the night over in a hotel
since it was a 3 hour drive each way. My father liked Greg a lot, and
thought he was a good influence on me. He used to say, "Greg is a real
man's man."

I didn't fulfill the early promise to myself for becoming a star
marathoner. For one thing, I didn't have the drive to push myself to
extremes in training. Greg could see this. I enjoyed running and Greg was
instrumental in teaching me that running was for both mental and physical
fitness, not just to win. When I crossed the course finish line in 6th
place at the State finals, Greg put his arm around my shoulder and said
"Light, you did just fine, now let's go eat

After taking a shower at the hosting school's locker room Greg drove us to
a diner. While we waited for our meals, Greg started to banter. We talked
about all kinds of things and only stopped when our food arrived. "You'll
never guess what I majored in, at first, in college," he said as we began
our meal. I assumed that he'd gone to college majoring in phys ed and I
couldn't even guess at anything else. "Philosophy!" he said, laughing, "but
then I switched to phys ed." His talk about his college years kept me
mesmerized. He talked about other personal things too, just like he would
to a friend. It was the first time I was with him completely alone, without
other runners, and he seemed to like being with me as much as I did him.

Evening approached as we arrived back at the motel. The small room had a
black tiled bathroom and a B&W television with only one rabbit ear.
However, it was clean and to be with Greg alone anywhere, even in the city
dump, would be better than a suite at the Plaza with my family, as far as I
was concerned. As soon as we got back to the room, Greg put on his sweat
pants and headed out for a quick run and I turned on the TV while awaiting
his return. I couldn't very well go along with him since I'd just finished
a ten-mile race. The TV was shitty so after a few minutes I turned it off
and started pacing around the room. Greg's gym bag sat on a chair near one
of the beds, and on the back of the chair were his clothes that he'd
removed a few minutes before, before going out on his run. I touched his
red sport shirt feeling under the arms which were slightly moist and then
put my fingers to my nostrils to breathe in the aromatic smell that was
Greg. I picked up his brown leather belt, running my fingers over its gold
buckle, and then trying it on for size, pretending it was Greg wrapped
around me. On the floor, just hidden by the bedspread, he'd tossed his
dirty underwear when he changed into his jock strap. There they were, white
Fruit of the Looms, blue stripe on the waistband. I picked them up and
brought them close to inspect them. A few of Greg's pubic hairs clung to
the cotton inner pouch and I brought his underwear to my face and breathed
in deeply, trying to imagine his big balls and warm genitals and that mass
of thick dark hair caressing my face. I wanted to jerk off right then with
his underwear on my face. Since he said he was coming back in a few
minutes, I resisted the impulse to jerk off, but thought I had to keep his
FOLs as a souvenir. I thought Greg probably wouldn't even miss them. At the
same time, I was feeling perverted for stealing his underwear, but I took
the chance. I put them in my gym bag, wrapping them inside one of the extra
T- shirts my mother packed.

I turned the TV back on and pretended to be absorbed in it when he came
back in the room and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. The door to
the bathroom opened and the whole room filled with the warm steamy smell of
Greg. He emerged, a white towel wrapped around his waist, and stood at the
bathroom door with his hand on his hip. He seemed puzzled. First he moved
toward the chair beside his bed then looked around on the floor. He said
"You know, that's funny, I forgot to bring a clean pair of underwear, and I
can't seem to find the pair I took off before I went running." I tried to
look casual but I felt as though I was caught. He got down on his hands and
knees and started looking under the bed. I grabbed my gym bag and headed
into the bathroom quickly, shutting the door behind me. After flushing the
toilet, having pretended I had taken a leak, I came out holding his
underwear in my hand and tossed them to him, trying to control my voice as
I said "here they are, you must've left them in the bathroom."

He smiled and put them on. I turned the TV to an even fuzzier channel and
noticed that Greg was not getting dressed further, he just sat in his
underwear as if in deep thought over something. Finally he said "you took
my underwear didn't you." I looked at him in mock surprise, trying to act
as though the accusation was outrageous. I knew I couldn't lie. He'd
figured it out some how and there was no use lying. After a pause I said
"yes," as the skin on my face turned into a burning blush. He could see
that I was embarrassed and he didn't want to prolong my agony. "No
problem". I was slightly relieved to see he was reacting well but still
felt embarrassed. He acted like he was almost pleased, but I was hardly
aware of his reaction.

Greg jumped up from his bed, turned off the TV, and stood facing me wearing
only his underwear. I couldn't look at his face. I turned my head to the
side and looked down at the bed. "Aww, come on Light, it's no big thing" he
said as I felt his hand on my shoulder. "If it matters to you, I feel the
same way about you" he said in a softer voice, in a manner that allowed me
to look up at him. I felt that I might be dead or dreaming, but the look in
his eyes told me he meant what he said and that he was really there. Tears
came pouring silently out of my eyes. "Aww, come on Light, don't cry" he
said softly, as he bent down and drew me into his arms and put his face
right up to mine and licked at my tears with his tongue like a dog might
lick a bone. Dreamlike, I opened my mouth and kissed him, sucking at his
mouth like it was a nipple. I could feel his hardon pressing on my leg as
we lay back on the bed, and my own cock sprang to attention. He kissed and
licked me all over. "These have to go," he whispered and as he undressed
me, he took off his underwear. He stood up next to me and bent his knees so
that his crotch was next to my face. I put my face in his thick public hair
and breathed in, while feeling around his chest and thighs with my hands. I
let my lips touch his balls and then tasted them, licking them slowly as I
let my tongue glide up the shaft of his hard dick. As I took his cock into
my mouth he moaned with pleasure and positioned me on the bed so we could
both suck each other at the same time. I came once, and during the next few
hours, came four more times, each time as intense as the last. He came
three times, I think.

From the exhaustion of the sex and running, we fell asleep in each other's
arms. When I woke up, he was propped on one elbow, his face a few inches
from my own. "Did I ever tell you, you are beautiful" he said, as he
touched my forehead and played with a shock of hair that always managed to
stand on end. His words about my beauty sounds like a cliche now, but Greg
spoke them with sincerity

We made love again, and headed for breakfast. When we got back to the room,
we gathered our things together and I took a long look at the bed where
"it" happened, and shut the door. Sliding into the front seat of his car,
he handed me a small brown bag. "Here's a present for you to remember our
trip by." Inside were his underwear, the one and only pair used to wipe his
semen off me the night before. "If it hadn't been for those FOL briefs, we
might have never found each other", he said, as he pulled the car out of
the motel lot.