Date: Sun, 28 Mar 2004 18:24:43 -0600
From: robert brown <rbrown001@cox.net>
Subject: AWAKENING OF INNOCENCE: Part Five, Assistant Wrestling Coach
AWAKENING OF INNOCENCE
Part 5 - An Assistant Wrestling Coach
Ron attended police training camp today. I stayed at home most of the
day, doing my homework for tomorrow and cleaning up my room. Late that
afternoon, I went to a basketball game at school. We were playing an out of
state school. I hadn't been to basketball practice as much as I should have
lately, and was not surprised I had not been listed to play.
Getting to the gym too early, I went down to the locker room, planning
to change and workout a little on the weight machines. There were players
on both teams already in the locker room, but I didn't know most of then.
I opened my locker to change for my workout. I was going to wear the
same tank top and change into some old shorts. Pulling off my tight jeans,
I realized my looser underwear was coming off with them. I just tossed the
tangled mess into the locker and began to look through the locker for my
old shorts.
A few lockers down a blond guy, I guessed on the other team, was
sitting in front of an empty locker he was probably using. I wondered what
he was waiting for. He should be warming up for the game.
He had on a pullover shirt and white shorts, was about average height
with weight, but obviously lifted weights and worked out a lot. His tight,
muscular build was much more like a wrestler than basketball player. I
couldn't see his face since he was facing the workout room where most of
the other players were already working out and horsing around with the
weights.
I looked through all the dirty clothes in my locker, but couldn't find
the shorts I wanted. I'd taken about everything out and piled it in the
floor in front of me. Deciding to look through it one more time, I
squatted down to dig through the stuff in the floor, my crotch resting
fully exposed just over the pile of clothes.
As I was looking through the heap, I could feel my meat was dragging
against the pile, but that was nothing unusual for me, so I ignored it.
Suddenly, I heard a voice, asking what I was looking for. I looked around
slowly, eventually seeing the blond guy standing right in front of me,
staring at my crotch, especially as I stood up. Then, glancing down, I
noticed my dick and balls were full and hanging heavily against my thighs,
pretty far below the bottom of my tank top.
As he kept just staring at them, he blinked his eyes, shaking his head
a little, and turning his eyes away. I'd seen that reaction before and
didn't give it any thought at the time. I'd had the same thing happen to me
all my life. But I was surprised when I saw his face. He looked too old to
be a high school athlete. He looked at least twenty-two or maybe older. He
must have been a coach.
Putting the heap back in the locker, I told him I was looking for some
old shorts to work out in. Going over to his duffle bag, he took out some
white shorts, saying I could wear these if I wanted to. As I walked over to
him to take them from his hand, I noticed he was still looking at my crotch
as I walked closer to him. Slipping my hand down over my meat, I kept it
from flopping around so much. He looked away as soon as I did.
I was surprised they weren't really shorts at all. They were made out
of a very thin cotton mesh and cut very short. They looked more like a
combination of a jock strap and jockey shorts. I must have had a funny look
on my face because he voluntarily said they were usually worn under
wrestling briefs. I looked at them again, saying I didn't have any
wrestling briefs to wear over them.
Smiling, he said to just wear them. This was just a locker room and,
coloring slightly in the face, he said I didn't have anything on right then
and nobody cared. I had to admit he was right, so I slipped them on and
pulled them up. My balls and even some of my cock bulged out around the
loose legs of the short trunks. He watched closely and seemed amused at my
trying to get everything back inside the shorts.
He said if I wore them a bit lower on my hips, it might give more room
in the crotch. They should stretch more as I wore them. Pushing them down
an inch or so did seem to help. I still bulged incredibly in the front, but
that was nothing new to me either. At least they covered me.
Sitting down on the bench in front of me, he commented that they did
seem small but, moving his fingers inside the front of the waistband and
pulling out on them a couple of times, he said at least they fit there.
Doing that caused the weight of my heavy meat to shift, pulling down
the front of the shorts, showing a line of pubic hairs along the
top. Quickly noticing this, he moved his hands back inside the waistband.
Responding to the touch of his warm hands on my stomach and the
closeness of our bodies, I lifted my head for some reason, looking at the
ceiling as his fingers moved inside of the waistband once more, pulling up
the very full pouch slightly.
Then I realized one hand was under my heavy pouch, his fingers firmly
against my large balls. Then as he smoothed the front of the pouch, I heard
him say things were a little crowded in there and, for a guy as young as I
was, I had a heavy load to carry. Surprised by this, I just looked at the
ceiling and wall until I felt his hands moving off my crotch. As he stood
up and was putting some things back in his duffle bag, I looked at him,
trying to figure out where he was coming from.
The longer I looked at him, the older he seemed to me. He was a very
handsome guy, but he definitely was not a high school student. At one
point, I asked him if he was a student. He laughed, asking if he looked
like one.
Then he said he was only an assistant wrestling coach at the school
that was playing there tonight. He said the basketball coach was sick and,
being the youngest and newest coach there, he was picked to drive the
team. Extending his hand, he said his name was Chad. I told him mine as I
shook his hand and pulled my tank top down below the bottom of my shorts.
About that time, the visiting players started to come in from the
workout room and begin to put on their uniforms. Some of them went up to
talk to Chad. I stuffed the dirty clothes back in my locker, closed the
door, and went into the workout room. No one was left in the room, so I had
it all to myself. I started by doing some curls with a light weight. Then I
switched to one of the machines to pump up my pecs.
After I'd worked out for a while, Chad came into the room. This time,
he was wearing some jersey running briefs, slit high on both sides, and a
yellow tank top. His thick muscular thighs bulged out of the side slits of
his shorts. He was not very tall, but proportioned for his height. Typical
weightlifter's body.
Seeming interested in how I handled the weights, he watched me for a
minute from a distance. Then, he came over and, watching a moment, said I
was not working my chest correctly. He said I would get more definition if
I did less weight and more reps. I also was not always sitting correctly.
Moving behind me, he pulled my back straighter and higher on the
seat. As he did, the seat of the shorts clung to the leather seat of the
machine and were forced even farther up onto my thighs, exposing more of my
groin. Then squatting down in front of me, he pointed my toes forward,
forcing my legs to open wider.
As he pulled my thighs apart, the leg openings of my shorts widened,
exposing partially my balls and somewhat swollen cock. He didn't seem to
notice, saying for me to keep crunching the handles of the machine while he
held my ankles in place. As I continued to work my chest, he watched my
pec muscles flexing for a while, but then I noticed his eyes frequently
looking straight into my mostly exposed crotch, focused straight ahead,
lingering obviously on my bulging meat forced out the leg of my shorts.
Looking down at him from time to time, it seemed his head was moving
closer into my groin. I could almost feel his breath on my balls which were
then mostly squeezed outside the leg of the shorts. Excited by this, I felt
the head of my dick swelling outside the leg of the shorts. Seldom moving
his eyes off my groin, I'm sure he noticed too and was enjoying the show as
it developed. I decided if he was so interested in seeing something, I'd
really give him a show.
Letting go of the handles, I slouched in the seat, opening my legs and
loosening the bunched up shorts legs, but keeping them high on my thigh, I
breathed deeply, saying I was a bit winded. Closing and opening my thighs
rapidly as I cooled myself, I could feel my swollen meat inching down my
leg, my cock becoming quite evident, thickening rapidly a few inches his
face.
Looking at the event unfolding between my legs, his face colored a
little, as I began to talk about weight lifting. I said if he wanted to
bench press some, I'd spot for him. In a low voice, I heard him say sure,
why not. Getting up from the butterfly machine and feeling my then quite
showy cock bounce against the sides of my thighs as I walked, I lifted the
tail of my tank top, wiping sweat from my face.
Moving over to the weight bench, he chose his weights and laid down
with his back flat on the bench. I took the spotting position, standing
just behind his head. As he raised his muscular arms up over his chest and
grasped the bar from the resting racks over his body, his armpits flared
open, releasing the warm smell of his body. Pressing the weights a few
times over his head, he replaced the bar on the rack, his arms wavering as
little as he did. I stepped forward to steady the bar and guide it onto the
rack.
Straddling his head, my crotch was directly over his face, my heavy
cock hanging low, almost touching his forehead. As he rested his hands over
his waist and took several deep breaths, I watched him look steadily up
into the then stretched legs of my shorts, my thick cock hanging out one of
them, barely two inches from his face.
Sensing him breathe heavily, pulling in the strong scent of my
sweating groin into his nostrils, I at first, did not move. His stomach
rising and falling, he seemed to be getting very aroused. At first, I
wasn't sure what to do next, if anything, so I just leaned on the bar,
lowering my body slightly. Feeling his breath more fully on my low-hanging
dick, I also felt it begin to swell, realizing it was moving quite close to
his mouth. Then I actually felt it graze his lips.
As it rested firmly against his lips, I didn't move and neither did he
. . . at first. But in time, I felt his lips slowly part, the tip of my
heavy dick moving slightly down between his moist lips. And slowly, as he
opened them wider, I felt the warmth of their sides grip the tip of my
cock, the head swelling rapidly from their touch.
Surprised, but also very aroused by the sensation, I felt the weight of
my dick pressing heavily against his mouth as it grew. Then as he relaxed
his lips even wider apart, he allowed much of the head of my dick to slip
eagerly into the warmth of his moist mouth.
Watching his body visibly stiffen, I was afraid what might happen next,
getting a little sorry I'd let it go this far, and really surprised that it
had. Wondering if I should say something, or pull back from his mouth, I
began to feel his lips close slowly against the thick fullness of my cock
and suck on my dick almost imperceptibly as more of it slid into his mouth.
Hearing the noise of guys coming down the hall, I suddenly raised my
body, feeling the head of my cock pop out of his mouth. Quickly pulling the
bottom of my tank top over my dick, I stepped back from the bench.
Within seconds, one of his players then came in the door to the locker
room and, looking in the weight room, asked the coach if he weren't going
to come up and watch the game. Clearing his throat and getting up from the
bench, he told the boy to go back up to the game. He'd be right behind
him.
Breathing heavily and avoiding eye contact, he went in and, slipping
his shorts over the jogging briefs, went out the door.
I went back to my locker, slipped off the uncomfortable shorts and,
laying them over his duffle bag, pulled my jeans back on, leaving off my
underwear. My shaft was still pretty well swollen with my unejaculated
load. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I noticed the clear
outline of my bulging cock running to the side down my leg. I pushed it
down as straight as I could get it and went upstairs to watch the game.
The bleachers were already pretty full, so I sat down on the
sidelines. The game had started. I could see Chad standing over to the side
with my coach and talking about the game. I noticed him look over at me a
couple of times, but nothing more. Some of my friends came up and sat with
me, very excited about our scoring. I enjoyed the game for a while too, but
eventually, my balls were beginning to ache. I recognized that pressure in
my groin and what it meant. I needed to get off.
Going downstairs to the bathroom, I stood at the urinal for what seemed
like a long time, unable to piss. I thought I should before I beat off, but
I couldn't get started. My dick was swollen, not exactly hard, but as I
stroked it a few times, it felt pretty good. It was moist from sweat and
excitement, and a little sticky on the head from Chad's mouth, maybe.
Thinking about how good that had felt, I felt my cock getting hard. As
I slowly massaged the head of my cock, smoothing over the sticky drops that
oozed a little out of the shaft, it felt better and better, but maybe not
as good as Chad's lips had felt a few minutes ago, especially if we'd
really gone all the way with it.
My cock getting very hard and, feeling close to cuming, I began to
think maybe I should move into a stall and get off as much as I wanted
to. Holding my cock up against my stomach, I started to move away from the
urinals as the door suddenly opened. Not looking around, I acted as if I
were pissing. Then I heard Chad's voice, saying something like my team was
beginning to lose, and he didn't blame me for not wanting to watch.
As he came over, standing at the urinal next to me, I said something in
return, but not much. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to get off. Instead
of pulling his cock out of his shorts, he unbuttoned them and slid them
down snugly over his full butt cheeks. He pulled his dick and his whole
sack out and over the top of his jogging briefs. The elastic waist band of
his briefs beneath them, holding his very swollen and flushed meat up and
in plain sight.
His pubic hair was a shiny reddish-blond, his skin flushed and looking
very warm. His dick was thick, but not especially big, closer to average I
thought. His balls, however, were pretty big. The skin of his sack was
pulled so taut over his balls it was almost transparent.
For some reason, I wasn't much interested in his dick. I wanted bad to
shoot a wad of backed up cum out of my own. My shaft had gone down a
little, so I tried to see if I could pee yet, but no luck.
Next to me, however, I heard a vigorous stream of urine coming out of
Chad's dick and splashing against the urinal wall. Hitting the wall with
terrific force, it was evident he needed to let it out. Looking over at my
crotch, watching intently as I stroked the hugely-swollen dick, he asked if
I was having a problem pissing. I nodded my head. He said that maybe I
needed to get off. I nodded my head again, very enthusiastically.
He looked over his shoulder and around the room for a while and then
waited, I guessed for me to start beating myself off. Pushing my tight
jeans down further over my hips so I could get a better grip of the whole
shaft and balls, my cock swayed back and forth out from my body. Stroking
it a few times, I squeezed it tightly, forcing a large bead of precum out
of my slit, which I used to lubricate the head of my very hard cock.
Watching me closely, He showed no response other than breathing hard
and, of course, his own dick was also quite hard and swollen. I continued
to massage my shaft, but not really wanting to beat off in front of him, I
hesitated, hoping he'd either leave or make a move of some kind. I'd have
loved it if he'd sucked me off or something. But although he watched every
movement of my cock, he did not touch me. He just moved his body closer to
mine.
I waited a while longer, holding my cock in the palm of one hand and
rubbing my balls with the fingers of the other. I even moved my cock closer
to him, literally offering it to him. Nothing. He still didn't move.
Disgusted, I turned and started to go over and get in a stall by
myself. As I was turning my body toward his to leave, my dick brushed the
back of his hand. Trying one last time, I paused, sliding it slowly against
his clinched hand. He began sweating visibly, and without looking in my
face, he turned his hand over and, slowly wrapping his fingers around my
dick, he held it against the palm of his hand.
As it swelled in anticipation, he squeezed it gently in his hand,
working it against his fingers. I let him hold it for several moments,
myself trying to move his hand against my aching cock, but he only held it,
doing nothing more, nor did he say anything. He simply held my shaft and
breathed heavily and waited.
His behavior was beginning to make me very uneasy. I tried to pull my
dick out of his hand, but he then grasped it even more firmly, making me
even more uneasy. Confused, I put my hands on his shoulders, holding them
firmly in case I might need to shove him away at some point if he got crazy
with me or something.
I must have pushed down a little on his body because suddenly he went
down on his knees and leaned his face into my crotch. Easing his grip on my
dick, he held the tip of my cock lightly between his lips. Then he stopped,
as if he were waiting for something. I waited also, but he remained
motionless. I waited even longer, but he remained silently on his knees,
his face in my crotch, the tip of my cock between his lips.
Whatever game he was playing, his teasing behavior angered me. I wanted
to get off, pure and simple, with or without his help. I didn't need this
shit. Losing my patience, I reached down and, taking my cock in one hand
and putting my other hand on the back of his head, I forced my hard shaft
against his lips which, to my surprise, immediately relaxed, his mouth
opening enough for it to slide just inside his lips.
Waiting for him to suck the rest of my dick into his warm mouth, I soon
became more frustrated, holding his jaw tightly as I pushed the head of my
cock inside his mouth, sliding a portion of it firmly against the moist
warmth of his tongue. But, while holding my shaft firmly inside his mouth,
he still did not move.
Suddenly, out of frustration, I put both hands on the back of his head,
pulling it toward my body as I thrust against his mouth. This triggered an
instant reaction in him, like flipping on a light switch. Instantly, his
body relaxed, and he began to suck gently on the head of my dick, working
his hungry lips farther and farther down my shaft.
Responding instantly to this sudden and almost unbearably wonderful
sensation on my dick, I seemed to lose all control for the moment. Holding
the back of his head firmly in both hands, I fucked his mouth relentlessly.
Sensing the pressure of my load, ready to shoot off at any moment, I
held his head steadily on my dick, fucking it savagely, even at times
partially down into his throat at times until I felt a large quantity of
thick cum empty from my cock, flooding his mouth.
Trying desperately to swallow all my load, he began to choke, coughing
and jerking against my hands. Then, pulling my cock from his mouth, I
released his retching body, watching him fall over against the urinal,
gasping for a deep breath.
Surprised at my aggressiveness, and a little embarrassed, I looked down
at him as I stroked smaller amounts of cum from my moist, sensitive
shaft. His body rested on the tile floor, crumpled against the urinal,
seeming very limp, but limp from pleasure, as his sweat rolled down his
face and traces of his cum leaked over the head of his cock.
Both of us had apparently gotten what we wanted . . . with a little
mutual encouragement. I'd gotten off, and he'd been encouraged to give a
blow job.
In time, we went, separately, back up to the game. I didn't see him
after the game, but I doubted he was happy at the final score of the
game. They lost. But then I remembered he was the assistant wrestling
coach, not the head basketball coach. It would be no problem for him.
He'd be content, satisfied with the knowledge that in no way what
happened that night on the basketball court, or in the T-room downstairs,
was his fault.