Date: Wed, 2 Apr 2008 13:10:59 -0400
From: rbrown001@cox.net
Subject: GETTING WHAT WE WANT

     I wasn't playing in that afternoon's game at school, but wanted to
support the team. Getting there early, I went into the locker room,
thinking I'd work out a while.  Filled with members of the visiting team,
the locker room was a hive of activity.  Most of our players were upstairs
already, and I didn't know the visitors, so I went to my locker to change
into workout clothes.

     Pulling off my tight jeans, I realized my underwear had come off with
them. Wearing just the tank top, I tossed the tangled mess into the locker
and, as I looked for my workout shorts, I realized someone was watching me
from a few lockers down. A blond guy, I guessed on the other team, sat
quietly in front of an empty locker, just staring at me.

     About average height and weight, wearing a pullover shirt and white
shorts, his muscular build was more like a wrestler than basketball
player. As our eyes met, he turned his face toward the workout room where
some visiting players were messing around with the weight machines.

     Looking through the dirty clothes in my locker, I'd taken everything
out and piled it up on the floor in front of me, but still couldn't find
the shorts I wanted. Deciding to look through the stuff one more time, I
squatted down over the heap, feeling my heavy genitals dragging against it
as I searched through the clothes.

     "What are you looking for," I heard a voice ask. "It must be something
important."  I looked up, the blond guy staring at my crotch as I stood up,
my large dick and set of balls swaying out from my body. Blinking his eyes,
he shook his head and turned his eyes away for a moment, then looked back
at them a second time.

     Very familiar with that kind of reaction the first time a guy saw me
naked, I wouldn't have given it any thought, except something about his
face surprised me so much I stared at it for a while. He looked too old to
be a high school athlete, at least twenty-five, maybe older. He must have
been a coach.

     "Yeah, some shorts to work out in," I replied. "They're not here."

     As I tossed the dirty clothes back in the locker, he opened his duffle
bag and took out some white shorts, saying I could wear them if I wanted
to.

     Thinking a moment, I walked over to him, taking them from his hand, at
the same time noticing he was still looking at my crotch. By that time
feeling a bit self conscious about it, I moved my hand over my conspicuous
dick, holding it against my body. He looked away.

     Holding up the shorts he'd given me, I was surprised they weren't
really shorts at all. They were made out of a thin jersey material, cut
very short and slit up both sides. They looked more like running 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.

     "Yeah, but I don't have anything to wear under them," I confessed.

     "So, just wear them," he said, smiling. "After all, this is a locker
room."  Then coloring slightly as he looked down at my exposed groin, he
said, "You don't have on anything right now. They're better than nothing."

      I turned away, smiling to myself as I pulled them up over my groin,
my large balls and even some of my dick clearly bulging out from around the
loose legs of the short trunks.  He watched closely, fascinated by the
display.

     "Well, I guess maybe it is a little crowded in there," he
observed. "For a guy as young as you are, you're carrying a heavy
load. Maybe if you slid them down on your hips a little, that would help."

     Wondering where all this was going, I looked away. He stood up,
putting some things back in his duffle bag. Then looking back at him, I
remember thinking he was a very handsome guy, but definitely not a high
school student. Eventually I just asked him.

     Laughing, he said, "No, I'm the assistant wrestling coach at the
school your team is playing here this afternoon."  I looked at him,
confused.  He explained that the basketball coach was sick and, being the
youngest and newest coach there, he was picked to drive the team.

     "My name's Chad," he said, extending his hand.

     Taking it, I shook his hand, pulling my tank top down below my shorts
with the other. About that time, the visiting players started to come in
from the workout room, talking to Chad as they went up stairs to warm up.

     I stuffed the dirty clothes back in my locker and went into the
workout room. No one was left in there, so I had it all to myself. I did
some curls with a light weight and then switched to one of the machines to
work on my pecs.

     After I'd worked out for a while, Chad came into the room. His
muscular body seemed stocky, but proportioned for his height, and
definitely that of a wrestler, very masculine and beefy, stretching the
seams of his clothes.

     Seeming interested in how I handled the weights, he watched me for a
minute from a short distance, then coming closer, watched a moment longer.
Telling me I wasn't working my chest correctly, he suggested I'd get more
definition if I did less weight and more reps. I was also not sitting
correctly.

     Moving behind me, he put his hands around on my chest, squeezing my
pecs as he pulled my back straighter and higher on the seat. As he did, the
seat of my shorts clung to the leather seat of the machine, forcing them
further up between my thighs, exposing more of my groin. Then squatting in
front of me, he pointed my toes forward, which opened my thighs and exposed
my balls and swollen dick.

     He didn't seem to notice, telling me to keep crunching the handles of
the machine while he held my ankles in place. I continued to work my chest,
as he watched my pec muscles flexing, but I also noticed his eyes
frequently look straight into my mostly exposed crotch, his head moving
closer into my groin. I could almost feel his breath on my balls which were
then forced mostly outside the leg of the shorts.

    Excited by his hot breath, I felt the head of my dick swelling outside
the leg of the shorts. Seldom moving his eyes off my groin, he seemed to be
enjoying the show. Soon I began to wonder how far I could push his
interest, never thinking about what might happen then.

     Letting go of the handles, I slouched in the seat, opening my legs and
loosening the bunched up shorts, high on my thigh. Breathing deeply, more
than a little winded, I closed and opened my thighs rapidly as I cooled
myself, feeling my swollen dick inch down my leg.

    Looking at the event unfolding between my legs, his face colored a
little, but neither of us spoke.  Then he began to talk about bench
pressing, saying what difference it had made in his body.  I asked if he'd
show me something about it.  He smiled, nodding his head. I said I'd spot
for him, if he wanted me too.

      Getting up from the butterfly machine, feeling my then quite showy
genitals bounce against my thighs as I walked, I lifted the bottom of my
tank top, wiping sweat from my face.  Moving over to the weight bench, he
chose his weights and lay 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 scent of his body which quickly filled my nostrils.  Then,
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 limp,
heavy dick 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 dick hanging out
one of them, barely two inches from his face.

     Sensing him breath heavily, no doubt pulling in the strong scent of my
sweating groin into his nostrils, I didn't move, except to watch his
stomach rise and fall. I could tell he was becoming aroused and agitated,
but I wasn't sure what to do. I leaned on the bar, lowering my body
slightly. I could feel his breath moving in waves over my low-hanging
dick. It was still soft, but swelling quite close to his mouth. Then, as I
waited, I felt its large mushroom head graze his full lips.

     Afraid I'd gone too far, I didn't move, but neither did he . . . at
first. Then I felt his lips slowly part, the tip of my heavy dick moving
slightly down between them. Closing my eyes, trying to think what I should
do, I felt his lips open, their soft inner sides gripping the tip of the
head of my cock, the head thickening rapidly from the sensation.

     Surprised, but also very aroused by this, I allowed the weight of my
dick to press heavily against his mouth until, relaxing his lips even wider
apart, he allowed the head to slip snugly between them, his tongue
anxiously moving around it.

     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 felt his lips close slowly against the head of my dick, sucking
its thick fullness almost imperceptibly until its sensitive knob was
consumed by sensation.
     My heart beating rapidly, my body stiff and trembling, I bent my knees
slightly, allowing more of my dick to be sucked into the moist warmth of
his mouth. It was a fantastic. For several moments, both of us were
consumed sensation, until suddenly I heard the noise of guys coming down
the hall. Quickly lifting my body, I felt the head of my dick abruptly
dislodge from his reluctant mouth.

     Pulling the bottom of my tank top down over my badly swollen dick, I
stepped back from the bench, holding it against my stomach as I turned
toward the wall.  Within seconds, one of his players 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, he got up
from the bench.

     "Yeah, sure," he replied, loudly. "Go on back up. I'll be right behind
you."  Then, nervously coughing 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. Taking off his shorts, I laid them over his
duffle bag and, pulling my jeans back on, left off my underwear. My dick
was still pretty well swollen with my unejaculated load.  In fact, when I
caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I noticed the clear outline of my
dick, bulging to the side and running down my leg. I pushed it down and
went upstairs to watch the game.

     The bleachers were already 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.

     I enjoyed the game for a while, but eventually my balls began to
ache. I realized what that meant. I needed to cum. That was about all I
could do to ease the pressure of the load I'd built up.

     Going downstairs to the bathroom, I stood at the urinal, unable to
piss. I thought I should before I beat off, but I couldn't get started. My
dick was very swollen, not exactly hard, but moist with sweat and more than
a little sticky on the head. It felt good to stroke it.

     Thinking about how good Chad's mouth had felt, even just sucking the
head, I felt my dick getting hard. As I slowly massaged the head, smoothing
over the sticky drops that oozed slowly from the slit, 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 dick getting very hard, close to cuming, I began to think maybe I
should move into a stall. Holding my dick up against my stomach, I started
to move away from the urinals as the door suddenly opened. Not looking
around, I turned toward the urinal again, acting as if I were pissing. Then
I heard Chad's voice, saying something about my team 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 slid them down over
his butt cheeks, his dick and sack of balls swelling out over the waistband
which eventually supporting their weight, displaying, for the first time,
his very swollen endowment.

     His thick 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 stretched tightly.

     I wasn't much interested in his dick, or doing anything to it. I
wanted to drop a load of backed up cum from my own. If he wanted to suck it
out, that'd be fine with me. Otherwise I'd get myself off. But first I need
to piss. My dick had gone down a little, so I tried to once again, but no
luck.

     Next to me, however, I heard a vigorous stream coming out of Chad's
dick, splashing noisily against the urinal wall. Shifting his weight on
both feet as it hit the wall with terrific force, it was evident Chad
needed some relief too.

     Looking over at my crotch, he watched intently as I stroked the
hugely-swollen dick. "You having trouble pissing?" he asked, breaking the
silence.  I nodded my head, but didn't respond.

     "Maybe you need to get off first," he suggested. "From the look of
things, I'd say you did." I nodded my head, remaining silent, but turning
to face him.

     He leaned back, looking over the room for a moment, I'd expected him
to take my dick in his hand, but he didn't. He just stood there, waiting. I
guessed he wanted me to beating myself off, or get it started.

     Pushing my tight jeans down further over my hips, my dick swayed back
and forth out from my body. Ignoring Chad's rapt attention to its every
movement, I stroked it a few times, squeezing it tightly, forcing a large
bead of precum out of my slit, which I used to lubricate the head.

     Watching me closely, Chad showed no response other than breathing hard
and, of course, his own dick had also gotten 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 wanted him to suck me off. But although he watched every movement of
my then hugely swollen dick, a kind of hungry look in his eyes, he didn't
touch me. He just moved his body closer to mine, stroking his own dick.

     I waited a while longer, holding my dick in the palm of one hand and
rubbing my balls with the fingers of the other, obviously offering myself
to him.  Nothing. He didn't make a 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. Sweating visibly and, without looking in my face, he
turned his hand over, slowly wrapping his fingers around my dick and
holding it firmly in his hand.

     As I waited in anticipation, I felt him squeeze it gently in his hand,
working it against his fingers, at times pulling it out from my body, but
then stop, just holding it still in his hand. He said nothing. He simply
held the aching shaft, breathing heavily and staring toward the floor as he
waited.

    His behavior was beginning to make me very uneasy. I tried to pull my
dick out of his hand, but he grasped it even more firmly, making me even
more uneasy. He was acting like some loony all of a sudden.

     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 as I did 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, much
as he'd done earlier in the weight room. Then he stopped, again waiting for
something. I waited also, but he remained motionless, his face in my
crotch, the tip of my cock between his lips.

        Whatever game he was playing, his teasing behavior angered
me. Considering the shape I was in by then, I didn't need this shit. Losing
my patience, I reached down and, putting my hand on the back of his head, I
forced his mouth against my dick. To my surprise, he immediately relaxed,
his lips, allowing it to slide between his lips and against his tongue.

     Moving it against his tongue, I waiting for him to suck it, but he
didn't. Soon, out of frustration, I put both hands on the back of his head,
forcing his head down further on my dick, pulling it back, then forcing it
back down again. This triggered an instant reaction in him.  Without
hesitation, he began to suck on the head of my dick, working his hungry
lips further and further down my shaft until it touched the opening of his
throat.

     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.

     His body suddenly animated and alive, he sucked even harder, moaning
audibly from the intense pleasure he was obviously taking. Sensing the
pressure of my load, ready to shoot off at any moment, I held his head
steadily on my dick, still fucking it savagely, even partially down into
his throat at times.

     Suddenly I felt a large quantity of thick cum empty from my cock,
flooding his mouth. Loving it, I thrust my dick down in to his throat as I
spurt yet a second wad.

     Trying desperately to swallow my load, he began to choke on my dick,
gagging and coughing as I jerked it from his mouth. Then releasing his
body, I stepped aside, allowing him to fall over against the urinal,
gasping for breath, eyes tightly closed.

     Surprised at my aggressiveness, and a little embarrassed, I looked
down at him, his crumpled body partially in the urinal and on the tile
floor, as I wiped off my flushed dick, streaked with his saliva and my
cum. His body was essentially limp, sweat rolling down his face which had a
dazed look on it.

     He looked pitiful and abused but, as he looked up at me, smiling
faintly, his eyes revealed his pleasure and satisfaction. It occurred to me
then that we'd both gotten what we wanted, but only after the other's
complete cooperation and effort.

     We went separately back up to the game. I never saw him again after
that night, but I doubted he was happy at the final score of the game. They
lost. But in time, as I thought on it, I remembered he was the assistant
wrestling coach, not the head basketball coach.  It would be no reflection
on him.

     He'd be content, satisfied with the knowledge that neither what
happened that night on the basketball court, nor in the basement T-room,
was his fault.

     Basically, I guess, it's a question of getting what we want, the way
we want it.


                          rbrown001@cox.net
                            Spring, 2008