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.