Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys and is for adult eyes only. The acts are consensual and are a result of their love or lust for one another. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely similarities.
I would love to hear from you, so negative as well as positive feedback is always welcome! Please write: markwild082@yahoo.com
This is for my dad, Conner.
I love you, man. Mark.
"Boys In Control" pt. 1
Two coaches
Coach James "Jim" Pierson was panting hard as he pushed open the doors to the men's lockers. The smell of teen sweat and old jocks, the whoops and whistles and snapping of towels, peppered with choice appraisals of the other jocks' girlfriends, washed over him; and he grunted, pawing at the front of his sweats.
It was a late Friday afternoon, and the Vikings had just finished practice. The showers were hissing, dirty gear and gymbags lay around everywhere, old shoes were stinking and slammed into lockers. His boys were walking around in jocks and towels, or naked, their highschool dicks flopping around as they walked and grab-assed each other. He belched like a happy man, and between that and him pulling off his tshirt to mop his forehead, he ran smack into Tommy Martin who was coming the other way around a row of lockers.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, coach," Tommy said as their chests knocked against each other. Tommy Martin was the Vikings' center-forward, five eleven, weighed one eighty, light brown hair...Jim had all his stats in his files. And now his nostrils were flaring, close to his coach's hairy chest. "Aw, sorry, Tommy." He grinned at the young athlete. "My fault, man. I wasn't watching where I was going. I was too busy wiping the sweat out of my eyes, haha." Tommy looked up, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, coach, You're STILL sweaty, man." He looked around quickly, and seeing that no one was watching, leaned in and eagerly licked one of Jim's hairy pecs.
The sweaty older jock let himself relax a bit, easing up on the tension he'd been feeling the last couple weeks, resting his big hand on Tommy's shoulder. He leaned in and said, teasingly, "Where you going, Tommy? You off to the showers?"
"Yeah, Coach," the boy said. "Good thing I didn't bump into you after I was already clean, or I'da had your nasty sweat all over me, man." Jim leaned in a little closer, smiling. "Nasty?" He started massaging the side of Tommy's neck with his thumb. "You saying I stink, boy?" Tommy grinned, leaning closer also, nodding yeah. "Damn, coach, I wish I didn't have to go away with my folks this weekend. I coulda found some time and..." Jim looked down at the hot young jock, laughing, still talking low. "...maybe come over to visit?" "Yeah." "Maybe smell my stinky jockstrap?" "...Yeah." He leaned over into Tommy's ear. "Maybe lick my big coach nuts, boy?" Tommy moaned, and tried to swallow a little. "...yeah..."
"Ok, Tommy." Coach slapped his young athlete's cheek a few times, real brisk and teasing. "Don't keep your parents waiting." His hand brushed down against the towel covering Tommy's by now half swollen teen dick. "We'll get together real soon." Tommy looked up brightly. "Yeah, coach?" Jim grinned back. "Yeah." Tommy ran his hand quickly up Jim's side, up his lats, pushing a few fingers into his coach's still damp armpit. He pulled them out, glistening with sweat, and stuck them in his mouth, licking Jim's sweat off his fingers. Grinning, he marched off to the showers. Fuck!
"AWWWRIGHT!!" he bellowed, cutting through the noise and the horseplay. "Listen up!" The boys settled down, knowing it was Talk Time. A locker clanged, then they were mostly quiet. "Awright. Now listen. There's good news and bad news. The good news is that, for a bunch of wussies, you didn't look too bad out there today." His eyes looked around. "Except you--Jenkins--you looked like shit." Whoops and catcalls erupted from the team, and some of the boys threw their towels and dirty socks in Jenkins' direction. "Awright! Awright!" Jim roared, laughing as he watched the kid dodge his teammates' stinking gear. "So, that means you can all call yer grammaws and tell 'em they can come to the game and you maybe won't embarrass them too much." Hoots and snickers. "The bad news, fellas, is that we got a big game coming up in two weeks, and you all oughta know by now the Mountaineers are a tight team, and I'm telling ya, if you guys don't start watching each other better, and taking signals from each other better, they're gonna wipe the field with ya. Cause--come on--you know what's happening, fellas, right? Right now they're in the Mountaineers lockerroom just like you, right after practice, just like you, playing with their little peckers," (hoots from some of the boys), "...yup, and planning on how to wipe the field with yer stanky jocks." More hoots and whistles, and a couple of oink oinks in the background. "--Manny. Where's Manny?"
Manny raised his tight fist, waving it in the air. "Here, coach." Jim turned his head in Mannys direction. "You gotta look around more, son. You're going out for a pass and you ain't looking around enough. You can't just run, buddy. You gotta look around you while you run, you know what I mean? You gotta look around and see and know what your teammates are doing, not just what that guy dogging you is up to, You gotta keep your eyes moving in every direction. You hear me?"
Manny knew the coach was right, and was now accustomed to all criticism pertaining to his game. "Yeah, coach...I'll pay better attention, I will." The coach gave him a nod. "Good, man. You looked good out there today, son. I ain't saying that. Just always gotta be aware. Parker. Where's Parker?" There was a pause, then someone said, "He left already, coach. Said he had some shit to do. Skipped his shower and everything." Fuck. Jim's heart sank a little, even though he'd already seen that Parker's locker was shut, which meant he'd probably already left. "OK. Alright. But it's not just Manny here. It goes for all of you. You all got your jobs to do, but part of that job is knowing what your other boys are up to. That's why we call it a TEAM, fellas. You can't pull together if you don't pay attention to each other." Jim's teeshirt was thrown over his shoulder, and he looked at his watch. He scratched his hairy stomach absently and said, "That's all, I guess. I got about half and hour of paperwork to do, guys, and when I'm done I wanna go home. So get your asses showered and out of here pronto!" He walked over to his office door and picked up a clipboard that was hanging from a nail in the wall, and turned around. "And another thing!" he yelled. "Practice is tomorrow at eleven. Not eleven o five, not eleven ten. Extra laps after practice for every minute late. You got it?" There was a chorus of yups and groans and someone was saying "Manny, you're still a loser, bro. Suck my dick" as the door closed behind him and Jim was alone in his muffled office.
His hand groped the front of his sweats, and he leaned against the door, lifted his arm and smelled his left pit, snorting himself in deep. Through the slats in the blinds he could see his boys hustling around, hauling ass to get out and start their weekend: it was their last free one for two weeks.
Next weekend they played the Danville Iron Men, the week after that was the big Mountaineers game.
The coach watched Tommy Martin bend over more than was necessary when he slipped on his briefs, like he was showing off his tight round ass for his coach. When he stood up and grinned at the window Jim sniffed himself again, and grinned back, unseen. A couple other jocks were still hanging out, too, shooting the shit, dicks hanging and swinging back and forth while they toweled off, facing the office window and the half closed blinds.
Jim had been a highschool phys ed teacher thirteen years, now, first in Mechanicsburg when he left college, then for the last ten years here in Seneca Falls. Seven years ago he had been named to the coaching staff when old Coach Larson had retired, and three years after that had been appointed by the school board to his current head coach position. Recently divorced at the time, Jim had thrown himself into his new position with all the determination his muscled frame could muster. It showed. After school, Saturdays, foggy autumn mornings he was there with his boys, grunting, cussing, running plays, slapping asses, dishing it out and taking it right at their sides. It paid off. After a streak of losing seasons the Vikings finished their first under Jim a tie. Two winning seasons followed, and Jim was aiming for his third. Horned up, riding his new freedom hard, Sheila, his friend Robbie's wife, eventually got plump from the chocolates Jim brought her every time he drove up to the house to pick her husband up for their highschool scouting expeditions. But often, too, he worked alone. He stood at exhibition games under night lights, standing on the sidelines leaning over the rails, his sweater pulled up over the narrow waist of his back, checking out speeds and snaps, meeting staff from other schools.
Back in Seneca Falls, as his team turned around, he got asked more and more what his secret was. But Jim was discreet, and laughed it off as beginner's luck. No need for them to know about the junior coach from Shamokin who had woken up one Saturday morning, his lips chapped, his butthole deliciously battered, and lifted himself up off the bed to catch one more whiff of Pierson's ass before Jim pulled on his pants and turned around to kiss him one more time, reaching down to squeeze his sensitive nipples. "Thanks, tiger," Jim growled, "I gotta get home now." And the junior coach rolled back over to a satisfied, well-fucked slumber, never knowing his playbooks had been rifled through. No need for them to know about the quarterback from McKeesport who, under Jim's hands, reached heights of sexual release not previously attained in his young life, and who found himself eagerly straddling Jim's skilled manhood as they slowly fucked, his teen cock leaking against Jim's hairy abs, moaning out secrets of signals and strategy into the cleft between the older man's pecs.
So, standing there in his office, sniffing himself, listening to the sounds outside wind down, he thought about how lucky he was. He was surrounded by hot jocks year round, and year after year he watched his boys shoot up and move on, and a couple years later their younger cousins and brothers came along. His boys. He smiled, playing with his crotch. Yeah, he had a lot of boys, or a lot of jocks who wanted to be coach's boy, some of them special, like Tommy, some of them just curious and needing a long massage for a pulled muscle, or a chance to suck on the big man's hairy pecs awhile. Even Jim had to admit it was pretty easy for him to get his hands on some hot jock ass pretty much whenever he wanted, some linebacker or punk boy who wanted to start out acting tough and end up riding coach's cock all night...Not like Parker, though... Jim huffed, then sighed, walked over to his desk and started tinkering with his end-of-week reports. Said he had some shit to do. He hummphed again. Probably out getting his dick sucked, probably got some girl up in the bedroom of her house while her mom's downstairs jealous, sinking that thick meat of his into her formerly-tight, moaning pussy. Fuck!!
He was calmed down a little, initialing schedules when his office phone rang. He picked it up and said, "Athletics. Pierson here." He grinned as he heard the voice on the other end. "Jim! You old horndog, what you still doing in jail, man? It's the weekend, buddy!" "I'm just finishing up, bud." "Man, I'm still at shcool myself. Listen, hot stuff, Sheila just called and said she wants to take the girls over to her mother's for the night. Come back tomorrow afternoon. Whaddya say bud? You got plans? You wanna go have some beers with your old pal Robbie?" Jim pushed himself back in his chair, spread his big legs and grinned. "Fuck, Robbie, I need like half an hour here more, man, but that's the second best offer I've had all day!" Robbie chuckled on the other end. "Only the second best, coach?" "Fuck, Robbie, Tommy Martin was showing me his ass after practice, man, licking my fuckin' pit sweat off his fingers." Jim's hand snaked down, resting on his dick bulge. "Damn, Jim, he's got a hot fuckin' ass, for sure. You give it to him, buddy? You slide that big coach dick of yours up his hot hole?" Jim laughed. "Fuck, Robbie, we were in the lockerroom after practice, man! We'da had an audience of like twenty, Robbie!" Jim heard his friend snort through the receiver. "Fuck yeah, Jim. Bet Tommy woulda liked that, ha!... Okay, buddy, listen. Downtown, near the corner of Jackson and Adams, they got this new sports bar just opened--the World Series. I been hearing a lot of hot jocks hang out there, man. Whaddya say we check it out?" "You're on, man. Gimme half an hour, forty minutes." "Okay, Jim. I'm a little closer than you, so I'll probably get there first. I'll try to snag us a booth. Anybody asks, we're just two coaches discussing intramural sports activities in our respective schools." Jim knew Robbie was grinning. "Get off my phoneline, you perv..."
An hour later they were sitting in a back booth at the World Series. The place had only been open a month, and whether because it was simply new, or because it was Friday, or because the buzz was out that the frat jocks and straight boys had a new place to hang out when their girlfriends were on the rag or pissing them off--for whatever reason, the place was pulling a nice crowd, there was a lot of hot ass walking around after work. Jim and Rob had just ordered their second beers, and were checking out a couple of young men in sports coats sitting at the bar watching FoxSports reruns. Jim had quickly showered and changed into some chinos and a polo shirt, open at the neck, that showed off his hairy chest and arms.
Robbie was leaning in, talking in a low voice. "Aw, look at 'em, man. Two fuckin' dumb junior exec jocks. We could be eating out their tight asses, man, while they're chowing down on each other. Maybe they never had a dick in their mouths, coach, but they always kinda wondered about it. Shit, maybe they're looking at those studs on TV and thinking about fucking some married ass...mmm mmm."
Jim laughed."Shit, Robbie, those fuckers are watching tennis, man. You know they can't be packing much. You'd just be disappointed, buddy!" Robbie laughed, slapped his buddy's firm thigh and leaned back. "I miss you, fucker. We don't spend nearly as much time with each other as we should." Jim agreed. "Yup, but, well, I'm into my season, now..." Robbie shrugged. "Yeah" Jim went on. "And you got that lovely wife..." Robbie shrugged once again. "She's a hound from hell, buddy." Jim grinned at his long time friend.. "And that real sweet mother-in-law..." Robbie gave Jim a smirk. "A money-hungry bitch that drove her husband to an early grave..." Jim gave his buddy a weak grin. "And those two cute girls you got." Robbie stopped. Smiled. "Yeah, they are pretty cute." His eyes twinkled. "Couple of years their boyfriends'll probably start coming around..." Jim laughed and squeezed his buddy's shoulder. "You're a hardened case, Robbie, and that's no lie. I missed you too, dog."
The waitress came back with their beers, leaning over more than was necessary to pick up their empty glasses. Robbie told her she was a real nice girl. She had a cute ass, and winked back. Jim looked at his friend. He was, indeed, a handsome man. About six foot, he wasn't built as big as Jim was, and had more of a gymnast's physique, neither as solid as the football jocks, nor as compact as the wrestlers he coached.
They'd met a little over six years ago at an athletics conference in Harrisburg. They'd eyed each other out real slow at the meet-and-greet, watching each other checking out all the hot meat and jock daddies, hanging out at the bar later with a group of other married coaches, slapping each other on the back at the dirty jokes, eyeing each other up at the urinals when they hauled out their tools to piss. By the time they'd stumbled out of the linen closet together at 4:30 in the morning, Jim was pretty sure he'd found a new best buddy.
By the next afternoon when they snuck out of the seminar on `Building Self-Esteem: New Directions in Intramural Sports' to coax some hot loads out of their big throbbers in the restroom off the lobby, Robbie was starting to suspect the same. And by the following morning, when they were laughing, half-pushed, half stumbled out of Room 418 after tag-teaming that sports announcer from Philadelphia and his dick-hungry camera boy half the night, he was sure of it.
Robbie was two years younger than Jim, who was thirty at the time, and for a couple of years they got together whenever they could free up time between work and wives and Robbie's family.
Then Jim had gotten his divorce. That derailed his life for almost a year, and they'd dropped off each other's radar for awhile. Then, the day Jim's divorce went through, he had called Robbie up, and they spent half the night getting shitfaced drunk in a bar downtown till they were so plastered they could barely hold each other's dicks to piss! They stumbled out of the bathroom and into a bunch of frat boys playing sloppy pool and celebrating someone's birthday, drinking fruity drinks and saving the cherries in a plastic cup so they could count how many they'd had later.
Robbie passed out more cigars and they all hooted and threw their straws at each other, chanting "Goodbye, bitch! Goodbye, bitch!" when Robbie told them the sad story of his buddy's divorce and broken heart, asking if any of them had sisters.
Eventually the party moved to a table in the back, and Jim found himself at one point finding it difficult to find the ashtray when he heard a voice next to him asking him what it was like to be married. He looked up and saw the tight little jock with latin features who he thought was named Luis, but couldn't exactly remember. He had very nice lips and brown, brown eyes. "I dunno," Jim slurred, trying to straighten up. "It's like a dream I aw ready can't half re...member." He slowly became aware that the young man's leg was pressed lightly along his, and he shifted his position, so their elbows bumped together. Robbie was telling some endless story about the shit his boys were always trying to pull on roadtrips, and Jim reached over and messed the young man's hair. The kid looked at Jim like a sweet little puppy, then leaned forward, lowering his voice, letting his hand rest on Jim's leg. "You got real nice arms, sir," he said, looking up at the older man. "And you smell real good."
Three years later, here they were again, same old horndogs, still sniffing jock butt. And the place was filling up, too.
The pool tables were full, the air was getting smoky and louder, guys were hanging in groups at the bar, and still arriving with their buddies to relax and swear some. Married guys were sneaking in with their neighbors to have a few beers before heading out to Home Depot, bankers in suits were rubbing elbows with some athletes from City U, the boys from Sal's Plumbing were already hitting the ATM machine hard.
Two cute nurses from the hospital were perched on barstools, their uniforms hitched up their thighs, giving out dirty blood pressure readings in exchange for cosmopolitans. Jim and Robbie leaned back in their booth, legs spread, comparing notes, hauling the school board over the coals. Finally Jim leaned forward and straightened up, levering himself up with one hand on the seat and the other in Robbie's crotch. "I gotta piss bad, motherfucker. Order us some more beers, eh, Robbie? I'll be right back." "Sure thing, old man. You got half an hour, buddy, then I'm coming looking for ya." Jim looked fierce, then growled. "Goddamn, you're as bad as my ex-wife!" He leaned over, squeezed Robbie's crotch again, his eyes bright. "Forty-five minutes, buddy." Robbie lifted his hand and ran the back along Jim's abs. He grinned right back. "You got it, bud."
Perpendicular to the bar, and running behind it, was a short hallway. The beer cooler and storage rooms were on one side behind the bar itself, and the restrooms faced them on the other. At the end of the hallway was another, larger room, more dimly lit, with a sign above the doorway that said `The Dugout' Jim poked his head in to see what was what.
It was difficult to make things out clearly, but it looked like there was a stage area over against the back, and a row of lockers lined the side wall with some benches in front of them. There were a couple weight benches nearby.
The room smelled like wrestling mats, and had some gymnastics equipment--some bars, and a saddlehorse--were over against the other wall. Off behind the stage was what looked like another bathroom, but it was hard to make out in the dim light. Jim shook his head, impressed. Now this was a sports bar! There was a little table just outside the door with some flyers on it. Jim picked one up. Under two crossed baseball bats and a stadium, he read:
`GOOD CAUSE---GOOD CAUSE--GOOD CAUSE'
FRAT GUNS JOCKSTRAP ARMWRESTLING
Every Friday 10:00 till ?
`Proceeds to benefit Armstrong Little League'
Jim shook his head, then read the flyer again, stuffed it in his pocket and went to piss. As luck would have it, all the urinals were occupied, so he stepped into a stall, half-closed the door behind him, hauled out his pussy-wrecker and started to piss.. He read the graffitti scrawled on the partition while he let his dick drain.
`Call my ex-girlfriend. number Late nite +. Black men ++.'
`Like watching NFL with a buddy? Call Doug. number'
Sports gear for sale. Free weights, too. Call Vinnie. *number*
`Mixed doubles cheerleading practice every Tuesday after 8 PM.
1213 Harrison St. In back.'
When he finished pissing he stopped for a second to check himself out in the mirror. He pulled out his cellphone to check it. He tucked it in his shirt, looking at himself critically. Did he look old yet? He smiled and looked at the little lines at the corner of his eyes. He ran his hand down his flat stomach, reaching down to adjust his ample package, and sighed. Yer going to seed, buddy. All that hard living is catchin' up with ya. Ain't none of them boys gonna want you, soon. Gonna have to settle for they daddies.... He shook his head forlornly, drying his hands.
No sooner had he left the bathroom, however, Jim saw a young man leaning in front of the cigarette machine. He couldn't quite make out his face, but--that ass...even after all this time...Maybe it was the two beers, but he spoke without thinking. "Kevin? That you, Kevin Riley?"
The young man looked up. He saw Jim and his face lit up like Christmas. "Oh my god! Coach Pierson! Oh my god!" They each took a step forward and shook hands, then looked at their hands and then at each other and laughed and pulled each other into a big hug.
Jim felt Kevin's strong arms around his back, and felt the young man's body solid next to him. He could even smell him. Fuck! Jim broke their hug, holding Kevin at arm's length, grinning. "You're looking good, son. It's been a long time." Kevin blushed. "Yeah, coach. Wow. Six years..." Jim shook his head, smiling. Six years. How could that be? "Yup," he said. "Cause you were away at school all them years." "Yeah," Kevin said. "I was at school, and then I graduated and...damn, coach, I'm twenty-four now!" He looked around, and seeing that no one was paying attention, took a step closer and put his hand on Jim's forearm. "I...I missed you a lot sometimes, coach." Jim leaned down. "Yeah, I missed you too, Kev." The young man blushed again, and Jim reached out to mess his hair. "So how have you been, son?" "I been good, sir, really. I'm working for my dad now--at his construction company?... He even renamed it Riley and Son! Ain't that some shit?" Kevin was grinning. "I'm here with my buddies for a few beers. We just knocked off like half an hour ago." Jim smiled. "That's nice, son. Real nice." "And, coach...guess what?" Kevin was tracing his finger down Jim's arm. "What, son?" "Well, um... I'm married now, coach..." Jim's eyes twinkled, and his grin got even wider. "You pulling my leg, boy? No shit. Little Kevin Riley, all grown up and married, too." Jim lifted Kevin's hand up, looked at the ring. "She a nice girl, Kevin?" The young man flushed again. "Yes sir. She's a real nice girl. She's at a baby shower right now, and--" "Goddam!" Jim snorted, clapping Kevin on the back, "don't tell me you're gonna be a daddy, too!" Kevin stopped and got all flustered. "Oh. Oh no, sir." He grinned. "It's not for her, sir. It's for her girlfriend. That's why I'm out drinking with my buddies. But, well..." he said, suddenly a little shy, "...we're trying, sir." He was pulling lightly on the hairs on Jim's forearm. Jim smiled. "That's great, Kevin. You're making me proud of you, son."
Impulsively, Kevin stepped forward and threw his arms around Jim's neck. "Fuck, coach," he groaned. "I've missed you." Jim punched the kid gently in the stomach, and pushed him away. "Me too, son. Me too." The young man's eyes were as clear and green as he remembered. "You oughta come over sometime, son, when the little lady gives you the day off, haha... We could hang out, work out some, eh?" "Aw, coach, that would be so nice, man..." "Yeah? Would you like that, Kevin?" Jim's hand gently brushed Kevin's crotch, felt the boy's dick bulging out his jeans. "Would you like to come over and hit some weights with me, man? Maybe wrestle around a little?" Kevin was moaning. "Aw yeah, coach. Fuck..."
"Okay, then." Jim messed his hair one last time. "You'd better get back to your buddies before they start wondering about you. Now, I have the same address on Russell Street, and the same phone number. So you remember where that is, right?" Kevin grinned. "I sure do, sir." Jim laughed back. "Okay, then. You call me then, okay?" "I sure will, sir." Jim winked, and Kevin turned to go. "Hey, Kevin." The boy turned. "Yeah, coach?" Jim narrowed his eyes. "You still got a stanky jockstrap, son?" The boy flushed again. "Yes sir, I sure do, sir. Cathy--that's my wife--she says it stinks up the whole basement, sometimes." Jim's eyes twinkled. "That's nice, Kevin. Real nice. You call me soon, now."
To be continued: