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COACH STEELE Chapter 2
by Ty Attlee tyattlee@yahoo.com.au
Coach Steele likes precision, so exhausted as we were after Saturday morning's drill, he had more for us in the afternoon. But this time we didn't carry the boat. A lot easier, huh? Maybe, but I think I said that Steele knows how to get a crew working together, and an essential part of his method is referred to as the "duck run." We were arranged in our formation for the run. Front left, Sean. Front right, me. Rear left Justin. And rear right, Derek.
Then we ran at attention with our arms locked down and our fingers straight. We all saw the prime boat crew training like this last season, and we laughed at the prancing ponies as they lifted their knees. Now, I was doing it, and I wasn't laughing. But at least we started off on the hard sand near the water. The air's cooler there too.
Coach Steele howled through the speaker on the Suzuki about how our knees weren't lifting high enough. When he wasn't howling about that, he was howling about us keeping in step. He wanted our feet slapping on the wet sand in perfect unison. Four feet slapping down as one – LEFT! Four feet slapping down as one – RIGHT! I don't know if he could hear our footslaps from the Suzuki, but he sure seemed like he could. If somebody landed the teensiest bit out from the crew's step, we fucking heard about it from the loudspeaker. It took us three whole runs to the Butte and back to get anywhere close to satisfying Steele with our timing.
"GET THOSE LEGS WORKING TOGETHER YOU WORTHLESS PUNKS! YOU LOOK LIKE A GAGGLE OF GEESE!!!"
When we were something like being together in our stride, we had to start lifting our knees higher. He just kept yelling through that speaker until I was crunching my knees into my chest, almost. Then we had to go faster.
I couldn't figure out how the fuck we could go any faster when we were duck-running like that, raising our knees so high, but we're very fit, and a boat crew has to work naturally as a well-oiled team. And in actual fact, we Under 21s will duck march faster and better than the prime crew did last year, because we're lighter and faster. Not that it makes any difference in a boat race, of course, but there you go. I have really good legs and I was right hand lead in the formation, so I had the guys moving at pretty close to sprint speed, and I'm sure they were cursing me silently.
Sprint speed with your arms straight down and your knees lifting is not fun though, not after three trips to the butte. And Steele never let us stop. "Rest" is not in his vocabulary. The Suzuki came real close up alongside us and the speaker barked at us to keep our eyes to the front. Coach Steele is most insistent on a military posture.
He stayed with us, making damn sure we didn't relax any part of our duck run drill. And I'll say this. Looking back on Saturday afternoon, there is a nice little feeling of togetherness with the other guys. I guess that's part of Coach Steele's secret to success.
Beachhead Butte SLSC is the hardest club on this part of the coast, and Bill Steele is the hardest coach. Everyone knows it. His crews beat Sunshine City fairly regularly and they're a much bigger club. You'd call Beachhead Butte an isolated town and the locals are used to seeing the lifeguards training on the beach. However, the deal with Spank racewear has made us the butt (pun not intended) of the surfies' jokes. They'll call out "look at their dicks!" as we drill past on the beach, and we're all too breathless to come back with a reply.
There's the older guys too. You know the ones. They hang out and check out the hard muscled boys in their race briefs. So anyway, there's this one older guy who we know as "Simon" or "Letch." He doesn't come to swim, but he's almost always there. He loves to check us out, and I'm entirely conscious of my teeny weeny racer bikini snapped into my butt crack like a thong. The other guys' racers crawl up theirs too, but not as tight and as quick as mine. I guess I have such a small waist that I can take the smallest size, but anyway, the "Letch" came down close to our track on the wet, and it was pretty hard to miss his leering face as we drilled past. That's when I really felt my cock bouncing in the front packet and I could feel his eyes on my backside after we'd passed, cheeks bared by the twisted nylon gathered hard in the crack.
"Look how pretty they are in their bright green and yellow!" some cheeky bastard said. The pervs always make sure we hear them, and I know I've seen camera lenses poking out from the scrub up on the dunes.
Fuck it was hard to drill on the sand all day Saturday in the hot sun while the surf beckoned! By the end of the day the sun was just closing down and we were way too tired to consider anything else but collapsing. For five minutes, we lay about heaving and sobbing. We couldn't even get to a tap to get some water. It felt like such a long time since that morning when we learned we'd be training under Coach Steele. We almost had to carry each other to the shower.
Beachhead Butte SLSC is pretty rough. The shower is an open, cold nozzle on the outside of the clubhouse, tucked around the back under a tree. Now that's where you'll find the pervs lurking around! We jumbled together under the spout, trying to get water into our mouths. Outside or not, we had to get those bikinis off. The sand is just too scratchy and fresh water is the only relief from a long, hot day of hard training with a curled up string of sandy nylon in your crack.
And what do you know? We all had boners! I guess the efforts of the day weren't enough to keep them down! Mine was a steel meat crank, and there was no way I was fitting it back into those Spanks! I started tickling Sean and he started wrestling me. He managed to get his hand right up my butt crack and fingered my hole. That was it for me. I started crying out in a funny voice. I couldn't help it. Then I started fighting back.
Justin and Derek were laughing and getting up to their own thing. We were all too far gone, too worn out and too horny to care who was looking. In the past I've showered under that nozzle in double quick time, only too aware of the eyes in the bushes, but this time my meat pole was leading me. I jacked Sean in the ass like a dog humping up against your leg while I folded him over in a wrestling lock. I didn't even enter him properly because I came real quick. I just rubbed in his ass! It's one of the things about being in a boat crew, but the training has got to be offset with some fun, and if fighting for a buttfuck isn't fun, then I don't know what is. Sean yowled, for sure, but he knows the score. I've always admired him since we were competing in the Under 16 beach events, and finally I got to get a piece of him. He has an unclassically cute face, with a big mouth, a crooked front tooth, and squeezed up piggy eyes.
On Saturday I ran home doubly happy – that Coach Steele was in charge of me – and that Sean had taken my cock, and the fact that I had to fight hard for both. I can't tell you how happy I was on Saturday night, knowing I'd had Sean's cute little ass. We're both bow numbers in the boat and so it seems only natural that we get physical together.
Then came Sunday. 4:00am at the Surf Club is not a happy time to be up and about. I set my alarm for 3:45. It takes me ten minutes to run from the house to the club, so I lay there for another five minutes, then I figured I could lay in bed for another two minutes and really sprint hard for the Surf Club. Now I was late, and I had time for nothing except snapping on my Club Spank brief and my race-cap and charging out the door. It was cold, but that didn't matter since I really had to run hard.
The others were there, and we mustered on the stands outside the club. Hooray! We made it just in time! The headlights of Coach Steele's car were in the car-park right on 4:00. While we stood to attention, he opened the clubhouse and turned on the outside floodlight. He was wearing a tight-fitting tracksuit, and his huge frame of muscle was obvious. Under the light, I could see his eyes, and I knew he was not pleased. I know that look from when he coached me for the ski.
"I thought I told you fuckwits to muster with your hard-ons for inspection! I need to know you faggots are keeping your spunk in your balls. No masturbation!"
I think I got those words right. In actual fact, I'm sure I did, because when he spoke them there was a horrible feeling in my belly as I realised he was right. He had told us to muster naked, and he wanted to see our boners! I suppose he wants to know his big buck rowers are retaining their powers of vitality, or something like that. Whatever the theory, we'd fucked up. The boner was no problem though. It was already there, popping and lurching in my bikini.
"SHUCK YOUR FUCKING SWIMMERS OFF, YOU FAGGOTS!!!" He actually made us flinch, and by golly, we shucked off real quick! At least my actual hard-on wouldn't disappoint. It landed in my belly with a thump, and I could feel it nosing in my tummy, and everyone knows a boner in the morning is more than easy.
The question was whether, or how we would be punished.
"If I find any of you wankers without a hard-on at inspection, I'll stick a lock on your limp cock so you won't be able to get it up again! You show up at training with all your energy and ready-go juice!"
It's pretty hard to forget the phrase "ready-go juice" – or the idea of having a lock stuck on your cock!
He sent us for a swim around the Beachhead Butte Buoy. One of the little habits you find with tough coaches is that in the cold of the morning – which is actually night time – you'll be in the water. In the heat of the day, you'll be drilling in the sand. At 4 in the morning, the water was black and cold. The break at Beachhead Butte is big and difficult, thanks to the Butte, and that's why it has to be such a tough club and why Sunshine City is so much more popular for beachgoers.
Just as we started to get our dinky little togs on again, Coach Steele thundered.
"MOVE, YOU FAGGOTS!!!"
All right, we were to swim naked. We left our togs lying on the muster stands and sprinted down the beach to the surf, and I can tell you that we were each thinking – no, hoping – that we would be able to get those race briefs back again before any crowds turned up at the beach.
When I was training with Steele for the Under 17s, he never made me go naked, but now when I'm with the big boys, it's an occupational hazard. It happened a few times to the prime crew last year under Steele, and so now we can expect it too. The idea is not to fuck up, I guess.
One day last year, the prime crew drilled all day on the track butt-naked, on a hot day, with a good crowd on the beach. As the word went out that day around Beachhead, the crowd got bigger too.
So we hit the surf with our dicks flapping. The buoy is about 4 or 500m out I think. A hard swim, especially with a big swell. The first splash in the morning of a training day is a great way to wake up. It really makes the skin tingle, and my nipples went hard enough to hurt. We knew to stay together in the dark out there, so off we went. I thought about grabbing Sean's leg or something and drawing him into a wrestle, but that would have been a shit idea. I knew, of course, that we were going to need all our stamina to get round that buoy and back to the beach.
to be continued
tyattlee@yahoo.com.au