The story is for adults only. It is a work of fiction and all simularities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
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tyattlee@yahoo.com
COACH STEELE 03
We were out there in the surf at four am. Since I was a nipper I learned how to drive through the breakers like a seal underwater. It was cold and heavy, but you've got to brave the hard stuff if you're a surf lifesaver. Out past the breakers we dealt with the swell. It was big. At the tops of the crests we sighted the red light on the Beachhead Butte Buoy, and down in the troughs we swam like hell. But I didn't feel scared though. I'd been out there hundreds of times.
But it was pretty rough. The buoy is a big steel thing with a ladder going up and a solar powered light. Any time you're out there you'll climb up on it to rest, and that's what we did. We clung to it as it bobbed and swayed in the swell. On the tops, we could see the lights of Beachhead Butte SLSC way off on the beach. We didn't say much. We were tired and we knew we had to conserve our strength.
It was a weird feeling out there in the dark though, and I thought how funny we looked – four butt-naked muscle studs clinging to the steel frame of the buoy tower in the night, under the strange red glow of the light. We looked at each other as the surf slopped all over us. Derek told us to head back before we got too cold. He was right. Coach Steele was waiting.
You had to be careful not to scratch yourself with the barnacles on the side of the buoy, and once we were away from it, we were on our own again and swimming for the shore. When I was a kid, a swim out to the buoy was a big feat, and now I'm doing it before daybreak as a warm up for training! However which way I look at it, I guess I'm a tough beach stud! It feels great – but only when it's over. The breakers rolled us in to the beach pretty well. I know how not to get dumped and I know when to get up for the sprint.
We raced for the muster stands and stood to attention, shivering, naked, and wet under the light. If you don't value your modesty and are willing to display your wares, then get yourself into a boat crew under Coach Steele! My nipples were still as hard as stones. We were subjected to a long, loud tirade that I reckon could be heard on the other side of Beachhead. We were told that any of us could be replaced in the crew, and that we'd get the boot from the boat at any moment. No fuckups. And for some reason – and I sensed it in the other guys – we became determined not to be ejected from the Beachhead Butte SLSC U21 boat crew.
This time, Sean got the gut-punch. I guessed he looked at Steele wrong. The whoomp! of his closed fist in Sean's belly sounded bad, and Sean was wheezing on the concrete. I really felt sorry for him and wanted to ask him if he was OK, but of course I stayed on my stand with my feet together, looking straight ahead with my chin up as he coughed.
"GET UP, FAGGOT!!!" Steele yelled at him, and Sean even retched out "Yes Sir" as he struggled to his feet again, the poor fucker.
Then Steele just left us there as he went into the club office. Great! The sun was just coming up and the surfers would be here soon! But the first perv of the day was Simon the "Letch." No doubt he knew that Coach Steele started early.
He lurked around at the edge of the concourse, just making sure he was in our field of vision. I saw his white teeth grinning in the weak morning light. I willed my schlong to stay soft, but as soon as I started thinking of that, it started to come up. Fuck but I wish my cock would not be so disobedient. Soon, Jinky Mills was there with his surfboard and wearing a wetsuit. Fuck!
Jinky Mills was delighted, and my raging boner was aching and fully up! "Nice cocks!" said Jinky Mills, and we didn't dare say anything or break from our muster stands.
We heard a car in the car park, and Coach Steele came out from the clubhouse and flinged our race bikinis at us in one go. "Get your swimmers on and get inside to the committee room," he said. "The sponsor's here."
We dashed to get them on. I had to bend my crank over till it hurt to make it fit, and it was so hard and swollen in the front that the race bikini slipped straight into my behind again. I kept twisting my hard dick, trying to make it go down and behave itself.
We assembled inside quick smart on the muster stands in the committee room. Rich Wardle was there, and he's the man who paid for the race boat. He runs Wardle Motors in Beachhead, and the side of the boat has his big logo emblazoned along the side.
You can only assume Rich Wardle is a nice guy because he wants to pay for the boats. Now, in actual matter of fact, he pays for one boat, the prime boat. Our boat is the older heavier one but that's because we're the Under 21s, but we're all considered paid for by Rich Wardle and he calls a number of shots.
"Muster on the stands, boys!" Coach Steele said cheerfully. "Your sponsor has a present for you all! Attlee! You first! Get over here and bend over the table! Move it boy!"
I hopped over to the wooden bench, and without even telling me what was going on, Coach Steele grabbed the rear of my racer bikini and hoiked it up high and hard into my butt-crack.
"You've got the most popular little ass in Beachhead Butte, Attlee," said the Coach, pointing at me. "So you can go first!"
There were stencils and ink, and it was only afterwards that I figured out that a three-colour logo of Wardle Motors was stamped onto my right butt-cheek. One by one, we were applied with our temporary tattoos on our butts by Coach Steele and Mr. Wardle, and it was pretty obvious that Rich Wardle enjoyed playing around with our butts!
The Coach and Mr. Wardle were smart, because Justin and I had our stamps on the right, and Sean and Derek on the left, so our advertisements would be easily seen on the outside of the formation.
"Very nice!" Rich Wardle said. "The butt-stamps are just small enough to fit, and they look beautiful."
"They'll tend to rub off in the boat," Coach Steele said. "So we'll re-apply them every week or so."
"Perfect!" said Rich Wardle. "Now I want them hippity-hopping on display on the beach, and after that they can wash my car, if you please, Coach Steele."
"Outside and muster in drill formation!" ordered the Coach. "And jack your Spanks up into your butt-cracks, boys! Every eye on the beach will be on those four rumps, and now they're wearing your sponsor's logo! Get moving! You're the four most attractive little billboards in Beachhead Butte!"
We all tried to get a look at each other's asses as we skipped outside, to see what our butt-stamps looked like! Sean's was a treat, and I twanged the rear string of his Spank bikini with my fingers, zipping it up hard through his crack like it was floss.
"Aaaaah!" he went in a warbling voice, and I cracked a massive hard-on! It was still early morning, and according to nature's laws, I should have been thumping myself to relief after that cold swim. But we lined up in drill formation at attention, unable to do anything but strain our poor race briefs with our swollen meat.
Fuck, it was tough being at the front of the formation where Sean and I were, because we wouldn't be able to see a rolling bare butt in front of us when we ran, and I did want to see that colourful rump-cheek of Sean's! Just before Coach Steele came out from the clubhouse, Sean reached across behind me and yanked my racers up real hard, making me jerk forwards, and I punched him in the arm, but luckily Coach Steele didn't see any of it.
Coach Steele started saying something about how our timing had to be better than it was on Saturday, but I suddenly had a very concerning thing happen to me. My hard-on wasn't going down. In actual fact, it was heading in the other direction, and I started sighing and breathing real hard. My hand went to my straining front-pack.
"GET YOUR FUCKING HAND AWAY FROM YOUR COCK, FAGGOT!!!" Coach Steele yelled, and I whipped my hand back down by my side. But it was already too late, and my sighs turned into pathetic whimpers as I felt a warm rush. Thank fuck Jinky Mills was nowhere around by now!
I pumped my Spank bikini full of hot glue. "Coach...!" I pleaded, looking at him and doubling over.
"Stand up straight! Get your hands down at your sides!" he said. "Get any of your junk on my concourse and I'll make you lick it up! And QUIT YOUR FUCKING WHINING!!! And stop giggling you lot!!!"
It's true I was whining, but have you ever spunked your load without being able to touch? It's awful and I felt like crying, but Coach Steele was having none of that! He had a day's drill in mind.
We did the military duck-march up the beach on the wet sand, and on the way back we did the "boat pace," where our legs were timed oppositely – inner outer instead of left right. This gets us in tune for the boat rhythm of the oars. I guess Coach Steele knows his stuff. He sent us up and down on our own while he had a meeting with the committee and Rich Wardle.
"I'm giving you shitbags a chance to sort out your timing before I track you with the vehicle," he said.
The big load of splurry in my race-brief didn't dry out due to my sweat. It just leaked and mixed up with all the other moisture coming from my body, and I wished I could get in the surf to clean it all up get fresh.
We washed Rich Wardle's blue Ford Falcon and the club's Suzuki Sierra after it was all over. Coach Steele gave us five minutes to do each, so we hip-hopped all around those vehicles quick-smart! The cold water was great. The steaming mess in my bikini had been festering all day. Just as the sun was going down and I was looking forward to getting into the surf, Coach Steele ordered us to roll the boat out and polish the hull.
Man, we hadn't even taken this thing out for a ride yet and we'd polished that hull till it was flawless! One whole hour we spent on that upturned hull while the beachgoers went home and it got cooler. We hadn't been in the water since early that morning, but Sean and I were determined to meet some breakers off shore, so when Steele departed, we hit the surf.
We took a board and busted through the breakers, getting nice and chilled, but we both wanted to get out past the sets and roll up and down in the swell. We started tickling and wrestling on the board and Sean's body was slippery and cold. We wrestled until the board turned over and we dropped into the water beside each other. This was the first time I kissed him. His mouth was slurpy with salt water and now we wrestled with our tongues. It was cold in the water but inside his mouth it was warm.
I said "I want to fuck you!" I couldn't help myself, and we started fighting and giggling. "No, I'm gonna fuck you!" he said. Both of us kept bumping into the board. We were tired from the day's training and we huffed and puffed, wrestling and wriggling, and reaching for each other's cocks and tearing our race-briefs down. Finally, Sean gave in and he clung to the board with both arms as I nestled in behind him. I stuck my hand right into his butt-crack and probed his hole with my finger. Then I followed with my cock.
Unfortunately it is virtually impossible to fuck in salt water. It's not as lubey as you think it might be, and I shoved and shoved but there was no leverage as we floated there. Sean started saying it was cold and that he wanted to have a wank. In actual fact, he was wanking already, underwater.
I said "How about we get on the board and you suck me off?" but Sean said "You already spunked in your racers this morning. It's you who should suck me off."
This argument between us came to no conclusion, so we paddled back to the beach.
Despite the fact that I didn't fuck Sean and didn't get him to suck me off, it's obvious now that we're those kinds of buddies, and next time we'll see who really does get to fuck who!
tyattlee@yahoo.com