Chapter 2 - Hard Lesson at Safety
Just then the whistle blows and Coach Hendricks calls out for us to change positions. I'm in a bit of a daze, and almost need for Coach Blackledge to tell me that I don't have to follow his last order to bend over and start snapping. Seeing me hesitate, which at this camp would usually get me in trouble for not following orders and hustling, he stands to my side, which shows the other coaches that he has final instructions for me, puts his long arm across my shoulders and squeezes me into him.
Looking down at me he says: "You did well, son. You were the best center I've had so far. If none of the other boys is as natural a center as you, then I'll get you for my team." "Thank you, sir," I respond bashfully as I look up at him, enjoying his praise and the additional contact. "Now, the whistle blew and I've got another boy to train, so show me some hustle, son, and run along to your next station," he orders as he leans down and gives me a final swat on my butt. "Yes, sir," I say over my shoulder as I hustle off.
As I run I'm preoccupied by what has just happened. I can't believe I got hard in front of Coach Blackledge! I've never gotten hard from contact with another man before. Why now? I'm here at this football camp, and I really like it. I'm working out hard every day, even harder than I did before I got here, and that was hard. But here the coaches push constantly, both to make us learn good technique and to run drills and scrimmage. Which is surprisingly motivating, since I really want to please them. I really like getting their gruff, manly praise, which they don't give unless I earn it. I haven't gotten much of that in my life, so I'm enjoying having to answer to them.
More surprisingly, I even like having to look up at all of them and that they're all so much bigger and stronger than me. The "shortest" coach is 6'3", the "lightest" is 225 lbs. (although with only 5% body fat). Even though I'm average sized (5'9", 175 lbs.), they make me feel small. I've never really liked feeling little. Yet their powerful bodies and equally strong attitudes give them such authority that, not only do I look like a kid next to them, but I feel like a kid, and I like it. They say they don't care what we do for work or how much money we have. We came to the camp to learn how to play football, and that's what we're going to learn, as long as we hustle, try our hardest, and follow orders. The camp's motto is: "Please your coach for the sake of the game!" And that's what I'm trying to do.
Of course, it helps to be around the other campers. They're all fired up and determined and all in pretty good shape. Some of the guys are really fit, especially Scott, John, Steve and Tim. I've been able to keep up and have really liked how much stronger I feel from the running we're doing and also the weight work. I've never felt so strong, with so much stamina. And I like being able to look at Scott and John, to motivate me, since they are in great shape. Scott has a leaner build, maybe 5% body fat, although he has sculpted a nice cover of taut muscle on his 5'7" frame. John only has about 8% body fat, but he's real thick, muscular, and strong. He's the biggest camper at about 5'10", 195 lbs. He'd be a great partner for the fireman's carry drill.
So things have been going along so well at the camp. What happened? Just a bit ago someone on the sidelines three patted me on the butt during a drill, which shouldn't have made me notice. Yet I felt that contact even after I had returned back to the huddle. That had never happened to me before. I've been patted on the butt before even here and never felt it long, never even really noticed it, just normal guy stuff during sports. But this time, not only did I notice it but it really felt good. Then, when Coach Blackledge worked alone with me at center, he patted my butt many times to help me get used to the position and I can still feel that contact. It's like he knew I liked it. It must have been him on the sidelines before.
And the whole time he was working with me, he called me "son" and "boy." I'm thirty-six and haven't been either for a long time, and he's only a few years older than me, but it seemed natural. Some of the coaches are even younger than me, yet they're calling me "son," "boy," and "Bobby." Even when I was a kid I never liked being called boy, and I hated being called Bobby. Yet much to my surprise it feels strangely good to hear these powerful men call me by a kid's name, to make me feel small by their words just as they make me feel little by their size. And even if it didn't, I sure wouldn't be in a position to object.
Even so, where did all this "sir" stuff come from? I've never called other men "sir." It seemed too demeaning. But these coaches have such a force and presence, walking around like they own the place, and ordering us around, that "sir" just comes out of my mouth.
Even more surprising, I actually got hard when he was up under me to receive the snap. What's that about? Okay, he said that happens to him a lot when he's up under center, with those great, large, powerful hands. And he said it was okay, remember. So maybe it does happen to him a lot, and it's not just me. In fact, why wouldn't it, since it is intimate contact, especially since I'm not wearing a cup and pads, only a jockstrap and thin shorts? Yeah, it must be common. And he did have great hands, like he said. And guys get patted all the time playing sports. I did say I'd be a good camper and follow the coaches' orders, so if Coach Blackledge says he gets guys hard, that it's normal and that I shouldn't worry about it, then I won't. I guess I just must be charged at being here with all these guys.
Okay, what's my next station? I don't remember. I look around, trying to remember, and happen to look down and see that my shorts are leading me. Oh no, I can't let the others see me still aroused! Coach Blackledge is a quarterback, so he's used to causing it. But the other guys would think it's weird. And I can't go up to my next coach with a boner. He'd punish me for sure. I know, I'll tie my shoes and hope it'll go down. After a slow retie of each shoe, I get up, subtly trying to reposition my dick so it's less obvious and then start to run again. Only, I still don't know where. Oh wait! I'm supposed to be at strong safety. And now I'm late!
As I race over to Coach Lynch, I can tell he's not happy. He already has Scott working on an up-and-back drill. "Put your weight in your legs, boy! Drop you butt and make your legs do the work!" barks Coach Lynch at Scott when he returns after completing a 20-yard up and back. Just as I arrive he says to Scott: "You've got to use your legs when dropping back to cover. Even though you've got short legs and a little butt, Scotty, you have to use them to get in position. Now do it again, 5 more times, and if I see your butt in the air, I'll paddle it hard ("thwack" I hear as Scott jumps a little.) and then you'll do 5 more! Got it?" "Yes, sir!" yells Scott and he hurries to backpedal and get away.
"Sorry I'm late, Coach. I forgot my station and had to tie my shoe." I offer my lame reasons, figuring it's better to get started. However, Coach Lynch doesn't respond. He just keeps looking with his fierce blue eyes at Scott running the drill as I fidget nervously. Should I say anything else? Should I start doing the drill? No, I better not. I heard Coach Lynch was tough. I better wait and not do anything until he says to.
After Scott completes his second set, Coach Lynch finally says to me: "Did I ask you for an excuse, boy?" "No, sir." "But you gave me an excuse, didn't you, boy?" "Yes, sir." "Now you're going to give me 50." "50?" I ask, dismayed he didn't say the usual 25. "You got a hearing problem, boy? 50! Now!" he orders as he takes one big stride and gets right in my face. At his towering height of 6'4", he's in my face, but I'm looking straight ahead at his tee-shirt collar and thick delts. Coach Lynch is 27 years old, 225 lbs. with 5% body fat and just has testosterone oozing out of him. "Yes, sir! Fifty, sir!" I yell and drop down to do 50 push-ups.
The fear takes over and I find the strength to do them the right way. When I jump back up I see only his lean, well-defined chest and strong neck because he hasn't moved an inch and I feel the heat of his intensity coming off him. "Now, maggot, I don't know why you think I'm here, but it isn't to be waiting for you to show up. I already gave the instructions and you're behind, so Move!" he spits.
Move I do. I've never backpedaled so fast in my whole life. Even though Scott is usually as fast as I am, by the time he finishes his fifth time, I finish my fourth, then quickly finish my fifth. "Get over here," orders Coach Lynch. "What did I tell you about getting your butt down?" "Uh, nothing, sir," I pant. "What?!! I told you to keep your butt down and use your legs, numbskull!" Coach growls, as he leans around and gives me the spank he promised Scott. Even though it hurts, I don't move as I start to tell Coach he told that to Scott, not me. But before I can say anything, Coach says: "So, you need it harder, do you? Your butt's meatier than Scotty's, so I'll have to make sure you feel it." With that I see out of the corner of my eye as he winds up and comes down on my butt with powerful force. "Ow," I squeak as I jump, "I feel it, sir." "Yeah, well you were late and you didn't do what I told you, you need to learn how to follow instructions, so you're going to feel it some more," says Coach through gritted teeth as he spanks me several more times. Each time I can't help it and say "ow" and jump a little. But Coach has blocked any forward movement (away from the sting) with his strong body and I sort of jump into his hard, unyielding chest and shoulder, which I didn't realize leaves my butt even more exposed to his punishing hand.
I've never been spanked before and it's like he's trying to make up for that with each hit as he keeps his fingers spread and succeeds in covering each half of my butt with alternating swats. It sounds so loud I wonder momentarily if the whole camp knows I am getting spanked. How humiliating. But the other players know better than to let on and then the next hit comes and I can think only of how much it hurts. Finally after three forceful spanks on each side of my butt, Coach barks: "Do it again, right this time! And keep your butt down!" "Yes, sir. Five more, sir," I respond, as I make sure to keep my stinging butt down.
As I finished backpedaling, I see Coach Lynch towering in front of Scott, who is only 5'7", with a fierce look on his face. To my surprise he reaches around and gives Scott a mighty spank, punishing him for my failure to follow instructions. The sound is like a shot; it's so loud. Scott squeals and jumps to get away from the sting. Only Coach has bent down enough so that when Scott jumps, he goes right over Coach's shoulder. Immediately Coach straightens up to his full height and continues paddling Scott on his now fully exposed butt. With surprising detachment I notice that Scott's butt is tight and muscular, but it is small, and it's now higher in the air than his head usually is when he's standing up. Coach's hand actually covers most of it when he connects. Even though Coach has softened his delivery (he must have felt how little Scott's butt is and remembered that he doesn't have to connect with it as hard as mine to get the same effect), Scott squirms each time Coach connects. Coach has to hold down Scott's legs to keep Scott stable on his shoulder. Again with detachment I notice how Scott's legs are lean and not very big relative to his well-sculpted upper body and then wonder how I'd look with my muscular butt and legs draped over Coach Lynch's shoulder getting a paddling. What kind of thought is that? Why am I thinking that? Coach Lynch keeps Scott bent over his shoulder the whole time I am running, spanking his taut butt each time I finish a set, yelling at me to go faster.
Seeing Scott paying the price for my stupidity, I run as fast as I can to finish the drill. Once finished I run up to Coach Lynch, panting hard as I look at his domineering frame with my buddy Scott draped helplessly over him. "Finished, sir," I gasp, stating the obvious in the hopes of saving Scott from another round.
"Is that the best you can do?" Coach Lynch sneers, "Do three more, only this time MOVE IT!" So I backpedal again, not believing how fast I can go and for how long or that I haven't thrown up yet. All I know is that I must follow Coach's orders with all my effort. My purpose is to please my coach for the sake of the game. And I don't want Scott to get punished any more. Part of me is afraid of Coach's anger, but part of me would like to take Scott's place. I don't know what to make of this strange thought, and I finish before I can think it through.
As soon as I am done, Coach Lynch bends down, keeping his eyes on me and putting his hand firmly on Scott's worked over, shorts-covered butt to hold him securely in place. Then he stands Scott upright next to him and wraps his muscular arm around Scott's shoulders and squeezes him tight. Scott buries his face into Coach's panther-like chest as he sheds a few tears. As I take in the scene, I notice to my surprise that Scott's shorts are stretched out in front of him. "Good boy, Scotty. You took that well. Now you get to watch Bobby run the one-on-one drills," Coach says. "Move!" he barks to me, which I do immediately.
As I line up to cover Steve, who is about 5'9", 165 lbs., I am determined to cover him closely. Coach Lynch wouldn't like it if I let Steve catch any balls. He'd get even meaner. I could take that, I think. In fact, I would deserve to go up over Coach's shoulder if I let Steve catch a pass. But Coach Lynch might take it out on Scott rather than me, which I couldn't stand. So I won't let that happen, even though I have run a lot of drills and am a little winded.
I blanket Steve with my coverage the first five times he runs a pattern. On the sixth and last route Steve does a nice juke inside, then cuts sharply to the sideline. Desperately I race to catch up. As the ball arrives, so do I, and I stick my arm in to break up the pass. But I have too much momentum and Steve and I go tumbling out of bounds, all wrapped up together. As Steve lies on top of me momentarily, I can't get enough air. Finally some guys pull Steve up and then I find myself being pulled up. As I stagger a bit back toward the field, I feel three quick smacks on my butt, which in my winded condition feels really good. They aren't spanks of punishment, but pats of encouragement, placed so that the large hand giving them cups both sides of my butt from the bottom. I'm glad Coach Blackledge helped me up and gave me just what I needed.
As I run back onto the field I notice that Coach Blackledge is actually on the field calling plays. If he's there, then he couldn't have just been on the sidelines. Well, then, who was that? Coach Blackledge worked my butt over so well when I worked with him, I just assumed he had connected with me on the sidelines before. But it couldn't have been. I turn around to see who could have had such a special touch, but once again only see a mass of bodies. And I'm not going to be late again thinking about this.
So I hustle back to Coach Lynch. When I get to where Scott is standing, he says: "Good job, Bob." Then Coach comes up beside Scott and says to me: "Nice work, Bobby. You covered him so tight it looked like you were inside him. That's just what I like to see," as he ruffles my hair. He then looks down at Scott and says: "I know I worked you over hard, Scotty, but I knew you could take it. Bobby here needed to understand how teammates help each other out. There are times for your teammate when you have to take it on the chin," says Coach Lynch with a look of total intensity, as he reaches down, clamps his big hand on Scott's butt, squeezes like he means it, and continues, "proverbially speaking, of course." Scott and I both laugh.
"Yeah, Scotty, you did your part well, and now it's time for your reward," continues Coach as he slowly, purposefully, deliberately continues to squeeze Scott's butt. "Do you understand what I mean, son?" asks Coach huskily. While Coach has been squeezing rhythmically, Scott's shorts have completely expanded in front again. Scott answers thickly: "Yes, sir. Th-Thanks for u-u-using m-m-me." By the time he stutters "m-m-me" his expression changes and he closes his eyes. "I (pant) under-(pant)-stand (pant) now (pant), sir (pant). Ugh, ........ugh," he groans, and then he begins to jerk. "Good boy, I knew you would," intones Coach.
I am stunned into silence, just watching the scene. What is it about this camp? Football is such a tough game, such a man's sport, and Coach is so rough, he made us work so hard and punished us, yet he seemed to know just what Scott wanted, and he actually got him off, right out in the open. I've never seen anything like it before. Before I can think any more, Coach motions with his free hand for me to come beside him. As soon as I'm in position, Coach reaches down and begins to squeeze my butt like he did Scott's.
End of Chapter 2