I wasn't playing in that afternoon's game at school, but wanted to support the team. Getting there early, I went into the locker room, thinking I'd work out a while. Filled with members of the visiting team, the locker room was a hive of activity. Most of our players were upstairs already, and I didn't know the visitors, so I went to my locker to change into workout clothes.
Pulling off my tight jeans, I realized my underwear had come off with them. Wearing just the tank top, I tossed the tangled mess into the locker and, as I looked for my workout shorts, I realized someone was watching me from a few lockers down. A blond guy, I guessed on the other team, sat quietly in front of an empty locker, just staring at me.
About average height and weight, wearing a pullover shirt and white shorts, his muscular build was more like a wrestler than basketball player. As our eyes met, he turned his face toward the workout room where some visiting players were messing around with the weight machines.
Looking through the dirty clothes in my locker, I'd taken everything out and piled it up on the floor in front of me, but still couldn't find the shorts I wanted. Deciding to look through the stuff one more time, I squatted down over the heap, feeling my heavy genitals dragging against it as I searched through the clothes.
"What are you looking for," I heard a voice ask. "It must be something important." I looked up, the blond guy staring at my crotch as I stood up, my large dick and set of balls swaying out from my body. Blinking his eyes, he shook his head and turned his eyes away for a moment, then looked back at them a second time.
Very familiar with that kind of reaction the first time a guy saw me naked, I wouldn't have given it any thought, except something about his face surprised me so much I stared at it for a while. He looked too old to be a high school athlete, at least twenty-five, maybe older. He must have been a coach.
"Yeah, some shorts to work out in," I replied. "They're not here."
As I tossed the dirty clothes back in the locker, he opened his duffle bag and took out some white shorts, saying I could wear them if I wanted to.
Thinking a moment, I walked over to him, taking them from his hand, at the same time noticing he was still looking at my crotch. By that time feeling a bit self conscious about it, I moved my hand over my conspicuous dick, holding it against my body. He looked away.
Holding up the shorts he'd given me, I was surprised they weren't really shorts at all. They were made out of a thin jersey material, cut very short and slit up both sides. They looked more like running 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.
"Yeah, but I don't have anything to wear under them," I confessed.
"So, just wear them," he said, smiling. "After all, this is a locker room." Then coloring slightly as he looked down at my exposed groin, he said, "You don't have on anything right now. They're better than nothing."
I turned away, smiling to myself as I pulled them up over my groin, my large balls and even some of my dick clearly bulging out from around the loose legs of the short trunks. He watched closely, fascinated by the display.
"Well, I guess maybe it is a little crowded in there," he observed. "For a guy as young as you are, you're carrying a heavy load. Maybe if you slid them down on your hips a little, that would help."
Wondering where all this was going, I looked away. He stood up, putting some things back in his duffle bag. Then looking back at him, I remember thinking he was a very handsome guy, but definitely not a high school student. Eventually I just asked him.
Laughing, he said, "No, I'm the assistant wrestling coach at the school your team is playing here this afternoon." I looked at him, confused. He explained that the basketball coach was sick and, being the youngest and newest coach there, he was picked to drive the team.
"My name's Chad," he said, extending his hand.
Taking it, I shook his hand, pulling my tank top down below my shorts with the other. About that time, the visiting players started to come in from the workout room, talking to Chad as they went up stairs to warm up.
I stuffed the dirty clothes back in my locker and went into the workout room. No one was left in there, so I had it all to myself. I did some curls with a light weight and then switched to one of the machines to work on my pecs.
After I'd worked out for a while, Chad came into the room. His muscular body seemed stocky, but proportioned for his height, and definitely that of a wrestler, very masculine and beefy, stretching the seams of his clothes.
Seeming interested in how I handled the weights, he watched me for a minute from a short distance, then coming closer, watched a moment longer. Telling me I wasn't working my chest correctly, he suggested I'd get more definition if I did less weight and more reps. I was also not sitting correctly.
Moving behind me, he put his hands around on my chest, squeezing my pecs as he pulled my back straighter and higher on the seat. As he did, the seat of my shorts clung to the leather seat of the machine, forcing them further up between my thighs, exposing more of my groin. Then squatting in front of me, he pointed my toes forward, which opened my thighs and exposed my balls and swollen dick.
He didn't seem to notice, telling me to keep crunching the handles of the machine while he held my ankles in place. I continued to work my chest, as he watched my pec muscles flexing, but I also noticed his eyes frequently look straight into my mostly exposed crotch, his head moving closer into my groin. I could almost feel his breath on my balls which were then forced mostly outside the leg of the shorts.
Excited by his hot breath, I felt the head of my dick swelling outside the leg of the shorts. Seldom moving his eyes off my groin, he seemed to be enjoying the show. Soon I began to wonder how far I could push his interest, never thinking about what might happen then.
Letting go of the handles, I slouched in the seat, opening my legs and loosening the bunched up shorts, high on my thigh. Breathing deeply, more than a little winded, I closed and opened my thighs rapidly as I cooled myself, feeling my swollen dick inch down my leg.
Looking at the event unfolding between my legs, his face colored a little, but neither of us spoke. Then he began to talk about bench pressing, saying what difference it had made in his body. I asked if he'd show me something about it. He smiled, nodding his head. I said I'd spot for him, if he wanted me too.
Getting up from the butterfly machine, feeling my then quite showy genitals bounce against my thighs as I walked, I lifted the bottom of my tank top, wiping sweat from my face. Moving over to the weight bench, he chose his weights and lay 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 scent of his body which quickly filled my nostrils. Then, 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 limp, heavy dick 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 dick hanging out one of them, barely two inches from his face.
Sensing him breath heavily, no doubt pulling in the strong scent of my sweating groin into his nostrils, I didn't move, except to watch his stomach rise and fall. I could tell he was becoming aroused and agitated, but I wasn't sure what to do. I leaned on the bar, lowering my body slightly. I could feel his breath moving in waves over my low-hanging dick. It was still soft, but swelling quite close to his mouth. Then, as I waited, I felt its large mushroom head graze his full lips.
Afraid I'd gone too far, I didn't move, but neither did he . . . at first. Then I felt his lips slowly part, the tip of my heavy dick moving slightly down between them. Closing my eyes, trying to think what I should do, I felt his lips open, their soft inner sides gripping the tip of the head of my cock, the head thickening rapidly from the sensation.
Surprised, but also very aroused by this, I allowed the weight of my dick to press heavily against his mouth until, relaxing his lips even wider apart, he allowed the head to slip snugly between them, his tongue anxiously moving around it.
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 felt his lips close slowly against the head of my dick, sucking its thick fullness almost imperceptibly until its sensitive knob was consumed by sensation.
My heart beating rapidly, my body stiff and trembling, I bent my knees slightly, allowing more of my dick to be sucked into the moist warmth of his mouth. It was a fantastic. For several moments, both of us were consumed sensation, until suddenly I heard the noise of guys coming down the hall. Quickly lifting my body, I felt the head of my dick abruptly dislodge from his reluctant mouth.
Pulling the bottom of my tank top down over my badly swollen dick, I stepped back from the bench, holding it against my stomach as I turned toward the wall. Within seconds, one of his players 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, he got up from the bench.
"Yeah, sure," he replied, loudly. "Go on back up. I'll be right behind you." Then, nervously coughing 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. Taking off his shorts, I laid them over his duffle bag and, pulling my jeans back on, left off my underwear. My dick was still pretty well swollen with my unejaculated load. In fact, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I noticed the clear outline of my dick, bulging to the side and running down my leg. I pushed it down and went upstairs to watch the game.
The bleachers were already 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.
I enjoyed the game for a while, but eventually my balls began to ache. I realized what that meant. I needed to cum. That was about all I could do to ease the pressure of the load I'd built up.
Going downstairs to the bathroom, I stood at the urinal, unable to piss. I thought I should before I beat off, but I couldn't get started. My dick was very swollen, not exactly hard, but moist with sweat and more than a little sticky on the head. It felt good to stroke it.
Thinking about how good Chad's mouth had felt, even just sucking the head, I felt my dick getting hard. As I slowly massaged the head, smoothing over the sticky drops that oozed slowly from the slit, 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 dick getting very hard, close to cuming, I began to think maybe I should move into a stall. Holding my dick up against my stomach, I started to move away from the urinals as the door suddenly opened. Not looking around, I turned toward the urinal again, acting as if I were pissing. Then I heard Chad's voice, saying something about my team 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 slid them down over his butt cheeks, his dick and sack of balls swelling out over the waistband which eventually supporting their weight, displaying, for the first time, his very swollen endowment.
His thick 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 stretched tightly.
I wasn't much interested in his dick, or doing anything to it. I wanted to drop a load of backed up cum from my own. If he wanted to suck it out, that'd be fine with me. Otherwise I'd get myself off. But first I need to piss. My dick had gone down a little, so I tried to once again, but no luck.
Next to me, however, I heard a vigorous stream coming out of Chad's dick, splashing noisily against the urinal wall. Shifting his weight on both feet as it hit the wall with terrific force, it was evident Chad needed some relief too.
Looking over at my crotch, he watched intently as I stroked the hugely-swollen dick. "You having trouble pissing?" he asked, breaking the silence. I nodded my head, but didn't respond.
"Maybe you need to get off first," he suggested. "From the look of things, I'd say you did." I nodded my head, remaining silent, but turning to face him.
He leaned back, looking over the room for a moment, I'd expected him to take my dick in his hand, but he didn't. He just stood there, waiting. I guessed he wanted me to beating myself off, or get it started.
Pushing my tight jeans down further over my hips, my dick swayed back and forth out from my body. Ignoring Chad's rapt attention to its every movement, I stroked it a few times, squeezing it tightly, forcing a large bead of precum out of my slit, which I used to lubricate the head.
Watching me closely, Chad showed no response other than breathing hard and, of course, his own dick had also gotten 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 wanted him to suck me off. But although he watched every movement of my then hugely swollen dick, a kind of hungry look in his eyes, he didn't touch me. He just moved his body closer to mine, stroking his own dick.
I waited a while longer, holding my dick in the palm of one hand and rubbing my balls with the fingers of the other, obviously offering myself to him. Nothing. He didn't make a 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. Sweating visibly and, without looking in my face, he turned his hand over, slowly wrapping his fingers around my dick and holding it firmly in his hand.
As I waited in anticipation, I felt him squeeze it gently in his hand, working it against his fingers, at times pulling it out from my body, but then stop, just holding it still in his hand. He said nothing. He simply held the aching shaft, breathing heavily and staring toward the floor as he waited.
His behavior was beginning to make me very uneasy. I tried to pull my dick out of his hand, but he grasped it even more firmly, making me even more uneasy. He was acting like some loony all of a sudden.
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 as I did 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, much as he'd done earlier in the weight room. Then he stopped, again waiting for something. I waited also, but he remained motionless, his face in my crotch, the tip of my cock between his lips.
Whatever game he was playing, his teasing behavior angered me. Considering the shape I was in by then, I didn't need this shit. Losing my patience, I reached down and, putting my hand on the back of his head, I forced his mouth against my dick. To my surprise, he immediately relaxed, his lips, allowing it to slide between his lips and against his tongue.
Moving it against his tongue, I waiting for him to suck it, but he didn't. Soon, out of frustration, I put both hands on the back of his head, forcing his head down further on my dick, pulling it back, then forcing it back down again. This triggered an instant reaction in him. Without hesitation, he began to suck on the head of my dick, working his hungry lips further and further down my shaft until it touched the opening of his throat.
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.
His body suddenly animated and alive, he sucked even harder, moaning audibly from the intense pleasure he was obviously taking. Sensing the pressure of my load, ready to shoot off at any moment, I held his head steadily on my dick, still fucking it savagely, even partially down into his throat at times.
Suddenly I felt a large quantity of thick cum empty from my cock, flooding his mouth. Loving it, I thrust my dick down in to his throat as I spurt yet a second wad.
Trying desperately to swallow my load, he began to choke on my dick, gagging and coughing as I jerked it from his mouth. Then releasing his body, I stepped aside, allowing him to fall over against the urinal, gasping for breath, eyes tightly closed.
Surprised at my aggressiveness, and a little embarrassed, I looked down at him, his crumpled body partially in the urinal and on the tile floor, as I wiped off my flushed dick, streaked with his saliva and my cum. His body was essentially limp, sweat rolling down his face which had a dazed look on it.
He looked pitiful and abused but, as he looked up at me, smiling faintly, his eyes revealed his pleasure and satisfaction. It occurred to me then that we'd both gotten what we wanted, but only after the other's complete cooperation and effort.
We went separately back up to the game. I never saw him again after that night, but I doubted he was happy at the final score of the game. They lost. But in time, as I thought on it, I remembered he was the assistant wrestling coach, not the head basketball coach. It would be no reflection on him.
He'd be content, satisfied with the knowledge that neither what happened that night on the basketball court, nor in the basement T-room, was his fault.
Basically, I guess, it's a question of getting what we want, the way we want it.
rbrown001@cox.net
Spring, 2008