Gymnastics Practice, Chapter Fourteen
Coach and I woke up early the next morning. We had a long drive to St. Louis for the trials. Two other gymnasts were going also, but they were traveling with the other coaching staff in the university van. Coach and I were going in the corvette. Coach wanted the alone time with me. I don't know what excuse Coach gave the other coaches for us to travel by ourselves instead of with the team, but I was happy to have the alone time too.
We put our small luggage in the trunk of the corvette and hit the road. We grabbed a quick breakfast at our favorite drive-thru joint. Fortunately, it was inter-state highway all the way. We drove all morning and stopped for lunch. We went inside for a sit-down meal as a break from sitting in the corvette all morning.
Along the way, Coach had given me advice and encouragement, and expressed how proud he was of my improvement. I expressed my appreciation for his coaching at bringing me as far as he had, and his confidence in my ability. He asked if I was nervous about the trials, and I said I wasn't. I know my ability and I was confident that I would do well. I believe in visualization, and I constantly saw myself winning.
After eating lunch, we continued toward St. Louis. By this point in the trip, we were joking and laughing and enjoying each other's company. I continued to watch Coach as he drove, and memorized moments of him. I loved how he had a silly giggle when he laughed.
He had just told me some story about one of the other gymnasts, and he was doing his giggle when suddenly everything went black.
I woke up in a hospital bed. My mother was sitting in a chair near the bed. She was asleep. I had an IV and lots of monitors on me. Just then, my dad came into the room. He looked at me and saw that I was awake. He nudged Mom and they both came to the bed and placed their hands on me. Mom was crying tears of happiness. Dad was smiling and I could tell he was holding back tears.
I tried to speak but my mouth was dry and I couldn't. Dad saw that I needed something to drink and found a cup of water with a straw. I took a few sips and wet my mouth and lips.
"What happened? Where am I?", I asked.
Mom explained we had been in an accident just east of Nashville, Illinois. A pickup truck traveling east on I-64 crossed the median. When the truck came up out of the median depression, the embankment onto the west-bound lanes acted as a ramp and the truck became airborne. The truck came down front end first onto our car.
I had broken my left arm above the elbow, my left shoulder and my left collar bone. My right leg was broken in three places; both the tibia and fibula were broken just below my knee and my tibia was shattered just above my ankle. I also had three broken ribs and a large cut on my face.
The orthopedic doctor had repaired my leg by moving my knee cap to the side, and driving a titanium rod through my tibia from my knee to my ankle. The other broken bones had been set in standard fashion. I had been in a coma for seven weeks, so the broken bones had healed, and the cast on my arm had been removed.
I suddenly remembered, "What about Coach? How is Coach?"
I was desperate in wanting to know.
There was a silence. Mom and Dad looked at each other not wanting to say anything. Finally, Dad said, "Your coach was killed instantly. The truck landed directly on top of him. You are lucky to be alive."
The news hit me like someone had punched me really hard in the stomach. I lost my breath. My eyes teared up. I heard what dad said, but I was trying to comprehend exactly what it meant. I could not imagine Coach being gone. As the reality sunk in, I began to sob uncontrollably. I could not catch my breath, I was crying so hard.
Mom tried to comfort me, but there was no comfort for what I had just learned. The man I loved more than my life was gone. All Mom and Dad could do was stand by me while I cried it out.
Eventually, the tears stopped. I think I wore myself out crying, and I fell back asleep. I dreamed of Coach holding me, comforting me and letting me know it was okay.
I didn't want to wake up from the dream. I didn't want to leave Coach and the comfort I was feeling in my dream, but a nurse was checking my injuries and the prodding and poking aroused me from my sleep.
A meal was brought for me; broth, jello and juice, but it was something. I had not had solid food for seven weeks. This could be a jolt for my stomach. But I was hungry and devoured it all.
Mom and Dad would take turns staying with me. Eventually, Dad would have to go back home to work, but he had taken a leave to stay with Mom while she stayed with me. Mom was constantly giving me news from home. I think she was trying to keep my mind off what had happened, especially Coach.
Now that I was conscious, the hospital staff was trying to get me on my feet. I had a walker and they would hold me while I maneuvered the hospital hallways. All my broken bones had healed except my leg. The shattered portion above my ankle was still mending, so I could not put any weight on that leg. I had lost muscle tone in my arms due to inactivity, so I had to build up strength in my arms to use the walker. The good thing about being in a coma was that I missed the pain of the broken bones.
I was well familiar with strength training, so I took to that eagerly. I wanted to get to the point I could get out of the hospital. I wanted to get back to my friends. I wanted to get back to Coach, but that wasn't going to happen, and the strength training kept my mind off him.
But at night, I would often find myself lying awake thinking of Coach. All the memorized moments came back to me. They were all I had left of Coach, so I was glad I had made the memories when I did.
Since Coach was so private about his sexual orientation, his family did not know. They knew nothing of me and our relationship. His body had been cremated. His parents had taken the ashes back to Michigan. I found out later, the ashes had been scattered in some lake they had gone to on family vacations when he was a child. So, I don't even have a place to go and visit him. There is no monument to his life. It is as if he never existed, except for my memories. There is a small, white, wooden cross in the inter-state median just east of Nashville, Illinois where the accident occurred.
Once I accepted my situation, and determined to make the best of it, I was able to focus on my surroundings. Within my surroundings was a handsome male nurse named Mario.
My first encounter with Mario was the day after I regained consciousness. Mario came in to give me a bath. Mario was tall, about six feet two inches. He had a trim build, well-tanned ,with sun-bleached light brown hair and brown eyes. And, he had a warm, friendly smile.
He was surprised to find me awake. Apparently he had been bathing me for the past seven weeks.
Mario closed the curtain around my hospital bed. He helped me sit up so he could remove my hospital gown, and he laid me back down again. I was lying on my back, totally naked with my vital signs monitor wiring and IV tube connections. He had a washcloth which he dipped in a basin of warm soapy water and he began applying it to my neck and down my arms. He washed my underarms and my hands and fingers.
He then moved to my chest and across my stomach which was very flat. I had lost a lot of weight in the seven weeks I was not eating solid food.
Now he was down to my groin. My pubic hair had grown back in the seven weeks I was not doing my own grooming. He applied the wet cloth to my short, light brown bush. I could feel warm water running down between my legs into my asscrack.
He washed around my soft dick and my ballsack. My dick had not hand any activity in seven weeks, that I knew of, so my dick was now waking up. Mario spent a little more time that I thought normal bathing my package, before he continued the bath down my legs.
By then, I had a full erection, although Mario seemed to not pay any attention to it. He continued to bathe my thighs and lower legs. He was especially careful with my lower right leg. I guess he was aware that it was still healing. When he had washed my feet, he helped me roll over onto my stomach.
He started the bathing at my neck and bathed down my back. The warm water felt good. My hard dick rubbing against the bed felt good too.
Mario was now bathing my bubble butt cheeks. He moved the washcloth around my cheeks in circles. Then the cloth went into my asscrack. He rubbed the cloth up and down my crack, massaging my rosebud anus. It awakened.
I spread my legs apart allowing Mario better access to my asshole. I moaned in pleasure as his hand moved across my sensitive hole. His soapy finger poked at my hungry hole and pushed inside. I arched my butt upward to encourage him to go further.
HIs finger moved in and out, feeling for my prostate which was generating pre-cum onto the hospital bedsheets. He pushed a second finger inside me. It felt good. I had not been fucked for seven weeks and my ass chute wanted to be filled. He continued the double-finger fuck.
"Fuck me," I moaned.
Mario placed the washcloth in the basin and set the basin on the bed table which he moved aside. He untied the drawstring on his hospital scrubs and lowered the scrubs below his cock and balls. He was not wearing underwear.
Mario's cock was ten inches long, uncircumcised, and average girth. His cock had risen to the occasion as soon as he exposed it to the open air. He climbed onto my hospital bed between my spread legs and aimed his long manhood at my eager hole.
His mushroom cock head pushed against my rosebud which opened to receive him. It had been too long since I had been fucked, but my ass had not forgotten how to take a big dick. And, it became apparent the Mario knew how to ride an eager ass.
Mario slowly pushed inside and continued forward until his brown pubes were pressed into my bubble butt cheeks. His was the longest cock I had ever taken. It felt good to have a cock reaching depths of my ass chute that had not been touched before.
He rested for a few seconds, before he began slow thrusts in and out. His motion slowly picked up speed until he was rapidly fucking my hungry ass. I could not only feel him slamming against my backside, but I could hear his groin slapping against me. I was concerned that someone would hear the obvious sound of us having sex and come to investigate, but not concerned enough to stop.
At his rapid pace, it did not take Mario long to reach his climax. He shoved his entire ten inches into me to the hilt, and I could feel him pumping his load of warm cum far into my insides. I relaxed and enjoyed the feel of cum filling my ass canal. My own dick had discharged a seven week load of my sweet, creamy cum due to the friction of my dick rubbing against the bedsheets
Mario made his few final thrusts to drain his balls into me, and abruptly pulled out. I remembered how I hate the empty feeling I get when the fucker pulls his fat cock out of my wet ass. Mario stuffed his quickly softening cock back into his scrubs and retied the drawstring.
"I've been wanting to do that for a along time," smiled Mario. "You're a hot fuck. Maybe we can do it again before you leave."
I didn't say anything in reply. Yes, I enjoyed the fuck, but I also felt guilt and a sense of infidelity that it was not Coach. I just lay there on my stomach in my puddle of cum with Mario's cum leaking out of my re-awakened ass.
Mario did help me back into a fresh hospital gown after he had washed off my dick and ass. He also stripped off the cum-stained bedsheet to remove the evidence of our illicit activity. When he pulled back the curtain, Dad was waiting outside the room.
I was able to leave the hospital and fly home with my parents a week after I regained consciousness. I went to physical therapy in my hometown. It took me another two months to be able to walk without the walker, and three months to get my strength back in my right leg.
Life was back to normal, sort of. I would never be able to do gymnastics again. My right leg could not withstand the force of sticking a landing. So, my dream of the Olympic gymnastics team was gone. But I would gladly give up everything to be with Coach again.
Once I was able to walk on my own, I flew back to the university to retrieve my belongings from my apartment and the gym and get my car. I didn't have much at my apartment to pack into my car. I called ahead to the gym to tell the coaching staff I was coming to empty my gym locker.
When I got to the gym, I had misgivings about going in. I wouldn't be the same without Coach there, but I needed to get my stuff. I stopped in the coach's offices and met with one of the other coaches. He expressed his disappointment at my not being able to make the Olympic trials. He thought I had a good chance of making the team. He told me Coach had great expectations for my future in gymnastics. I didn't need that reminder that Coach wasn't there, but I appreciated his thoughts.
I went to my locker to get what few personal belongings were there. When I opened the locker, there was an envelope with "Billy" printed on the front. I opened it. There was a card. The front of the card said "With deepest sympathy." I opened the card. Inside the card said "We are sorry for your loss." The card was signed by every member of the gymnastics team and all the coaches. They all knew.
I leaned my back against the lockers and began to cry. I slid down the face of the lockers until I was sitting on the floor with my knees up against my chest. I stared at the card with all its signatures and bawled out loud. I could not stop crying.
Someone walked up and sat down beside me. It was Mark, the team captain. Mark put his arm around me and held me to him as I continued to cry. It was as if a dam had broken and released all of the emotion I had held inside since the accident.
Mark rubbed my shoulder with his hand, soothing and comforting me until I had let out all my pent up emotion. When I was finally able to regain my composure, I looked at Mark and thanked him.
Mark helped me to my feet. He helped me retrieve my things from the locker and we stuffed them into my gym bag. Mark walked with me down the hallway toward the gym. When we walked through the double doors into the gym, all the gymnastics team were there. They formed two lines across the gym from the double doors of the locker room, toward the gym exit.
As Mark walked me through, between the lines of teammates, each of them patted me on my back, or gave me a hug and expressed their thoughts on me and my gymnastics achievements. I started to cry again. Mark placed his arm around my shoulder and continued to walk me out of the gym to my car. He helped me put my gym bag in the back seat and held the car door while I seated myself behind the steering wheel.
"I'm so sorry for what happened," Mark said. "You were our hope for the US Olympics Gymnastics team. And," he continued, " I know Coach thought so too. He became a better coach, and a better person when you came into his life."
Tears began to fill my eyes again.
"Our whole team benefited from your and Coach's relationship," said Mark. "Yeah, we all knew he didn't want anyone to know, but we couldn't help see the love and affection he held for you. His desire for you to be a better gymnast, made him work harder for all of us. We are all better gymnasts because of what you inspired in Coach. Thanks."
"I wish you a great life. We will not forget you or Coach," said Mark.
He patted me on the shoulder and closed the car door. I watched him walk away, back toward the gym through misty eyes.
It was a long drive home. I had a lot of time to reflect on what had happened and what I would do to move forward. I was determined that Coach would not be forgotten. He had been my life for the past three years. Gymnastics had been my life since junior high school. Now I would have neither.
Since I could no longer do gymnastics, I lost my gymnastics scholarship to the university. Fortunately, I was able to get an academic scholarship to a university closer to home. Also, my major was Chemistry so it was well that I had not majored in gymnastics. I had lost a semester due to the accident, so I picked up where I was at the second semester of my junior year.
It was Fall of 2012 when I moved into the dormitory at my new university. My assigned roommate didn't show up, so I had a room to myself. The rooms were arranged as suites, so it shared a bathroom with the next room. Thad, the guy in the adjoining room didn't have a roommate either, so he and I became good friends.
But that's another story.
I know this is not how my readers wanted my story to end, but that is what happened. My purpose in sharing these three years of my life was so I would not forget the wonderful memories I have of Coach, but also to let others know what a great guy Coach was. Yes, our sex lives were fantastic and I won't forget that either.
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Billy