Reconnecting with Coach

Reconnecting With Coach Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)

The following contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between men. It is meant only for adult readers.

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Reconnecting with Coach

I was rushing to my 1:20 class when I nearly bumped into him. Tall, strapping, not as imposing as he'd seemed that first day of middle school P.E. class, but one hulk of a man nonetheless. He was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeve plaid shirt, the top buttons unbuttoned to reveal a familiar breadth and hairiness of the chest. The man paused, then pulled off his sunglasses. "Barker?"

"Coach T?" Rick Trainor was the last man I expected to see wandering Marshall Hall here at State U. "What are you doing here?"

Coach laughed and distractedly lifted his arm to scratch the back of his neck. I had to fight the urge to stare at his bicep balling up and the pit hairs peeking out from the retreating sleeve. He had played baseball in his college days and still had some magnificent guns on him. "Gone back for my master's. Go figure," he chuckled. "Been putting it off for years." He paused, looked around, and licked his lips. In a low voice, he continued, "And if you'll forgive my French, let me say the coeds look just as fuckable as ever."

That horndog leer was one of the things I always loved about Coach T. To our knowledge, Coach never stepped out on his wife, but if lusting in the heart was a sin, Rick Trainor was one class-A sinner. We loved the off-color comments he tossed off in the lockerroom or in the dugout. It made this father figure human, like he understood the hormone rushes we were swimming in those days.

I smiled big, glad to have this man back in my life, if just for a moment. Coach must have thought I was grinning coyly. "Yeah, you know what I'm talking about, Barker," he winked. "Fuck, I envy you guys. But hey, you don't need me gabbing your afternoon away."

"'s all right Coach. It's good to see you. I sometimes wonder how you're doing." My eyes flit to meet his. Hazel discs with flecks of green. I don't know how eyes can smile, but his did.

"No shit?"

"No shit, Coach."

His hand patted my shoulder paternally. "I've wondered how you're doing, too, sport. Fuck. Jim Barker, all grown up. What are you now... 6'3", 6'4"?

"6'5", 203 pounds," I answered, silently proud of my collegiate build and recent growth spurt. I now looked down on Trainor.

"Well," he appraised, raking his eyes up and down my frame, "looks like college life is agreeing with you, even without the baseball."

"Still play, coach. Intermurals. My fraternity has a match against Sigma Nu this afternoon"

"You're gonna whup their ass?" Damn. Those same words he'd say before each game.

"You know it," I smiled.

I was late to class, and Coach had to run that day. So we exchanged numbers and promised to meet up some time. It was a week later before his schedule allowed it. Since he was commuting back and forth between State and Cartersville, I suggested he come over the House and I'd grill us some steaks.

I was busy firing up the grill when Ted Klein poked his head out the patio door. "Barker, you got company," he announced then all of a sudden Coach appeared. Gone were the conservative khakis and coach wear I was used to. Coach T wore a State T-shirt two sizes too snug and a loose-fitting pair of cargo shorts that hung off his meaty ass. I about spit out my beer. The outfit looked a little young for a man in his late 30s, but I didn't care. Coach looked fine, his beefy pecs and the swell of his gut neatly encased in cotton, his bulky muscle twitching in his shoulders.

In his arms was a 12-pack of Lite beer, in his mouth was an unlit cigar. Setting down the brew on the redwood table, he dug in his pocket and pulled out some matches. "OK, if I light up?," he asked the stogie clenched in his teeth. "Karen won't let me smoke anywhere near the house, and I'm in the mood to let loose a little."

"Yeah. Go ahead. A couple of the brothers like their cigars, too."

"I take it you're not into them? I brought extras, in case you wanted one."

I thought about it a second, then nodded. "OK. They're not my vice of choice, but sure, why not?" I reached out and grabbed the robusto from his thick fingers. He lit me up.

"What IS your vice, Barker?" he asked calmly as he exhaled.

"Aw, Coach," I shook my head, "You're not here to give me another one of your lectures, are you?"

He laughed that deep belly laugh, and popped open two brews. "I guess I was always on you guys' case, wasn't I? Hell, it's my job."

"I guess so, Coach." The grill was heated and ready, so I plopped the steaks on and enjoyed the sizzle and the smoke. Springtime, grilling, and hanging with coach... this was the life.

"But here's to hanging out, two buds." We clinked beer cans and slurped down the froth. "Jim Barker," he shook his head, staring at me. "I can't believe running into you like this."

"Me either," I admitted.

"You still a fuckup?" he winked. "I seem to recall a late night call from the police station."

I blushed. I'd almost forgotten about that incident. The guys on the team and I had gotten shitfaced and tried to steal the blue bull mascot from Pierce County High. Unfortunately we got caught and hauled to precinct as a couple of cops did their best to scare us straight. "I try to stay out of trouble these days, Coach."

"Turned over a new leaf, huh?" he asked taking another swig of beer. "Did Barker become a college bookworm?"

It was my turn to wink. "Never said that, Coach. Let's just say if I got a grade for partying, my GPA would be a helluva lot higher."

He clinked our beers together again. His throat quivered as he swallowed down the rest of the can. Man, Coach could down the suds as fast as the rest of 'em. "Better be careful you don't take after your Coach. Or you're gonna be teaching P.E. to some bratty pissant middle-schoolers."

I flipped him off. "Gimme a break. You know you love it."

All of a sudden his face turned serious. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, Barker."

Soon dinner was ready. Coach could shovel away the food. His stocky frame could testify to his love of food. Fortunately, I had a few years left before I had to worry about my metabolism. We chatted about all things Cartersville, about teaching, about my plans for the future. At one point, I felt his leg against mine. It was accidental I was sure, but the touch of his hairy calves against mine made me dizzy and hot. By the time we noticed, the sun was starting to set and we were both feeling pretty buzzed.

"Better take these to the kitchen," I finally said.

"I gotta take a piss," Coach said. "Where's the can?"

"Down the hall to the right."

I cleaned up, and opened two more brews. Maybe optimistically, since Coach would have to be heading home soon, but I didn't want the evening to end.

By the time I made it down the hall, I noticed Coach had discovered my room and was examining the photos on the wall. "This your room?" he asked.

"Either that or I got a stalker taking pictures of me," I quipped.

He held his hands up. "OK, smart ass, no one ever called your coach an intellectual."

"Another?" I handed him one of the beers frosting up in my hand.

"I shouldn't," he said, taking it.

"Neither should I. I got an 8:00 class tomorrow morning," I observed. "Calc 1."

"Something tells me you're gonna be hungover for it."

"Something tells me I'm not gonna be making it," I corrected.

"To letting loose," he toasted before raising his beer can. I raised mine in return. This man was gonna drink me under the table.

He turned to examine my bookcase and pictures more, then picked up my pipe. "Your vice, I take it?"

I shrugged. "Another lecture?" I moaned.

"Fuck no." He scratched the back of his neck again. My eyes watched again the pit hair, and the sweat spot in his underarm. Damn, I was getting off on this masculine figure inches away from me. Somehow as the evening wore on, our bodies gravitated closer to one another. "Don't tell anyone, Barker, but your Coach likes a good toke or two now and then."

I'm sure my eyebrows raised an inch in place. Coach T burning down? "Really?"

"I've had to cool it since the college days, and Karen doesn't approve, but yeah, I like the stuff."

My heart beat. I decided to take a chance. "Want some?"

"Now?"

"Sure. I got a stash of some primo shit."

"I dunno..." He wanted to, but his willpower was battling for control.

"Come on, Coach. Let's let loose. Two buds hanging out. How often you get away from the wife?"

Coach T smiled big. "Not often enough. All right, big guy, I'm game."

I pulled out my underwear drawer and dug around for my stash.

"Wearing straps these days?" he observed. My drawer was stuffed full with jockstraps.

"Yeah," I answered. "Though occasionally, I freeball it. I like to advertise the merchandise, you know?"

"Shit, you're something else," Coach muttered, shaking his head.

"Here." I finally pulled out the bag and began packing the bowl of the pipe. We sat on the bed and lit up. It was funny seeing a burly thirty-something man toking away in a fraternity bedroom. But Coach wasn't lying: the man sure liked the stuff. He kept sucking the smoke down and savoring the high.

"Good shit you got Barker," he grunted, while holding the toke half in his lungs still. "Thanks for sharing."

"Bring back old times for ya, Coach?"

He exhaled. "Like you wouldn't believe. What I wouldn't give to go back and relive my college days."

I was sensing a raw nerve, so I tried to reassure him. "C'mon Coach..."

"I'm not a complainer, but sometimes I miss being free like you, guy. No family, no career, no mortgage, no responsibility."

"What about your family... don't you like them?" I lit the pipe and sucked in.

He looked up, eyes a little misty. "Yeah, I love 'em. I love the way my little girls look up to their daddy. And Karen's the best mother a guy could marry. Only..."

"Only what?" I handed the pipe back to him.

"I'm not sure men are meant to settle down. It sounds selfish, but I sometimes think we're designed to spray our seed and move on." He prepared to light up. "You got a girl, Barker?"

"No one steady," I answered.

"Just take your time, son. Make sure it's what you want."

"It wasn't what you want?"

"Jimmy boy, I haven't gotten laid in four months." He held up four fingers. "Think about it. Four fucking months."

"Damn," I sympathized.

"Damn's right. I'm not eager to get home tonight either. Cause there's nothing fucking waiting for me there."

"You can stay the night here, Coach." I didn't mean it to come out like that. Or maybe I did.

"Yeah?" Feeling me out.

"Sure. It's a long drive back and it's getting late."

His expression relaxed... maybe a little disappointed. "And I'm drunk."

"Drunk AND stoned," I corrected, and we both laughed.

"Man, where'd you get that shit?" Coach T asked, nodding to the pipe and plastic bag. "It's strong but smooth as hell." Lazily he scratched his meaty tits, and I surreptitiously watched the way his mass pushed against the shirt fabric.

"Charlie, our fraternity president. Good weed, huh?"

"You bet. Any chance I could have another toke?"

I smiled and packed a new bowl. "Gonna let loose tonight huh?"

"Damn. Jim Barker showing me what a guy's night out should be."

"You don't need me to show you how to party, Coach." I was in genuine admiration and thrilled to see a new side of this man I'd not talked to in a few years.

"Maybe I got a secret vice, too."

"Besides the cigars?" I toked and felt his fingers touch mine.

"Besides the cigars, besides the pot."

"I'm not gonna lecture ya Coach. No one hires me for that," I joked.

"You're a good man, Barker."

"You, too, Coach."

We traded the pipe a few times. Coach was getting real high, and his face blushed crimson red. "Getting hot in here, Barker. Mind if I get comfortable?"

"My place is your place Coach," I answered nonchalantaly, even as my heart was pounding ninety miles an hour.

His beefy mitts reached down and grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and shucked it up off his torso and over his head. I knew Coach was one hairy man, but I wasn't prepared for the forest of thick, wavy fur that covered him neck down, only to disappear beneath the waistline of his shorts.

"Damn, Coach," I muttered, my mouth dry from the pot and from my excitement.

"Sorry, guess I'm a little hairy. Karen says it grosses her out."

"She shoulda married a woman then."

"Easy there," Coach laughed, nodding down to his crotch. "Rick Jr. down there might like that idea."

I sucked down another toke. To edge my buzz. To build up courage.

We sat there on the bed silently, awkwardly. Coach would look at me, expectantly, and I'd look at him, only to turn my head away.

"Getting hot, too, Coach," I finally croaked out, then pulled off my shirt.

Coach whistled. "You're keeping fit, Barker." Already his hands were on my bared muscle, smoothing the surface of my bis, my traps, my pecs. Those exploratory finger tips felt real nice.

"I try, Coach." My hands now inching forward, fingers resting softly into that chest fur. I looked up. Coach T was looking at me, even more intently.

We kissed. A short smack at first, then our mouths opened and we ravaged each other. Coach's lips, tongue, and mouth tasted of beer, weed, and cigar. His familiar cologne scent wafted up off his chest. The sensory combination drove me crazy and made my dick harder than a drill bit.

Coach's fingers were already on my stalk, teasing my erection through my jeans. "Aw fuck, that's it. The big Barker cock. Been dreaming of this for so long buddy."

It was surreal to hear his admission, but a turnon, too. Coach had the hots for me all these years!

"I saw that dick swinging in the locker room shower. Never saw a boy as hung as you, Barker. Knew you'd grow to be one fine man. Tall fucker, too."

I shut him up with another kiss, but he continued massaging my spike and unzipping my jeans. Greedily, his fingers dipped inside my jockstrap. He whimpered in my mouth, his rough fingers seized around my prick, just like when he'd shown me how to grip a baseball bat properly. Already, my dickhead was getting slick, leaking into the palm of his hand as he massaged me.

We broke apart and Coach grinned big as he sank to the bedroom floor. He was gonna suck me! I sucked in my breath and parted my legs, felt his hot skin touch the inside of my thighs. Then a lick, then two, then his warm mouth latched over the tip of my stick.

"Aw Coach!" I cried. "Go down on me, man." I don't know who taught Coach T to suck dick, but the man was a pro. Nice, wet, tight, soft. Plus, there was the rush that it was Coach servicing me, the powerbuilt no-nonsense man who taught me how to hit a curve ball and encouraged me whenever I fielded a good play. This was pushing all the right buttons. I told him so.

"Damn, Barker," Coach groaned as he spit out my cock, "you got a donkey dong between your legs." He muttered nearly inaudible sex talk as he kissed the hard surface from quivering glans to heavy nutsac. He suckled my head in again and gave a couple of quick bobs before coming up again for air. "You game for trying something more?" he asked, jacking my spittle-coated cock.

"More?" I asked, my head barely registering.

Sheepishly he looked up and peered into my eyes. "I'd love to feel this thing fucking my ass a new hole."

This sure was turning into a night of surprises. Big, burly Rick Trainor was offering his hole to me. "You kidding, Coach?"

Leaning up, he answered me with another intense kiss. I took over, thrusting my tongue into his mouth and running my hands along his muscular back. I pulled him up into my arms and we tumbled on to the bed.

Within minutes, Coach T was flat on his back, nude, and I was kneeling between his spread legs. I reached over and fumbled around for some lube. Already, the burly man was wiggling his rear end against my hard spike, and his sphincter clenched and relaxed against the slick head prodding its entrance. Trainor was literally cooing at the sensation.

"Like that, Coach?"

"God, yeah," he whispered. "Christ, you're hung. I'm really gonna get it, aren't I?"

The only answer he got was the slurping sound of the lube bottle as I squirted a wet dollop on my rockhard prick. I ran my hand up and down the dicklength to slick it up, then squirted some of the gel-like liquid on fingers.

"Aw fuck!" the man groaned as I sank one wet digit past the tight ring of his anus into his hot insides. "That feels good, buddy. It's been too fucking long." Lewdly, he spread his thighs wider and thrust his hairy butt into my hand. I rewarded him with a second finger, and went deeper this time. "Goddamn, you know what you're doing, dontcha Barker?"

I leaned forward and locked my mouth on his. He grunted and cried and about sucked my tongue down his throat as his ass chute spasmed open and sucked a third finger in. Trainor wanted to get fucked and bad. I was starting to suspect the pot had something to do with it and resolved to thank Charlie somehow.

I broke the kiss and leaned up, looking down at my middle school hero. He was the same, stern role model as ever, only now he looked up at me in submission and lust. I answered with my own look of pure possessive need. I pulled back my fingers and grabbed the lube, squirting a thick heavy jet right onto the target of his twitching manhole. Instantly, I frigged the slick liquid right into his quim. I twisted the lubricant deep inside his bowels, spreading it along the heated internal tissues. Then I repeated the lewd wetdown procedure. I was gonna make sure Trainor was more greased up than a V8 engine.

Coach's eyes turned from lust to pleasure, his lips from grimace to smile. "Feels real nice, Barker. I'm hoping I can last to the main event. Your fingers are real talented."

"I want it good for you, Coach. Want you ready for it."

"Never taken one as huge as yours, Barker," he huffed. Pliantly, he raised his thighs and pulled them back with his arms. I had complete access to his hole now. "But I knew I had to try. Big guns get me off big."

"How long it been, Coach?" I asked, curious. "This hole's too tight to be getting it regular."

Coach bit his lip as I dug into a new corner of his rectum. "Don't get much chance, buddy. Been a year and a half. Christmas. Stopped at a Virginia rest stop. Left the family in the car and went in trolling the stalls. Found a horny marine on holiday leave."

My cock was smacking high and hard against my belly now. I sucked in a breath as I pictured Trainor bending over for some stranger's cock. "Aw fuck, Coach...!"

"... a couple of times I even fucked Karen with sperm leaking out and running down my balls."

Coach was getting that far-off sexual look in his eyes. Maybe the man wasn't quite the role model I'd always thought him, but I didn't care. I was getting turned on by how incredibly wanton and sexual this big man secretly was. "Man, Coach T, you're grade-A horndog."

As if to confirm my statement he lifted up his thighs even more, then frustrated he couldn't spread 'em wider, he grunted and flipped over on his belly, quickly hiking his ass up and pulling his legs beneath him like a frog. My fingers were quick to reestablish contact. Coach's ass felt wonderful, and I knew I could finger fuck its fine tightness forever.

"Man, Barker, it feels like you're working up to putting your whole hand in there."

My cock twitched at that. "Man, Coach, you ARE depraved. You into that shit?"

He moaned and put his head down on the mattress. "Nah, never gotten into anything that wild." Then biting his his lip, he added, "Then again, that dick of yours is thick as some guys' wrists."

I took my prick and slapped it on his hairy buttcheek.

"Aw, yeah," Coach cried, and I repeated my action, alternating cheeks. The hard muscle jiggled at the impact, and I felt the tingle of stimulation to my cock.

Finally, I couldn't take any more. I extracted my fingers and squeezed another glob of lube into his hole, then placed my excited cockhead at the ass entrance. Coach's body shuddered as my hips pushed forward and the blunt tip forced its way in like threading a needle's eye. Just then, that sphincter felt just as pinhole tight against my stalk.

Must have felt huge to Coach, cause he whimpered loudly, trying his best to relax and accommodate me. I rested a second, then soldiered on. I don't think I could have stopped had there been a gun to my head. I was finally fucking this man I looked up to, who was hot in so many ways. I ran my hands up and down his meaty back, feeling him tense and relax, then I started fucking. Deeper and deeper into his bowels, I was really pushing into his guts now. I felt high, turned on, and possessive. And grown up as hell.

He shut his eyes and chanted his monologue. "Horse hung Barker. Fucking me. Goddamnit, fuck me, Jim. You're a big boy, pushing deep, flattening my guts. Christ!"

I was feeling it, too, in the form of the intense tightness gripping my cock, the vicelike grip trying to prevent my inward thrusts, while the generous lube slicking my way. Coach's asswalls couldn't stop my pistoning cock no matter how hard they clenched down on it.

"You're conquering my ass, buddy. That's the way. Knew you'd know how to fuck, but I couldn't imagine how intense this would be."

"Yeah, Coach?"

"Fuck yeah." He cried and his body jerked.

"You coming, Coach?"

From his sobs I gathered he was. The ass felt good and tight -- and there was the heady rush of topping this man a good ten pounds heavier than me and old enough to be my father -- but I wasn't ready to nut yet. Instead, I slowed down to a mere trot pace. My fingers gripped his love handles for leverage, as I tried to steady myself, lightheaded from the beer and pot and sex.

"Want me to stop, sir?"

"Keep at it, Barker. I'm good for another one."

His words were music to my ears. I went at it again. Rougher this time, using all the power in my legs and gluteus to piledrive my mini-telelphone pole into his fuck tunnel. Call me conceited, but I know my efforts were driving Coach wild with pleasure.

"I can't believe I'm fucking you, Coach," I said. "Best ass I've had by far."

"Fuck me!"

I did. For about eight minutes, til I felt the inevitable coming on strong. "Flip over, Coach," I ordered and held my cock still while this big married fucker rotated around my fleshy skewer. The view from the front was even better than the back. Nice, furry chest, cocksap dripping out of the man's dick hood, pearly drops clinging to his chest hair. And the look of pure joy as I punched my way back in.

"Don't know what you're hitting in there, kid, but you're gonna fuck me off."

"Hold on a sec, Coach, and I'll be there right with you." I wanted us to shoot at the same time. I fucked hard and fast now, while my hands reached down to caresses his pelt-covered torso. Those muscles rippled beneath my touch.

"Oh yeah. Don't pull out, Barker, whatever you do. Fuck me all the way."

"Want me to shoot in ya?"

"Damn straight."

"Good thing I can't get you pregnant, Coach. Gonna be a big wad."

"Buddy. With a prick like that you probably could." He laughed but soon his face crunched back up into a preorgasmic clench. "Oh! Christ! You're fucking me deep."

"Deeper than that marine?"

"You don't even know, do you Barker? How friggin hung you are. Feels like you're gonna split my ass."

"You're so fucking tight, Coach. I could get used to this."

"This ass is yours, buddy. Any time you want it."

"Um yeah. Hot fucking adulterous coachass. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I was edging to the precipice and going straight over. My rocket fired its ammunition in seven heavy shots.

"Sperm my hole, man!" Coach yelled and I was rewarded with the sight of his own prick jerking and shooting. All over his meaty chest and unshaved face.

I leaned forward and kissed that spermy mouth, licking his salty spray off and plunging my tongue in between his open lips to feed some of the taste two him. His ass was spasming majorly against my bone, and I was afraid I was gonna do some permanent damage or at least send him into overload, so I reached down and gripped my erection, slowly extracting it. It cleared the breach with a plop and a string of my slop followed out and landed on the bedsheet.

"Fuck!" Coach muttered and stretched his bod to get out the muscle cramps. "I needed that, buddy."

"I could tell," I said, rubbing his large hairy muscles appreciatively. "Not gonna regret this tomorrow are ya, Coach?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure I'm gonna regret going at the beer and weed so hard, but this..." he said gripping my still tumescent cock, "... no way."

I leaned forward and kissed him. It was different than a sex kiss, but every bit just as intense.

Trainor's large fingers gripped my stalk and milked the last remnant of juice out of my pisstube. His ministrations were stiffening up my dick, and I melted into his embrace and kiss.

"Ummnh," he moaned, "You're still hard as a brick. You wanna get off again?"

I thought it over like a half second. "Well, yeah."

"How about I suck you off this time?"

"Man, Coach, I could get used to this treatment."

"I'm hoping so," he winked then went down on the cock he'd been thinking about for years.

We didn't get a lot of sleep that night. We'd doze off then wake up at the sensation of flesh-on-flesh contact. A few kisses, a few gropes, some making out, and we'd start sharing secrets like new lovers. I told him about the furtive fumblings with my fraternity brothers and how none of them compared to the intensity of the mansex we'd just had. He related some of his exploits sneaking in dick as a married man in a small town. Our stories turned us on again and soon Coach was straddling me and bouncing back up and down on my erection. I swore that big man loved to get fucked like no one else.

Coach T had to leave bright and early the next morning to drive back to Cartersville. By the time he crawled out of my room and the fraternity house the next morning, his guts were swimming with three good sloppy loads. I didn't have the energy to get up and show him out the door, but the parting kiss he gave me before heading out told me we'd be reconnecting again sometime very soon.