The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas, which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offences you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection, in real life.
ROAD TRIP helping hand wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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With primetime traffic against him, Robbie waited it out, a line of cars and vans lighting up the side of the mountain like a Christmas tree. Running through his mind, he quickly skipped over the lesser interesting parts of his day, smiling when he came to the part about Barry defending his integrity, with Travis. With one hand on the wheel, the other played with his crotch, thinking about Travis, fantasy play on his mind, the possibilites. By the time he got to Applegate, a look to his digital clock on the dash told him in five minutes Coach Torricelli would be blowing his whistle, calling it quits for this afternoon's practice.
"At least I tried," Robbie said to Anthony, passing by the flood of swimmers, wet tracks leading to the lockerroom.
"Yeah. Thanks. Nice try," Anthony replied, not forgetting to ask, "How is your friend?"
"Sleeping when I left," he answered, adding, "I don't know what Dr. Kiinski said to him, but it calmed him right down. Slowly he drifted off."
"Hmm, maybe it's more than a few kind words then?"
"He's straight. Barry mentioned it to me."
"Oh," Anthony said, adding, "I guess my gaydar was picking up the wrong signals!"
Totally surprised, Anthony listens to logic, as Robbie says, "Sometimes when a guy comes along who is as hot looking as Dr. Kiinski, we all tend to hope so much he's gay, we believe it!"
Entering the lockerroom, Anthony agrees, "True... true... true." Then, in a totally different inflection, his voice dropping several decibels, "What the fuck? Why don't you guys act your age and not your IQ's? You know there's nobody to pick up after you, so you're on your own. I want this place smelling like roses before any of you set foot out of this lockerroom!"
Those whom were slinging the wet towels, whipping the other's butts, backs, chests and abs, were just as surprised by their coach's rhetoric as the next guy. "Yes sir, coach!" bounced from jock to jock.
"A little hot under the collar, coach?" Robbie asked, following him into the small rectangular office.
"It's been a day," he replied.
Testing the waters, Robbie, sitting in the `bad chair', one usually used by an athlete only invited to sit down when in trouble, asks, "So how long do you think Edwin will be incapacitated?"
Breaking a pencil, Anthony, still in a bad mood, says, "I just busted his chops for coercing a guy into giving him a blowjob in the lockerroom and then he has to go and fuck some guy in the track shed. Doesn't that boy ever run out of testosterone?"
Not meant as a joke, but fact based on his own experience, Robbie says, "If he's anything like me, as soon as it's used up, it gets replenished quickerer than..."
"I get the picture," Anthony replies with a smirk. "It's not like I haven't been there."
"Really coach? I thought maybe you're still `there'?"
Even with his woes, Anthony still has an unforced smile as he tells, "I'd say I'm still `there', but not right at the moment." Hearing the noise die down to nothing, Anthony gets up from his desk saying, "I suppose I oughta get ready for the white glove test."
"Um, coach?"
"Yes?" he inquires, turning back inside.
"You forgot your white gloves!"
If the two didn't get along, didn't click, it might not have been accepted as a joke, Anthony giving Robbie the finger. However, Robbie replies, "Whever you're ready. I could sure use some cock up my ass!"
"Hurting that bad with Barry laid up, huh?" Anthony asks, shaking his head at the two wet towels sitting on the cubby holes, a place to stash gym equipment too small to take up space in the large closet.
"Slobs!" Robbie comments.
"I'll say," Anthony replies, standing at the entrance to the showers, both hands planing over his face. "Well I guess there's no use standing here complaining about it. There's a job to be done and somebody's got to do it."
Following Anthony to the jon, Robbie manhandles the mop away from him, saying, "I have a few minutes."
"Right. Thanks," Anthony replies, surrending it.
While mopping the shower, he hears coach complain, "Leave it up to these guys and they would drain the oceans," talking about leaving the showers dripping.
"It's not worth it, coach," Robbie says out of the blue. Anthony looking to him for an explanation, Robbie further explains, "Like what happened to Topher, it's not worth getting your balls all twisted up."
"Who?"
Using his mop as a brace for his hands holding up his chin, Robbie tells him, "Topher Cristan. The dude I brought to the hospital today?"
"Oh yeah. How's he doing?"
A smile creasing his face, Robbie balanced his head on the mop handle, silenting staring.
"What?" Anthony asked, picking up a wet towel off the floor.
"You already asked me that."
"When?"
"Before. When we came in here."
In excuse, Anthony replies, "Like I said... its been a day."
"Well at least you have somebody to go home to," Robbie slighted himself, whereas he usually connected with Barry, winding up in one of their rooms for the night.
In a snap, Anthony replies, "Roberto's working a full boat today. By the time he gets home he'll be so tired... well there won't be any of `that stuff'."
Joking, Robbie asks, "Want a massage?"
"How do you mean that?" Anthony replies, a wicked smirk on his face. Then, walking past one of the showers, he bends over to pick up a towel. The sleeve of his shirt catches on the cold water knob. Soon he's rained upon, cold water cascading his whole self. "Oh shit!" he yells, jumping out of harms way too late.
"Sorry coach. I couldn't help it," Robbie says in between the laughing.
"Do you see me laughing?" Anthony replies.
Setting the mop against the wall, Robbie walks over to him, his back to Anthony, bending over, pulling his gymshorts and briefs down, exposing his two white mounds.
"Sinclair, what the fuck you doing?"
"You've got a wet towel. Why don't you `punish' your boy for laughing at you?"
"I'm not in the mood," Anthony replied.
Standing up, pulling his gymshorts most of the way up, Robbie confronts him, "I've got nowhere to go. You've got nobody to go home to. Hell, why don't we both stick around for a little relaxation to take our minds off of things?"
"You're nuts Sinclair," Anthony accused him of.
"Oh really?" he advanced til he was standing directly in front of his coach. He wasn't sure, but took a gamble, since Anthony didn't make a move to depart. "You know you can't go home all wet," he said, looking at Anthony as his hands began making light work of unbuttoning Anthony's shirt.
"What are you doing...." Anthony stopped, looking down at Robbie's hands at work, muttering a simple, "Sinclair?"
Unbuttoning the last one before hiking Anthony's white shirt out of his pants, Robbie goes out on a dare, stating, "Only one more button before I peel your shirt off, coach. Stop me if you dare!"
"No," Anthony said, his code of ethics flashing in his mind like warning lights.
Holding the rest of Anthony's shirt up, one button left to open up the rest of his shirt, enough of Anthony's wet, dark brown chest hair shone, beckoning Robbie onwards. Breaking free of Anthony's grip, he reached inside the wet shirt, his fingers trying to find two nips.
In protest, which lasted all of two seconds, Anthony lost his grip on his own shirt, his hands falling to Robbie's torso as his head cocked backwards, eyes closing, totally enjoying his nips being manhandled.
"Feel good?" Robbie said, not that he had to. Breaking his concentration, Robbie's chin dropped down as Anthony's hands traveled up his tee shirt. "Yeah. Go for it!" Still watching, Robbie was moaning as his coach's hands pawed their way up his abs, thumbs pressing into his tee shirt. "Ooooh fuck!" he exclaimed, falling prey to the total pleasure.
However when Robbie stopped teasing Anthony's nips, both hands going for the back of his tee shirt, stripping it, Anthony broke out of the trance, hands dropping to his sides, saying, "No. This is wrong. We can't be doing this."
"I know," Robbie replied, still whipping his tee shirt off over his head, shaking out his shaggy haircut.
Even though he's seen those pecs and abs dozens of times, in the dimly lit shower room, Anthony's tingling crotch began turning the tide, compromising his stern set of values. "God, you're beautiful," he couldn't believe he was saying, but didn't cast a shadow of regret.
"Thanks," Robbie replied, hands once again inside Anthony's shirt, except places on his shoulders, Anthony's shirt, even though wet, riding up on his arms.
Stepping closer, their bodies touching, dry to wet, Anthony sighed, "Ooooooooh," as Robbie busied behind his back, pulling the wet shirt, inside out, off of his coach's wrists.
Allowing it to drop, Robbie replaced the fabric with his hands, rubbing them over Anthony's shoulder blades, down his back, hinting already by fitting one inside the back of his pants. All this time, Anthony let his hands sit on Robbie's torso, still not sure if he should turn back before it was too late to do so. Pushing away, deciding this wasn't right, it was too late already as Robbie bent at the waist, his head slacking to the side, his mouth finding wet pec hair, his tongue finding Anthony's nip.
"Oh fuck!" Anthony called out, as lips cupped around his nip and pulled outwards.
Robbie's hand already found out how much Anthony was enjoying having his nips toyed with by lips and teeth. After all it's not like he hasn't been there himself. Only, using his mouth he felt wasn't as erotic as having two clamps in their place. Tiring of not receiving some of the action, Robbie stopped.
Anthony exhaled, then took in some more air, catching up with his feelings.
In the meantime, the eighteen year old swimmer turned, placing his hands behind his head, elbows up.
More puzzled, Anthony asks, "What are you supposed to be doing?"
Without turning around, Robbie commands, "Whip me."
"Whip you?"
"Yeah. Use the wet towel. C'mon coach," he stops, turns his head, "Sir. Make me your slaveboy!"
Giving in a little, Anthony flings the towel throught the air, making the land straight down Robbie's back.
Turning, Robbie critigues him, "Y'know my grandmother could do better than that?"
Hands fidgeting with the wet towel, Anthony wises up, "What can I say? We're too much the same when it comes to playing around."
Then coming up with a surefire idea, Robbie's hand grabs at the wet towel, saying, "My turn!"
"Your turn?" Anthony asks, perplexed.
"Sure. Why shouldn't we both get what we want?"
"First I better make sure the door is locked."
"I'll tend to that."
Both feet going, Robbie jogs out of the shower area.
Letting the towel fall down to the floor, Anthony asks himself, "What am I getting myself into?"
"All is safe and secure, sir!"
"What tha?" Anthony questions Robbie, as he appears butt-naked.
"I figured it would be a hotter scene if we were both...."
"Listen, I'm going out on a limb as it is, Sinclair. I don't think..."
As if a lover making a good thing better, Anthony's head drops down, upon feeling a pair of hands play with his belt buckle.
"What are you doing, Sinclair?"
Unbuckling his coach's belt, Robbie proceeds to pull it through the loops, a smile followed by, "I don't see you stopping me!"
The smile still lingering, Anthony stands there, hands on hips, a look on his face questioning his surety.
"Excuse me," Robbie says, the front of Anthony's soaked khakis parted in the front.
His hands still positioned on his torso, he does nothing as Robbie slips the belt-looped waistline down. With ulterior motives, Robbie places one of Anthony's hands on his shoulder, making excuse, "Balance yourself," while he removes each sneaker. By now, if the khakis weren't all wet, they were now, lying on the shower floor. "Time to catch up, huh sir?" he still referred to Anthony as his master. One knee planted on the tile, Robbie reached up for the elastic of Anthony's waistband. "Hmm, Abercrombie. Not bad for an old fart!"
With a wry smile, Anthony retorted, "Just think. In nine years you'll be all caught up with me!"
It was the first time Robbie looked upon his coach's endowment, as he peeled down the cock-fitting briefs. "Looking forward to this as much as me, huh?"
Before Anthony could even think of a rebuttal, his head dropped back as Robbie's mouth engulfed his 9.5c.
"Oooooooh!" His immediately reaction came, a warm mouth surrounding his almost totally rigid shaft. A few moments later he was thinking out loud, sending the message, "This isn't part of the game!"
There was Robbie on his knees, kneeling, pouting because Anthony backed off, leaving his mouth empty. "What's the problem Anthony?" he slipped with the respect.
Anthony noticed the slip, making a statement, "Because Mr. Sinclair, cocksucking wasn't part of our.... our... whatever you call it!"
"Felt good didn't it?"
"What do you think?"
"Okay," Robbie says, getting up on his feet, "so cocksucking and fucking are out?"
The look on Anthony's face already stated his position. Reconsidering, he tells Robbie, "Maybe we should just forget it. I'm not so sure about how this is going. I mean look at priests."
"Priests?" Robbie questions, his face sowing the vague aspect.
"Yeah. Doing little boys and then when they're all grown up they suddenly remember getting sucked off when they were nine. How do you think it will look for me when you wake up someday and realize your swimming coach and you had a ... an erotic time at doing whatever we're doing?"
Throughout Anthony's little speech, Robbie drew closer and closer. By the time Anthony reached his last word he was staring pointblank into Robbie's eyes.
"So?"
"Coach," then in more intimate terms, "Anthony, if I can call you that for a moment."
Anthony stood there.
"In ten, fifteen, thirty or fifty years I'm not going to look back on this as some sexual escapade between a coach and his student. I can't expect, with all the athletes you instruct every week to take notice, but... well this is how I feel about ever wanting to say anything about what goes on behind closed doors."
Anthony stood there, trying to let it register as Robbie's hand pressed against the back of his slick head, his lips trying to make an impression. He didn't have to think too hard, as Robbie told him, "Sorry if I'm doing something wrong, but y'see, I look up to you... admire you... think the world of you... Anthony... You can count on me keeping any secrets between us.
For a long interval of time, Anthony stood there, trying to fight, mind over crotch. Slowly one started to give in to the other. "Is that all?"
"No," Robbie's hand touched Anthony between the legs, "I love your tasty cock!"
He wasn't sure whether it was a put off or wanting more time to think things over, but Anthony said, "I think we should get things squared away first."
Seeing it as a go ahead, Robbie replied, "Don't you worry about anything. I'll take care of cleaning this mess up."
"My clothes. They're wet. They need to be thrown in the dryer."
In a jiffy, Robbie had gathered up shirt, pants, briefs and socks, tearing off toward the laundry room.
"And don't forget to take my wallet out of my pocket," he yelled.
Pacing the shower room, Anthony let the wet towel trail along the floor. He came to rest against the wall, looking at it as if searching his soul. Suddenly he let out a tender sigh when a pair of hands circled around from his back, pulverizing his nips. "Guess who?"
"Well I sure hope it's not Dean Harriot!"
Robbie letting go, Anthony turning, Robbie confronted him with, "By the way y'know him and Coach Dekker have a fucking good time almost every afternoon?"
"And how did you find out?" Anthony questioned him.
"All the guys know it. It's tough to keep a secret."
"I know," Anthony replied.
Unfortunately for Robbie he said the wrong thing.
"C'mon, let's get this place cleaned up."
"No.. no Anthony c'mon. We had it all planned," Robbie went after him as he picked up two more wet towels. Pulling on Anthony's shoulders, he took a spin, almost falling. The six foot-two teen caught him with little effort, saying, "You okay?"
"Yeah," Anthony replied. "Was a close one."
Joined at the waist, leaning back, chests parting, it wasn't too great enough a distance to ignore what maybe one of them was thinking. Closing his eyes, Robbie leaned in, linking up pecs. Anthony didn't fight it as something more emotional came over himself. The kiss lasted all of two seconds, but it was all either of them needed to forget about the immediate cleanup. Bending over, Robbie picked up a towel, saying, "Your turn to whip me." He put the towel in Anthony's hand. As Robbie bared his back to Anthony, coupling his fingers behind his head, he warned, "Remember, I'm doing you only as hard as you do me!"
The next whip of the towel was only a little better than Robbie's grandmother, but as each took a turn, the erotic nature caused each to put more force behind the power.
"Had enough?" Anthony asked.
"Two more," Robbie replied.
"Your back's a mess. I think you've had enough."
However Robbie cursed him out, demanding, "Fuckin' do it!"
A ham at it by now, Anthony gave Robbie what he wanted, cracking the wet towel over both shoulder blades, producing yet another pink welt, it slowly morphing into a reddish color.
Turning, his hand out to take the towel, Anthony confessed, "I've had enough."
"One more for me," Robbie said, turning back around, lifting elbows high as he cinched his hands behind his head, last thing making sure his feet were at least as wide apart as his shoulders.
"But I'm not taking another one," Anthony made clear.
"Doesn't matter. I need the pain. Just fuckin' do it."
Anyone else would think, `what a sick pup', but Anthony well knew the feeling of pain mixing with pleasure, the longing need to feel it delivered, cock and balls reacting along with the psyche.
"And make it real hard," Robbie gave one last instruction.
As Anthony twisted the towel up, he stared at the place of impact, at least a place to aim.
"If it's not hard enough you have to do it again."
He had already figured out Robbie's logic. No matter how hard he flung it against Robbie's back he knew it wouldn't have the sting Robbie intended. So he gave him what he wanted.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk....oohhhhhhh-fuck!"
Falling over, his hands grabbed hold of the edge of the towel laundry bin.
Rushing over, Anthony asks, "You alright?"
Panting, Robbie says, "No. I'll never be alright after tonight. Thanks... thanks so much Anthony. I... I can't wait til the next time."
"Look, this is a one shot deal. I don't think..."
Turning around, looking up at Anthony, just as sweated up as he was, Robbie says, "I figured so. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?"
Even though both had received their fair share of the whipping towel, Robbie one more to his credit, both were in good humor as if they hadn't experienced the pain reflected by the pink welts striping their backs.
"Before you go, how about we jack each other off?"
Robbie played coy, lying down on the floor, his ribs against the floor.
"69?" Anthony questioned. "I don't think so."
"Can't kick a guy for not trying," Robbie replied. However, instead of getting up, the teen swimmer played a dirty trick on his coach. Latching onto his torso with his hands, he quickly gulped down Anthony's cock.
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2B continued...
Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author.