I'm a high school football coach, and I'm queer, which means I'm underpaid and perpetually horny. I'm surrounded by good looking, sweaty young jocks oozing testosterone for hours every day, and the temptation can be great. My usual practice is to stay out of the locker room when my guys are changing and showering because, well, who needs to see all that untouchable cock on a daily basis? Untouchable because one fucking touch would cost me my fucking job and probably land me in jail. Not that those are the only reasons, of course, but those are enough. I don't need to mention, or shouldn't need to, that job and jail aside, fondling one of guys would just be wrong.
So I stay out of the locker room most days, but I can't completely abdicate my responsibilities of supervision and discipline, now can I? So yeah, I've checked out countless six packs, bulging jockstraps, gorgeous un-humpable butts and fat swinging dicks in my time as a coach. But it became even more difficult for me to avoid my "oversight" responsibilities when a rising senior named Jeff transferred into our district.
I found myself inexorably drawn to the locker room with an increasing - and almost unseemly - frequency during summer two•a•days when the long, lanky transfer student with the infectious smile and chiselled features was busting his ass to make our team. I knew it was wrong but I consoled myself with the fact that I was only there to look.
And what I saw kept drawing me back for more until I found myself stopping by Jeff's locker to give him pointers on technique or to (faux) chew him out for a supposed missed assignment or to offer words of encouragement. My drop by's, of course, were always timed to coincide with Jeff's emergence from the showers, his hard young body dripping wet.
I'd stand there talking to Jeff as long as I had to until he'd finally drop his towel. The first time that towel hit the floor, I'm embarrassed to say, that I literally gulped - not embarrassed to be caught looking, but to be caught so obviously admiring.
Jeff was obviously onto me almost from the beginning... and he began to reward my persistence by dropping his towel earlier and earlier during my visits to his locker...and by not turning around, always looking me in the eye - except when he was checking out my package or giving me the special reward of bending over to pick up his towel so I'd get an eyeful of his sweet peach of an ass framing his heavy low hangers. I swear it's almost as if that kid had intuited that nothing flipped my switch more than a beautiful dripping ass with wet hair escaping its crack.
One day during the last week of practice before the final roster cut, Jeff volunteered to stay late after practice to help me line the field. I figured he was just trying to earn brownie points, not that he needed to. He was talented, hard working and - though he didn't know it yet - he'd already made the team.
The fact that Jeff was a natural leader, smart, funny, and outrageously blessed with good looks, a perfect ass and a fat, meaty cock had also been given due (but not undue) consideration. The fact that on each of the three previous days Jeff had contrived to discreetly flop his fat, floppy cock around at least once while I was ogling him in the locker room had not factored into my decision.
The locker room was long since empty by the time Jeff and I finished lining the field. "You going to shower after I leave, Coach?"
"Sure, after you leave," I replied. "The heat was brutal today." He and I were both drenched. The sweat only made him more desirable to me.
"Shower with me," Jeff said casually, "you know, save time for...later." I probably gulped again. I definitely felt a surge of blood in my groin.
"I...I....I can't," I stammered. "You go ahead."
"Not fair, Coach," Jeff replied, "you've been checking me out for weeks. I don't mind, I mean, I'm flattered...but I'm just as attracted to you as you obviously are to me...but I've never gotten to see you, you know..." We were standing only about a foot apart. Jesus, how had we gotten so physically close to one another?
"Jeff, we...we can't—" I croaked unconvincingly.
"Coach, I'm 18," he said, as if that mattered, "and you've never seen me hard."
No, of course I'd never seen him hard, but God knows I'd imagined him hard, I'd imagined his hard cock in my mouth, up my ass, my cock cracking his freshly rimmed dripping wet hairy ass every single night while I masturbated. No doubt the forbidden nature of Jeff's fruit contributed to my feelings, but I'd never wanted anyone more in my life.
