Date: Sat, 07 Aug 2021 04:41:53 +0000
From: Sam Johnson <samjohnson1114@protonmail.com>
Subject: Boy Coaching [Adult Youth]

BOY COACHING
by Sam Johnson
samjohnson1114@protonmail.com [Comments welcome]


I groaned, leaning against the door jamb of the coach's office,
unwilling to enter. I was a six-year veteran of the Mallaton Maulers'
forward line, but round the coach I still felt like some dumb kid about
to get his ear twisted.

"Don't dump this on me, Coach, not now," I said. "Seriously, you
complain I'm not putting in the work at training, now you want me off
wasting half my spare time on a crap job like that?"

But the coach was unmoved. He revelled in being the hard-arse with a
cold-killer stare and all that jazz. Jesus, I was starting to worry he
was serious.

"Matt..." he said, with a dangerously lemme-tell-ya-a-story kind of
voice. I'd been hauled off the training track just now so he could tell
me my last game was "piss poor" and "showed the commitment of a
schoolgirl on her rags." Well, it might be 1986, but coach Parker ain't
budging from his 1950's approach to gender relations.

"Look," I said, trying to short-circuit the lecture, "just sign me up to
do some of them school clinic bullshit things -- like what Basher does."

The coach looked down at his desk, picked up a cheap blue box-cutter and
ran a speculative thumb across its busted blade. "There won't be any
more school clinics, that's for damn sure."

"Why? The kids love `em. Almost as much as the teachers and parents."

"There was an incident," the coach said quietly.

"Oh?"

Coach Parker shot me a look. "Did  you know? About Basher and that girl?"

I fair dinkum didn't, but I couldn't help grinning like I did. It sure
sounded like Basher. "He's not back after the jailbait again, is he?"

"I think we've smoothed things over -- I HOPE so. Christ, another
scandal like last year and we're screwed. Anyway, part of the deal, the
Mallaton Maulers footy club is no longer going to engage in any community
events involving any girls under eighteen."

"Ha! Oh yeah, sure. Have you been down the Clyde on Saturday night? Seen
the little twats that throw themselves at anything from the senior squad?
The teenyboppers will fucking burn this place down if you try to keep
`em out of the lads' panel vans."

"For fuck's sake, Matt! You're twenty-four. You're supposed to be
showing at least a HINT of maturity. You could've been captain by now --
you would've been captain now -- if you weren't such a fuck-up all the
time."

I sighed, shifted from my slouched position, came over to drop into the
seat in front of his desk. You can run and dodge and fuck about, but you
can't avoid the coach's life lectures.

"Son," he continued, "you've got maybe four years left at the top of
your game. Four years to actually fulfil your potential. After that,
you'll have another fifty years to regret being such a fuck-up."

"I plan to drink a lot," I said. "Should help."

He gave me his best dead-eye. I'm used to the coach's dead-eye, but it
was still impressive. I even straightened a little in my chair.

He continued: "You're taking the job. It's all settled. As of two hours
ago, you're the new Mallaton Junior Boys' Swim coach. Tuesdays and
Fridays at 4pm. And every second Sunday."

Jesus bloody Christ. "But what the hell do I know about swimming? What am
I supposed to teach `em?"

"As far as I can tell, it's just a glorified babysitting job. Kids with
nowhere to go after school. Keep `em entertained with some games and
prizes or whatever. But mainly, don't let anyone drown."

"Any girls?" I leered.

"At a junior boys' swim club -- whaddaya reckon, Einstein?"

"Fucken crap," I muttered. "Least, watching you, I know how to be a
coach..."

Parker raised an eyebrow.

"Just, no matter what the situation, be the biggest killjoy prick
possible."

He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Be there 4pm Tuesday. A dozen or
so boys, ages 11 to 14." Coach was grinning up a storm now.
"Maturity-wise, a perfect fit for you, Mattie."

* * *

"What the hell, Matt? Are you serious?" Emily wasn't happy.

"Babe, I've got no choice. Parker says --"

"So now on the only nights you're not at footy training, you'll be
coaching some kids' swimming team? Is this a joke? Last week you swear
to me you'll start taking our relationship more seriously, and now this.
Matt..."

She was standing beside the telly, which she'd just flicked off -- right
in the middle of Gilligan's Island, so she should've at least
appreciated how tolerant I was not to have blown my stack. But that
"Matt..." she delivered was serious. Worse than when the Skipper says,
"Gilligaaaan..."

"Em, really, I tried like fuck to get out of it, but I had no choice.
Really. You can ask the coach. But it won't be for long. The footy
club's just looking to score some brownie points, you know, show what
good community citizens we are or some bullshit. Couple of months, max, I
reckon."

"Funny you say that," she said tightly. "I was just thinking the same
thing."

"Huh?"

"Couple of months, max."

And with that, she walked out the front door to go to her mum's or the
hairdresser's or shopping or something, I forget what.

She was pretty steamed, though.

Emily's great. Easily the most serious girlfriend I've ever had. We've
been going out for almost seven months now. Seven months! Christ, that's
not far off a whole year! And, for the most part, it's been pretty cool.
Not only is Em the hottest babe in town, she's easily the best lay going
by a country mile. And, believe me, I've had plenty to compare her to.
Since I was fifteen, when footy was starting to give me real status in
this town, I've had pussy tumbling into my lap like ripe mangoes in a
summer storm. And, man oh man, I love them mangoes. Big ones, little
ones, juicy ones, squeaky little tart ones...

But I really didn't want to break up with Emily. I was certainly more
faithful to Em than I'd been with any other girl. Obviously Saturday
nights at the Clyde could be a bit dodgy, particularly if the Maulers had
had a big win, but outside of that -- don't bother knockin',
sweetheart! Ha!

But, it couldn't be denied, Em had started to nag a bit lately. Some of
her talk about commitment and "the future" put the coach in the
shade...Jesus, why couldn't people just chill a bit?

* * *

The "coaching" job turned out not too bad. A waste of time, but nothing
too strenuous. Most of the boys swam about like dogs looking for a bone
-- no idea, really, but they seemed to enjoy themselves. And I must admit
I enjoyed the kudos I had among the young'uns. They all knew me from the
footy, of course -- to be a footy star in a country town is the life, I
have to say.

Only two of the boys seemed in any way serious about swimming. Aiden, who
was fifteen, and technically should have finished with the club, but
seemed to be staying on in a mentoring-type role (which I strongly
encouraged, making my job a breeze). He was quite an athlete, Aiden,
developing a a pretty ripped young-man's physique -- I knew him vaguely
from the footy club. He was already getting a regular game with the Under
17's, occasionally the seconds, and was a pretty good prospect,
according to Les, the club's trainer and resident expert on spotting
talent in boys.

The other one was Luis. Funny little kid. Twelve years old.
Fine-featured, dark-haired, very neat, quiet little fella, always
serious. Fit, too -- obviously loved his sport -- not much of him, but a
genuine sportsman in the making so I took to him, despite him never
having much to say.

Occasionally I tried to engage him in some tom-foolery in the pool -- he
didn't often join in the non-stop caterwauling, dunking, and wrangling
byplay of the other boys, although he certainly wasn't ostracised or
anything. His sporting abilities won him cred. He just seemed to prefer
holding a bit aloof from it all. He'd laugh at my fooling around,
splashing-water duels, surprise dunkings from behind, but he didn't
really get into the spirit of it. So I didn't push it -- each to their
own and all that.

I noticed Aiden, too, spent a bit of time with Luis. Understandable, as
Luis actually wanted to learn and get better -- had a good freestyle
action from what I could tell. But, even with Aiden, it was noticeable
Luis didn't really warm up much. Funny kid.

Actually, he reminded me a bit of my best friend back at that age. I was
always a wise-cracking smartarse while Jason, my best bud, was more
studious and sensible, always rolling his eyes at my latest bit of
bullshit, telling me not to be such a...now, did he really call me a
fuck-up? Did it start way back then? Anyway, it makes for a good team:
the Laurel and Hardy, Morecombe and Wise type thing.

Jason, if you can believe it, is married now -- married! At twenty-four!
-- Christ! And they call ME a fuck-up! Works as an executive at his
dad's firm...insurance, is it? Or importing? Garden tools? Something
like that. We bump into each other now and again, but we live in
different worlds now.

As I say, despite my larrikin best, I didn't have a whole lot of luck
engaging with serious little Luis. He was always very respectful, and
worked like a demon trying to follow and excel at any instructions I gave
him, but there was always a cool distance.

I wished some of the other boys would've taken a leaf out of Luis's
book. It seemed for a lot of `em, the name of the game was to see how
great a share of my attention they could gain. "Hey, Matt, check this
out!" "Will the Maulers win this Saturday, Matt?" "Is it true Basher got
Melissa pregnant?" (Where the hell'd they hear that! Fourteen-year-old
Melissa just had to go visit her long lost Auntie, that's all! Ha!) "Can
you do this, Matt?!" "No way, Matt! -- I'm on your team!" "Look at me,
Matt! Look! Matt! LOOK!"

And their favourite game, that we had to play over and over? Taking a
"speccie" on my shoulders. I'd stand in water about chest deep, and from
behind a boy would clamber up onto my shoulders, rise right up high just
in time to try and catch a footy another boy had thrown up in the right
spot. They loved it, even though it often degenerated pretty quick into
general wrestling about and dunking and the like. Until I finally blew a
whistle -- my only real claim to coach-dom -- and said, Hey, fellas,
we're supposed to be doing some actual swimming here!

I'd forgotten what hilarious whack-jobs boys are at that age. Austin, an
animated, bright-eyed little eleven-year-old, who seemed to spend most of
his time shrieking and leaping on the backs of the other boys -- God, he
was loud -- the little bastard had this trick he thought was so damn
hilarious: whenever he got the chance, if he was not too far away, and if
I was looking in his direction, he'd quickly spin, tug the back of his
swimmers down to flash his little white butt at me. I tried to be adult
and authoritative and say, Austin, now cut that out, grow up, ya
hear...but I generally ruined the effect by laughing and throwing a ball
or a baffle at his cheeky little ass.

Being boys of eleven, twelve, thirteen, there was of course a lot of
those innocent sort of sex antics. They took it in turns to single out a
boy and try to rip his swimmers off in the pool. I was forever having to
fish some floating pair of briefs from the water, carry them back to some
poor lad clutching himself, looking around desperately for his togs,
swearing he'd kill every last one of them pooftas who'd done it.

And just yesterday, I was looking for Seb, it was his turn for a time
trial. Couldn't find him, so checked the change rooms. "Seb? You in
here, buddy?" Nothing. But just as I was leaving, an urgent whisper, one
that was easily recognisable. Ah. One of the shower cubicle doors was
closed. I walked over and knocked on it. "Seb, that you in there?"

"Uh, yeah, um, I'll just be a minute."

"You're up for your time trial."

"Oh yeah, cool -- be right there, Matt. I, um, I slipped in some mud --
just needed a quick shower."

I reckon I did well to keep a straight face. I just said, "No worries.
See you out there, buddy."

I waited a beat or two, could hear some furtive rustling about -- perhaps
the sound of a couple of boys rushing to get their bathers back on? As I
turned to leave, I couldn't resist saying, "And tell Carter his
whispering is way too loud -- heard him all the way over at the
entrance."

Dead silence as I left. Ha! But, really, good on `em, is what I really
thought.

As much as possible, with all their hijinks, I let the boys have at it --
all good healthy fun -- and I only intervened if tempers got frayed or
any boys were getting upset. My own memories of that age were of doing a
lot of mucking around and silly sex stuff with other boys. Shit, I was
horny as hell from about nine or ten, if I remember right. At that age a
boy's too young to chase girls, and jerking off gets a bit boring on
your own, so wanking contests and belly-rubbing and
you-do-me-and-I'll-do-you and all the rest seemed a pretty good deal.
I'll bet if I asked my old pal Jason, he'd deny it furiously, say that
he had NEVER...but he fucken loved it at the time. Funny, having all
those old memories brought back so strong by these crazy little dudes.
Maybe the coach was right and I just didn't have it in me to grow up
properly.

There was only one little problem of a, ah, sexual nature. One that I'd
noticed from the very first day -- and, I mean, it wasn't a really a
problem -- I just ignored it as a natural puberty thing...It concerned
Luis, of course. Lovely little fella who I just couldn't quite figure
out. He just needed to chill out a bit.

He -- how to put this delicately (never my specialty)--he, well, the
young lad seemed to spend an awful lot of time with a boner. I know, I
know, a twelve-year-old boy throwing rods all over the shop is hardly big
news. Hell, with this group of boys, spotting boners tenting swimming
briefs was as easy as spotting fireworks going off at Chinese New Year.
But with Luis, it seemed, whenever he wasn't submerged in water -- there
it was. I mean, it didn't stick out obviously, lying almost flat against
him, vertically up to the waistband of his blue togs, and still too small
to create any great kerfuffle...but once I'd noticed it, its
omnipresence, so to speak, it...well, it really started to niggle at me.
Why didn't he, like the other boys, just take it in the showers and get
rid of it, give himself (and me) some peace, a little down time?

And one thing I couldn't work out: was Luis worried by it? He didn't
seem to be; he never took action to try and cover it up. It didn't seem
to cause him any obvious embarrassment, almost as if he didn't know it
was there. Yet I couldn't help wondering if it was related to his
stand-offishness, the way he never fully joined in with the group.
Although that sort of speculation was getting a bit beyond my
psychological capabilities. Just ask Em -- if it moves, she reckons, I'll
either try to fuck it or kick it through the big sticks for a goal.
Sounds like a plan to me.

On quite a few occasions, when I had Luis up the shallow end for some
one-on-one instruction, I almost said, Hey, man, why don't you go work
that boner off? I mean, his body had begun to develop, chest, shoulders,
tummy -- only the very beginning stages but definitely starting, so he
shouldn't really be wandering around like some innocent little kid with
no clue what his dick was all about. Or was I wrong? Hell, remembering my
own youth was no help -- a boner like that would've been thrashed within
an inch of its life the moment it appeared!

And the times I held Luis horizontal in the water, cradling him in my
arms for instruction, trying to improve some aspect of his action --
well, it was difficult not to occasionally bump his stubborn little
spike. He'd always sort of flinch, dip his hips up and away from the
touch, but his serious little face never gave anything away.

But the day I overheard Owen giving him some grief, I decided I had to do
something. Owen was the one boy I didn't have much time for. Fourteen
and noticeably bigger than the other boys (except Aiden, who was really
in the young man class), he had a rather sullen, boorish personality.
I'm not sure why he was there; he seemed to find everything we did
stupid or a waste of time. I guess his parents must have insisted.

I was close enough to overhear Owen nudge his offsider, Santiago, and
say, "See, look, I told ya! He's been pulling himself again!"

They were by the side of the pool, and Luis immediately headed for the
pool edge to dive in, but Owen grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him,
made a grab at the boy's outlined erection -- although Luis was too
quick and evaded his hand, skipped clear.

"Get a magnifying glass," Owen brayed. "We'll see if we can find it."

As a joke, it didn't even make sense, but apparently it was good enough
to crack up both Owen and Santiago. Luis, to his credit, simply said with
admirable calm, "Drop dead, idiot," turned and dove sleek as an otter
into the water.

About ten minutes later, I was able to approach Owen, sitting by himself
on his towel on the grass. I said quietly, "You ever do anything like
that again, what you said to Luis, and you're out. And I'll make sure
everyone knows why. If you've got an obsession with little boys' cocks,
go see a shrink, try and deal with it more responsibly. Okay?"

He said nothing. But he did pale nicely, so I left it at that.

But something had to be done. Forget what I said to Owen -- my own
obsession with Luis's erection was becoming a goddamn pain in the neck.

That afternoon, after I blew the whistle to end the day, and the boys
were straggling off to the change rooms, I put a hand on Luis's shoulder
and told him I wanted a quick word, and guided him over to edge of the
pool to sit down.

"Okay, now...first, your swimming is really impressive, Luis. You're
easily the best here, which --"

"Aiden's the best," he said firmly.

"Oh, yeah, sure -- but he's a different age-category altogether. I meant
among the kids at your level."

He gave a curt nod, as if he would accept that.

"Yes...so is swimming something you want to pursue at a competition
level?"

He considered that seriously (of course), then said, looking down, "I
really want to play footy."

"Ha! Really? Cool! You shoulda said -- you know I play a bit?"

He blurted, "Yeah, of course -- I've seen six games this year -- I saw
you kick 8 against Freo...but...just..." Apparently he'd overdone it and
his voice faded out as he looked down at the concrete.

I really couldn't work this kid out. Walks around all day with a
whacking great boner in his briefs without a care in the world, but
breaks out in hives when he talks about how he likes playing footy -- to
a footy player! And I thought women were hard to understand -- ha!

"So do you play in the Under 13's?"

"Nah."

"Well, shit, I could get you in, no worries, buddy."

"Mum won't let me."

"Ah. Right. What about your dad?"

"I've just got a mum."

"Yeah, mum's can be a bit batshit about footy, when they've still got
their boys under their thumb -- but give it a couple of years and you'll
be right."

He studiously ignored that, or appeared to. "Aiden already plays in the
under 17's and the seconds," he said.

"And he's pretty bloody talented from what I've heard."

That got a vigorous nod of agreement. "He is."

As I said, Aiden and Luis did spend a bit of time together here. The
funny thing was, I assumed Luis wasn't overly keen on the older boy's
attention -- and yet here he was indicating he had a bit of hero crush on
him. Which was a damn good thing. Aiden certainly seemed to favour Luis
over the other boys. I made a mental note to talk to Aiden later on --
maybe he was the one to help Luis with this bit of awkwardness.

Having thought that, I was about to clap the lad on the back and say
let's go...but I didn't. That'd be weak. For fuck's sake, it wasn't
that big a deal.

I said, "Anyway, I really wanted to ask about what that asshole Owen was
saying to you before."

His little face set hard, lips pressed tight. He leant forward, forearms
resting on his thighs as he kept his gaze fixed on the concrete.

I continued: "I told him he's out on his ear if he does it again -- so
you just tell me if he does, okay?"

"I don't care about him."

"Good! He's not worth the time of day, that one. But I was wondering if
it, um, worries you?"

"Owen? Nah -- stuff him."

"I wasn't really talking about Owen." Bloody hell, why was this so
goddamn difficult? I could talk about sex with the pope, and twice on
Sundays, without raising a sweat...But for some reason Luis got me a bit
tangled up. I mean, what if I raised the dread subject and it humiliated
him? Ah, but who could be offended by the ole Mattie-boy charm... "Thing
is, buddy, that, well, I have noticed you get a lot of boners..."

He shot me a startled look. "You saw?"

"Well, don't worry, it's not that obvious. I'm sure that -- mainly
cos, you know, when I'm instructing you, it's hard, um -- I don't mean
hard -- I mean, look, shit, it's no big deal, I was just wondering if,
like, does it worry you?" Jesus Christ -- top marks to the kid if he
could understand a word I was saying -- cos I sure couldn't.

"I don't mean it," was all he said, quietly.

"No, well, that's the thing about boners -- wild horses, the lot of
`em. Try to stomp `em down and they'll rear up and take your bloody
eye out like a hissing cobra!"

He expelled a breath of air -- laughter? Contempt? Who knew. Christ, I
hoped I wasn't creating a disaster. But I'd blundered in so far it'd
be worse to try and turn back.

"I mean, cos look, I'm sure I don't have to tell you it's completely
normal -- boner-city and all that -- I mean, shit, since I took over as
coach, working with all you twelve-year olds -- I see these popsicle
sticks twanging about all over the place, not just yours -- like
mushrooms at a peat-moss convention." I thought it wasn't a bad line, but
it only got a small frown creasing his brow. "By the way, buddy," I said.
"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Can you make out a single thing I'm saying here?"

He laughed at that, turning to me with perhaps the first real smile I'd
gotten from him. "Not really!"

"No, see that's the thing about being a footy player -- the talent tends
to concentrate from the neck down...although I get the feeling that
isn't the case with you. You seem, um, thoughtful."

There was a long pause as he continued looking down. Finally he said, "So
why do I get a stiff all the time. The others don't."

"Geez, Luis, I really don't know. Naturally variability is probably a
lot to do with it. I know a lot of top athletes have big sex drives.
Maybe you're like me -- you're going to be a hot stud when you grow
up."

"But you don't get `em."

"Well, not here. As you get older your hard-ons become a bit
more...focussed -- a bit more canny about where and when they raise their
heads, so to speak. But believe me, I get `em ALL the time."

"Really?"

"Shit, yeah! Every morning I wake up with a raging hard-on and --"

"Me too!"

"God, I remember those hard-ons at your age -- those morning wanks are
the best -- it's like that girl you're dreaming about is right there in
your bed!"

But I'd lost him again to frownsville.

"So you like a good wank in the morning?" I asked casually.

He shot a look at me, suspicious, almost angry. "That'd make it worse."

"Eh? Make what worse?"

"Make it get stiff all the time."

Suddenly I felt like an idiot. Of course. The poor kid was just in a
state of complete suppressed ignorance -- still possible in this
supposedly liberated time of the mid-eighties, particularly in towns like
Mallaton. Like a dufus I'd totally missed the obvious signs.

"Buddy, okay, I'm being totally serious now. Wanking is not only normal,
it's healthy, it's good for you. Not doing it will cause far more
problems than doing it. Okay?"

He shook his head. "You can get sick -- I know."

Whoa! Danger, Will Robinson! I decided to skirt round that one, keep it
casual. "If that was true, I'd have been in intensive care on
life-support long ago. But look at me -- a total hot stud -- and I could
never have done it with a commitment to wanking at every possible
opportunity."

He laughed a bit, but was busy thinking, too. Too much thinking and not
enough letting out a bit of shaft, if you asked me. But he said, "Frank
says you can't be a sportsman if you do that -- you can't get fit and
strong if you're a deviant."

"Well Frank's full of shit," I said. "And he obviously hasn't met
Basher."

He looked up in alarm. "You know Frank?"

"No. But I know about wanking -- ask Coach Parker -- he reckons I'm the
world's biggest wanker. And I'm telling you, Frank might be the best man
in town, might be the fucken prime minister, but on this subject he's
completely and totally wrong." I was dying to know who Frank was and what
manner of puritanical hogwash he was peddling, but some instinct told me
not to go digging there right now. The boy spent too much of his time
frowning over his private worries -- what he needed was to blow clear of
it all. "I mean," I continued, "I can probably dig up some actual medical
stuff or something on all this -- if you want to read about it."

But, even better, he seemed to want to talk about it. "But I know -- cos,
um, when I do, you know, play with it -- you saw -- it gets stiff all the
time!"

"Buddy, I've never seen you play with it -- the other boys, Christ, they
can't leave it alone for five minutes -- but you, it always looks as
though you don't even know your cock exists."

"No, I meant at night, in bed, if I play with it..."

"So you do wank?" Christ, was I getting anywhere useful with this?

"I suppose...sorta...squeezing..." Another heated pause. "But it
hurts..."

I did admire him, brave little fella, keeping going, getting this
painfully private stuff out there -- I hoped it was a good thing. He
started up again rapidly, "Like, at night, I, um, squeeze it, to make it
go away, but if it gets red, and it hurts, and I can't..."

Trying to make sense of all this was doing my head in, so I stood up.
"Luis, let's go."

"Where?"

I looked over to the change rooms. "The others have all gone. We've got
the place to ourselves. We're going to go get in a shower cubicle for a
good ole game of show and tell."

"Huh?"

"So you've really never done anything like that?"

"What?"

"Mucked around with other boys -- showed each other your dicks, given
`em a tug and all that. You've never done that?"

He shook his head, worried, bemused, but he was standing up to go with
me, pushing and adjusting his boyhood. Was that progress, maybe -- he was
at least acknowledging his boner.

On the walk to the change rooms, it did finally occur to me: What the
fuck was I doing? Taking a young boy into the showers to play with his
dick...I mean, when you put it like that -- not something you'd expect
the town's star centre-half-forward, renowned hunk and girl-slayer, to
be doing. What would the coach say about this? The fuck-up to end all
fuck-ups -- ha!

Problem was, I couldn't get too worked up about the wrongness of it all.
I've always been a bit balls-out when it comes to sex. Screwing around
with boys when I was Luis's age had been a blast, and -- something I
hadn't thought of in a long time -- there was this one time Jason's dad
asked me to come out to his garage...I think I was about Luis's age. And
he was showing me all this boxing gear, a sport I was really into at the
time. It was a great set-up, couldn't understand why Jason hadn't shown
me.

I ended up with the gloves on, fully laced up, mouthguard in, protective
helmet on, bare-chested, silky boxing shorts on, dancing around the
punching bag hanging from the roof, both of us admiring my form in a
mirror...and then, weird, all of sudden my shorts and undies were down
around my ankles. Quite methodically, without saying a word, Jason's dad
masturbated me. I shot a few sprinkles on the concrete floor, and he
pulled my pants back up. He said I was developing into a fine young man,
then we went inside. Never happened again, and I certainly never told
Jason, but I remember being a bit disappointed he never asked me out to
the garage again. I loved boxing.

But then, around fifteen or sixteen, I discovered girls in a big way. The
boy stuff just fell away. But a memory of it did persist in the
background, a sort of nostalgia -- cropping up at a school clinic or when
a teammate's little bro came in the dressing rooms, some wide-eyed young
fella who was all red-faced with the thrill of being around big naked
men. I didn't really have any explicit desire to have sex with a boy,
but I did experience almost a muscle memory, a fading hangover from the
time when sex was just pure randy uncomplicated fun. As hot and
compelling as the babes are, they do come with baggage, the crazy
bitches. (Sorry, Em!)

So maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, as we walked to the change
rooms, my hand on the boy's slender shoulder, to be feeling a bit aroused
by the good deed I was planning for the day.

Inside the rooms, I told Luis to pick a shower while I grabbed my
training bag and some towels. On my first day as coach, when I saw these
change rooms, I couldn't believe it. Back in my day the showers had been
totally out in the open -- one in all in. I remember a couple of evenings
when...but I have to stop drifting down that funky damn memory lane.
Anyway, regarding the new cubicles, obviously some forward-thinking
zealot had decided that boys need their privacy. It hadn't worked that
well for Luis so far, but you can't fight progress.

Luis was standing at the door to the last cubicle. Maybe it was my
imagination, but I could swear his stubborn little boner was jutting more
noticeably.

As I approached, Luis said in his serious voice, "We're going in the
same shower?"

"We sure are, buddy."

With a nervous glimmer of a smile, he indicated the shower cubicle,
"Aiden uses this one."

"Ha! Bewdy -- should bring us luck, eh?"

Then he rushed on, "Once, before you came, I was over getting changed,
and Aiden was having a shower -- in this one -- and he called out and
said he forgot his towel, could I bring it over. And I did, and, and he
opened the door just a little bit and I put the towel through, and I saw
his, um" -- sudden blush now -- "he had a massive boner."

"And you didn't join him in there?" I said, exaggeratedly appalled,
getting a nice scandalised laugh from him.

"No way!" he cried.

"Bet he wanted you to."

"Aiden?" He was incredulous. "No way known!"

"I'll bet he did. I'm gunna ask him."

Luis looked genuinely horrified. "Matt, no, don't! Please!"

"Only joking, slugger," I said, ruffling his almost-dry short dark hair,
which somehow managed to look perfectly neat in the water and out. "But
one thing I can tell you for free: I want to get in the shower with you."

I started to push the door open as he said, "So, in there, we'll, um,
show..."

I turned to him: "Holy mackerel, buddy -- you're determined to overthink
every last red corpuscle in your body, aren't you?"

He shrugged, making another restless push at his sex. "Go on," I said,
pointing dramatically, "and from here on in you let your cock do the
talking, okay?"

As I guided him through the door, dumped the bag and towels on the wooden
bench in the change area before the shower stall, he said, almost
cheekily, "Well, yeah, but my dick can't talk."

"Bet it can sing, though," I said, getting the door closed and locked
behind us.

"Ha! What, like, Mary Had a Little Lamb?"

For some reason, this sudden nervous prattle of his -- the first time I'd
heard him try to get a bit silly -- was getting me really roused up. Nice
choice of song title, actually -- little lamb, indeed. I was really
surprised at how much I wanted to strip this boy off now that he was
obviously getting excited by it all.

"Okay, so who's first?" I said.

"For what?"

"To drop `em."

Since I'd joined him at the shower, I'd noticed him shoot several quick
glances at my speedos -- I was half boned-up and making a bit of
spectacle. But, as always, it was impossible to tell what he was
thinking.

"Well, guess I'll have to be the grown-up, then," I said. "Had to happen
sometime, I guess." Then I shucked the speedos down, my circumcised cock
swinging out about three-quarters hard.

Now this might sound like a vulgar boast, but I swear the kid gave a
little gasp, eyes widening, hand on his own stiff cock, saying, "Bloody
hell -- it's big!"

"Well that's mighty nice of you to say so, Luis."

"And that's a stiff?" he asked, seeming almost a little mesmerised.

"Not far from it."

"And that's -- you, um -- when it's like that, you wank off?"

"Does the Pope wear a funny hat?" I made a show of taking a deliberate
stance, takin a good round-arm grip and jerking my cock with a full hard
no-nonsense stroke.

The boy took a step back, eyes locked on my display. I felt like I'd
stumbled onto some ancient pagan form of ritual hypnosis. He'd lost his
studiousness, seemed to stare in a sort of daze. Christ, something about
the way the boy kept staring, that quiet little mug on him, such a tender
young fella -- I was fully boned up and then some. I had to remind myself
there was an educative point to all this. I took my hand away and let my
straining cock throb aggressively at centre-stage.

Then he reached out, sort of unconsciously -- made the tiniest contact,
then looked up at me, almost guiltily.

"Knock yourself out, buddy! Give it a tug -- that's what we're here
for."

So he stepped in a bit and reached to touch the swollen knob, very
tentatively, butterfly soft, almost looking a little drugged as he got
more daring, felt along the shaft, held it like tennis racket handle,
then got round to my side so he could try mimicking my stroke action. But
his smaller hand was so gentle-soft, like he was stroking the feathers of
a dove.

"Grab it hard," I said. "And give it a good hard beating, like I did."

He nodded, stepping closer to get a good grip, and, Jesus, started
wanking me good, almost right. "Good. Now, just...see how, put your hand
here like this -- gets the skin to slide up over -- fuck, buddy, that's
it...shit." Jesus Christ, like some horny teenager I was going blow my
load in two minutes flat the way we going.

I gently but firmly grabbed his wrist, removed his hand. "Okay,
bud...holy crap, I shoulda known, a natural sportsman like you, you
fucken nailed it first time."

I took a breath. Luis had been watching both his work on my cock and my
reactions. He said, "Did it hurt?"

"No. Well, a really good sort of hurt, I s'pose you could call it."

He looked at his hand. "And that's the spoof!" he cried, holding the
edge of his hand to me. On his forefinger he'd collected a nice swipe of
pre-cum, glistening under the fluorescent light.

"That comes out before the spoof -- pre-cum. The spoof comes out in globs
of white stuff."

"Why didn't yours?"

"Oh don't worry, I'll be painting the walls with it soon enough," I
said.

He looked at the end of my cock where there was more of the clear stuff
to see. He squeezed at it with finger and thumb, drew out a sticky
string, gathered a dollop, rubbed it between his fingers, testing its
consistency -- even sniffed it! Damn -- no stopping the little fella now!

This was fine but I was getting a bit impatient. "Okay so now I wanna --"

"Should I have hair growing like that?" he said, reaching to push his
fingers into the thick bush of my pubes.

"If you've got hair like that, we're off to the circus. But right now I
reckon it's time --"

"Whoa!" His face lit up with a whooping laugh as he now gently felt my
balls. "Feel them! Big fat ones!"

Now as it happens, I do have big balls. It was remarked upon back in my
earliest youth, and right now they seemed to be swelling above and
beyond. "Ooh, shit, steady, slugger," I had to say as he tried to get one
in the grip of his hand.

"Sorry," he said, drawing back.

"No probs, buddy -- you know what a knock in the knackers is like."

He nodded.

"So come on, your turn, Luis -- drop `em."

"Take my bathers off?"

"Got it in one."

He broke into the sweetest, silliest grin. His turn now and he was keen,
shy, excited, nervous. But he moved quick, without hesitation, hooked the
elastic to pull the front of his briefs out over his stiffy then ripped
`em right down, fast, like tearing off a band aid, so that I had to grab
his arm to stop him tripping over.

"Steady!" I laughed.

He bounded back up and stood to attention, ready for inspection, cheeks
reddening, eyes lit up.

"Buddy, hot damn, that's a great cock!" Partly I was speaking from
relief at finally getting his cock out in the open where it belonged, but
I was also speaking the plain truth. The outline in his briefs didn't do
him justice--for a boy still without pubes, his cock had a striking
presence.

Luis gave a nervous snort at my comment, glancing down at himself but
remaining at attention, awaiting his battle orders.

It'd only been ten years since I mucked around with boys like Luis, but
I couldn't remember them being quite so...so compelling. He was stirring
up old sediment or some bullshit. I felt it in the gut, and strong. Maybe
it was just Luis, maybe he was a one-off freak of boyish sexiness. It
would explain why he was so weird about sex -- must be tough for such a
young lad, to be gifted with such a freakishly enormous sex appeal. I
know I was starting to find it a challenge.

Only with his briefs off was it apparent how tanned he was, the stark
whiteness of his pubic area making his sex stand out with brazen vigour.
And the boy-cock, it really was a ripper, a slightly thicker wand than
its outline had suggested, sticking up so hard, at once fierce and
stabbing and also cheeky and twangy. The uncircumcised foreskin stretched
silken all the way over his little knob showing just a tiny moist pink
tip, and the whole smooth hard length of him seemed to have a sort of
otherworldly pearliness. Even his little ball-bag, pulled up tight,
seemed somehow set out on display like some priceless gem.

"Okay, I gotta get a proper look at you," I said, taking a seat on the
wooden bench set in the side of the change area, guiding the boy closer
to me by the arm. Looking past him, to the mirror on the other side of
the change area, I saw the jutting shoulder blades, the delicate run of
his spine down to the stark rounded perfection of his little white butt.
Christ almighty, I almost said aloud...and if I was honest, I'd have to
say, what I felt right then, was a sudden urge to fuck the boy.

"It's not very big," he said.

"Hm? Huh?"

He twanged his stiffy with his thumb. "My dick."

Now that was cute -- the boy so obviously fishing for compliments,
thrilled to be so rudely exposing himself to such an appreciative
audience.

"Mate, for your size, only at the start of your growth spurt, that's a
mighty fine foundation to build man-cock on, believe me -- I don't
reckon I was any bigger at your age."

"Really?" He shot a newly appraising look at my cock, receding somewhat
in my seated posture. There was to be only one star of this show for now.

Then he said, "Is that my hair?" And with the finger tips of both hands
he stretched up the tight smooth skin of his pubis to show...ah, yes, the
light caught it, some fine blonde hairs just above the base of his penis.

"If I remember rightly," I said, "that's just a bit of fuzz before the
storm. But your real pubes will be kicking in any day now."

He seemed a little nonplussed. "But it's hair -- feel it."

It seemed a fair request, so I did feel it. Gently lowered his erection a
little with one hand while with the other I felt the almost imperceptible
tickle of his tiny blonde hairs. It was like a secret boy-code, written
in invisible ink, decipherable only by the experienced underground agent.

"It's pretty sexy stuff, Luis, but it ain't pubic hair -- it's just
there to tell blokes like me that it's time to check you out."

"Pff!" He looked up with a nervous glint. "How will you check me out?"

"Like this of course." I put a full grip on his hot stiffy, causing him
to take a breath, drop his own hands away, suck his tummy in.

"Shit, look at that!" I enthused. "You're already a good solid fistful."
I gave him a squeeze and a hint of a rub and he rose up on his toes,
tensing further, but suddenly frowning, so I let him go.

He immediately reached to himself, and used a practiced grip with fingers
and thumb to squeeze -- bloody hard! -- the end of his cock, stretching
the foreskin right forward, almost as though trying to force his hard-on
back into his body.

"That's how I squeeze it," he said, "when, like, at night, to make it go
down."

"Hm, well, actually, buddy, no offence but you've got it all
arse-backwards. Here your cock is, trying to do the right thing, trying
to thrust itself all hot and sexy into the world, saying, `Hey bitches,
check this out!' -- and you keep trying to strangle the poor fella and
shove him back in his cage. Let him live, buddy!"

He laughed a bit, but mainly he was getting randy as hell -- and he let
his cock go and pushed his hips forward, wanting my hand back on him.

"Oh, yeah, that's MUCH better." I took hold of him gently with finger
and thumb, at the base of his cock head, started a very gentle sliding
motion on his foreskin, tiny movements, thumb on the shaft's underside,
touching his little sweet spot, and it got from him some lovely flinches,
even some little baby fuck-movements of his hips.

"So does it slide back okay? I wanna wank you off, buddy."

"Huh?"

"Your foreskin. Does it slide right back alright?"

"Um..."

"You said something before about it hurting and getting red. It looks
okay now -- is it sore at all when I start rubbing it?"

He seemed to nod and shake his head all at once. "Sometimes it...I
dunno..."

In the boy's defence, he was too excited to make much sense right now.
"Okay," I said, "I'm going to slide it right back, nice and gentle, nice
and slow, and you yell out if it hurts at all, okay?"

He nodded, concentrating fiercely, suddenly clenching his fists and
holding them straight down by his sides.

It was tightish, but nothing problematic. Despite a couple of flinches as
I slid it right back, I got the boy's sweet little glans fully exposed,
the candy pinkness of a boy in rude good health. Luis's consternated
"Oooooh..." as I worked him, seemed to express both his excitement and
his astonishment at that excitement. He was such a horny little
hair-trigger of a boy.

"Okay, buddy," I said. "I'm gunna wank you off."

"Mm," he said impatiently, worriedly, staring down at himself.

Using fingers and thumb, I thought a few quick strokes and he'd cum, but
as I got a nice steady action going on him, warming his tight foreskin up
nicely, he suddenly dipped his hips back, grabbing at my hand working
him, saying, "Oh shit, it's -- stop!"

I wondered for a moment if he'd cum and I missed it, and as I let him go
he skipped back a step or two.

But as I again grabbed his arm, pulling him back in close, briefly
returning a full gentle grip to his straining boy-cock, the little
shudder he gave was definitely that of a boy still in the game.

"Okay, come here you -- none of this running away bullshit." I turned him
round, pulled him back against me as I leant back against the training
bag and towels squashed up against the wall, got him in between my spread
knees, sitting in the crook of my left thigh, my cock crushing nicely
against the top of his right buttock. He adjusted his position slightly,
sliding his little butt about and setting the whole fucken show on fire.
I wrapped an arm round his tight torso, pulled him in close, making him
lean right back onto me. "Now you're not going anywhere."

He gave a protesting murmur, still working his butt around -- Christ! --
but was making no attempt to get away -- if anything he seemed to be
trying to wriggle in closer.

I gently took his cock again between fingers and thumb -- like a
safe-cracker, I wanted to feel the tiniest click and whir of his internal
mechanism. I started on him with light strokes, increasing speed and
pressure, getting his foreskin to rub him almost unbearably -- and he
squeezed his knees together and tried to bend forward over himself but I
tightened my arm around him and ignored his hand grabbing at my wrist. So
he ground his butt harder back against me, sliding about as he tried to
cope with the too-intense feeling of my masturbating him -- and my cock,
crushed hard between me and the boy, was suddenly lying flat between the
tight cheeks of his butt. It would have been the work of a moment to...oh
Christ -- I got a bit savage, almost winding the boy as I pulled him hard
back against me, driving the flat of my shaft deeper into his little
cleft -- it was both a way of getting off and of safeguarding the boy
from my full animal lust -- but his sweaty heat, and my pre-cum, was
making his tight butt crack unbearably slick and hot.

All this made me keen to moderate my masturbation of him. I had been
planning a good fast wank, zero to hero in twenty strokes or less. Now I
played him a bit. Worked him with quick firm strokes as his knob swelled
a deeper pink and he strained his neck muscles as he was right there but
I let him go and roughly rasped his foreskin right back --"Ahh! Ooh!"--
and I squeezed his swollen knob, getting on my finger the first little
droplet of his dew, which made him squirm and make little frustrated
noises as he ground his little butt down and I pulled him even tighter
onto me. But then it was time, and I regathered his slippery little
foreskin and rubbed it fast up and down. His upper torso was gaining a
pinkish hue, flushing up into his cheeks, and soon the boy gave a rising
"Nnngggh," before he emitted a single small grunt, suddenly grabbing my
thighs and trying to fuck his cock right up high as he reached his orgasm
-- such a fantastically rapid-fire succession of pulses, and all over in
a jiffy, the boy still frozen in mid-arch, stunned, and just two of the
littlest dribbles of clear juice coming out of him, onto my fingers, as
the boy quickly segued into some sharp flinches at the slightest touch on
his severely wanked and terribly tender little boy-cock.

THE END