Date: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 07:27:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: - - <mike.99999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Coach and Shy Kid - Part 2

A couple days later, I was walking through the park alone and saw Coach
from across the street. He was in front of the house he had pointed out,
and he was mowing the lawn.


I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I was just walking around. I stared
as I walked towards him. He looked over at me and smiled and waved from
across the street. I was a little surprised. I figured our talk was just
polite conversation, but he actually remembered me.

I waved and lowered my head with an awkward smile. Then I weirded out and
acted like I was headed some place else.

I walked down the street and looked back over my shoulder. Out of the
corner of my eye, I saw Coach lift his shirt up over his head and off. I
didn't look. I just kept walking to no place. I felt stupid, wondering why
it was such a big deal to me. I looked back over my shoulder, but I was too
far to see him. I thought about how he was back there with no shirt on. I
pictured in my mind what he'd look like.

I walked down the street for a while, trying to think of someplace to
go. After a long walk, I ended up just stopping and turning around and
walking right back the way I came.

As I walked back, I crossed the street to be on the side that Coach's house
was on. From the next block, I could see that he wasn't mowing the lawn
anymore. I didn't see him anywhere.

Hands in my pockets, I walked down the street and, as I got closer to his
house, I could see that his garage door was open and he was inside, putting
the lawnmower away. His T-shirt was back on.

I figured I'd just walk by again, but he looked at me and smiled and
waved. I stopped and pulled my hand out to wave back.

"Hey Tom!" he yelled, walking down to the sidewalk. I said hey back. He
reached out a hand, and I held mine up. He grabbed it and gave a tight grip
until I gripped back. We shook hands there for a few seconds until he asked
how it was going.

"Fine," I replied.  "Hey, you want to play a little catch again?" he asked.
"Okay," I replied.

We walked up to his garage, and he grabbed a glove and tossed it to
me. Then he grabbed one for himself and a ball. He pulled the door down,
and we walked across the street to the field.

We tossed the ball back and forth, him making polite conversation and me
trying not to be act stupid.

"Still don't want to try out for the team?" he asked. I shrugged my
shoulders, and threw the ball back at him. "Alright, I'll stop asking," he
said.

After a few minutes of quiet catch, I yelled, "But we can still hang out,
right?" He laughed and nodded.

"Come by my place any time," he said. "Hey, here comes a high one!" He
tossed the ball way up in the air in my direction. I looked up, squinted
into the sun, and ran forward to where it was headed. I just barely caught
it. "Nice one!" Coach yelled to me. I tossed it back with a smile.

It was a really warm day, and we were in the sun. After about 5 minutes, I
started to wipe the sweat off my forehead. I could feel little trickles of
sweat run down my sides and tickle me.

"You getting hot?!" Coach yelled to me, pulling the neck of his T-shirt out
to let air in.  "No! I'm alright!" I yelled back.

Coach threw me the ball, and then dropped his glove to the grass. He wiped
his forehead with his forearm, grabbed the neck of his shirt and slid it up
over his head. First, I saw his stomach. It was thin. I saw a bit of white
waistband below his khakis. As his arms went into the fabric and his elbows
poked out, I saw a patch of dark hair under his armpit, a bit of hair on
his chest, and the lines of his ribs.

He stood up straight, now shirtless, and bent over to get his glove. He
shoulders were wide and rounded. His chest muscles were impressive. Hair
went from his chest down a line to his bellybutton. I wondered if I'd get
as hairy as that. I tried not to stare, but we've just been looking at each
other for a while now.

I aimed my head around to look at the trees and the clouds, darting my eyes
over to him.

"Ready!" he yelled, holding out his glove. Now I noticed his tensed
arms. Even in a short-sleeved shirt, you don't notice how big a guy's arms
are.

I tossed the ball back to him. He caught it and flipped it around in his
glove. He threw it back at me, and it made a thwap as it went into the
leather.

He yelled over to me, "There's nobody around, if you want to take your
shirt off, too!"

With sweat slowly soaking my armpits, I yelled back, "I'm okay!"

We continued our back and forth. Occasionally, Coach would attempt a
question about my plans for the day or about grades. I'd reply in one word,
like "nothing" or "fine," all the while staring at his muscles.

Somebody was jogging along the sidewalk, and Coach noticed, turned his
head, and then turned around to watch. Maybe he thought it was someone he
knew. As he turned, I saw his back. The muscles in his shoulders stuck out,
and there was a long thin line that curved down the middle. The sun made a
shadow in it. I could see a bit of white waistband in the back, where his
pants were looser.

He turned back and I glanced around again. We threw the ball back and forth
for another ten minutes or so, and finally Coach yelled over to me, "Wanna
go in for some lemonade?!"

I shook my head and hurried over to him. As I jogged over, he slipped his
shirt back on. I handed him the glove I was using, and he put it on his
with the ball. We walked up his driveway and through his door.

Inside, there was a little hallway and a stairway that led up. At the top
of the stairs was a big living room and kitchen.

"Come over here," Coach said, leading me to a sliding-glass door at the
back. He opened it, and we walked through to a back porch on the second
floor. There was a little table and chairs with an umbrella, and a
staircase down to a back yard. I look down and then back in.

"If you're going to stop by, use this door," he says. "I'm always back
here. Everybody comes back here." I nod my head up and down. I notice that
you can see in to the kitchen, and you can also see through a back window
to Coach's bedroom. He has his curtains open.

Coach leads me back in, and I sit in the kitchen while he opens the
fridge. He pours a couple big glasses of lemonade from a pitcher and puts
in some ice cubes.

"Now, be careful. It's..." he says, and as the glass touches my hand, it
tips and splashes onto me. Ice drops to the floor. "Oh! Sorry!" he says,
setting the half-emptied glass down and grabbing paper towels.

I stand up and grab them and try to dry it off, but my shirt is pretty
soaked.

"Sorry, Tom," Coach says. "Here, take that shirt off, and I'll throw it in
the laundry. I was about to throw in a load of clothes."

I stand there, wet, thinking. I guess Coach could sense my nervousness,
because he looks around and finds a shirt of his for me to wear while mine
is washed. I take it and turn around, thinking how stupid that is, and peel
off the wet shirt to set on a chair. I feel the breeze from a ceiling fan
on my bare back. I pull Coach's shirt over my head and turn back.

Coach takes the wet shirt and steps over to the laundry machines that are
behind a closet door. There's a hamper of clothes next to it.

I look down at the shirt I'm now wearing, and it's huge on me. It's a
button-up short-sleeve shirt, like a bowling shirt. The neck is so big that
you can basically see my whole chest, and the sleeves are so wide that you
can see my arms and my sides.

Coach is preparing his clothes and my shirt to go in the laundry. He
surprises me by peeling his shirt up over his head and tossing it on the
pile. He wipes it under his arms and across his chest. I guess he was
really sweaty too. He puts everything into the machine and turns it on.

"There, it won't take long," he says. I stand there, more exposed than I'm
comfortable with and next to him with no shirt. "Does it make you
uncomfortable that I'm like this?" Coach asks.

I shrug my shoulders and say, "Nah, it's not a big deal."

"Yeah," Coach says. "It's just like being at the beach, only there's nobody
around to impress."

We stand there for a while, just pretending like we're comfortable. After a
minute, I go over to the counter and drink the rest of the lemonade from
the glass. Coach kicks the ice cubes around the floor and then reaches down
to pick them up and toss them into the sink.

"Let's see what's on TV," he says. We walk over to the TV, and Coach sits
in a big armchair, and I sit on the couch. He turns on a baseball game, and
we watch for a while.

I realize that the big shirt I'm wearing is off to one side and that the
whole right side of my chest is exposed along with my left arm and side. I
adjust the shirt to try to fit right. Then I remember that I'm sitting next
to Coach who has no shirt on. I feel like I should be uncomfortable or that
I normally would, but it doesn't feel so strange.

I look over at him, and he looks back. "It's a nice perk of being a guy,"
Coach says, "being able to take your shirt off in public." I nod, as if I'd
ever do that. "Or on a hot night... of course, you could sleep in whatever
you want. Do you ever sleep without a shirt on?" he asks. I stare at him
and nod no. "You always wear pajamas, huh?" he says. "Well, it feels really
nice to sleep free and easy." I nod, as if I'd ever do that.

We sit there and watch the game, drinking lemonade. Coach puts his feet up
on the coffee table for a bit. At one point, he scratches his chest, and I
look over. He just smiles and looks back at the TV.

"You know, you've got no reason to be shy, anyway," Coach says. "You're in
fine shape." With that, he pokes a finger into the arm of his loose shirt
and looks in at my skin underneath. I guess I've shed the weight. I'm
thinking of if I should say something, but he gets up and walks to move the
wet laundry into the dryer.

"Won't take long now," he says. I look around the room and notice a few
trophies and some framed pictures of him with the baseball teams from each
year. I get up and ask if I can use the bathroom. Coach points it out, and
I go in, close the room, and have to pin the too-big shirt under my chin to
pee. I unbutton and unzip my jeans and pull my dick out over the waistband
of my underwear. I looked at my belly.

After 20 minutes or so, the dryer buzzes, and we walk over to it. Coach
pulls out my shirt and hands it to me, saying "There, good as new."

I decide to be brave and just pull off the shirt that Coach lent me. Now
we're standing there, both bare-chested. Coach kind of looks at my body,
then down at the shirt in his hand and holds it out to me.

I take it from him. It's still pretty hot from the dryer. I want to put it
on, because my shyness is rising. I want to leave it off, because it's
hot. I

As bold as I've ever been, trying to be as comfortable as I ever was, I
flip the shirt over my shoulder and say, "I'll wait until it cools off."

Coach smiles and pats me on the bare shoulder, and then he slides his hand
to my back and leads me back to finish watching the game. We walk back to
where we were sitting, side by side, bare skin next to bare skin.

The game ends, and I decide I don't want to wear out my welcome. "I should
get going," I say, standing up.  "Any time," Coach says. I finally put my
shirt back on, and we walk to the back patio door. I wave and go down the
wooden stairs to the back, and walk through the park and home.

On the way home, I think about how comfortable I was. Maybe it wasn't such
a big deal. It is just like the beach. Maybe I shouldn't be so shy about it
anymore.

That night, I get ready for bed as normal. I quickly put on my pajamas and
get in bed. I lie there for a few minutes, and think about what happened
that day. I remember what Coach said. It is hot tonight. Now I'm aware of
the fabric of the shirt around my neck and under my arms. I have just a
thin sheet over me.

I start to unbutton my pajama shirt. It's just three big buttons. I open
the shirt wide and lay my hand on the smooth skin of my chest. I think
about the hair on Coach's chest.

I get up out of bed and go to lock the door. I take the shirt off and look
at myself in the mirror. My chest is alright. My stomach looks good. I turn
and look at my back. I kind of have that line down the middle like Coach
does. I wonder what my body will look like as I grow into it.

I decide that I'm just going to sleep like that. It's cooler, and I can
feel a little breeze on my skin from the open window. It feels nice.

I roll over onto my stomach. The breeze feels good on my back, which is a
little sweaty now.

Now I think about how Coach said you could wear anything you want to
sleep. I wonder what he sleeps in. Some people sleep completely naked. Now
I'm thinking about how you can see his bed through the window from his back
porch.

I wonder what it'd feel like to sleep naked. I tuck my thumbs under the
waist of my underwear and pajama bottoms. I pull the elastic out away from
my body. I slide the fabric down over the bump of my butt. I can feel the
breeze on my skin. I tuck the fabric under my cheeks, and it pulls the
front down too.

I hold my hand against my back and slide it down to feel my butt. The skin
feels good to touch and to be touched. I pull them back up to normal and
roll over. Then I slide my hand across my chest and stomach. I like how it
feels around my bellybutton.

I drift off to sleep.


Part 3 to come