Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 02:39:14 -0500 (EST)
From: r <collegefrat05@excite.com>
Subject: 'Coach Medder #1' {R Frasier} (MB hs) [1!3]

     The story features a sexual relationship between a muscle-bear
football coach and an 18 year old team member, told from the team member's
prespective.  The characters and town are both ficticious, simply a product
of my overactive imagination.
     This is my first submission to the Nifty Archive and will post the
already-completed follow-up to this story very soon.  Comments can be
directed to collegefrat05@excite.com.  Hope you have as much fun reading as
I did writing.

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Coach Medder

     This story takes place in rural East Texas - town called Morris.
Morris is a real country town - only about 2000 people in the place.  We've
probably got more hay bales than folks in the high school.
     Morris is also a town run on football and Baptist Christianity, though
the first usually takes precedent over the second.  The sermons are only
remembered when someone airs their shit out in public.  But everyone, from
the gossip hens at First Baptist to the old men who spend their mornings at
the Dairy Queen, finds themselves yappin' about a Friday night.  The
football team walk the hallways of Morris High with authority and the coach
does whatever he damn well pleases, as long as nothing progresses past
rumor.

     "That was tha'best catchin' I've seen all year, boy.  You been
practicin' all summer or you just eat yer Lucky Charms this mornin'?"  It
had been the first, which left my body tanned and taut.  Of course, it
mattered little to Coach Medder, who seemed like the type of coach who
would harvest student organs if it would help on the field.
     "You wanna stay a'bit longer and practice?  Most of tha guys are
headed home.  Can't keep em longer than a few hours or the school will shit
a brick.  1st string is gonna practice for a while longer.  You can go
home," he paused and flashed a half-smile.  "But I think you'll be staying
with us, right?"  He slapped my ass, firmly grabbed my shoulders and turned
me back toward the field.
     From my freshman through senior years, I was completely awe-struck
with Coach Medder.  He commanded our team with complete authority, not
through shouting and fear, but through his sheer presence.  When he entered
the room his genuine, approachable charm gave him your attention, while his
intimidating, firm persuasion made you love whatever he wants you to do.
He was 35 and stood 6'1, a few inches or so taller than me, and wore a
thick, muscular build.  His arms nearly always bulged out of his shirt,
like tonight, and his chest stretched the white material tight.  Coach's
gut looked thick, but solid.  You could always find him in three things: a
white shirt tucked into dark red track pants and a slightly graying 5'clock
shadow.  His full short brown hair never made it past disheveled, but
always looked amazing.  When we arrived at the posts, the rest of 1st
string had already assembled.
     Coach Medder snapped and pointed at groups of guys, telling them where
to go, what drills to perform.  He walked past each group, barking,
"Com'mon McDaniels -- Hit it harder, like ya'did at Baker! If I wan'da
pussy to knock someone down, I'd call yer sister!"  "Reynolds, trust yer
line and jus' catch the damn ball."  "That's it Williams! Now do it again,
but don't bust yer ass this time."  We practiced into the evening, finally
shutting down the field lights about 9:30.
     The guys slowly trickled out of the locker room until there were only
3 of us left: Me, Campbell, and Coach Medder.  Coach Medder muscular frame
filled the doorway as he gripped and bent the bill of his worn cap.  He
cursed, "Shit, missed most of ya'll.  You boys up for a few beers at
Marshal's?"
     Marshal's is really the name of a local bar called "J.R.'s", but the
owner happens to be the marshal, who happens to sell moonshine as real
liquor to his patrons.  Marshal gets to think he's fooling the town, while
everyone knows it, but doesn't let on because Marshal will get them drunk
for cheap.  "Sorry Coach," Campbell said as he tightened a knot on his
shoes.  "I gotta get ta'my gramma's.  She sayin' her hogs are out again, so
I get ta'spend my Tuesd'y evenin' chasin the fuckers.  Excuse the language,
sir."  Coach nodded and idly chatted with Campbell, inquiring about his
grandmother.  He turned to me and asked, "How about you Hawes?  You up for
a Shiner?"
     "Not quite 21 yet, remember Coach? Not all of us have been able to
drink since the 80s."  Coach Medders smiled and said, "Watch that mouth
Hawes.  And yeah, you can get in.  As long as the parents don't haf'ta hear
about it, their boys can get boozy.  So you in?"
     I pulled my jeans up and nodded.  "Yeah, sure Coach.  Long as you can
keep up with us kids."
     He reached out and playfully slapped the air and said, "Boy, that
mouth!  Long as yer still in this building or on a field, you respect me."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, jiggled his keys then smiled to
himself.  "And Hawes, we're not drinkin' fruit punch.  You might have
trouble keepin' up with tha' old guy ta'night."  I waved him away and let
him know I'd meet him there.
     After the short drive to Marshal's, I walked up to the entrance and
saw Coach Medder.  He wore jeans that perfectly cupped his sculpted ass and
a red plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up.  His biceps struggled against
the confines of the sleeve, while 2 buttons down his shirt his chest lay
exposed and tempting.  We walked in and sat at the bar with a couple of
Shiner Bochs between us.  After 3 or 4 beers, Coach Medder began to get
chatty.
     "See, tha'gist of yer problem is you're thinkin' too much.  Just let
some shit happen.  Me, well, my wife told me I thought too much," he said,
taking a healthy swig of his Shiner.  And now she's runnin' off with some
guy in Detroit."
     "Coach, yer getting a divorce?"  In our little town, divorces were an
abomination to the fabric of morality and goodness.  My physics teacher got
a divorce and was forced to teach at a neighboring school.
     "Well, Kelly and I got problems.  Her problem is she's a bitch and my
problem is she spends all my money.  I use'ta chase after her when she'd
run away, but I'm jus' sick'a tryin', you know?"  He went on to describe
his shitty 6 year marriage to her and how she fucked around on him a
handful of times.  The more he talked, the more we drank - him to forget
and me to loosen up more.
     After 5 shiners each, we decided we drank a little too fast.  We paid
the tab and bee-lined to the door slowly, with determined calculation.
When we go to the door, my body felt as if it absorbed all the beer in
transit as dizziness fell over me.  I remember jumping into his Silvarado,
then leaning on Coach Medder's shoulder, then passing out.
     I awoke at daybreak on Coach Medder's couch in panic.  I couldn't
believe I got so drunk with my coach, with class the next morning.  I woke
up to the sound of Coach Medder brewing a pot of coffee and rustling the
sports page of the paper.  "Mornin' lightweight.  How'd it feel, passin'
out and all?"  I threw my pillow at him, which fell a good distance in
front of him.  He chuckled, "Glad you're tha'receiver.  God didn't make you
a quarterback did'ee?"  I cursed him.  My head pounded, but I needed to get
home to get changed for classes.  Coach Medder drove me the few miles from
his house to my own, where I changed and showered.
     The day sagged my brain from the hangover until about 1pm.  At 1, I
had my biology II class with most of the guys from football and Coach
Medder teaching.  Feeling a little better and more comfortable with Coach
Medder, I teased him as much as he teases everyone else.  Eventually, I was
running low on ideas, so I let a comment slip about Coach Medder's
impending divorce.
     "Hawes, you'd do well to shut yer damn mouth in my class.  Everyone -
looks like Hawes is tha'winner of an extra set of Eagle Reminders."  Eagle
reminders were torture, especially when used as punishment.  You start at
the 50 yard line on the football field, then run to the 45 year line, then
back, then the 40 yard line, then back, and so on.  When you hit the goal
line and return, you finish and puke.
     After practice, because of the extra Eagle Reminders, I stumbled into
the locker room.  Arriving at my locker and seeing as I was the last person
there, I stripped down naked, then walked to the showers.
     Three showerheads line the longer sides of the small 10x6 room.  I
walked in and went to the far showerhead to my left.  I turned the crank on
the hot water until it steamed, throwing white billows to the floor and
ceiling.  A piercing thunk pulled my alert eyes to the floor and I reached
down to my right and picked up the fallen shampoo bottle.  I placed the
bottle back on the mini-shelf, and casually turned my head to the left.
Double-taking, I swallowed hard when I recognized the face: Coach Medder,
completely naked, nonchalantly grimacing as the cold water attacked him
from the showerhead next to me.  Though I only looked for a second, his
body etched itself in my eyes.
     His eyes were closed against the volley of water.  His strong jaw was
hidden under a short-length beard and jutted slightly forward against the
cold water. His thick neck rested atop two muscular spades above his
shoulders.  His arms betrayed his years of work as a ranch hand as a kid.
Coach's torso revealed a muscular chest and gut, splashed with short, just
slightly grey-flecked hair.  His legs were not defined, but undeniably
muscular, and supported his thick torso.  His cock, though, stole the vote
for most defining attribute, hanging down 5 or so inches, uncut, and very
fucking thick.  It sat powerfully above two enormous globes, each worthy
enough to carry the log above it.  Aside from the small grey flecks, I
couldn't believe Coach Medder was 35.
     "You gotta learn not-ta smart-aleck around with me, boy," he said to
the showerhead and louder and slightly slower, forced, "Just because we
drank a few beers, don't mean I'm gonna take shit from you on tha'field or
in class."  I threw myself back to that night briefly, remembering the
thick after-practice musk he wore last night as we kicked back those
Shiners at Marshal's.  I responded respectfully (which means a lot from
me), "Sorry, coach.  I didn't mean'ta embarrass ya in class.  I guess it
jus'kinda slipped."  Before I could turn to face him after the sentence,
the bottle of shampoo fell again to the floor, followed by a short
barrel-laugh from Coach Medder.  "Speaking of slipped."
     I bent down to grab the bottle, and then placed it back on the shelf.
I lathered my hair, and with a little soap in my eyes, I glanced over at
Coach Medder.  I thought I could barely make out his upper body slightly
turned toward me as he washed his own hair.  I rinsed my hair and began to
lather my body.  I again glanced at Coach, and felt like every nerve, in my
head through feet and back again, burst.  He too, had lathered himself but
turned his attention on his slightly grown cock.  After a few seconds, he
stopped, seemed to collect himself, then said, "Jus' don't go tellin'
ev'rybody I'm divorcin' Kelly.  If the town starts findin' out about that
shit, there's gonnabe a witchhunt to drum this sinner outta tha'schools."
The billows of steam soon disguised his face and most of his body in
impenetrable white clouds.
     "'Course, glad I told SOMEbody."  He half-chuckled.  "Even if you
don't know shit about wives, life, or sex."
      "Oh shit, Coach, come on," I insisted.  "I'm 18.  I think I know a
little bit about^Åwell sex and life I guess."  I could almost feel his
playfully astonished glance and cracked smile shot.  "Really now, boy.
Tel'me what ya'know `bout life and sex.  I got a coupl'a minutes ta'spare."
      "Well, ya can't judge a'book by its cover.  You^Ågotta take tha' bull
by tha'horns."  I earnestly thought for a moment longer and said, "Two
wrongs don't make a right, and treat others as you wanna be treated."
Coach guffawed his resounding belly laugh, as steam rushed slightly toward
me.  "That'sa good start, boy.  You learn all that fromma country song?"  I
was slightly hurt from the laughter, but felt more proud he trusted me
enough to speak man-to-man.  "So whaddaya know about sex?  You know that
thingy down there between yer legs is called a dick, right?"  His laugh
felt closer than before.  I turned and said, "I know wha'tta do with it,
yeah.  Probably seen more action in my front seat than ya saw with Kelly."
     "Wouldn't doubt yer right.  She was'za frigid bitch.  Only gamme a
blowjob once in 6 years.  That's like, half yer life right there.  Shame
too, I love my blowjobs."
     My heart slammed itself desperately against my chest and my head swam
with thoughts of my head on Coach Medder's meat.  I attempted several times
to speak, then finally said, "Yeah, my girl doesn't give me shit either.
She's grabbed me the first few nights, then locked those pretty legs tight
when I touched her."  Coach Medder grunted knowingly, and said in deadpan,
"She has some titties on her though don't she?"  I agreed, and then turned
back to my showerhead, slightly disappointed.  I continued to shower,
realizing my chance with him had closed.
     Suddenly, I heard a slow, rhythmic pulse rising above the sound of the
showers, coupled with a short, paced breathing.  The noise was
unmistakable: Coach Medder stood jacking off next to me, with nothing but
thick veils of steam between us.  I quickly and thoughtlessly did the same.
After a few moments, Coach Medder burst through the steam, inches from my
face, and grunted, "Don't tell anyone."  He pushed my shoulder down with
gentle, but concentrated force, and through the drops of water and steam, I
saw his cock at full mast.  It had to be at least 8 inches long and thick.
I doubted my ability to grip it with one hand.  A thick layer of foreskin
covered the swollen head.  I swallowed his cock in one smooth motion as he
reached up to grab the exposed piping of the showerhead.
     The entire length felt at home in my eager mouth, like we had already
been doing this for years.  My tongue swirled and flicked his swollen head
then slowly massaged his shaft.  I wanted this for so long, I wanted to
enjoy every inch of his cock.  Coach Medder pulled one hand down from the
showerhead and dug it into the back of my head.  As the water sprayed my
back and head, I could hear a barely hear Coach say, "Holy shit, boy.  You
done this before?"  He slightly bent at the hips, then forced my head down
his cock with his hand, one hand still hanging onto the showerhead.  Coach
Medder turned feral, transforming a slow-working tonguejob into a desperate
attack on my open mouth.  His meat slipped in and out of my mouth, foreskin
lingering on my tightened lips.
     He gave my head one last grind on his dick before pulling me off.  I
sat there, in awe of his cock until he rumbled, "Get up."  I jumped to my
feet, but before I could look up to his face, Coach Meddor grabbed my head
and pulled it and my body close to him.  He stopped inches from my face and
swallowed every inch of me with his eyes, knowing thoroughly he had me.  We
kissed, madly and deeply, tongue over tongue, while Coach buried his hands
in my head and back.  We broke the embrace briefly -- long enough for him
to aggressively grunt, "You're mine now, boy."
     He spun me roughly to face the showerhead, my head down under the
stream.  I suddenly turned scared.  I have never been bottomed before and
his cock was a monster.  He would effortlessly tear me apart.  He
positioned himself behind me, slapping his dick against my ass.  Coach
Medder must have sensed my fear and leaned over sympathetically and said,
"I'm sorry.  It'll only hurt for a bit."  With that, I heard him spit in
his hand.  Shortly after, my world was the roar of the shower and pain.
His cock filled me and lifted me to my toes.  I barked a shout, as he
cooed, "Shhh^Åshhh^Å" Feeling the hole's tightness, he allowed my hole time
to adjust to his length and girth.  As the burning subsided, the water beat
on his chest as his cock beat slowly on my ass, turning the empty sounds of
the shower into sexual percussion.  He grabbed hold of my left shoulder,
while his right dug into my hip.  He yanked my shoulder up and arched my
back.  I felt the pounding in my ass throughout my body, sending shocks
into every appendage.  He hissed in my ear, "Looks like I got myself a
fuck-boy."  I turned my head and our lips met.  He pulled my bottom lip a
little with his teeth and moaned, "You like that cock, boy?"  "Yes, sir."
     I couldn't take the insurmountable ecstasy of the moment.  I lost
control of myself and became of a single mind -- to take his load.  I
pushed back on Coach Meddor, until he hit the opposite wall, then used my
ass to pound and grind my hole on his dick.  He helped pull me down the
length with his hand on my shoulder and hip.
     He pushed me back to the other wall, my arms holding me up against the
wall, exhausted from the practice both on the field and in the shower.  His
strength clearly out-matched mine, and my legs buckled.  He slowly guided
me to the floor, still fucking my hole, and then lay me on my stomach.  I
lay with my face slightly raised off the floor by my arms.  Coach Medder
fucked me hard and deep, his knuckles down on the floor by my sides, arms
straightened and down, torso elevated.  He growled, "Fuck, I'm cummin',
boy."  I felt each convulsion of his dick as my asshole accepted his load.
I felt full on his seed and in total euphoric bliss.
     He pulled off me, stood, and then reached for my hand.  I took his
hand, then stood.  He gingerly touched my face followed by a soft kiss on
the lips.  When our lips broke, he playfully popped my cheek, pointed and
said, "Boy, you're gonna get me in trouble."  I grinned as he pulled me to
his chest.  I felt the rumble in his chest as he mumbled, "A lot of damn
trouble."
     As we finished showering, I noticed cum on my stomach.  I wondered
aloud, "How'd that get there?"  Coach Medder laughed, saying, "Guy cums
twice in'a'go and asks where it came from."
     "Huh?"
     "When I was fuckin' you, you blew your load twice that I knew of.
Hottest thing I've seen inna while."  He grabbed my ass.  "Hey, when we're
done here, you wanna stop by Marshal's later?  Drinks on me."
     "Damn sure thing.  I'm gonna need a least a beer and a cigarette after
that."
     He smiled a full smile, and put his arm on my shoulder.  "Let's shut
all this shit off and go then."


collegefrat05@excite.com