Date: Wed, 08 Feb 2023 20:59:57 +0000 From: Orson_456 Subject: COACH'S PRIVATE PERFORMANCE Coach's Private Performance by Tom Cooper I never was very athletic as a kid. Riding my bike around town or splashing in local creeks was about the extent of my exercise. Nobody in my house ever watched sports on TV, so I was never encouraged toward athletic activity. Because of my husky build, the school sports director tried to get me to go out for the junior high football team, but in my mind that involved effort, and I wasn't having any of it. Those in charge appointed me as "Team Manager," which basically meant being the student locker room attendant during PE classes. And that is where my eyes got opened to the joys of the naked male form. My job duties required me to pick up trash, run errands for the coaches, keep the first aid supplies organized, watch out for petty theft, and gather soiled towels for the janitors to put in the washing machines after classes had finished. We lived in a small rural town in Texas in those days, so things were generally laid back. During PE classes, one coach might have me walk the six blocks to town to pick up a can of dipping snuff for him. The other might send me to get a sack lunch from a cafe off the public square. What can I say? Things were different back then. You sure wouldn't think of doing something like that nowadays. I think the errands to town were their idea of getting me to exercise at least a little. These two new coaches were hot young guys in their mid-20s. One had been to Vietnam and returned safely to begin his teaching career. The other had avoided the draft altogether due to his family situation. But they were both healthy specimens of virile manhood. Bart had an olive complexion, jet black body hair, a bushy porn star mustache, twinkling brown eyes, and a friendly smile. Dean had shaggy dirty blond hair, a mostly hairless body, and he wore wire-frame aviator style glasses over his hazel eyes. A third coach was much older and also served as the middle school principal. He had ginger hair and lots of freckles, so the kids called him "Red Fred" behind his back. He was okay to be around in PE class, but was pretty much a jerk in the classroom as math teacher. Since both the two young coaches were still finishing up their teaching courses in a nearby university town, sometimes Coach Fred would fill in until they made it back from morning classes. He wore a ribbed wife-beater undershirt and thin white boxers that spread open every time he sat down on the bench to change clothes. I never did see him with a hard-on, but his wrinkly, uncut cock was constantly slipping out of the gaping fly of his underwear and laying there between his legs while he finished undressing for PE class. He rarely made an effort to tuck it away, which made me wonder if that was another reason why he had selected me for this duty. Was he testing me? He would always try to engage me in conversation so I'd have to look at him while he transitioned into workout clothes. Maybe he suspected I was different from the other guys at school and that's how I got the plum after-lunch assignment each weekday to watch as about fifty-odd 7th and 8th grade boys trooped in, changed clothes, worked out, stripped naked, showered, and dressed for the rest of their school day. At that young age, there was a veritable smorgasbord of penises on view. Many were in the average 3-4 inch (soft) range for adolescent male members, but a couple dozen or so had decent meat hanging between their legs. Most crotches consisted of sparse pubes and tight scrotums--especially the 7th-graders. The 8th-grade boys were a little more developed. I remember one new kid named Mack that had just moved from Virginia with his four hunky older brothers. This guy was packing! Probably six inches soft, so who knows how big it got when he boned up. (Man, did I wish I could find out!) He had a full black bush, hairy pits, low-hanging balls, and shoulder length dark hair. I thought of him often when I was jacking myself off during those formative years. Another well-endowed classmate was Tommy. Talk about a grower! His dick was about 4 inches soft, but he had some girth on him. I sat beside him in Spanish class, and one time he got a hard-on so bad, I could clearly see the outline of his meat reaching all the way down to just above the top of his knee. My eyes must have bugged out of my skull. I wanted to reach over and pet it, and squeeze it, and kiss it, and suck it. No wonder he was so popular later on in high school. Anyway, early one fall day, the shaggy blond coach, Dean, arrived late to school because some of his livestock had gotten out of the pasture that morning on his family's farm. He had been busy rounding up scattered cattle and was covered in dirt, mud, and cow shit. He apologized to the older coach and thanked him for covering him in his absence. "That's alright, Dean. We have to look out for each other sometimes when problems come up," said Coach Fred. "Why don't you just settle in and get cleaned up? You can join us after that," he added. "Man, I sure do appreciate it," answered Dean. "I know I smell like the backend of a bull right now. Let me just get a quick shower and I'll join you guys on the field." "There's no need to rush. Take your time. Me and Bart can handle these boys until the end of class. I mean it. Just take it easy. We've got this," he emphasized. "Well, okay then. Thanks," Dean said. "I brought some clean clothes to change into. Let me go get `em out of my pickup." With that he headed outside to the teacher parking lot as Coach Fred and Coach Bart took the restless teenage boys outside to the practice field. I resumed my daily duties in the "caged" (staff only) part of the locker room and didn't think any more about it. A few minutes later, I heard sounds coming from the shower area. Figuring this was Coach Dean getting cleaned up, I went about my business and ignored the off-key country warbling echoing out from the depths of the tiled space. Soon enough I felt like I needed to pee, so I headed to one of the trough urinals inside the locker room, which was adjacent to the shower area. Boy, did I get a surprise! Coach Dean was in the corner shower, which was open only on one side. I had a clear line of sight for his whole sexy body. He was covered head to toe in thick white lather and had both hands around his fully erect, 8 inch, soapy cock. He was rolling that big monster between his palms like I'd seen my mom do with bread dough when she was baking. I had never thought of getting off this way, so I filed the idea--and the scene I was witnessing--away in my spank bank to try myself later. I knew I couldn't be seen at the moment, because the coach had soap in his eyes, which were tightly closed. But as exciting as this situation was, I didn't want to take a chance on getting caught ogling the man in his current state. At that moment he turned around and faced away from me toward where the showerhead was supposed to be located, except, there was nothing there but a curved pipe sticking out of the wall. A single stream of water was coming out of the metal tube. Apparently, the showerhead had broken off at some point. No wonder the coach had so much soap lathered up on his masculine body; there was only the single large stream of water to rinse with. Coach stuck his head under the current to clear the bubbles away from his eyes, then used his hands to slake the rest of the soap off his glistening skin to the floor drain. After scrubbing his pits, juggling his genitals, and rinsing his back and legs, he bent over and let the forceful stream of water hit him directly in his hairy trench. You can bet I was throwing wood by this point and wishing I had been a fly on the wall inside that shower stall to see his sexy man-pucker up close. Then he turned around again and proceeded to do something completely unexpected. Backing up and grabbing hold of two support poles, he arched his back and jutted his crotch forward, lining up his hard cockhead with the rushing column of water coming from the pipe. He swayed his rod from side-to-side a couple of times, then settled in and started thrusting it back and forth under the falling torrent. The liquid friction of the rushing water probably felt amazing on his spongy head and firm shaft. He must have really been worked up, because a couple of minutes later his ass muscles tightened up and his legs went weak as he buckled at the knees and began spurting out thick ropes of milky white spunk against the shower walls. His moans and groans sent a signal directly to my balls and I immediately began to leak pre-cum into the trough. In a steamy daze, I heard the water turn off and suddenly realized I was standing there frozen, holding my dick in my hand. "Oh hey there, buddy. How's it going?" Coach said. "Huh? Uh... Oh... Fine. Uh, Coach," I stammered. "Hey, when you finish up there, would you mind grabbing me a towel? I seem to have forgotten one in my hurry to get cleaned up." He continued. "Sure thing," I answered, tucking myself away and zipping up. I hurried back with a towel for him and stood rooted to the floor as he ran the soft terry cloth over his freshly washed skin. He tousled his hair dry, then hiked one leg up on a bench and ran it between his ass cheeks to wipe the moisture off his crack. He tossed the damp towel across the bench, said "Thanks Buddy!" then proceeded to get dressed for his afternoon classes. That was one towel that wasn't going into the laundry basket. It was going home with me. Somehow, I'd figure out a way to sneak it into my backpack. Sigh.