Date: Sat, 18 Aug 2018 15:31:52 +0000 (UTC)
From: Short Guy <short_guy@yahoo.com>
Subject: I Just Wanna Help

I Just Wanna Help

by Short Guy

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I matured early. I started shooting cum when I was just ten years old and
was a champion masturbator by the time I was eleven. I grew seven inches
and started shaving when I was 12 years old. Although a bunch of the girls
were taller than me in seventh grade, only one guy was taller. But then I
stopped growing. And just as I stopped, all the other guys hit their growth
spurts. By the time we got to high school I was the shortest guy in the
school. Five foot two inches and 115 pounds in my birthday suit. I was this
short wiry twink with a five o'clock shadow at 2:00 pm in the afternoon. I
had the face of a boy and the stubble of a 30 year old man, but I was
shorter than almost all the girls. Most of the other guys weighed over 150
pounds and the average height was five nine. And the football and
basketball players were even taller and heavy with muscle; they fucking
towered over me. I had to look up to everyone. And look up to them is
exactly what I did.

The truth is that I was awed by every tall boy and man I came across. I
looked up to them and not just up at them. I admired their muscles. I
admired their thick muscular thighs. I got a hard on from seeing their
muscular pecs sticking out in front. I got a warm feeling all over when I
saw them. They seemed not real, like they were gods, like they were so much
above me. I felt like they were real men and I was just a boy. I felt
somehow inferior to them, knowing I'd never be that tall, that muscular,
that goodlooking.

But I also knew I could never let on that I felt this way. Never never
never never. I had to hide it the best I could. I had to hide the fact that
looking at their handsome faces and muscular bodies was enough to make my
cock go hard. I had to stop myself from staring. I knew that if anyone
found out, if anyone knew that I was attracted to guys, it would be a
disaster.

 Back in junior high, I was one of the tallest boys for a few months. Back
then the tall ones were the hunky gym teachers. Maybe my infatuation with
muscular tall guys started there. Those gym teachers were real men. They
were muscular. They had strong powerful pecs and biceps. They were good
looking. They were tall. I was in awe of them. I thought about touching
them, caressing their muscular chests, feeling their chest hair, looking
into their eyes. I imagined touching their big hard cocks, feeling the cum
as it shot onto my chest. I wondered what it would be like to kiss them.

I hoped the teachers wouldn't notice how much they fucking turned me
on. And what the fuck would they want with me? A short skinny kid. Why
would they even think a twelve year old would be sexually charged up and
wanting them? There was no way they would be interested in me, no reason
for them to realize that I was sexually turned on by them, no reason for
them to pay enough attention to me to be aware of my infatuation with
them. No way would they would be paying attention to my hero worship. I was
a kid. I would have been nothing to them.

That's what I thought. But of course I was wrong about that. Dead wrong. I
was practically drooling, after all, with my mouth wide open, staring,
staring, staring -- and it wasn't like I was fucking invisible. And,
contrary to my fears and beliefs, I was not someone a real man would not
pay attention to. Quite the opposite. I was thin but I was muscular and my
ass was hard as steel and stuck out in my tight jeans. Looking back at
pictures of me as a kid, I can't believe I didn't realize what a fucking
hot little butt I had. It was round, firm, and stuck out in back. And I
wore those tight jeans popular back then that practically begged someone to
bend me over and fuck me.

My pecs were defined and hard and I was sporting a six pack. Back then, I
thought a six-pack meant I was skinny. I had no idea that a six pack could
get some of the coaches to spring a woody so fast they'd have to hide it. I
didn't think much of my looks; other guys were way more handsome than me,
or so I thought. But it turns out, we only see our own flaws. I had no idea
-- no fucking idea at all -- that I was actually a hunk -- a short man-boy,
a twink with pouty lips, a six-pack stomach, and a bubble butt. My face was
just a few inches above the crotches of my teachers. I mean I thought about
sucking their dicks. What made me think they didn't think of the same
goddammed thing. If they bent their knees just a little their cocks would
be at the right height to slide right into my waiting mouth. I know now
they thought about it. They fucking jacked off thinking about it.

I was goddam jailbait. I just had no idea that I was. I had no idea that my
gym teachers were lusting after my ass or that some of them were as
attracted to me as I was to them, especially when my staring at them made
it clear that -- if they ever got the chance -- they could fucking do
whatever they wanted to me.

As I later learned, the gym teachers who cared about such things were
really practiced at figuring out which boys were fixated on their muscular
bodies and the long manly tools they were sporting in their groins. My
junior high teachers must have seen my mouth open as I gaped at their thick
thighs and hard asses and those twin peaks they sported on their chests. I
didn't know it at the time. But they knew. They fucking knew what I
was. They knew what I wanted. They knew what they wanted to do with me. And
they bided their time.

I guess the coaches were too nervous or too moral to put the moves on a
12-year old even though I would have fucking been in heaven if they had.
As it turns out, I had to wait until I was 15 years old for a gym teacher
to make his move.

The junior high coach I was most attracted to graduated with us. When I
entered high school, so did he. He was transferred from his job at the
junior high to the high school. And it was my luck that I was put into his
class.

Other than staring at the hunky coaches, I hated gym. I sucked at
everything. I couldn't play basketball or baseball or football or even
volleyball. I was the last picked for teams. What I could do was running
and some basic gymnastics. I wasn't good or anything; I wouldn't win races
or compete. But I was never the last when we ran laps and I could get up on
the sidehorse and swing my legs around. My arms and stomach muscles were
not as strong as they should be to be on the gymnastics team but they were
strong enough to hoist my 115 pounds and hold my legs out in front of me. I
didn't realize it then but the gymnastics and running routines made my hard
little butt even harder and rounder and more prominent. I couldn't see my
own ass so I really had no clue that my steel-hard round butt made at least
one of my teachers jack off in the teacher's bathroom as he imagined
plugging my hole with his daddy dick until he filled me with his thick
silky cum. When I learned about that, I wished he had made his move on me
years earlier...

In junior high and in high school, most of my teachers paid attention to
the jocks. They either ignored the rest of us or made fun of us. They
didn't teach us a fucking thing.

But in sophomore year when my junior high coach was assigned to be our
teacher, I was elated -- and scared to death. Remember, he was one of the
ones that made me drool in junior high.

When I found out he was going to be my gym teacher, I ran to the bathroom
at my house and beat my meat until I shot a hot load while I was sitting on
the toilet. My cum shot so hard that it hit the fucking wall. Coach
Sean. Fuck me to hell, how was I going to get through gym class without
getting a boner? I would have to buy jock straps three sizes too small to
hold my junk tight to my body to hide the fact that just looking at him
made me sport a woody.

He was not like the other teachers in other ways as well. He was smart and
nice. He actually taught us how to do stuff. He divided us up by ability
and he paid especial attention, not to the jocks who were already good, but
to the rest of us, the hacks like me who sucked at sports. He actually
taught us how to toss a football, how to dribble a basketball without
hitting our feet, how to hold a tennis racket and how to swing, how to hit
a baseball, and how to run without twisting your ankle. And he didn't make
us feel bad about not already being able to do it already. I had no idea a
gym teacher could actually teach.

And fuck me if he wasn't the handsomest guy I'd ever seen. Irish with red
hair and green eyes and huge muscular biceps and round pecs and ass. His
skin was smooth and freckled. He had red hair on his chest but it was soft
and silky -- and fucking sexy. When he would look at me, I always felt
paralyzed -- like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes glowed and his
thick lips -- God his lips -- would curl into a small smile. It was almost
as if he was happy to see me. He was more than a foot taller than me. At
six four, he towered over me. His name was Sean but to us he was "the
coach."

I didn't know it at the time but he had spotted me perving on him way back
when I was only 12 years old. He knew me immediately. He knew what I
wanted. He knew what I was.

And here it was, the spring of my second year in high school and there I
was again in his class, all grown up and just shy of the age of
consent. What was he going to do with me?

He called the roll that first day. When he got to my name, and he heard me
say "present," he looked up. He gazed at me, his eyes bright, piercing, his
handsome face intense, his lips thick, his tongue sticking out and licking
those lips, his mouth slipping into a small smile. Fuck it, he remembered
me. He knew me. I couldn't figure out whether to be happy about that or
terrified. Was he happy to see me? Or was he freaked out by how much I
stared at him?

I learned later that the coach was both turned on and worried to see
me. Just as I was worried about getting hard from looking at him, he was
worried about getting hard looking at me -- my cute boy face with my man
stubble, my hard-as-a-rock bubble butt, my flat six-pack stomach, my tight,
sexy little chest. He knew me. And he fucking remembered what kind of boy I
was. He got hard not only because I was almost irresistible but because he
knew that he could have me if he wanted, that he could teach me, mold me,
train me, and that I would be receptive to his teaching. He knew that if he
wanted me to be his boy that he could have me. He knew I was not yet 16. He
wanted me something bad. But I was fucking jailbait. Would he be able to
keep his hands off me? All that fucking scared him.

But then, deep down, as his cock grew looking at me, he knew, he fucking
knew that his new job had thrust me into his path, into his class, into
his... fuck, into his arms. He knew what he wanted and he knew that I would
give him what he wanted. He knew I would not betray him, because I wanted
him as much as he wanted me. He knew where this was going to lead us. He
knew that there was no way this could end except with his cock shoved up my
boy butt, deep as it could go. Shoved up there again, again, again, until
he bred me with his hot cum. He knew it would happen. He knew it was only a
matter of time.

But I didn't know. I didn't know that. All I knew was that I had a chance
to gaze at a god several times a week and that I would have more jack off
material than I would know what to do with.

But I also knew that he was a nice guy. He was a good teacher. He was kind
and smart and he treated me like I mattered, not like my lack of ability in
sports made me something to make fun of. I knew he wanted us to have fun. I
was looking forward to it. Now if I could only keep my teen cock from
making my gym shorts stick out and embarrass the fuck out of me.

>From the first day, he helped us hacks learn to do stuff and he was very
hands on--literally. He had his hands all over us, positioning us, getting
us to use the right posture and grip and stance. Some guys he touched only
a little, but me, man I was the lucky one I guess. Me he touched a lot. The
excuse I guess was how rotten I was at sports and how much extra help I
needed. I remember feeling his strong hands on my shoulders, my back, my
arms--and yes, my ass. I remember him pressing against my back, feeling the
bulge of his crotch against my spine. I remember him holding my shoulders
and massaging them as he talked to me and gave me instructions. I remember
looking down at that bulge in his gym shorts. I remember licking my lips as
I glanced at the outline of his daddy dick. I remember his manly voice,
soothing, comforting, inviting. I remember seeing that dick twitch and
thinking that couldn't be because of me... I remember looking up at him and
seeing the shining green eyes, that handsome Irish mug, that roguish smile.

But what I most remember was how he took me aside one day after gym
class. The other boys had already left the gym to take showers. He put his
hand on my shoulder and stopped me from following them.

"Hey Guy," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

His strong hand was on my shoulder squeezing gently. I looked up at his
muscular pecs, at his bulging biceps. I looked up and up until I got to his
wet lips and his green eyes. My head was practically horizontal as I leaned
back to look up at him, to look up at my coach, to gaze at my idol.

"S- sure Coach," I said, nervous about being so close to him, alone in the
gym, nervous about what he wanted, nervous about how good his muscular hand
felt on my shoulder, and fucking terrified that I could not stop myself
from springing a boner in my shorts just from looking into his beautiful
green eyes.

"Mr. Spencer, your English teacher, he told me your mom taught you how to
type and that you're making money typing up reports for other students and
charging half a dollar a page."

His eyes were so clear. Were they green or was that blue? Why was he
massaging my shoulder like that? Oh God, my cock is as hard as a rock. Fuck
it, he just looked down and saw my cock pushing out my gym shorts in
front. God what if he...

He smiled and continued to massage my shoulder.

"Is that true?" he asked, very quietly.

"Ye- yes," I said, stammering.

"I hate to ask, Guy, but I was wondering if you might want to do that for
me -- you know, type up some reports. I need help doing that.I take down
stats for the guys on the teams and I need to keep track of things, but
sometimes I can't read my own writing. I'm wondering if you could help me
-- whether, I mean, whether you want to help me."

Oh God, now he put his other hand on my other shoulder. He was kneading
both of my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes.

"It would be like a job. I could pay you double what you normally
charge. I'd pay a dollar a page. I was wondering if you might be interested
in helping me out after school."

I stared up at him, trembling at the feel of his hands on me. He looked at
me and licked his lips.

"Please Guy," he almost whispered. "Can you help me out?"

"Fuck yes," I said in my head. Thank God I did not say that out loud.

"Uh... yeah. Yeah Coach, I can... I can help you out."

"Really, Guy?" he said, smiling broadly me. God he was handsome. "You wanna
help me? Really?"

"Ye- ye- yes," I stammered. And then, I don't know why I said it but before
I could stop myself, I heard myself saying. "And, Coach, really, you don't
have to pay me or anything. If you need something, I wanna help
out. Really, I just wanna help you. I mean, anything you need... I
would... See...," I added, trembling a little as I said it, "you're my
favorite teacher. You're just, well, you're great, and you taught me so
much, and I... thank you... I mean, that would be a way to thank you... So
you don't have to pay me. For you... I mean, coach... for you... I
just.. if you need help, I mean, I just... I just... I would do whatever
you want, whatever you need. I'm happy to ...."

I was stammering and stopped talking. He was looking at me, smiling, his
beautiful Irish eyes crinkled, his strong hands caressing my shoulders.

"I just wanna help," I finished, weakly. "I mean... help you..."

He looked at me, licking his lips. God I wanted to kiss those lips.

"That's... wow. The fact that you would do this... for me... free
just... Just to thank me, because... God Guy,you don't know how good that
makes me feel! You know we don't get many students thanking us for what we
do and we never know... we never... I mean, we're never sure if you guys
appreciate it so, it's good, it's just good to hear you tell me
that. You... you made my day, Guy, you really did. You... I can't believe
you said..."

He was holding my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes. My cock was
rock hard.

"Oh, dammit come here..."

And with that he pulled me to him and hugged me. Holy shit, Coach Sean was
hugging me. I could feel his crotch against my stomach. I could feel his
muscular pecs, God his big nipple... against my face, right near my
mouth. His hand was caressing my back... He was... Holy God.

"Thank you, son. Thank you," he said as he caressed my back.

This was back in the days before anyone thought much of men and boys
getting it on together. But still, to hug me right there, in public, in the
middle of the gym... We were alone but someone else could see... Someone
could think... it was a big risk but I realized he did it because he was so
happy with what I had said.

And fuck was I happy to. My cock was happiest of all.

But still...I was stunned. Stunned that he had hugged me, that my thanks
had made him feel so good that he forgot what it might look like for him to
hug me right there in the open where someone might see. And of course
stunned to feel my cheek against his muscular pec, to feel his arms around
me like... like... like he was my Dad or my uncle or...

And then I realized that I had put my arms around him too,
unconsciously... the way I would if my Dad hugged me. I could feel the
muscles in his lower back, his cock against my chest, his...God oh God was
that good...I was hugging him back! Fuck me, I was feeling his lower back,
the top of his ass muscles, oh God was that hot, that was...

But then, he released me, keeping left his arm around my shoulder.

"Could you... I mean, I wonder if you could help me out right now with a
few pages of stats?"

It was last period of the day and I was free to stick around. I couldn't
believe that I'd get to spend time alone with the Coach, with my hero. I
was too stupid to understand what his hug might mean, that his hard cock
was a clue that I should pay attention to rather than try my hardest not to
think about... I was excited and happy. But I also still worried that he
would find me out, see me staring at him. I was too immature to realize he
was looking any excuse to shove his cock in my mouth. Goddam it, I was
excited and fucking scared at the same time. And deep down, some part of me
knew that this physical closeness to me meant something, that he was asking
for more than clerical work. But I tried not to think about it.

"Yes," I said. "Yes I wanna help. I wanna help you. Now is OK."

And fuck it, I should have stopped there, I should fucking have stopped
talking. But my cock was thinking for me and I went on: "Anything you want
Coach. Anything you need. Anything at all. Anything." I couldn't stop
yammering. I said "anything" so many times you'd think I was offering to
suck his cock right there in the gym. I hesitated and then, just to make
sure he heard me, I looked right into his eyes and said, so softly that it
was almost a whisper, "it would make me feel good to help you, coach."

He smiled and said nothing for a moment. And then with his arm around my
shoulder, he walked me toward the locker room and his office. His strong
hand on my shoulder made me shiver with lust. He was holding me tenderly,
the way you would if you loved someone, they way my Dad would hold me.

"Let's go do it then," he said, as he looked down and saw my boner shoving
my gym shorts out in front. "Time to do it."

Oh God what did that mean? Did he mean...? Really? Could he...? I can't...

But we were in the locker room now. By then, most of the guys had taken
showers and were drying off and putting on their clothes. Many had already
left.

"Thanks for typing up the team stats for me, Guy," the Coach said, a little
too loudly. Fuck it, he wanted everyone to hear why he was steering me to
his office door with his arm around me rather than letting me go take a
shower in the locker room with the others. He clearly wanted an excuse to
have his hand around my shoulder and a private audience in the coach's
inner sanctum.

We were in his office now.

"You can take a shower afterwards, buddy," he said. "You can even use my
private shower here in the office."

I looked over at the private shower and could not help but gasp a little. I
was thinking about the coach naked in there, the water streaming down his
pecs, onto his cock, oh God his cock as he washed it, as he stroked it, as
he...

The coach interrupted my thoughts and sat me down in his office chair. He
removed his hands from my shoulders. I missed them. I fucking missed
them. I stared at his muscular ass and he walked toward the door. He closed
the door and locked it. Fuck me to hell, he locked his door. The office had
no windows. We had total privacy. It was just me and him now.

"Here are the stats," he said, handing them to me.

I took the sheet and laid it on the desk. I took some blank paper and
inserted it in the typewriter. His handwriting, I noticed, was not messy at
all. It was print, not cursive, and the letters were clear, symmetrical,
beautiful. God, his writing was a work of art. He fucking didn't need me to
type this shit up; he just wanted me to sit in his chair, to ... what?

I started typing and he stepped behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders
and started to massage them as I typed. Holy mother of God, he was standing
behind me pressing his crotch against the back of my head. He was looking
over my shoulder. I just kept typing.

"That's it buddy," he said as his hands slipped down my chest to press
against my pecs. "You're doing great Guy, really great. Wow, you're
developing real pec muscles here son."

I gasped and stopped typing. God he was holding my pecs; he was feeling me
up...

"Keep typing Guy," he said, his voice rough and pleading. "Keep it up. Help
me out here."

How the fuck could I pay attention to typing lists of names and numbers
when he was mauling me? Fuck, he obviously got off on all this -- at
controlling me, directing me... And holy fuck, I did not want to do
anything that would make him stop touching me.

I kept typing. I was fast. I was accurate. My cock was hard as a fucking
steel rod. Who thought that typing stats was a way to masturbate? But hell,
those muscular coach hands squeezing my pecs and his crotch against my head
made my typing feel like every keystroke was a stroke of my cock.

As I typed, I was panting like I was running a sprint. I was throbbing,
feeling my cock twitch. All the while he is touching my pecs, my shoulders,
my neck. And his groin, God it was pressed against me, against my head.

Somehow, I finished the sheet of names and numbers. I took the sheet out of
the typewriter and handed it up to him. He took it with his right hand and
then took my right hand with his left. He was holding my hand as he looked
it over.

 "Such a big help," he said in his deep, manly voice as his left hand
squeezed my right hand. He was holding my hand as if that was completely
normal, as if I was his girlfriend.

 "Here's another set of football stats I need typed up," he said, reaching
past me to get them, his dick hard in his gym trunks making it stick out in
front of him right there to the side of my face. I stared at it. He waited
a moment while I gazed at his hard cock inside those trunks.

"Here," he said, handing me the sheets.

He stepped away and was now toward my side a few feet away. He began to
strip. I stared at him. I watched as he removed his sneakers and socks. I
looked up at him way there above me. He looked me in the eyes and smiled.

"I'm glad you're here, Guy," he said softly, as he slipped his shirt over
his head. I remember seeing his pecs emerge and how I gaped at them, my
mouth open. His hand caressed his bare muscular chest. His chest was
sweaty, hairy, muscular, round, manly. Fuck me, he looked like Superman. I
stared at his pecs. His huge nipples.

I didn't know it at the time (what a naïve kid I was) but he was
fucking seducing me. And he was doing a fucking great job at it too...

"You don't mind if I take a shower while you do a couple more pages, do
you, sport?" he said. He was smiling as he slipped out of his pants. His
jock strap was bulging, full with his manhood. He was naked, my muscular
Irish daddy coach, all except for that jock strap that barely covered his
hard dick. He turned around to put his pants and shirt on a chair by the
wall. Holy mother of God! There was his naked ass! It was big, round,
hairy, muscular, manly. The muscles in it moved as he walked. He reached
back to rub his lower back as if he needed to massage a cramp. And his
hands... fuck me... his hands slipped down...he was massaging his fucking
ass. Right there in his office... He was holding those muscular manly
mounds... He...

He turned around. he caught me staring at him. He walked toward me. His
cock was semihard in his jock strap. It was pushing the strap out in
front. It was pointing right toward my eyes. I stared at it. I couldn't
stop myself.

He stopped, a few feet from my face. My eyes were locked onto his
cock-filled jock strap, there in front of me. My mouth was open.

"Guy?" he said as I stared at his crotch, breathing fast,
trembling. "Everything OK, Guy?" he said as he reached for his crotch,
adjusting his cock so that I could see the outline of his big mushroom head
in the jock strap. He walked closer toward me, his hand still on his
crotch. My heart stopped. Coser. He dropped his hand to his side. His
crotch was right in front of my face now. His hand reached forward and
pressed underneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. So far above
me. Those huge muscular pec muscles towering over me. That handsome, sexy
Irish face. "I'm going to take a shower, OK?" And then, so softly I could
barely feel it, his thumb moved over my lips, grazing back and forth,
caressing them. My mouth opened slightly. I was frantic with lust.

"Type for me, Guy. I'll be back for you soon."

He took his hand away and before I knew what was happening, he had put his
thumbs underneath his jock strap and he was pulling it down. I saw his
thick long daddy cock emerge slowly, so slowly, and as it was freed from
its cotton cage, it sprang straight up. His cock was hard, big, proud. And
right there in front of my eyes. I was so fucking close that his prick hit
me in the face as it stood to attention. I gasped as I felt his cock touch
my face. I couldn't believe it was happening.

"Sorry about that, sport," he said, ruffling my hair as if I were a dog,
his cock right in front of my eyes. "I'm a big guy."

"I know," I whispered, staring at his thick hard cock right in front of my
face.

"You know?" he asked, his cock a couple of inches from my lips, his hand
caressing my hair like he loved me.

I stared at his beautiful penis.

"You think I'm a big guy?" His left hand was under my chin, holding me in
place. His other hand slowly went to his cock and held it, gently,
tenderly, lovingly. And then, almost too subtle to see, he started stroking
his cock.

"Do the report, son, and I'll be back as soon as I've washed this sweat off
my muscles."

He was jacking his cock right in front of my face but talking as if nothing
odd was happening.

I was trembling and I couldn't stop myself from licking my lips. His cock
was so beautiful, cut, big mushroom head, pink, thick, hard, pulsing.

"Unless of course..." he said, hesitating... He removed his left hand from
my chin. I looked up at his face. He moved his left hand to his sweaty
pecs, rubbing them, getting the sweat on his palm and fingers. Now that
hand was under my chin again, and his thumb barely touched my lips. His
sweaty thumb moved back and forth over my lips, which were now wet with his
salty sweat. His right hand was now stroking his cock in earnest, not
trying anymore to hide the fact that he was jacking off right in front of
me.

"Unless..." he said again, his cock aimed right at my mouth.

I could not stop myself. I could not have stopped myself if my life had
depended on it. I was mad with lust. I was fucking crazy with wanting. And
I did it. I fucking did it. My tongue emerged between my lips and I licked
his thumb as I watched him stroking that godlike penis. I tasted his
sweat. I moaned. I couldn't fucking help myself. I tasted his salty sweat
and felt the soft skin on his thumb and I fucking moaned.

He removed his left hand and rubbed his sweaty ass. He brought his hand
back to my face and caressed my cheek, getting it wet with his sweat from
his muscular ass. I was gasping now, literally gasping for breath. His
sweat from his ass now covered my cheek, my lips.

And there it was again, his thumb against my lips and I fucking could not
help it. I tried, I fucking tried, but my body took over, my lust overcame
me and I fucking sucked his thumb. I sucked his thumb and licked the broad
pad of his finger. I was sucking the sweat off his thumb. I was sucking his
thumb.

"I thought so," Coach Sean said. "I thought so," as he removed his thumb
and pressed his cock against my teenage lips, and I did the only thing I
could do. I opened my mouth. I opened my fucking mouth and fuck me to hell
the coach's cock slipped in. It slid over my tongue; it entered my hot wet
mouth. He had pushed it inside my mouth.

I felt his cock throb on my tongue. I felt it moving inside. I felt my
mouth get wet with my saliva.

I was petrified. I was in heaven.

Was his cock really in my mouth? Had it just slipped it? Had he shoved it
in or had I gone for it? I had no fucking idea. All I knew was that I was
in heaven. I was in heaven andI had no fucking clue what to do. I had never
sucked a cock before. I had thought about it. I had dreamed about it. I had
shot fucking loads of teenage cum thinking about it. But now, I just... I
did what my body told me to do. I closed my mouth over my gym teacher's
manhood and I sucked him in. I licked him. I sucked him. I drank the sweat
off his cock. I tasted the precum that fell on my hot tongue. I sucked my
coach's cock. I took his manhood, the manhood he offered to me. I took
it. I fucking took it. I sucked his fucking cock.

"Look at me son," he said, caressing my face. I was so fucking embarrassed,
I did not want to look at him. Was this what he wanted? Was he going to
hate me? Was he going to tell my parents, the teachers, that I took it on
myself to suck his cock? Was he...? "Look at me," he said again, gently but
firmly, his hand under my chin forcing me to look up at him while I
continued to suck on that big thick magnificent tool.

And then he was fucking my mouth. My tongue was licking the underside of
his cock. I was sucking my teacher's cock. I was a cocksucker. I was what
everyone must have thought I was. He knew, he fucking knew I was a
cocksucker. He must have seen me, he must have...

Fuck it to hell, I didn't care anymore. He was being gentle and kind to
me. He was the same great guy I idolized. All that was different was that
he wanted what I wanted. How great was that? He wanted my mouth; he needed
help. I wanted to help him. I fucking wanted to help suck his fucking
prick. There was no way around it.

I was a cocksucker.

I sucked and sucked and sucked and sucked...His hands on both sides of my
head were guiding me as he began to fuck my face. I was still looking up at
him, at his twin peaks, those muscular pecs high up above me, his handsome
Irish face way up there looking down at me, his look intense, lust-filled,
and insistent.

I was at my teacher's desk after school sucking my coach's cock. I was
sitting there with my idol, my teen lips firmly planted around his manhood
as it throbbed and thrusted, again and again. He looked like Superman. He
looked like Batman. I was Robin. I was Jimmy Olsen. I was sucking
Superman's dick. I was servicing Batman.

"Good," he said, as I sucked his beautiful cock. "So good."

My first time sucking cock should have been awful. I should have, shall we
say, sucked at it. But no. I was a natural. The moment I closed my lips
around the coach's cock, somehow I knew what do. I was somehow born knowing
what to do, somehow desperate to do the thing that he also wanted. Later he
told me that he had wanted to do this from the first moment he saw me back
when I was only 12 years old. He had wanted to shove his cock between my
pink boy lips.

But he had waited for me. He had waited for the right time. He had waited
and waited and waited.

And, damn it, he had waited long enough.

He needed help. He needed my sweet boy lips on his godlike cock. He needed
to fuck my face. He needed to seed my mouth. He needed, he needed, he
needed, he...

My gym teacher, my hero, my idol shoved his hard cock into my wet mouth
over and over, his large hands enfolding my head and forcing me to stay put
as he did what he needed to do. He said "yes, that's it, look at me," as my
eyes focused upwards looking at him in worship, looking up at his muscular
pecs, his flexing biceps, his handsome face. He fucked my boy lips and I
sucked him. I sucked my hunky gym teacher. I sucked his throbbing cock. I
licked the underside of his thick manly penis. I sucked his dick. I sucked
him good. He needed help and I was going to fucking help him.

All of a sudden, he removed his cock from my mouth.

"Stand up," he said.

I hesitated, worried that I had done something wrong, that he hadn't want
me to suck his cock after all, that he was disgusted with me that..

"It's OK, son. I would never hurt you."

I looked up at him and as I did he knelt before me and started removing my
sneakers and socks. Then as he gazed into my eyes, he slipped my T shirt
over my head. His muscular hands were under my armpits making me stand
up. And now they were slipping under my jock strap. He was cupping my hard
ass with his muscle hands. He was looking at me. His face was right in
front of me. He was kneading my butt with those daddy hands. His lips were
right in front of mine now.

"I would never hurt you Guy."

And his lips touched mine. So gently, I almost could not feel them. He
moved back and looked into my eyes.

"OK, Guy? Is this OK?"

He looked at me. I was stunned by being so close to him. He was so fucking
beautiful. I had never kissed another guy before, let alone a muscle daddy
jock who I worshipped.

Of course it was OK. It was fucking amazing.

I realized I was not saying anything. Instead of talking, I let my lust do
the walking and I leaned forward very fast and kissed him back.

And then I felt his strong soft big lips on mine, his tongue between my
lips, his tongue in my mouth. His hands kneading my ass. He was... he was
... slipping my jock strap and gym shorts down over my bubble butt, helping
me step out of them. He was lifting me up. My legs were around him. He was
kissing me. I was wrapped around his muscular midsection. He stood up and
was walking around. My arms were around his neck as we kissed, as I sucked
on his tongue. I was wrapped around him. He did not need to hold me for me
to stay locked to him, my legs around him, my cock on his stomach, his
tongue in my mouth, his licks on mine.

He was doing something behind me. I felt some cool slippery liquid on my
asshole. His finger was slipping into me. It was... Oh God he was impaling
me on his finger. He was... God Almighty! Two fingers...in and out...in and
out... in and out...

I don't know how long it went on but then I was empty. I was empty except
for the coach's fuckign tongue fucking my mouth. And there was
something... something pressing against my asshole... something trying to
open me, open me up, to pierce me... it...

Fucking hell, the coach's cock pressed into my asshole. God it hurt!

He stopped kissing me, leaving the head of his cock in my ass, not
moving. He was kissing my cheeks as I moaned from the pain, as I ...as
I... relaxed... as my asshole got accustomed to the mushroom head of
coach's hard man tool, as I relaxed and slipped down.. slipped... gravity
took me and... fucking hell, his cock moved up and up and up and it was in
me, it was really in me, his whole fucking cock.

And he was fucking, fucking me, bouncing me up and down on his cock, up and
down, holding me to him, holding me close, like a lover, like... fuck me to
hell... I was his lover... I was his boy... I was...

And then his cock was hitting something in me that made the world
explode. It was amazing it was... I couldn't...

"Guy, my little guy..." the coach was saying. He was pounding my ass now,
his cock going almost all the way out and all the way in, hitting what I
later learned was my prostate.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." he said and then he moaned and I felt something
warm and wet inside me. I felt him fill me up. I felt full, so full. I
felt... I felt... And then I came. I came from rubbing my cock against his
muscular stomach, from feeling his daddy dick fucking me, from realizing
that warm feeling was his cum filling me up, making me his boy.

And we were both cumming. We were cumming at the same time.

"So close," he said. "So close to you. So close.  So close. So close."

And then we were spent. I was fucking exhausted. I was fucking elated.

The coach walked over to the chair I had sat into type his stats. He sat
down, his sweaty muscular ass on the chair I had recently occupyed. I was
still impaled on his thick cock.

He was kissing my face. Left cheek. Right cheek. Then very gently, on my
lips.

"I knew you would help me," he said. "I knew you would."

We were quiet for a moment. I laid my head on his muscular chest. He
caressed my hair and my cheek. We were quiet for a moment.

"A dollar a page," he said. "You're worth more than you know. "

I looked up at him. I looked into his eyes. I felt his cock twitch inside
my young asshole. "Keep your money coach," I said. "I told you I'd do
anything for you. I meant it. I'd do anything for you. I don't want your
money. I just... I just...  I just wanna help."

The smile on his face nearly made me cry.

Short Guy Stories

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/you-know-you-want-it

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/beginnings/the-bottom-apartment

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/civil-service

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/civil-service

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/encounters/daddy-issues

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/driving-instructor

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/i-just-wanna-help

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/looking-up

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/getting-the-evidence

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/office-hours

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/a-place-of-my-own

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/play-like-a-man

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/reparative-therapy

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/taking-my-fathers-place

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/town-gown-relations

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/will-you-be-my-buddy