Date: Wed, 3 Oct 2001 12:37:54 -0700 (PDT)
From: KD
Subject: Coach (sequel to The Deflowering of Bryant)

What follows is a work of gay erotic fiction containing graphic depictions
of sexual acts between males.  If you are underage in your jurisdiction, if
it is illegal for you to read or possess such material where you live, or
if you would be offended by such descriptions, read no further.  All
characters (alas) are fictional and do not represent any real person or
occurrence.

Part 2 of the Bryant Series

COACH

	After four hunky but hateful backs from my high school football
team raped and humiliated me, Coach Howard was the one who helped me put my
life back together.  When he found me bleeding, shocked, and despondent in
the locker room shower afterward, he checked out my injuries, comforted me,
dried me off, and kept me from quitting the team.  But he also sent me into
deeper shock and rapture by sucking me off, something my assailants had
made me do to them but had certainly never offered to do for me.  Then he
invited me to his place to talk it over -- "it" being of course my being
gay in a bigoted homophobic world, and how he might be able to help me deal
with that.
	Coach H. was a revelation to me of just how weird and
incomprehensible life can get.  There I had been, going out for the fucking
football team in the first place mostly to hide my sexual orientation,
while it turned out that I fooled no one, not the randy gay- bashing backs
and not Coach, either.  And I had wasted months lusting after Allen, the
team quarterback and resident Adonis, with his gorgeous blonde hair, his
long, lean, and muscular body, his legs that went on forever, his dream
butt and mouthwatering cock.  Yet Allen, that sonofabitch, was the one who
organized my forcible deflowering, who betrayed me and lured me into a
trap.  Whereas Coach, whom I had never given a second glance because he was
28, grown up, in loco parentis, and all that, while I was a mere
sixteen-year-old virgin piece of white-meat chicken, turned out to be a
truly hot, incredibly sensual, sex god with a special weakness for me.
Yes, while I had had my eyes glued to Allen's unquestionably superlative
eighteen-year-old physique, Coach had had his eyes just as faithfully but
even more secretively fastened upon mine!
	"Come by any night next week after practice," Coach had said.  So
on Tuesday, there I was, 45 minutes after the locker room emptied, parking
my battered and ancient Corolla in the little guest parking area that
hovered above his house.  The driveway was screened from the road by a
heavy growth of evergreens.  The house itself was all but invisible, just a
peak of the A-frame showing above the branches.  Railroad tie steps led
down the hill through the naturalized shrubbery toward the entry deck at
the side of the house.  Well, cabin, really, made of logs and quite
compact.  I later learned he had built it himself from a kit, with some
help from a few of the team guys from several years ago, right after he
came to our town to coach.  It was a little hermitage, a bachelor retreat,
right off the county road ten minutes from school in physical location, but
in atmosphere and privacy it might as well have been miles into the woods.
	I had never heard even a peep about Coach's sexual proclivities.
His student friends and sexual novitiates were that loyal and tight-lipped.
When his mouth had clamped down on my embarrassingly pumped-up dick, I had
nearly freaked from shock.  But he knew me much better than I knew him; he
knew I would be receptive of his attentions and downright grateful for a
gay mentor and friend.
	I stood on the small deck in a lather of excitement made of equal
parts eager anticipation and nervous apprehension.  I was wearing the
shorts and tee-shirt with unlaced Rebocks, no socks, I had put on after
practice.  There being no one watching at the critical moment, I had
stuffed my underwear into my pocket and later left them in the car, so I
was hanging loose in the baggy shorts.  (I now almost never wear underwear,
but at that time I was living with a Mom who did laundry and kept track of
these things.)  I spotted the glowing doorbell and gave it a confident, I
hoped, push.  A donging sounded somewhere within.
	What I heard immediately was splashing sounds from behind the
house.  Then Coach's unmistakable booming voice, "Yeah, who's there?"
	"It's Chapman," I called, using the last name he always used at
school.  "Oh, come on in, Bryant," he called, reverting to my first
name--the first sign that our relationship was to be very different here
from at school.  "I'm out back in the pool.  Come through the house."  I
could not have gone around the side of the cabin to the back, anyway; it
was too steep and rocky, and overgrown with shrubs.  I found the door
unlocked, and stepped inside.
	I found myself in a little vestibule, with a bath to my right and
the galley kitchen opposite; I stepped left into the large, open
living/dining room, neatly, comfortably, and rustically furnished.  I saw
the stairs up to the loft between kitchen and great room, but I did not
immediately see where the stairs down were located.  I passed through the
living area and out onto the large overhanging deck where I could see down
a level to the pool.  Coach was hanging onto the side nearest me and
looking up with a smile.
	"Come on down and join me," he invited.
	"Got an extra swim suit?"
	"Nope.  Don't wear 'em.  Come on!" he laughed.
	He slipped off the side and resumed his laps, doing a brisk breast
stroke.  There were no floodlights on.  Only the low landscape lamps in the
shrubbery and the pool lights illuminated the back garden below me with a
gold and azure glow.  In the center of that glow swam Coach, clearly
outlined by the lights and clearly naked.  I could see the cleft of his
molded, lean butt, only marginally paler than his strong, vee-shaped back,
as his legs spread and clenched frog-style.  Now I saw a door under the
upper landing of the steps at the far side of the room.  I opened it and
discovered the stairs down, opening into a rec room beneath the great room,
with its own fireplace, a huge TV, curved plush sectional sofa, pool table,
wet bar in place of kitchen, a spare room and bath beyond.  The glass doors
were open to the terrace outside.  Splashing sounds continued from beyond.
Suddenly, I was perfectly calm and self-assured.  I knew I was right where
I wanted to be, and I felt nothing but joy and longing in anticipating what
I knew was to come.  I slipped out of my shoes, pulled my shirt over my
head, and stepped out of my shorts, laying the clothes across the back of
the sofa. Now as nude as Coach, I strolled confidently out to the edge of
the pool and paused.  He had completed another whole lap by now, and he
stopped at the far end of the pool and turned toward me, spouting like a
whale.  He drank in the image of my naked form illuminated from below by
the pool lights through turquoise water.  I hardly realized then what an
alluring sight I was at that time.  Still boyish, with just the first bloom
of youthful male beauty, I stood 5'10" and weighed 165.  So I was quite
slender, with a 29" waist, well muscled legs from my training as kicking
specialist, and a rapidly developing masculine chest and broadening
shoulders.  I have a fairly dark, almost Mediterranean complexion, black
hair, almond eyes, and very little body hair.  I looked like a Greek
athlete sculpt, only better hung.  Coach, of course, had seen it all many
times in the locker room, and had gotten a close-up view of my young
manhood while he mouthed it, so I was no longer the least bit modest or
embarrassed.  But I was eager to become as familiar with his manly bod as
he was with mine.  He swam back over to the side of the pool and gazed up
at the underside of my gonads, smiling.  We exchanged pleasantries.  Then,
at Coach's suggestion, I dived in and began to swim leisurely.  I had just
had a workout at practice, and was not there to exercise, but I enjoyed the
languid and sensuous fingering of my body by the water, especially as I
porpoised and swam underwater.  What a difference a little piece of fabric
swimsuit can make, I marveled, or lack of it.
	Coach was no longer interested in aquatic exercise, either.  He
began to swim along nearby me playfully.  This would take some getting used
to, I realized, him in this new playmate, (emphasis on the "mate") role.  I
hung onto the edge of the pool, and Coach came up behind me, surrounding me
with his long and brawny arms.  I felt his sculpted torso press against my
back; there was a ticklish furry patch at my butt.  Coach began to kiss my
wet neck.  Something firm began to grow against my ass cheeks where his
thighs straddled me.  I swiveled around to face him.  He continued kissing
away, now on my face and throat.  My lips parted to receive him, my eyes
closed.  It was almost too weird, but also wonderful.  His lips clasped
mine.  A strong, wet tongue invaded and explored my mouth.  The stubble of
his cheek brushed my smoother one.  I was not accustomed to kissing like
this, not with anyone, male or female.  I was amazed what a turn-on it was,
and completely lost that hesitant awareness of who this was deep-tonguing
me.  I let go of the edge of the pool, placing my hands on Coach's strong,
broad shoulders.  I lifted my feet and wrapped my legs around his hips.
Now my own expanding crotch rubbed against his belly, and my asshole lay
open and vulnerable before him.  I felt the big, rubbery head of his dick
in the crack of my ass.  The kissing proceeded.  After awhile, Coach turned
us both around and began to swim powerfully toward the shallow water,
pushing me ahead in the "tired swimmer's carry" I had learned in life-
saving class.  I now realized not for the first time that that carry could
probably be executed by a couple who were fucking while they swam.
	Then Coach was standing in four feet of water and walking us toward
the steps in the corner.  He lifted me slightly and placed my butt on the
top step, my hips just half in the water, and knelt two steps below me.  I
leaned back against the side of the pool and closed my eyes as I felt his
wet, warm mouth engulf my stiff dick, now for the second of many times to
come.  Occasionally I had to open an eye to peek at the plastered down
brown top of his head to make sure this was real.  Yes, no question about
it: I was alive, awake, and Coach Howard himself was enthusiastically
sucking my hard, ecstatic dick.  My feet closed around his back, clasping
at the ankles.  Beyond them, his brawny lower back glowed pale in the
lighted water, his luminous buttocks and muscular thighs just visible
beneath.  This time I had had no physical and emotional trauma to dull my
neurons, and I could hardly bear the incredible pleasure of the sensation
of his tonguing.  Coach was one accomplished cocksucker!  In an
embarrassingly short time, I felt the milky sap rising within my root, and
I warned Coach I was about to come.  He did not pull back, however, but
took the full force of my load this time within his mouth and throat,
swallowing greedily as it came.  I unloaded what seemed like cups of
abundant boy-jizz.  He continued to plunge up and down on my shaft until
every drop was exhausted.  I sighed with contentment.
	When his desire for dick was sated, Coach pulled back, smiled
appreciatively, gave the side of my head an affectionate caress, and hopped
up to sit on the side of the pool a couple of feet from the steps.  I
looked over his full, naked body for the first time.
	I had known Coach was fit and trim, but I had never realized how
great he would look without clothing.  He was a pretty big guy, over six
feet and around 200 pounds, but there was not a fat cell on him.  His arms,
shoulders, and chest bulged with muscle.  His stomach was lean but rippling
with toned abs.  I was fascinated by his brown chest hair, covering the
entire space between his rounded brown tits and descending provocatively
down his stomach until it exploded in a curly pubic patch at his crotch.
His cut dick was not fully erect now, but it arched out from his groin like
a Polish sausage.  It was huge and gorgeously formed, as was the rest of
him.  I was drawn to it as to a magnet.  I stood and descended the steps,
moved between his legs and, planting my elbows on either side of his
massive brown-furred thighs, knelt to pay homage to the cock god.  Now his
muscular lower legs wrapped around me.
	My only voluntary cock sucking had been last week when I took
Allen's wienie in my mouth, and then before I finished with him I was
forced to prime DeShawn, Jeremy, and Tyrone so they could rape my ass. Not
really a very rewarding beginning.  Still, it was surprising what I had
learned from sucking those four very different cocks, even under duress.
Coach's boner was as big as Tyrone's, which put him in a tie for first
place with me at that time (and not many have surpassed those two since
then).  I went to work on him with gusto, savoring the wet, fleshy flavor,
the firm texture, even the chlorine scent of the magnificent schlong.  It
immediately hardened in my mouth.  Coach caressed my head while I climbed
up and down his big pole.  I got in a lot of practice before he ejaculated,
and I enjoyed every slurp.  When he did let go of his load, I was almost
overwhelmed by it.  It splashed onto my tonsils in rhythmic squirts, funky
and salty and slick.  Coach made satisfied moaning sounds of pleasure.
	Afterwards, I kept him in my mouth quietly as he deflated
partially.  My arms around his waist, I rested my head on his upper thigh;
my nose lay on his pubes and I breathed in his pool scented crotch aroma.
He patted and stroked my head.  I wasn't at all sure how to move to the
next thing.  But Coach was.
	He slid back into the water in front of me, took me into his arms,
and just engulfed me.  I felt as if my entire body had been sucked into his
mouth and absorbed by his arms.  My legs went around his waist again, and I
became aware that we were bobbing around the pool.  Then we began to rise
out of it, up the steps.  I held on with my legs, mouth still clamped to
his.  Coach was now carrying me around the decking of the pool as if I were
a child or a doll, except that we were hot and naked and attached at the
lips.  We drew near a table, and Coach fingered something there without
looking at it.  Then, as he turned away, I felt his finger on my asshole.
It was gooey and slick.  He circled and massaged my anus, now healed from
its breaking and entering of several nights ago.  I felt the muscle
relaxing.  The finger slipped through, wiggling and swirling inside.  The
sensation was enrapturing.  Another finger joined the first.  They went in
further until I could feel the deep pleasure of the prostate being
massaged.  A tiny drop of semen dripped from my dick onto Coach's stomach.
I felt my back press against a post holding up the deck above.  Using the
post to brace me, Coach began to press up and against me with his body.
His hand came out of my butt hole to guide his cock into position.  Then up
he thrust, and it slipped into my ass to the hilt.
	Now my own weight held me down on Coach's hard cock, as if I were
sitting on it.  He gave me several long pumps against the post; then he
began to stroll about the pool deck with me impaled upon his phallus and
wrapped in his arms.  I felt fabulously filled with him and in awe of his
strength.  Using my thigh muscles, I lifted and lowered my butt on his
pole.  He never stopped kissing my mouth and neck and ears this whole time.
We slowly entered the rec room, and I felt my butt bump against the back of
the overstuffed sofa.  Coach gradually and gently lowered my shoulders to
the broad arm of the couch, with my hips still up to his waist and his dick
still thrusting into me.  Once I was secured, holding my arms, he began to
thrust more quickly and smoothly. Because of the angle of his entrance,
every pass of his ridged cock head slid over my prostate gland pleasurably.
I was not ready for him to stop when he cried out in pleasure and shot his
load of jizz into me.  He paused at the end, still merged with my flesh,
"So that's the way it's supposed to be done," I said with contentment.
	"Well, that's one of the ways," Coach answered.  "But we'll try
some others, too."
	He pulled out of me and parked his butt on the back of the sofa.
His long, bulky thigh lay across the back, too, and his big, purplish brown
organ lay beside it.  His cock lay across his lap like a dachshund, and I
commented on its size and majesty.  "Nobody has ever complained they
couldn't feel it," he acknowledged with pride. "But when we're here, you
should call me Jack.  Coach doesn't fuck ass, but Jack does."  In that
case, I wanted to get to know Jack really well. "Let's head for the
shower," said Jack.
	There was an open shower set up out by the pool.  Jack turned on
the water and pulled me under it.  He soaped me all over, feeling me up
good as he went.  Then I returned the favor, concentrating on his
incredible cock and balls.  He turned and bent slightly, inviting me to
wash and fondle his ass. I asked if he liked to be fucked, too, and he
confessed that it was not his favorite thing, but he was glad to offer
himself for my educational purposes. Ever the teacher...
	Our next stop was the hot tub, which bubbled among the bushes off
in a corner.  The hot water felt great on my stretched bum, and the
aeration tickled my skin all over.  Jack pulled me over against his hairy
chest and embraced me.  My head rested on his shoulder.  We relaxed and
talked for awhile, very honestly about my recent deflowering, about Allen
and the other bigots on the team and in the town, about my feelings about
myself and my sexual nature.  Jack shared some stories about his own
adolescence and how weird it was for him to be a masculine, sports-oriented
guy longing for other guys.  After awhile, Jack's hands just naturally
slipped down to my crotch and began to feel me up again.  When he had me
good and hard, he stepped out of the tub and sauntered over to the lubes on
the table.  Bending, spreading his legs, and exhibiting his firm, round,
hairy buttocks and his tight brown asshole to my gaze, which helped keep me
hard, he reached back and rubbed his anus with the cream.  Then he knelt on
the padded chaise lounge nearby and turned to smile at me beckoningly.  I
rose dripping from the hot water and moved toward him.  I also dipped into
the jar of cream and slathered my hard erection with it.  Then I advanced
upon his rear.  It was amazing and unreal to me to zero in on the asshole
of my own coach, a grown man only ten years younger than my own dad, and a
big and manly one at that, with my big pumped up dick.  But my cock is
nothing to smirk at, either; at sixteen I already had my full eight inches
of drilling equipment.  My dick head hit his asshole, then pressed against
it.  It widened easily, and I stared captivated as the big swollen head
slipped slowly inside.  Jack grunted, shifted on his knees a little, and
braced himself better.  I continued to push and watched my shaft disappear
inside his body.  My pubes merged with the sparse brown hairs over his
butt.
	The feeling was unlike anything I had ever experienced.  I always
thought jerking off was great, and being sucked was certainly heaven.  But
this was not only warm and slick, but also tight and smooth.  And there
were no teeth!  I began to pump away, first slowly and smoothly, then
increasing in speed, confidence, and aggressiveness.  Jack gasped softly at
each thrust.  My hips bumped his cheeks.  I felt my balls swinging
underneath; they began to collide softly and pleasingly with his.
	I gave Coach a good solid first-time fucking, and thought I
acquitted myself pretty well.  His moaning became more and more vocal.
After awhile he was swearing and whimpering passionately.  I was proud to
give this man I admired so much a pleasurable servicing.  Then I gasped and
swore myself as I felt the flood of semen flow from me into him.  I drove
myself as deep into his abdomen as I could; I laid my hands on his hot,
sexy flanks and rested.
	That evening, Jack and I fucked and sucked each other three more
times.  He fucked me in the corner of the deep end of the pool; I nailed
him lying sideways on the sofa inside the rec room while we watched a porn
tape on the big-screen TV.  He sucked my cock while I sat on the wet bar
and he sat at a stool in front of me.  I sucked him as we both sprawled on
the pool table.  We had a fantastic evening.  In between, we continued to
talk and share a lot.  In the end, we wound up in the downstairs bed making
love with joy and passion.  I left just before 2 a.m., almost as sore as I
had been the previous week, unable to rouse a hard-on if my life depended
upon it. But I felt a hell of a lot better about myself and my hopes for
future happiness.  Not with Coach, of course, he was just my teacher, now
in a new subject area.  But I looked forward to graduation now with
confidence and enthusiasm.
	I continued to come to Coach pretty regularly for private lessons.
After a few weeks, though, he invited me for a particular evening.  I
showed up about an hour after practice and, as usual, let myself in.  As
usual, Jack was naked and waiting, this time sprawled on the curved sofa in
the downstairs rec room, watching a male porn video and stroking himself
very gently, waiting for me.  I slipped out of my clothes and climbed
aboard, giving him a good, long blow job while he enjoyed the movie scene
over my head. After he came, I continued to suck him until he came again.
By the time I finished, I had been there three-quarters of an hour or more.
Finally, Jack said he had something to show me.  He got up and led me to
the bedroom off the rec room where we had made love several times before.
He opened the door.  The room was dimly candle-lit, but I could see
immediately that there was someone already in the bed.  He was naked, dark-
skinned, and spread-eagled on his back.  His wrists and ankles were tied to
the corners of the bed.  I approached and looked at him closely.  It was a
beautiful body, and a familiar one.  It was DeShawn, one of my rapists!
	"DeShawn has something to say to you," said Coach.  Then he left
the room, closing the door behind him.  After a moment, I walked over to
the bed and sat down.  I was very much surprised at this turn of events.  I
waited for DeShawn to speak.
	He seemed to have a little trouble getting started, too.  At last,
wriggling with embarrassment against his restraints, he blurted out, "I'm
sorry, man.  I know we hurt you.  I didn't mean for it to be that way.  I
just didn't have the guts to stop 'em, they would find out I was queer,
too.  I'm finished with those guys now, though.  I'm ready to make it up to
you so we can be even."
	As a matter of fact, DeShawn had hurt me less than any of the guys.
I knew he had even faked ejaculation so he could show some mercy on my
bleeding asshole.  But it was true I was still hurt and angry with him for
my humiliation.  I felt some satisfaction seeing him squirm before me.  I
am not a very vengeful or violent person. But seeing DeShawn like that,
helpless and pitiful, sort of turned me on.  I wouldn't really hurt him.
But I could see the value in letting him pay a price for what he had done
to me.  I sneered at him, and began by calling him a stinking bag of shit.
After that opening compliment, my remarks tended downhill from there.
DeShawn squirmed even more uncomfortably.  But also, his magnificent dick
began to harden.  The more filthily I abused him, the bigger it got.  I
realized that DeShawn was getting off on this.  So I decided to give him a
full dose.
	I crept over his spread-eagled body and sat bare-butt on his chest,
my feet at his sides.  I began to stroke my cock and wave it in front of
his face, berating him all the time for what he and the others had done to
me.  Then I told him I was going to fuck his face and give him a good taste
of his own medicine.  I leaned forward and rubbed my dick head on his lips.
They parted, and his tongue protruded, as his eyes closed.  I forced my
hard cock into his mouth and felt it scrape past his teeth.  Then his
tongue and lips covered them, and I began to hump his face, digging deep
into his throat.  He gagged occasionally, but I fucked away anyway.  I
grasped the headboard and face-fucked the sucker until I came down his
throat in heavy spurts of cream.  I left my cock in his mouth until it had
dripped all of its load into him.  It was wet but clean when I withdrew it.
	Now I turned and sat right down on his face.  My funky asshole was
right on his mouth; my balls hung over his bristly chin.  I commanded him
to clean out my ass for me with his tongue, and he complied.  I felt him
rimming me inquisitively. Then the firm wet muscle came knockin' at my back
door, and I opened up to let it in.  He swirled my anus as deep as he could
go, and licked up and down my backside from the base of my cock, over my
dangling balls, and up my crack.  The feeling was a heavenly massage of
extremely sensitive and sensual areas.
	When I had had enough of the tonguing, I moved to the foot of the
bed and released DeShawn's feet.  Using their bindings, I pulled his knees
up over his chest and tied them to the head of the bed.  Now, his dark,
muscular ass was fully exposed and vulerable.  His heavy balls hung almost
to his hole.  His big pole still extended its full length across his
stomach.  I looked around the room.  On one wall I remembered seeing an old
fraternity paddle hanging.  I took it down and ceremoniously waved it at
DeShawn, tantalizing him with it before finally letting him have it.  I
whacked his ass repeatedly as he cried out with pain.  If his butt had been
white, like Jeremy's or Allen's, it would have turned bright red, but
DeShawn's just darkened.  Then I noticed something special Coach had left
behind for me on the nightstand, a humongous dildo.  I grasped it and held
it in front of DeShawn's gasping mouth.  Then I forced it in.  Though I am
very nicely endowed, this was much bigger than my cock.  It stretched
DeShawn's jaws to the limit to take even the big head of it.  He made
muffled protests around it.  I removed it and turned my attentions back to
his asshole, ramming the dildo mercilessly inside.  But DeShawn knew how to
take it better than I had when I was raped; he loosened his anus and
received it with only a gasp and a groan.  I pumped him with it for a while
until it became apparent that he was enjoying it a bit too much.  Leaving
it in him, I straddled his mouth again and got him started sucking me
again.
	At this point, Coach looked in to see if we were OK.  He asked
DeShawn if he needed a break.  DeShawn shook his head "no."
	"Then do you mind if I join in?" asked Coach.  We both agreed.  In
a second, Jack had the dildo out of DeShawn and his own big, hard cock in
its place.  He fucked DeShawn's ass while I hung down his throat. After a
few minutes, I climbed off and stood to the side so I could watch Jack fuck
him, something I had never seen before.  I really got off on watching that
big, muscular body hunch, his butt muscles clenching forcefully and his big
pecker sliding in and out of DeShawn's dark passage.  After Jack came, I
moved down and fucked that wide-open asshole, too.  My ejaculation racked
me with the most pleasurable full-body sensation of ecstasy I had ever
experienced.  Jack stood back and watched with great interest. He was also
turned on by seeing us fit young dudes going at it.
	I released DeShawn from his bonds and lay beside him on the bed,
both of us spent and exhausted.  Jack went back out to the rec room.  To my
amazement, DeShawn put his arms around me and embraced me.  "Thanks," he
said, "I deserved that."  Then he kissed me, and we made out for awhile
peacefully. I enjoyed the unfamiliar curly hair, having never done it with
a black guy before, not kissing anyway.
	So DeShawn and I made up.  After that night we met at Jack's house
together a few more times.  We went out on our own occasionally until
DeShawn graduated and took an athletic scholarship several states away.  We
have lost contact since.
	Jack did not stay on as coach after that season, though we had a
great record and he was quite popular.  He knew, though, that he could not
go on this way much longer without someone spilling the beans.  He took a
sales job in a much larger city a couple of hours away, where I turned out
to go to college, as it happened.  That meant that I saw him a few times
there several years later, and we screwed around some recreationally, but
not as a real couple.  Jack was now semi-out in the new town; at any rate
he had occasional all-male parties for gay and bi friends.  He hired me to
work these parties several times for extra income, which I needed.  Once I
was the buffet table decoration, laid out naked and decorated elaborately
with a smorgasbord of meats, vegetables, fruits, and desserts.  My cock was
completely engulfed in English trifle and topped with heaps of fruit and
whipped cream.  The guests gobbled up the food, scooping it right off of my
bare body with fingers and, later, tongues.  It was tiring to be so still,
but a cool experience.  The next several times I was an exotic dancer and
stripped and jerked off for the appreciative crowd.  Twice in summer he had
nude parties where the guests took off their clothes at the door, and I was
the naked butler, wearing only white collar and formal tie, who greeted
them.  I got felt up a lot those nights, too, and earned good tips letting
guys pull me aside and suck my dick.  So my relationship with Coach was
never one of equals, but it was always educational and fun for me.  To this
day I appreciate all he did for me and the good sex he gave me, one way or
another.  Most of all, I appreciate the way he helped me find my true self
without shame or reproach.  Without him, I shudder to think what my
adolescence in the world capital of sexual bigotry would have been.

Thanks, Coach!