Date: Tue, 26 Jan 2021 01:44:22 +0000 (UTC)
From: Dave B <cubscout88@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Coach for Christmas (Gay - Adult Friends)

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A COACH FOR CHRISTMAS

The cool night air sent a frigid chill down Jake's spine, a feeling that
was heightened by the thin layer of sweat that covered his body. It was
blisteringly cold outside, and he couldn't wait nervously in his car any
longer. The windows were fogged up, his down coat was pumping his sweat
glands into overdrive, and it was ten minutes past the hourÑabout as
fashionably late as his OCD would allow him to be.

As the initial shock of the cold dissipated, Jake looked around the empty
parking lot. One or two cars were pulled up right next to the dirty chrome
siding panels of the diner; otherwise, the place was as vacant as could be
for a weeknight two days before Christmas. That was fine with Jake,
though. It was his first-time back home in almost ten years, and the
thought of running into anyone from his previous life in Castorville made
him sick to his stomach.

A lot had changed in the last decade. Not with the town; that would always
be the same. But Jake had settled into a lifestyle that would still be
treated as a criminal offense in that part of the country, and he wasn't
too keen on his family or any ghosts from his past discovering that part
about him. Still, men his age had a tendency to get horny from time to
time, and Jake couldn't bear the thought of suffering through the holidays
with his family with a nutsack full of pent-up sexual frustration.

He coddled his hands together, blew a fresh wave of moist heat into their
core, and headed for the door.

Inside the diner, the harsh yellow lighting made the walls look a dingy
brown, as if they hadn't been painted since the establishment had opened
seventy years prior. A middle-aged woman with firecracker-red hair tied up
in a bun and a stained white uniform that looked as old as the building
looked up from the two elderly gentlemen she was conversing with at the
counter. She saw it was just him and yelled, "Sit anywhere you like. I'll
be with you in a moment," before turning back to the men and cackling an
obnoxious laugh from deep within her smoker-lungs.

Jake's eyes lingered on the three individuals before turning and staring up
the row of booths that lined the front windows. He passed a few and then
sat facing away from the door, tucking his coat in between himself and the
wall. Outside, the snow fell gently in the glow of the streetlamp. Jake
watched it float effortlessly on the air, taking his mind away from his
nerves.

He always got nervous before meeting someone new. It wasn't just when he
met other men for sexual encounters; it was anyone new. But things were
especially bad that evening, for if there was anything that made him more
nervous than meeting guys for sex, it was coming back home. Put the two
together and it was no wonder his hands were as sweaty as they were. He
wiped them on his pants just as the waitress appeared from behind him.

"What can I get ya?" the waitress asked.

"IÑ-I'm waiting on someone," Jake forced out.

"How about a drink while you wait?" she offered.

"Sure. A Diet Coke would be nice."

The waitress turned and walked away without another sound. Moments later,
she came back and dropped a plastic cup of fizzing Diet Coke in front of
him, then tossed a straw on the table next to it. She set two menus at the
edge of the table and said, "Well, the name's Cherry. If you need anything,
holler. If not, I'll check back in when your friend gets here."

"Thanks," Jake muttered, but she was already gone.

He looked around the restaurant, back at the two men sitting at the
counter, as if they might be someone that recognized him. Jake certainly
didn't recognize them, but in a small suburb like Castorville, there was a
good chance that somehow or other one could trace a connection between the
men back to his parents. It was just that kind of town. He might not know
them, but that didn't mean they wouldn't know Jack and Cindy's kid if they
bumped into him. He turned away and grabbed a menu, shielding himself from
prying eyes that weren't there.

The door dinged and someone entered. Jake turned quickly to see if it was
his date. He didn't know what the man looked like, only that he was older,
a bit heavier, and what the man called average looking. But while the man
standing in the door was very attractive, much to Jake's dismay, it was not
his date, but something much worse. He let out a quiet, "Shit," and
retreated back into his menu. "It can't be," he said, muttering to the menu
as images of his tormented youth came rushing back into his head.

"What'll it be, Jerry?" the waitress called out.

The man slapped his hands down on the counter near the two men. "Root beer
float hold the whipped cream, extra scoop of vanilla, and double the
cherry," he said, giving the older broad a wink.

Cherry swatted him away and reached into the freezer, quickly assembling
the dessert. "It's a cold one out there, Jerry. What are you doing out on a
night like this? Ain't you got family or nothing to be with?"

"And miss the chance to have one of your floats? My family ain't worth it."

"You're too much, dear," Cherry said. "Now go have a seat and I'll fix the
usual."

Jake raised the menu up over his face as Jerry made his way along the row
of booths. He took the far table against the back wall, the one right next
to the jukebox. He dropped a quarter in and punched A17 before sliding into
the booth. The old man stripped off his coat and wrapped his hands around
his float, gazing out into the blustery night as "I Wonder Why" by Dion &
the Belmonts erupted from the box. Jake peered over the menu and watched as
the man nodded his head along to the tune.

It had been years since he had seen the old man. Ten years to be exact.
Graduation Day, 2010. And the old man was just as good looking as Jake had
remembered him. He must've been in his late sixties by that point, and the
shaggy hair atop his head had gone from a dusty brown to a shiny silver,
matching the few stray hairs that poked from beneath his checkered flannel
shirt. His waistline had expanded a few sizes too many, but what else could
one expect from a retired gym teacher? No longer getting paid to keep kids
in shape, Coach Roberts had clearly turned his time and attention to
indulging in more than the occasional late night root beer float at the
local diner.

But Jake didn't care. His old coach looked better than ever and, if he
weren't there to meet another old manÑ-who was seriously running late at
this pointÑ-he would seriously consider trying to find a way into Coach
Roberts' pants. That is, if his nerves would allow it, which he knew they
wouldn't. With that in mind, all he had to do was keep a low enough profile
that he wouldn't have to engage with his former teacher. With any luck, the
old man wouldn't even remember him.

Jake turned around and looked over his shoulder at the door behind him. His
date was nowhere to be found. He turned toward the Coca-Cola clock on the
wall and saw that it was now half past the hour. He was being stood up. Not
all that surprising in a small town like Castorville, but disappointing,
nonetheless.

As he turned back toward the front, his eyes locked with the old man's in
front of him. Coach Roberts' jaw dropped slightly as a wave of surprised
recognition drew across his face. He gently lifted his hand and gave Jake a
slight wave, the shock turning into a sly grin.

A wave of panic washed over Jake. He had not only been seen, he had been
recognized. There went any prospect of his having any fun that
night. Hesitantly, he raised his hand above the table and gave his coach an
awkward wave back, frantically trying to think of an escape. Then, before
things could get any worse, he picked his menu back up and disappeared
behind it.

Unfortunately, men the age of Jerry Roberts didn't understand the concept
of seeing someone they knewÑ-no matter how long it had been since they
had seen each otherÑ-and not wandering over to strike up a
conversation. Before Jake knew it, his former coach was standing over him,
looking down at him with an astonished smile.

"Jake? Jake Matthews? Is that really you?"

Jake slowly lifted his eyes up from their buried position in his menu and
took in the full view of his old teacher. The man was even better looking
up close. His perfectly round belly could only be described as
breathtaking; the tucked in flannel shirt pulled tightly over it,
accentuating its shape and drawing Jake in. The man's face was clean-shaven
and full, a warm and gentle smile lifting his round cheeks up into his
twinkling blue eyes.

And just like that, Jake was that fifteen-year-old boy again, new to
Castorville Senior High School, the boy too terrified to shower with the
other kids after gym class. Coach Roberts had sympathized with him,
allowing Jake to stay after class once the others had left. He would even
write him a hall pass every time so he wouldn't be late for his next
class. It had meant the world to that terrified freshmanÑ-more than the
coach ever knewÑ-and it wasn't long until Jake found himself with his
first crush. Of course, if being a closeted-gay teenager wasn't bad enough,
having a crush on his significantly older male teacher certainly sealed the
deal. That crush made this encounter all the worse.

It was good seeing him again; it was something he'd never thought he'd get
the chance to do. And now, when given the chance to look that man in the
eyes once more, he was doing his best to screw it all up. Wiping his hands
on his pants once more, he smiled back and said, "Coach Roberts, it's great
to see you!"

"I knew it was you," he said, waving his finger at the young man. "I just
knew it! What brings you back to Castorville? You visiting the folks for
Christmas?"

"Yes, Coach Roberts," Jake replied, trying to be polite.

Coach Roberts shook his head. "Please, only my students call me that. Call
me Jerry."

"I don't think I can do that," Jake replied.

"Yeah, it's easy for you kiddos to forget us teachers are real people with
lives outside of the school. So, what are you doing in this dump anyway?"

"Hey!" Cherry yelled from behind the counter. She had clearly been
listening to their conversation. "You better watch it."

Jerry turned to the waitress. "You know I love you, Cher."

"You best start acting like it," she said, turning toward the kitchen.
"Calling my place a dump . . ." Her voice trailed off as she disappeared
from view.

Jake waited until she was gone. "IÑ-I'm meeting a friend."

Jerry cocked his head. "It isn't Zach, is it? Zach Biggsby?"

Jake didn't really expect to be questioned further on the matter, but Coach
had given him the perfect alibi, so he quickly lied. "Yes." Zach was his
best friend from high schoolÑ-one of the only other mid-grade losers the
same level as he had beenÑ-and the only other person to know about
Jake's crush on his teacher. Jake was even more surprised that Coach
Roberts had remembered the two were friends.

"I always did enjoy watching the two of you in class. You weren't very good
at sports, were you?" he said through a hearty laugh. "But you tried, which
is more than I can say for 90% of the other students."

Jake nodded, before asking, "What are you doing here, CoachÑ-I mean,
Jerry."

Jerry looked around the diner and saw how empty it was. "Well, I was
supposed to be meeting a friend, too, but it looks like he's a no-show."

"Same here," Jake shrugged, his hopes for release dying. It was going to be
a long holiday after all.

"Well," Jerry said, looking out the window. "No sense waiting around any
longer. Should probably get home before the storm comes in." Then, an idea
hit him. "Say, since it looks like we both got stood up, care to get our
burgers to go? We can have a beer or two at my place. That is, unless
you've got somewhere to be."

The thought intrigued Jake. Spending any time alone with Coach Roberts
thrilled and terrified him at the same time. Still, until tonight, he never
really thought he'd see his old teacher again; he certainly didn't expect
to be invited to his house! It would be nice to share his presence once
more, even if the encounter would only leave him sorrier that he hadn't had
a good release before the holidays. He, too, looked outside. The snow was
beginning to fall at a steady pace. As much as he liked the idea, getting
home was probably the more responsible thing to do.

Before he could speak, his stomach growled. He was hungry, and a beer would
be nice. What the hell? No reason to let a bad night get any worse. "Sure,"
he said. "That could be fun."

The old coach's face lit up. "Great." He turned to the counter and yelled,
"Hey Cher, make it a double!" Then, turning back to Jake, he said, "Why
don't you ride with me. That way we can stop by the store and get something
to drink. I'll bring you back after."

"Sounds good to me," Jake replied.

After Cherry brought out the double order of Coach Roberts' usualÑ-a
double diner burger with a sunny-side up egg and bacon, waffle fries, and
the root beer floatÑ-he slapped a twenty and a ten on the table and
grabbed the food. "Merry Christmas, Cher," he said, raising the food in an
effort to wave. "See you Sunday."

"Take care, sweetie," she called after, as Jake and Coach Roberts
disappeared into the snowy night.

Coach Roberts drove an old, faded-blue Chevy pick-up truck that looked and
sounded as if he had bought it the year he started teaching . . . whenever
that had been. The heater was kind enough to just take the bite out of the
air, but if you wanted actual heat, you were out of luck.

"It'll just be a minute," Jerry said. "The gas station isn't far, and I'm
just around the corner after that."

Jake nodded and muttered that it was fine.

"Got a preference on alcohol? We don't have to get beer if you'd prefer
something harder."

"Beer is fine," Jake replied, his hands starting to sweat once more. He had
never been alone with Coach Roberts before. Not outside of school
anyway. It was . . . strange. "I occasionally have some whiskey, butÑ-"

"Whiskey?" the coach exclaimed. "You don't strike me as a whiskey guy."

"I only like the pecan pie whiskey. The one made out at Hubert Farms."

"How festive. I've never had the stuff, but I'll drink anything." Jerry
reached down between his legs to the bag of food sitting on the floor. He
nestled his hand inside and pulled out a few fries, shoving the greasy
potatoes into his mouth. "Fry?" he asked through the food.

"No thanks," Jake said. "I'll wait till we're there."

"Suit yourself," coach replied through another handful.

They really had been just up the road from the gas station. When they got
there, Jerry handed the bag of food to Jake and opened his car door. "I'll
just be a minute," he said, then shut the door behind him.

Jake sat there, the smell of french fries and burgers wafting through the
frigid car. He ran his sweaty hands up his legs, drying them off on his
pants. What am I doing? he thought. Somehow, as nervous as he may get in
such situations, meeting a stranger in a diner for sex seemed less awkward
and nauseating than having dinner and a drink with his old coach. He
glanced up at the door to the gas station. They had only driven a mile or
two from the diner. He could leave now, and no harm would be done. His hand
reached for the door, resting on the handle and he froze in a moment of
indecision. As he pondered his predicament, Coach Roberts' face from the
moment he accepted the old man's invitation appeared in his mind. The man
had been so happy at the thought of having a little company for the
holidays. Jake knew all too well the feeling of eating alone in a diner; he
couldn't doom the old man to the same fate so close to Christmas. He took
his hand off the handle and placed it back on the bag of food.

Moments later, Coach Roberts came scurrying out of the gas station, his hat
pulled tightly over his head. The wind was picking up more, and the
flurries were making it difficult to see. "Shit," the old coach said as he
got back into the truck, the bottle of whiskey tucked inside his
coat. "It's getting bad out there. You sure you don't want to just head to
your folks' place? I'd understand."

There it was. He had an out. "No," Jake said, though he wasn't sure how
that was the word that came out, as his brain was clearly saying yes. "You
just got the whiskey, and the food would be too cold by then. You're just
around the corner, right?"

Coach Roberts smiled big. "Yes sir. Two minutes tops."

"Then let's get going," Jake said, wiping his hands once more. "I'm
hungry."

Jerry Roberts lived outside of the town center of Castorville, just off the
main drag, about three blocks up from the high school. His house was an
all-brick, one-and-a-half story home built soon after World War II, when
his parents had flocked to the suburbs like so many other Bay City
residents at the time. A sidewalk connected the street to the concrete
steps up to the porch. Beneath the door sat a welcome mat decorated with
the patterned black and brown bean of Castorville Oilers.

Jake hadn't seen his old school's mascot in a long time, and now that he
was a decade removed from the institution, having a giant bean for a mascot
seemed a little lame. But, when half the town was employed by the largest
castor oil manufacturer in the stateÑ-and the rival school from one team
over just happened to have a mole as their mascotÑ-the bean was somehow
fitting.

"Here we are," Jerry said, unlocking the front door. "Right this way." He
pushed his way inside and slipped his shoes off on the matt next to the
door. "If you wouldn't mind . . ."

Jake did the same, slipping his shoes off as his eyes wandered around the
room. He had never expected to see the inside of Coach Roberts' home. The
feeling was a bit strange. Then, he removed his coat, which Jerry took from
him and dropped on the rack.

"It's not much," Jerry said, "but it's home."

The front door opened into a wood-floored dining room that spilled directly
into the living room. Both were quaint, decorated largely with antique
wooden furniture that had once belonged to Jerry's parents. Jerry led him
through each room and up the hallway. "Just got to grab some plates and
tumblers for the whiskey, and then we'll head back up front to the table."

Jake watched as his old coach opened cabinets and collected the dishes. To
his right, there were two open doors. One led to the bathroom; the other
was Coach Roberts' bedroom. A queen-sized bed stood in the center; clothes
decorated the floor. Near the dresser, Jake could faintly make out a pair
of white briefs almost glowing in the darkness. A vision of him picking
them up, holding them in his hands, raising them to his face filled his
thoughts.

"Spoon?" Jerry asked.

"Huh?" Jake muttered, turning from his salacious thoughts.

"For the float."

"Oh, right. Sure," Jake responded, taking the spoon.

They returned to the dining room and ate their burgers, losing track of
time as they talked about what each other had been up to for the past ten
years. It was quite pleasant, and Jake soon found himself easing into the
situation, for once not letting his stupid nerves get in the way of a
casual conversation. Perhaps it was the endorphins from the food, perhaps
it was the whiskey. Whatever it was, Jake was enjoying his time with his
former coach, and he was starting to think the night wasn't a total loss
after all.

"So you really became a teacher?" Jerry asked, swirling the whiskey around
the glass. "I thought you wanted to write novels or something. You always
had your nose in a book."

"That's because I wasn't very popular," he said, amazed at his coach's
memory. "I did want to write-Ñstill do from time to timeÑ-but it
turns out it's a bit harder than teenage me thought." He paused, taking a
sip of the whiskey. "You're actually part of the reason for it," Jake
replied.

"Really?" The old man looked at him, perplexed.

"Yeah. I never thought much about it until I graduated. But when writing
turned out to be harder than expected, I thought back to how nice you were
to meÑ-and ZachÑ-and I kind of wanted to be that person for someone
else. I'll tell you one thing: teaching is harder than it looks."

Jerry laughed. "It's about time one of you kids realized that." He reached
for the bottle and poured himself another glass, offering some up to Jake,
as well. "It's really nice to hear you say that. As a teacher, you hope you
get through to some of your students, but it doesn't always work out."

"But we've got to try," Jake offered.

"That we do," Jerry said, raising his glass.

They clinked the drinks together and each took a drink. "Listen, Jake, I
can't even begin to tell you how nice this evening has been. Truth is, I
don't have any family hanging around these parts anymore, so to have
someone to share a meal with . . . it's been nice. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. You gave me an excuse to delay going home a bit
longer. It's I who should be thanking you!"

"Glad I could help," Jerry said. "Never thought I'd say it, but I guess
it's a good thing we both got stood up tonight."

Jake hadn't thought about that all evening. The conversation had been
pleasant enough, he had totally forgotten that he had originally gone to
the diner to meet someone else. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Who was it you were there to see again?"

"Zach," Jake responded.

"That's right," Jerry said through a nervous smile. He thumbed at his
whiskey glass, not quite knowing how to phrase what he wanted to say
next. He cocked his head and asked cautiously, "Are you sure?"

Jake didn't quite know what to make of the question. Coach Roberts had been
the one to suggest it was Zach he was waiting on in the first place, not
Jake. So, what was he trying to get at? "Yeah, we made plansÑ-"

"To meet at the diner tonight?"

"Yes," Jake lied.

"That's funny," Coach said sarcastically. "When I went to the gas station,
I bumped into Zach. I see him up there from time to time. He picks up
shifts on occasion and happened to be there tonight. He said you weren't
hanging out until Christmas Eve."

Jake's eyes grew wide, and his pupils dilated.

"So, let me ask you again," Jerry continued, lifting his eyes from the
glass and staring right into Jake's. "Are you sure you were meeting Zach?"

Jake's first and only impulse beyond panicking was to feign ignorance. "Oh
. . . right. Zach was Christmas Eve. I was there to meetÑ-"

"An older man?" Coach asked.

Jake tensed as the situation became clear. "And you were there to meetÑ"

"A young man in town for the holidays."

"Fuck," they both gasped aloud. The look of disbelief on both of their
faces was priceless.

"You didn'tÑ-" Jerry asked.

"No," Jake replied, shaking his head. "You?"

"Not a clue."

"So . . . what do we do now?" Jake asked.

A devilish grin broke the look of tired innocence on Jerry's
face. "Whatever you want. I, for one, am glad it was you."

The comment surprised Jake. "Really?"

"Yes." He poured himself a bit more whiskey. He had had enough to make this
conversation a bit easier than he thought it would be after he first
learned Jake had lied earlier. But a bit more never hurt anyone. "If you
only knew how much I stared at you when you were in my class. I just wish
I'd known sooner."

Jake thought back to his days crushing on his gym teacher. "I stared at
you, too. I actually almost tried out for wrestling one year just on the
off-chance you were a hand's on instructor."

"That would've been fun."

The thought of missing a chance with Coach Roberts all those years ago
pained Jake. It would have been his wildest fantasy come true. "Would you
have done anything? I mean, if you had known?"

Coach Roberts shook his head. "Not a chance. Too risky. Wouldn't want
people to think I'm some kind of pervert."

"Are you?" Jake asked, raising one eyebrow over the other.

"Depends who's asking. For you, I'll be anything you want me to be."

"Anything?" Jake's mind ran wild, but it settled upon the obvious. "How
about a hot coach?"

Jerry stood up from the table and walked over to Jake. "I can do that," he
said, before leaning in and planting his lips on the younger man.

Coach Roberts' soft lips pulled Jake out of his chair like a fish caught on
a line. This was not at all how Jake had imagined spending his
eveningÑ-wrapped in the arms of one of his oldest and steamiest
crushesÑ-but if there was anywhere he would've liked to be in that
moment, it was right where he stood. His former coach's tongue pushed into
his mouth, and Jake opened up to accept it, letting his own tongue reach
out to meet the old man's. They were both a bit awkward, as neither had
much experience, but somehow, they managed to muddle through it, each
relishing in the realization of long forgotten desires.

"Let's . . . go . . . over . . . to . . . the couch," Jerry said through
breathless kisses.

Jake pulled away just long enough to be led into the next room, the soft
glow of Christmas lights emitting from the tree in the corner. Amidst the
twinkle of the lights, Coach Roberts sat down on the couch, and Jake
climbed on top of him, his knees straddling the coach's thighs. He leaned
in, Jerry's belly protruding into his own, and kissed the man again. As
their tongues wrestled with one another, Jake struggled with the buttons on
Jerry's flannel shirt. They were too small for his sweaty, nervous,
bumbling fingers, and his concentration was focused higher up.

Sensing his trouble, Jerry pushed his hands away and wedged his hands
between them, doing his best to undo the buttons himself. "You're not
. . . quite the little . . . twink you used to be . . . are you?" he
laughed, referencing the tight gap between them.

Jake wasn't what anyone would consider large, but it was true that he had
put on a few extra pounds since his stick-figure days of high school. If he
was describing it, he'd say he finally grew into a realistic weight for his
body.

"Fuck you," he said jokingly at the remark.

"I'd love that," the coach replied with a sheepish grin.

With his shirt unbuttoned, Jerry rolled Jake off of him and onto the
couch. At the same time, he slid off the cushion and landed on his own
knees on the ground, pulling his shirt off in the process. He was now
wearing just a white, sleeveless tankÑ-the thick, black-and-gray carpet
of fur extending from his chest poking out the top. Jake reached up and ran
his fingers through it.

"You like that?" Jerry asked. A twitch in Jake's pants answered for
him. Jerry saw the movement and noticed for the first time the object that
had been stabbing his abdomen moments before. "Hmmm . . . I'll take that as
a yes."

Without waiting for a response, he reached forward and grabbed Jake's belt
buckle. Undoing it, he unsnapped the pants and gave them a yank, pulling
them down past Jake's knees and leaving him sitting in nothing but his
tighty-whities. "I always took you for a brief's guy. Not those baggy
boxers you kids wore back in school."

"I was already on the outs," Jake replied. "I wasn't going to wear these
and take even more heat."

"I know one person who wouldn't have minded . . ." he said, lowering a
finger onto the glistening head of Jake's cock. Pre-cum coated the surface,
turning the opaque cotton translucent. It twitched again as Jerry traced
the outline of it, making it grow even more that it already had. A smile
spread across Coach Robert's face. Slowly, delicately, tantalizingly, he
drifted his finger around Jake's cock, sliding effortlessly through the
slick surface smeared across his head. As if tasting a sauce he had just
prepared, he brought his finger to his mouth and tasted Jake's juice. It
was sweet and sticky, like sugary nectar, and it only made him want more.

Without breaking eye contact, Jerry reached up and dug his fingers beneath
the band of Jake's underwear and gave them a tug. The object of his desire
flopped out, finally freed from its cage. To Jerry, it was perfect: about
six inches, sprouting out of a nice patch of brown pubes, and with just
enough foreskin to give him something to nibble on. He wrapped his hand
around the base and squeezed just enough to feel the Jake's pulse. Then, he
lowered his head and took the cock in his mouth.

How did I end up here? Jake thought as his former coach slid all the way
down and back up his dick, grabbing the foreskin under his head with his
teeth and giving it a gentle tug. NeverÑ-not even in his wildest
dreamsÑ-had he imagined that not only was Coach Roberts interested in
him, but that he would one day find himself sitting on the old man's couch
with his dick shoved down his throat. It just didn't compute. Losers like
him didn't get the hot teacher. That's not how those stories went. And
sure, maybe to the rest of his former classmates, the gym teacher wasn't
the "hot teacher," but if someone had to fuck the old man, Jake was happy
taking one for the team.

Jerry twisted his hand around Jake's slobbery dick as he worked his mouth
up and down it. His saliva had mixed with the pre-cum and lubed the shaft
until no friction remained. With greater ferocity that before, he began
squeezing and stroking while he sucked, devouring the younger man's cock
like he hadn't had one in years. To Jerry's delight, Jake set his hand on
the back of his head and gently pushed down, forcing the shaft down his
throat until his nose was planted firmly in Jake's crotch.

Jake had not done that much that day other than make the two-hour drive
down from Bay City, but the sheer number of layers he had put on in
anticipation of the nearly thirty-degree temperature drop he would feel on
the other side of the mountainsÑ-with the snow it had been even
greaterÑ-had warmed him enough to make him sweat. And when Coach Roberts
pressed his nose into Jake's pubes, he inhaled the sweetest aroma he had
had the pleasure of breathing in some time.

He pulled back, letting Jake slide out of his throat, and lifted Jake's
nuts until he could get access to the sweet spot just beneath the
balls. There, he found more of Jake's man-scent. Sticking his tongue out,
he licked the sweaty taint and tasted Jake, causing the young man to
moan. The fragrance was all Coach needed. He let the nutsack fall on his
face as he continued licking and dropped his hands down to his own
pants. After undoing the buckle, he unzipped them and began pulling them
off.

Coach Roberts stood up and dropped his pants, revealing a well-used Bike
jockstrap. The white cotton netting was worn in the front, but not to the
point of revealing its secrets. He stepped out of the pants as Jake looked
on, mesmerized by the man standing in front of him. His former coach was
wearing nothing but the white tank and the jockstrap, both of which were
round and full. However, before he could reach out and grab hold, Jerry
turned and headed down the hallway, his smooth ass--framed so neatly
between the straps of the jock--jiggling as he went.

He came back moments later carrying a bottle of lube and a condom. "You
want this?" he asked Jake, holding up the square package.

The thought of taking his coach raw was too enticing. "Only if you do."

Coach laughed. "I have the feeling neither one of us do this that often, so
we should be good." He tossed the rubber onto the table and popped open the
lube.

"Let me," Jake offered.

He stood up and took the bottle of lube from the old man. Jerry shot him a
quick grin and then kneeled on the couch cushion. Leaning forward against
the back of the sofa, he extended his strapped ass out in Jake's
direction. Before opening the bottle, Jake leaned forward and planted his
lips on the old man's ass. He kissed the cheek and cupped Jerry's
package. It was full and weighty in his hand. He massaged the bulge with
his thumb, feeling the two large nuts inside. Then, after kissing the other
cheek, he stood up and popped open the lube.

The lube was a bit cold, as it somehow always seems to be. Coach's hole
restricted as he touched the cool gel to it, then relaxed as Jake ran his
hand across its opening. Squeezing more into his hand, he rubbed the hole
again before inserting a finger. It slid right in. Jake felt Jerry's
sphincter tighten around his pointer, trying to force him out. Instead,
Jake stuck another in, forcing the old man open.

"Just do it already!" Jerry cried.

"All right, all right. Patience," Jake replied, running some lube along his
dick.

Jerry turned around as best as he could while leaving his ass still
sticking out. "Boy, I've been waiting for that dick for ten years. Either
fuck me now or . . ."

"Or what?" Jake asked, cocking his head. "What are you going to do if
IÑ-sayÑ-take my time a little." He rubbed the head of his cock gently
up and down Jerry's slippery crack.

"Uh . . ." Jerry had nothing. He had been bluffing. "Just doÑ-IT!"

Jerry moaned as Jake shoved his dick fully into his former coach's ass,
immediately shutting up his demands. It wasn't the largest cock he'd ever
had, but the sudden invasion of his rectum filled him up so nicely and
unexpectedly, he couldn't help but let out a loud groan.

"Better?" Jake asked when Jerry went quiet.

"Oh yeah."

"Good." With that, Jake grabbed the waist band of Jerry's jockstrap and
wrapped it around each of his hands. Once he had a good grip, he pulled his
hips back and thrust them forward again. The inside of his former coach was
warm, wet, and tight; the old man's sphincter gripped Jake's cock securely
as he forced himself in and out of him.

A thin layer of sweat began bleeding through Jerry's tank top as Jake
fucked him. All the while, he continued to moan, getting louder and louder
with every thrust. The sounds of pleasure urged Jake on, filling him with
carnal lust as he hammered down on the fat, old man's backside. The sounds
of his balls slapping loudly against Jerry's ass only added to the symphony
of sex sounds filling the room. As the tension built inside him, Jake
leaned back, tilting his head up to the ceiling as he let out a thunderous
cry, shooting several large spurts of cum deep into Coach Roberts' bowels.

The sensation was pure ecstasyÑ-a fulfillment of a decades' long desire
he had harbored since he was a teenager. He stopped, standing there frozen,
breathing hard, his fully erect cock planted deep in his coach, sweat
dripping from his brow, and he felt the pulse of his dick reverberating
against the pulse in Jerry's ass. They were joined together as one, yet
each still their own entity.

Jake let out a deep sigh, trying to recover his breathing, when he heard a
tear. The jockstrap ripped, snapping in his grip and sending him falling
backward, his dick slipping out of Jerry's ass as he stumbled over the
coffee table and onto the floor next to the tree. After the shock of his
tumble wore off, he lifted his hand and realized he was still holding the
jockstrap in his hand. Standing over him, on the other side of the table,
was Coach Roberts.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned.

Jake looked at the jockstrap again. It was full of Jerry's own creamy
load. He then directed his eyes over at his pantless coach. The old man's
five-inch dick stood erect, pointing directly at Jake. It wasn't very long,
but it was thick, and it extended out of a dense bush of graying pubes;
what remained of the old man's cum dripped off the tip. Dangling low
beneath it were two large, round nuts. Jake had wanted to see Coach Roberts
in that state for all those years, and after so long waiting, the view did
not disappoint. He smiled.

Jerry smiled back, knowing the boy was fine. "I told you that you had
gotten a bit heavier. That was my favorite jock, too!"

"Oh, sorry about the jock."

Walking around the table, Jerry offered Jake a hand, pulling him up to his
feet. "You can rip all my jocks if you fuck me like that again." He then
leaned in for another kiss.

When they separated, Jerry gave Jake a quick pat on the ass. He looked out
the window and saw the winter storm's wreckage. Turning to Jake, he said,
"You know, I'm certainly willing to try and take you back to your car, if
you want, but it looks pretty bad out there." He reached up and rubbed the
back of his head, not wanting to seem too presumptuous. "But . . . if you
want, you could stay here with me. The bed's not that big, and I don't
think I have much for breakfast, but I thinkÑ-"

"Absolutely," Jake said, cutting him off. As hesitant as he had been to
come over at the beginning of the night, the evening had turned into a
dream come true. He wasn't going to waste any opportunity to spend more
time with Coach Roberts. Not after sex like that! Regaining his composure,
he said calmly, "I mean, I'd like that."

Coach Roberts beamed as if Christmas had come early. "Right this way then,"
he said, and the two men headed for bed.

©2021
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