Date: Sun, 2 Sep 2007 00:29:48 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: CHRIS & THE COACH - 3

CHRIS & THE COACH - 3

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written
permission of the author.   However based on real events and places, "Chris &
the Coach" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  As in real life, however, the
sexual themes unfold gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may
be addressed to the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the
"Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults
and teenagers.   As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal
enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of legal age to read
such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or
if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally,
remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 3

(Revisiting Chapter 2)

Chris looked stupidly at the arm that was extended towards him from the other end of
the couch.  Pushing back into the armrest behind him as he retreated, he whispered,
"No, I'm trash, I'm shit, I'm queer.  Don't let me hurt you any more than I have."  "And
why shouldn't I let you hurt me any more than you already have?" the Coach asked in a
voice that could barely be heard.  The tears were flowing as the big teen answered,
"'Cause I love you, Coach, and it hurts ten times more than when I got raped."  He
looked at the hand that beckoned him to come closer as if it were a mirage.  When he
was unable to move, the hand reached out, grabbed a handful of brown curls, and
gently guided his body closer until his thick chest was directly over the man's lap.  Then
it let him drop softly.  The tears began anew as he felt the man's lips on the back of his
neck.

(Continuing Our Story:  Friends)

John Kearns had had a good life in his little college town.  He loved his profession; he
was an outstanding coach and teacher; he honestly respected and liked the people of
the area.  They returned his respect and liking in full measure.  For instance, he was
never billed one cent for medical services rendered to Chris; other than for a brief and
very factual account of his discovery, the newspaper minimized its coverage of the
entire matter; in receipt of absolutely minimal certification by the Police Department and
the hospital, the superintendent of the regional school district admitted Chris to the
senior year at the high school.  (After some rigorous tutoring in August, he passed a
junior-level competency test with high marks.)  Whatever the unspoken curiosity, the
young man known as Christopher Kearns was simply accepted by the town as one of
the Coach's relatives.  When Coach occasionally gave him a little relief from his tutoring
and allowed the boy to join him at College football practices, the team warmly accepted
him as one of them.  To be sure, the fact that he insisted on serving as water boy in the
deadly late summer heat and heavy humidity (for most students had not yet returned to
campus) didn't hurt his standing.  When he enrolled in the local high school in early
September, his personality, looks, intelligence, and obvious athletic promise led to a
greeting that was equally positive.

The youngster's physical constitution - maximized by the skilled assistance he was
receiving - helped him to heal quickly from bodily injuries suffered in the assault.
Though he was unskilled in his new roles, the very fact that he had recently accepted
the fact that he was gay did much to settle him down.  Nevertheless, the loss of his
mother and the attitudes and actions of his stepfather had created open wounds and
tremendous suffering that would be long in healing.  Despite having celebrated his
seventeenth birthday within the week, the fact that when needed he could lean back
onto his chosen father and draw on his strength bode well for healing wounds that often
never close.  This was complicated, of course, by the fact that the coach also bore
heavy scars and had yet to face unresolved problems, but, then, much of our story has
yet to be told.

Between the loving support provided by Coach Kearns at home and the popularity he
already enjoyed at school, Chris was increasingly happy.  For instance, Coach
remembered one September evening when practice had delayed his return home.  As
he walked in the door, he could smell a good supper being prepared and found Chris
busy in the kitchen.  "Wash your hands, Johnny, and set the table," the lad growled in
his deepest voice, a voice that barely concealed youthful laughter.  Coach "obeyed" by
soaking his hands in ice water from the fridge and creeping up behind the boy who
stood at the stove clad in nothing more than a heavy chemistry lab apron.  When he
laid those hands on those glorious ass cheeks, quickly reaching into the apron to fondle
anything else he could reach, dinner was almost permanently delayed!

After order had been restored and they had sat down to a very satisfying, if simple,
supper, Chris had so much to tell his mentor that he actually found his meal cooling.  If
anything, the teaching in his advanced placement classes was as good, if not better,
than he had experienced in his private school - though the amount of homework was
"kinda grim".  The kids who attended this school were  drawn primarily from small town
and farm populations, though there were some suburban students from the far end of
the regional school district.  One thing was for sure:  they were a lot more pleasant than
the crowd with whom he had had to associate earlier in the year.  And, yes!  Dr.  Tom
had said there was no reason that he couldn't go out for football as long as he wore
some extra protective gear.  When Coach Davis had introduced him to the team, they
had welcomed his like a long lost brother.  He had already met many of the guys and
"they were a good bunch".  Evidently, everyone thought they had the manpower to go a
long way that year if, that is, graduation and transfers hadn't wiped out their cadre of
excellent running backs.  Without pausing for either breath or food, Chris asked if Dad
had any objections.  (He didn't - as long as he followed the doctor's instructions.)  And,
oh yeah, Dad!  Their super theater group would end their year with an adaptation of
"Spartacus".  He LOVED acting and couldn't resist signing up for Theater as his one
elective.  Running out of oxygen, the youth paused for a few seconds in order to inhale
about half of the food on his plate.

His eyes filled with love - and just a tad bemused - John Kearns observed his son as he
busily shoveled food into his mouth with the same concentration that he seemed to
bring to almost everything else.  "I think I'm only concerned about one thing," he finally
observed in a quiet voice.  Chris looked up from his plate.  "Do you really think," he
continued, "that you will be sufficiently involved to keep you happy?  There's nothing
worse, you know, that being one of those guys who mopes around the house 'with
nothing to do'."  Chris managed a serious "Well..." before he "got it" and joined Coach
in peals of laughter.  "Yeah, Dad, I think so, but if I get bored, I guess I'll just have to do
some work around here!" he finally managed to spit out.  Score one point for each
side...

(Charting His Own Course)

If nothing else, joining the football team placed Chris in the middle of a very popular and
pleasant crowd.  The first event of the preseason was always a cook-out at Coach
Davis' farm not far outside town.  Although only the Varsity seniors were allowed to
bring their girls, the frosh and J.V. teams were always included.  Word had spread
across campus since the first days of practice that the tall, handsome, new senior
running back was going to give the team its first real chance at a District championship
in years.  Everyone was really friendly, and Chris did get to know a few of the Varsity
players a bit better, especially those who weren't in advanced placement classes.
(Many were.)  Nevertheless, it was a social occasion and they were generally occupied
with their girls.  Thus, Chris was able to shoot the breeze with a rather wide selection of
boys from the other classes.  Actually, a few sought him out, including a freshman
running back by the name of Wade Hempel.  In Chris' estimation, the sturdy fourteen-
year-old redhead showed a lot of promise.  Chris remembered later with some pride
that he had refused to avoid the youngster because he found him attractive.  Rather, he
simply admitted that he was "cute" and refused to allow guilt to dim his enjoyment of the
party.

Varsity practice on Thursday was cancelled for some unannounced reason.  As
students headed for lunch, Mr. Mannon who coached the frosh team called him aside
and asked him if he'd like to join him in working with the freshmen.  It was a significant
compliment and Chris took it as such.  Mannon turned the running backs and the top
quarterback candidate over to him in order, as he put it, to concentrate on finding a few
boys who could play defense!  Chris really put them through their paces, especially
when it came to pass catching.  Their tongues were hanging out, but they were doing a
bit better when Mannon whistled everyone into the showers.  As Chris jogged towards
the buildings, Wade Hempel joined him momentarily.  "Sorry for those last couple of
passes, Coach," he puffed.  "Not to worry, Red," Chris responded cheerfully.
"Everyone has to learn.  You have a lot of promise.  If  you keep it up, I can almost
promise you that you'll make the Varsity, maybe as early as your junior year!"  "Thanks,
Coach," Wade said with a grin and loped ahead towards the showers.  Although it
hadn't been much of a workout for him, Chris was happy to reach his locker in the
Varsity section.  He had so much English to complete that night that he couldn't believe
it.  Almost without thinking, he stripped and headed for the showers.  The enormous
shower room was jammed with noisy fourteen-year-olds by the time he arrived.  He
spied an open shower head down one wall and headed for it without delay.  He had
almost finished lathering up when he suddenly realized that the room had gone dead
quiet other than for the sound of running water.  As he looked up, nearly every eye
seemed glued on him - his build and, especially, his equipment.  Most of their mouths
were open and the nether parts of several seemed a little swollen.  He grinned, finished
up quickly, and strode confidently towards the exit.  Nearly there, the first voice called
out, "Thanks, Coach!"  The cry was taken up by nearly all of the kids as he headed for
the lockers.  "Wow!" Chris thought to himself.  "What a rush!"

Shortly after the second intra team scrimmage, he received a phone call from Jason
Hempel, Wade's father.  "You won't believe it, Chris," he said, "but my son dragged me
to yesterday's scrimmage.  To put it mildly, I was highly impressed.  The boy hasn't
stopped telling me about your saying he had promise since you said it.  If there any
chance that you would work with him on a couple of weekend days?  Naturally, I would
pay you generously for your efforts."  "Thank you, sir, for your kind comments," Chris
replied, "and I DO think Wade has a lot of promise.  My main difficulty in accepting your
offer is that I have a very heavy program."  With a laugh, he added that he wasn't sure
that English was still his native language.  And physics?  He just wasn't getting it.  Mr.
Hempel broke in, saying that he was a physicist who worked at a federal laboratory in
nearby Lawton.  "Perhaps," he said with a laugh, "I could give YOU a hand when I get
home from work.  Naturally, I'd still pay you for your work with Wade."  "That sounds
possible, sir.  Also, I'm really grateful for your offer of help.  Let me clear it with Coach
Mannon and get back to you directly."

On Saturday after the morning team scrimmage, Chris drove over to the Hempels.
They were one of the suburban families who lived on the edge of the district, but he had
no trouble finding their large house.  Wade was waiting for him on the front porch.  As
Chris drove up, the boy tugged off his T-shirt, leaving him clad only in cutoffs and
shoes, and loped over to the driveway.  Chris remembered thinking that given two or
three years, that boy was going to be a real hunk.  As it was, he had a fine build with
good shoulders topping a solid torso, a marked bulge in his tight jean cutoffs, and long,
well muscled legs.  He was already 5'6" or so.  Chris climbed out of his car (actually
Coach Kearns' second car), greeted him happily, and ruffled his red hair.  "Hi, beast!"
he chortled.  "Are you ready to die for the old maroon and white?"  "I think I'd rather live
and score a lot of touchdowns for them," Wade replied with a laugh as he showed Chris
around to the back of the house.  Seeing the full swimming pool, the screened porch,
and the expanse of green lawn, Chris whistled and said, "Real nice, Red!"  "Well, it ain't
much, but it's home," the redhead drawled.  "Here...catch!" he yelled as he tossed the
football to Chris, and they were off for over two hours of intensive instruction.

The sweat was pouring down two tired bodies when they finally stopped to catch their
breath around 3:30.  Collapsing onto lawn chairs, the boys could scarcely speak as they
swallowed lemonade and munched on a few excellent cookies that Wade had brought
out from the house.  "Sorry that my folks aren't here," Wade said, "but they both work
Saturdays until at least 5:00.  Mom's bringing a special dinner for us, and Dad told me
to remind you that he was ready to turn you into an Einstein after dinner."  "Well, as
long as it isn't the Einstein who was in the "Back to the Future" movies," Chris
responded.  Red let out a loud horselaugh and asked if Chris would like to join him in
the pool for a while.  The fact that Chris didn't have a suit was no problem, for, as Red
said, he didn't like wearing them anyway.  Slowly - and with the slightest grin - he
dropped his cutoffs, displaying one luscious piece of meat.  Chris wasn't far behind him
as they jumped into the pool.

Following a little swimming and a lot of high jinks, including just a bit of grab ass, the
boys climbed up on the edge of the pool and sat, dangling their feet in the water.  Wade
finally broke the silence:  "I want to give you a super rubdown," he murmured in a low
voice.  Suspecting that there was a problem that would have to be faced sooner or
later, Chris accepted.  The redhead happily produced an enormous beach towel that he
spread on the grass, plus some oil.  As Chris stretched out on his stomach, Wade took
a position back of his buttocks astride his legs.  The rubdown began innocently enough,
and Chris moaned with pleasure.  Sooner rather than later, however, Wade's hard cock
began plowing Chris' ass crack as he pivoted forward.  Chris wished the hunky kid
could continue, but he remembered how he had been treated and decided that he had
a responsibility.  After a couple of times - when there could be no mistake - Chris turned
over.  As he sat up, resting on his knees, Wade could see the powerful thigh
muscles...and a rock-hard ten inches.

"Red, does this look as if I'm mad with you?" he asked, pointing to his cock.  "You did
goof in not asking me first, but I'll forgive you that.  Just remember to always ask.  I
can't blame you for anything else because we don't choose who or what turns us on.
There's nothing wrong with you or with me.  Still, buddy, it's not the time for me - and
you need to get some more experience fooling around with guys closer to your own
age.  They exist, you know.  In fact, there are plenty of good looking freshmen at the
high school.  Just don't come on too strong or too fast when you check one out.  If
things get too confusing, you're always welcome to talk with me - in complete
confidence.  I'll never tell, because the majority can be really cruel, and it's not the right
thing to do in the first place.  And know I won't say anything this time.  It's probably best,
however, if I get dressed and take off.  You can tell you folks I got a little sick in the sun
and had to leave.  If they ever ask, I'll back you up."  Chris got up and stood over the
hunky youngster who sat dejectedly on the grass, his face wet with tears.  "What's this,
Big Red?  Get up here!  Real friends know that everything doesn't go their way every
time.  I still think you're a great guy and a really promising athlete - and Red, never
forget that you turned me on!"  The big athlete hugged the boy and kissed him squarely
on the mouth.  "You're going to be ok, Big Red.  I really hope that we're still friends and
that you will talk with me confidentially whenever you have questions I might be able to
answer."  Having done what he thought was right, Chris dressed and quickly left without
much more being said.

On Tuesday night, Chris received a phone call from Wade's father.  It seems that his
son had come out to both his father and mother on Sunday night.  While he was
thoroughly shaken, the boy was also much reassured that they still loved him and
believed in him.  In addition to telling them that he was gay, he told them what
happened on Sunday afternoon, emphasizing (generally) what he had done and what a
great guy Chris was.  He omitted only the older lad's physical and verbal response.
"You'll guess that Mrs. Hempel and I have suspected for a couple of years that Wade
was...different.  Thank you for building him up rather than destroying him.  Somehow I
think you helped him to muster the courage to talk with us Sunday night.  We're
grateful.  Two more things, Chris.  I realize that you worked with him hard on his football
skills, and I still owe you some physics help - over here, at the high school, or at your
home.  You need only ask.  Maggie and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts."
While Chris never turned to Jason Hempel for physics help, he did feel good about the
check for $100.00 that he received in the mail.  Even more, perhaps, he was happy that
Wade and he remained on friendly terms.

(Pictures in the Rain)

Chris knew that his team was really developing.  The last preseason scrimmage,
however, would provide a strong test.  It had been scheduled with a school in a nearby
state, a school that last year had reached the semifinals in its state tourney.  A large
school in a metropolitan area, it was a perennial powerhouse.  If they could move
against them . . .

"Scrimmage" or not, the stadium was nearly filled with students and other onlookers.
They got exactly what they expected: a dogfight between two teams that had all the
offensive and defensive weapons to take the championships in their conferences.  Play
began the following week.  At halftime, it was 21-14 in favor of the maroon and white.
Chris had gotten away for a 40-yard run and had caught passes that contributed to the
other two scores.  Unfortunately, as they were in the locker room during halftime, it
started to pour.

As the third quarter got underway, the much larger school began freely to substitute
enormous linemen and some big (if slower) backs and began to grind the Chris and his
friends into the soggy turf.  Towards the end of the quarter, they scored their twenty-first
point and quickly scored again at the beginning of the fourth after a fumble recovery to
go ahead by seven.  From that point on, the smaller team stiffened.  In a fairly steady
rain, the maroon and white pulled off a beautiful play that saw Chris faking a wide left
run and passing twenty yards down the field for a run and score.  It was 28-28 with
seven minutes to play.  That short period saw some of the best football that Coach
Davis said he had ever seen from one of his teams.  With less than a minute left on the
scoreboard, Seth Callum, their big quarterback, snuck over tackle from the half-yard
line to score and take a tremendous, confidence-building victory home.

It may not have been the conference championship game, but you would never have
known it from the wild celebration in the locker room.  Eventually, of course, the coach
got them out of there.  As they filed across the parking area towards their school bus in
a cold drizzle that just wouldn't stop, Chris thought he saw a familiar figure among the
teens who were goofing around after the game.  Inside the bus, he peered long and
hard at a small group of skateboarders and asked Chet Kelley to use his digital camera
to get a few pictures.  (Chet never went anywhere without that camera - small, but very
powerful with a useful telephoto!)

When he got home and copied the parking lot pictures onto his hard disk, his
suspicions turned out to be very accurate.  Among the skateboarders who should
appear but the smallest of the three goons who had beat him up, raped him, and stolen
his car with all of his possessions!  Although he was dead tired, you will guess that he
was wide awake.  Nor would he allow Coach Kearns to continue sleeping until he had
seen those pics.  The Coach promised that he'd be talking to the police and an attorney
later that day.

The upshot of this discovery was that the police in the city where Luke lived took him
into the station for questioning.  The oldest of the assailants, Smitty, had long since left
the area, but the youngest spilled the whole story.  They used Chris' car for about a
month until Smitty smashed it into a tree where it and the third drunken thug, Bert,
burned.  The big surprise came when Luke claimed that Smitty told him that Chris'
stepfather had been the one who set up the assault.  When that bit of information got
back to Chris and Coach Kearns - plus the fact that the police did not have enough
evidence to arrest the stepfather - believe that there were more questions about how to
proceed than answers!


(To Be Continued)