Date: Wed, 5 Sep 2007 10:15:51 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: CHRIS & THE COACH - 4

CHRIS & THE COACH - 4

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 4

(Revisiting Chapter 3)

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!

(Continuing Our Story:  Frustration and Relief)

Chris had grown in nearly every way since John Kearns had discovered him on a dark
and stormy night in earliest August.  All things told, however, his emotional growth was
probably his proudest accomplishment.  Adolescence isn't an easy period for any
human being.  The fact that in late September he appeared to be a very "natural" (and
extremely promising) early seventeen-year-old speaks volumes about his own efforts
and the efforts of a good many people around him.  The fact remains that the discovery
that his stepfather was probably the person who had tried to kill him - and remained
free to try again - literally knocked him off his feet emotionally.

More, far more, than ever before, Chris turned to Coach Kearns for the energy needed
to keep his life together.  This, of course, put heavy pressures on the Coach, for, as we
know, his own sexuality was not completely defined, Chris had become the center of his
life, and the heaviest responsibilities of his professional year were now squarely on his
shoulders.  It would be a serious error to see the added pressures placed on him by this
particular seventeen-year-old to be anything less than massively unsettling.

The first obvious sign of a crack in the youth's fragile equilibrium came when he found
that he couldn't sleep normally.  It didn't matter how tired he was when he came home
after a practice or a game; it didn't matter how tired he was on completing a heavy
series of school assignments.  He just couldn't hit the sack and fall asleep.  It got so
bad that the only time he COULD sleep was an occasional fifteen minutes to a half hour
at some unpredictable time and unpredictable place during the day.  He would fall
asleep, for instance, during Twentieth Century European History, his favorite subject.
He fell asleep a couple of times at the supper table, and once over his cereal.  Dr. Tom
was very reluctant to put the youngster on a regimen of pills - until, that is, everything
else had been tried.  The question of what else could be tried became a constant worry
for the lad's mentor.  He knew (from trying it), for example, that hot chocolate at
bedtime didn't work; he knew that rubbing his shoulders and back might lead him to
doze off, but that he would be wide awake again before he reached his bed or turned
the light off.  What else could he possibly do?

Some hope finally appeared around 1:30 on a Friday morning.  The Coach suddenly
awoke to find his naked charge standing beside his bed.  "Coach," he whispered, "I've
got two tests in the morning.  I know the stuff, but I've really GOT to get a little shut-eye.
Could I possibly crawl in with you...just for tonight?"  Well, Coach slept in the raw, too,
but he had a big queen-size bed.  He guessed he could take one night if Chris stayed
on his side of the bed and let him sleep.

Coach didn't stir until 6:30 a.m. when his alarm went off.  As usual, he yawned, kicked
the covers back, and stretched in delight over the new day.  (Obviously, not all people
wake up in quite this way!)  Suddenly, he felt that something was...different.  Curled up
immediately behind him was his hunky son...dead to the world and showing wood, an
almost unbelievable (if magnificent) length of wood.  Coach poked him, telling him - with
increasing volume - that it was time to get up and get ready for the day.  Chris finally
grunted and cleared his throat before opening his eyes.  When he did open his slitted
eyes, they immediately fell on the wood.  As he automatically grasped his throbbing
pole, his limited vision fell on Coach, who was standing beside the bed and grinning his
fool head off.  Giving a wild yell and opening his eyes to dinner plate size, he flew out of
the bed and headed for the bathroom.  They next saw each other at the breakfast table.
Coach grinned, motioned for Chris to come closer, and kissed him on the side of the
head.  Chris smiled, somewhat bashfully, and said that he guessed he was really ready
for those tests.  "Thanks, Dad," he gulped, as he sat down and reached for the syrup.

The youth didn't come near his father's bed on Friday or Saturday night - and, evidently,
didn't sleep a wink.  At least he was as grumpy as a bear just out of hibernation during
the entire weekend.  On Sunday night, he suddenly appeared in a pair of grungy boxers
as Coach was closing things up for bed.  Embarrassed, he couldn't say a word.  Rather,
he simply stood there, blushing, and shuffling his big feet.  He also featured a pair of
puppy dog eyes, the likes of which Coach hadn't seen since he had worked with middle
schoolers in his early years of teaching.  Finally, Coach put him out of his misery by
grabbing his arm, pulling his boxers down, and pointing him towards his bedroom and
the queen-size bed.  His son dutifully led the way, his beautiful cheeks flexing with
every step.

Naturally, one shouldn't assume that the "insomnia problem" had been permanently laid
to rest.  Far from it!  For instance, just before the alarm went off on Tuesday morning,
Coach suddenly awakened.  Again, something was...different.  It didn't take him long to
realize that a telephone pole (or, maybe, a stallion's cock) was poised at the entrance to
his anal canal as if only waiting for someone to yell, "And they're off!"  This time it was
he who leapt forward - to fall with a thud onto the floor.  Mumbling bitterly, he headed
for the bathroom, not even pausing to turn off the alarm when it disturbed the fresh
morning air.  "Well, he deserved it," Coach thought as he sipped his second cup of
coffee and turned to the "psychological help offered" column in the morning paper.
Chris came in shortly thereafter, as fresh as Coach had ever seen him at that hour.  As
he headed for his chair, he threw his arms around his dad and whispered, "Love you"
into his ear.  Kearns looked at him without expression, bared his canines slightly, and
softly snarled.

Tuesday night went much better.  Chris was already in bed when his father slipped in
beside him.  "Hold me, Dad," he whispered.  When Kearns worked his arm under his
boy's heavy neck and shoulders and softly kissed him on the forehead, he knew that all
was really right with the world.  Reaching over, he gently twirled a brown curl around his
finger, only to hear Chris give a brief sigh of contentment and begin to snore softly as
he fell asleep.  John sighed in some disappointment and was about to remove his arms
when he realized that they were already exactly where he wanted them to be.  A finger
lightly passed over Chris' silken skin and heavy muscles...his pecs, the powerful abs,
the glorious lower stomach, the small amount of stubble that he left for a bush, the
thighs so smooth that they reminded him of heavy glass.  His hand reached down to
cup the lad's flowing scrotum - not that he could encompass it in one hand, but it did
allow him to enjoy its texture and touch one of his great balls.  The boy's swollen cock
tapped lightly on the back of his hand as it pulsed in rhythm with his heart.  Lord God,
how beautiful he was...  In his quietest voice, he said it out loud: "How beautiful you are,
my beloved son."

"No more than you, Dad," a soft voice responded.  It quickly added, "Don't move.  Don't
be embarrassed.  I wouldn't trade the last few minutes for a million bucks!  Just lie there
and let me show you how much I love you."  With that, he worked his way under the
covers and took John's swollen cock into his mouth.  He had never given - or received -
a blow job, but he had read as much as he could find on the 'Net, especially in the Nifty
Archive.  His first effort wasn't perfect, but the love and desire that lay behind it erased
the deficiencies.  Within minutes, Kearns gave him a rich reward for his efforts.
Without ever touching his cock, Chris exploded at the same moment.  Believe that there
was cum and love everywhere!  A rare event, it was a fitting climax to the night.  Soon,
embracing each other, they fell into a deep and restful sleep.  Cleanup could await the
morrow!

The reader has probably seen that TV advertisement where an inspection team finds a
small stream of water spurting from a crack in the concrete dam.  With a somewhat
superior look, one member of the team plugs the crack with a wad of chewing gum.  Not
long after, of course, the water breaks loose, followed by the collapse of the entire dam.
John and Chris' sexual relationship developed in much the same way.  Once the initial
barriers were broken, it rapidly expanded quantitatively and qualitatively.  The reader
will also realize, however, that "concrete dams" that collapse have a way of stirring up a
tempest.  And so it was, especially with Chris who had far less worldly experience to
temper his emotions and restrain precipitous actions.  In any case, believe that his
hormones were flowing freely and, like any red-blooded American boy (more or less),
he was sniffing the breeze for possible action.

(Supporting the Arts)

Naked as usual, Chris sprawled in a comfortable chair in his room, idly pulling his legs
back to his chest, then holding them together and moving them into different positions
in the air.  It was Saturday morning and he was frustrated as all hell.  (Coach was gone
for the day with his team for an away game.  There was no practice this morning, for the
high school had a game the night before that they won handily.)   As his heavy cock
erected, he also realized that he was horny as all hell!  He had a GREAT body, he
thought, as tried some new finger positions and jacked away almost unconsciously.
Others needed to see it...and appreciate it...and be excited by it.  Suddenly, the great
column erupted, sending cum high into the air, much of which splattered back onto his
torso and even his face.  He was so damned frustrated that he just left it where it fell!

Maybe he could model for Abercrombie & Fitch.  Some of their ads were really hot.
Besides, he always needed some money.  He had also found some big modeling
agencies on the 'Net.  Maybe he could get a job with one of them.  Hell, most were in
New York City or LA and that created problems.  Gently stroking his hardening shaft, he
muttered that he didn't need problems.  He just needed for others to see what he had
done with his body.  In the locker room, he had heard that there were guys in the area,
especially over in Lawton, who always wanted to take pics for cash.  In fact the money
was supposed to be pretty good for nudes and "action shots".  He didn't know if he
could fool around with another guy, however easy it had been with Coach.  Still, the
thought made him even harder.  His monster was well on its way to a second eruption
when the sound of the phone blasted his fantasies.

Abruptly sitting up in the chair and cursing when a glob of cum rolled down into his eye,
he finally managed to pick up the phone.  Betty Washington, one of the female powers
in the senior class, and Kathy Collins, Betty's sidekick, wondered if he'd like to come
over to the Washington home for lunch today.  They had a proposal that he might find
interesting.  "Yeah, thanks, Betty.  I never thought I'd catch that pass either.  Yeah,
thanks...sounds like fun...see you around 12:30..."
                               ---
The curly-haired one leaned well back in his chair, sighed, and rubbed his delightfully
full stomach.  Wow, what a lunch!  Those small cakes served with ice cream for dessert
were out of this world!  Chris looked around him and grinned.  It was so pleasant out
here on the enclosed porch.  It was if he were surrounded by a forest of trees that were
slowly changing into their fall colors.  Suddenly back in this world, he realized that the
girls were gazing intently at him with expectant looks on their faces.  "Great lunch!
Now, how can I help you?" he said abruptly, snapping back to reality.   (Good
negotiators usually don't say things like that, at least early on, but after that lunch, he
was clearly ready to give away the store!)

A reassured look on her pretty face, Betty smiled sweetly and said, "Thanks, Chris.
The truth is that Kathy and I really need your help.  We've got ourselves into something
of a bind, and you're probably the only guy we know who can get us out of it."  Kathy
broke in, saying, "Just know, Chris, that we not asking your help for nothing!  If, for
example, you wanted to run for some spring semester class office, we know exactly
how to make it work.  Or, you're in the theater group that's talking about putting on
"Spartacus".  With your looks and build, it would be a real loss if you didn't try out for
the part of Spartacus himself!  Believe that we know exactly the people who could put
you on that stage!"  (Grinning his thanks, Chris sat up a bit straighter, but Kathy wasn't
finished.)  "Also, being new, you're not into the dating scene around here.  Maybe,
you're so busy between classes, sports, and theater that you don't want a heavy
relationship right now.  Well, Chris," she continued, "we know quite a few girls - smart,
cute, and a lot more - who are in the same position.  They'd love to go out to a good
movie occasionally, or to be invited to a really big dance or some other event without
long-term obligations.  We could help."  (Chris thought quickly.  He sure as hell didn't
want to get into the "dating scene"...at least with girls, but he knew he had to make it
look good.  Maybe this was the answer.)  "Kathy, that sounds great," he said easily, "but
what do you want me to do, rob a bank?"  Kathy shrieked in laughter.  "Oh no, Mr.
Football Star...something much harder!"  "Huh?" Chris responded, still slightly spaced-
out on the food.

Betty took up the hard sell.  "Chris, students in Mr. Hutchins' art class received their
semester projects by lot.  That is, they drew slips of paper that told them what was
going to count forty percent of their grade!  Kathy and I are a team.  We have to
produce an oil painting of a student no later than one week before the end of the term."
"Gosh," responded Chris with a guffaw.  "If all you need is a model, you've got one...
right in front of you!"  Betty blushed slightly and added, "You don't quite understand,
Chris,  It has to be a nude study!"  Chris felt as if his vocal cords were frozen...but he
was thinking...hard.  He felt a compulsion to show off his body...though he didn't exactly
have girls in mind!  "Would others be around while you were painting?" he asked.
"Other than the two of us, no one else would be around...ever...at least without your
permission," Betty answer definitively.  "Where would you paint?" he continued.  The
girls took him out to a small apartment over the separate garage.  Before her illness,
Mrs. Washington, Betty's mother, had been a painter of some repute.  Her small, but
very lovely studio, filled with sunlight, stood ready for use.

"We might be able to come up with a little money," Kathy murmured.  "No," Chris
replied.  In a business tone of voice, he added, "You've offered plenty already.  Is there
anything you want that you haven't already mentioned?"  (The neophyte was becoming
a little more cagy as he got the full picture and found himself considering it carefully.)
After the girls had whispered for a few minutes, Betty said that he was an athlete with
what had been described to them as a fantastic physique.  They would appreciate
being able to oil his body slightly before each session.  Naturally, any touching would be
"strictly professional".  (She had gotten that expression from her mother.)  "Would
others at school know that I was posing in the nude?" he asked, just a little hesitantly.
"Well," Kathy answered, "we have to tell Mr. Hutchins, and we have no control over
what he does.  I can only tell you that any students or teachers who speak to us about it
will get an earful about our respect and liking for you."  Chris thought for a moment and
then simply said, "Yeah, I'll be happy to help.  By the way, are any of those small cakes
we had with ice cream still around?"  (He licked his lips as he remembered the large
bowl crammed with the distinctive cakes and covered in ice cream that they quickly set
in front of him.)

Over the next couple of weeks, several students and one teacher did mention the
project to Chris, but there wasn't a sign of anything other than respect.  Seth Callum, for
instance, jokingly said to Chris that he had bet Betty ten bucks that she would never get
anyone to pose - and now the guy with the best build in the school was going to help
her out."  Chris laughed and threw his arm around the hunky quarterback's shoulders
as they headed for the showers.

Chris would remember the first Sunday that they worked together for a long, a very long
time.  It was a beautiful day in early October.  It was nearly as warm as a late summer
day, though the air had an unfamiliar edge and the smells in the garden were...richer...
heavier...almost hypnotic.  He climbed up the outside stairs to the studio and was about
to knock when Betty opened the door and invited him in with a warm smile.  The three
of them sat down at a small table and enjoyed soft drinks and a few delicious
homemade cookies while they talked for a few minutes about school and then what was
about to happen.  It was very low key, and Chris found himself actually relaxing (a bit!)
and enjoying the company of two vivacious young women who obviously liked and
appreciated him.  The last thing that Betty said before they got down to work was
something that her mother had shared with her.  Namely, the painting had to be the
creation of all three of them if it were to come alive.  It just wasn't something that any
one or two of them could bring off.  For instance, Betty said that she had been thinking
about Chris reclining for the painting rather than standing or sitting.  It could be easier
on him physically and if he remembered Michelangelo's painting of the "Creation of
Adam" on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it could be very powerful.  Chris jumped into
the discussion, for he did remember the famous painting from an art history course in
his earlier school.  "The only thing that bothered me," he said, "was that he was lying on
bare ground."  "Maybe we could use a couch," Kathy interjected.  Realizing that
everyone was about as relaxed and involved as they were going to get, Betty handed
Chris a robe and asked him to go into a small dressing room in the corner of the studio,
strip completely, put the robe on, and come back out.

When he reappeared, somewhat awkwardly, Betty quickly suggested that they go into
another section of the garage attic and see if there were any props that could be used.
Kathy squealed when she saw a large Victorian couch with heavy, opulent cushions
covered in a rich if somewhat faded burgundy fabric.  It was in excellent shape, having
even retained much of its gilt paint.  The three kids dusted it off and hauled it out into
the studio.  Under natural light, its colors were even more brilliant.  Betty reminded them
that in Michelangelo's painting, God's right arm is outstretched to impart the spark of life
from his own finger into that of Adam whose left arm is extended in a pose mirroring
God's.  "Don't think I could hold my arm up for long enough, but I might be able to rest it
on my upraised knee," Chris murmured.  "Y-e-s!" both Betty and Kathy exclaimed.

"Chris, toss the robe on a chair and climb up on the massage table," Betty ordered.
Chris saluted and sang out, "Aye, aye, ma'am!" as he followed orders in a way that had
all three of them snickering.  As the beautiful youngster lay on his stomach, Kathy
vigorous rubbed a small amount of oil into his skin from the back of his neck to the
soles of his feet.  When she was finished, no surface oil was visible.  Rather, it had
been rubbed in so completely that it imparted a slight, golden glow to his sturdy
shoulders, heavily muscled back, classic buttocks, and striking legs.  The two girls
looked at each other and rolled their eyes towards the ceiling.  "All right, Mister, over
with ye!" Betty ordered.  "Betty, may we hold up for just a minute," Chris whispered, the
edges of his ears and the back of his neck just a mite pink.  "Can do, Chris, and
thanks," she said.  "We'll need your direction all the way through our work."   The
youngster paused only a short time before turning over.  His massive genitals were still
somewhat swollen, but he had them under some control.  Betty began thoroughly to
massage the oil into the front of Chris' near perfect skin.  When, at the very end, she
came to his genitals, she paused in some confusion.  "Just go right ahead...ma'am,"
Chris laughed.  Just take it easy and remember that I have something of a hair trigger
down there."  Betty giggled nervously and proceeded.  She did fine until she began to
rub the oil into the boy's phallus.  The monster wasn't going to have any of that, lurched
like an attacking leopard, and sprang into its full, thick, ten inches plus!  "Oh, God,
Chris!" she burst out.  "You're worse than..."  She was on the verge of blurting out a
name when she caught herself and stopped in complete embarrassment.  Chris, bless
his heart, sat up and put his hand on her shoulder.  "Easy, little lady," he drawled in his
thickest cowboy accent.  "We'll both get used to it.  No harm done."

When they helped Chris to arrange himself on opulent pillows, his heavy genitals
draped artistically over his right thigh, they knew they had a winner.  Kathy quickly took
several digital photographs.  "These aren't going to get around, are they, Kath?" Chris
inquired somewhat nervously as they watched them electronically.  "Absolutely not, Sir
Knight," Betty answered.  "They're strictly for our use.  If you'd like, by the way, I'll print
one out for you."  Chris was grinning from ear to ear as he headed home with a very
special photo in his jacket pocket.  Believe that the girls were no less excited!


(To Be Continued)