Date: Sun, 9 Sep 2007 02:34:03 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: CHRIS & THE COACH - 5

CHRIS & THE COACH - 5

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 5

(Revisiting Chapter 4)

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!

(Continuing Our Story:  The Fruits of Victory)

The football conference race, expected to go down to the wire in late November, ended
abruptly during the third week of October.  On a glorious Indian Summer night, the
maroon and white met Wickford at home.  No one else had a chance to catch them.
For fifty-nine official minutes, the game was totally undecided.  Believe that the
Bearcats gave the local boys everything they could handle...and then some.  On the
penultimate play, Chris swung wide and then sprinted full speed through much of their
team and into the corner of the end zone.  He found three Bearcats around
him...nothing there.  Seeing that Seth Callum was still scrambling, trying to find a
receiver, Chris juked around for an instant and then took off across the width of the end
zone.  It was at this point that the Wickford defenders got to Seth who was barely able
to get the ball off as he crashed to the turf.  The hearts of the hometown rooters sank
as they realized that the quarterback's throw was way off course.  There was no way
that any of their receivers could reach it, if indeed it reached the end zone.  Already
three-quarters of the way across the end zone, Chris left his feet, throwing his fully
extended body forward.  Miracle of miracles, the pigskin landed on the very tips of his
fingers as he plowed into the ground, teetering for instant before his hands firmly
grasped it just inside the goal line.  In position to see that it never touched the turf, the
ref threw his hands straight into the air, and the maroon and white were the new
conference champions.  With a roar that was heard on the town's main street as well as
on several farms in the vicinity, the capacity crowd spilled onto the field as Chris and
Seth were carried off the field on the shoulders of their teammates.

Saturday morning found Seth peeling himself off the bed in his buddy's room as Chris
continued rummaging through his clothes in the dresser drawer.  "Come on, Chris-boy,"
he grumbled, "get with it!  This time of year there's not all that much warmth in the sun,
and I'd like to enjoy the water once more before the season's over!"  Chris mumbled,
"Yeah, yeah..." sticking his head further into the drawer.  Showing more than a little
frustration, Seth idly ambled over to Chris' desk, his fingers playing with objects in the
messy workspace.  Suddenly picking up a photo and looking at it intently in the light
from the window, he exploded.  "Holy shit, Chris, is this what you and Betty have been
up to?"  The curly-haired one abruptly withdrew his head from the drawer, giving himself
a good whack as he did so.  Scowling, he placed himself squarely in front of his buddy
and held out his hand.  "Give it back, Seth, it's mine, and I promised not to let it get into
circulation!"  Chuckling, the muscular quarterback held it aloft in the light.  "I'm going to
give it back, Chrissy, and I'm not going to tell anyone that I saw it.  But God, man, that
has to be the sexiest thing I've ever laid my eyes on.  What in hell is going on?"  "It's a
print from a photo that Kathy took at the close of our first studio session," Chris
admitted reluctantly.  We had just finished deciding how I'd pose on the couch for the
painting that I'm helping them with."  "Woo-wee!" Seth exclaimed.  "I'm male, but that
gets me hard!"  "Can't help how your cock is bent, Callum," Chris muttered.  "Come on
now, give it back and let's get out of here!"

On the way out to the old quarry, some fifteen miles from home, Chris filled Seth in on
how the painting was going and what the experience had been like.  Laughing so hard
that he occasionally choked, the black-haired hunk had to rearrange his stuff several
times.  Once he had gotten the full story, however, their conversation rapidly turned to
the game the night before and how Chris was looking forward to swimming for the first
time at the quarry.  "Better late than never," he chortled.  A short time later, Chris found
a good parking place, pulled up, and secured the car.  It was a little chilly up above, but
by the time they climbed down to a protected lower level, it was comfortably warm and
the water looked more and more inviting.  "Come on, slow poke!" Seth yelled as he
shed his clothing and dived in.  After splashing around for a bit in the cold water, the
boys climbed out and found a good-sized block of sun-warmed stone.  "Oh, man, what
I've been missing," Chris moaned.  "This is fantastic, Seth!  Thanks a million for the
invite."  "Any time, buddy," Callum responded lazily, stretching out on his stomach.

Seth watched his new friend out of the corner of his eye.  Man, he was good looking!
There surely wasn't a drop of fat on him; he had great shoulders and a super butt.
Maybe a little hairy, but each to his own...  Reaching out a hand, he pushed it against
the side of Seth's right ass cheek.  "I found some rubbing oil at home.  Any chance
you'd like a little massage?" he asked lightly.  "Hey, man, you better believe it!  Work
away while I soak up the rays!" came a quick answer.

Accompanied by Seth's appreciative moans, Chris slowly worked the oil into the
teammate's hide.  He couldn't quite believe how much he enjoyed giving his new friend
this pleasure.  Well before he reached his buttocks, however, he found that he was
hardening and beginning to plow Seth's furrow - much as Wade Hempel had his weeks
before.  The brown-haired hunk decided that he preferred saying something before
Seth did.  "Like to turn over, Quarterback?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"I like you...a lot, Running Back," Seth responded.  "Yeah, I'd really like to turn over...as
long as I'm sure it's just between us."  "You're the greatest, Seth.  Don't you know me
that well?" Chris whispered.  "Yep," Seth grunted, "guess I do." As he labored to turn
over on the warm stone slab, Chris reached down and kissed him passionately.
Embracing and fencing with their tongues, the two boys rolled over several times,
writhing in the other's arms.  Panting in his desire, Chris worked his way between the
muscular jock's legs and began licking the underside of his friend's thick cut six inches.
Before he was through, he had offered him every pleasure in his oral repertoire, and
Seth had responded with a blast of cum that just about knocked Chris' head backwards.
"Wow," he breathed, "you're something!"  "You, too, Chris-boy.  Have you ever gone
further than this?"  "Nope," the beautiful kid responded, but I'd like to...with you."  "Ok,
sport," Seth grunted, "let's just lie here in the sun a few minutes and then I'll show you
something that you'll remember."

After a short break, Seth pulled Chris' body over on top of his and, as they kissed,
slowly rubbed their bodies together until they were both breathing heavily and hard as
steel.  Then, all the time kissing the boy's cheeks and genitals, he rolled over on his
side and used his oiled fingers gently to lubricate and loosen the anal muscles.  In the
process, he stroked his prostate gland, which just about caused Chris to cum on the
spot.  "Whoa, cowboy," he laughed.  "Hold off a couple of minutes and I'll give you a
good ride."  By this time, Chris' face was beet red, his head was thrown back with his
mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.  "Ready, pardner?"  "Oh God, yes, Seth, I'm
ready to jump out of my skin.  Do me...now!"  Gently, Seth pressed his thick cock into
the neophyte, watching carefully as he eagerly took all of it without excessive pain.  As
they swayed back and forth in the Great Dance, Chris' moans of ecstasy grew louder
and louder until his final shouts merged with Seth's and rebounded between the rock
walls.

"Wouldn't want to do this with only a thin wall separating you from your great aunt's
bed, would you?  Seth giggled.  "Hell, no!" Chris responded, but, oh man, what a rush.
Kissing him, he murmured, "Thanks loads, buddy.  That was fantastic!"  Seth simply
took him in his arms and lay with him in the last warmth of Indian Summer.

(Full Speed Ahead!)

As the painting progressed, Chris' his level of excitement never dropped.  Indeed, he
found himself on high from morning to night.  There were times when he thought he
would have to check in with Dr. Tom and get some treatment for his sorely overused
hand.  (Coach just smiled benignly, thinking that he had been pounding his keyboard
for too many hours in order to finish his school assignments.)  It was during this period
that he again heard guys in the showers sniggering over the money they were making
in Lawton.  Evidently, one of the local photographers was paying top dollar for a strong
bodies and a willingness to do in front of a camera that which one did naturally.
Although his schedule was packed, he couldn't resist driving over to the larger town to
check it out.  To be completely honest, Hal Petersen didn't seem all that sleazy.  He
had a large camera shop and did a great deal of personal photography on the side...
weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, and that sort of thing.  He also had a studio in back where he
did what he called "commercial" photography.  For instance, he commented that a
young man with Chris' looks and build could make some good money modeling clothes
for use in advertisements.  For instance, he was working on a swimwear layout for next
summer.  If Chris passed what he called a "test shoot", he could promise him at least
one session at $100.00 per session.  As if that weren't enough, the advertising
companies commonly allowed the models to keep a couple of the manufacturers' latest
suits!   Though he sorely needed the study time, he took one Sunday afternoon for the
tryout.  Petersen called him the next day and said that he was hired, asking if they could
work together on Wednesday evening.  Reluctantly, Chris agreed.

Chris felt that Petersen seemed to be a pretty up and up professional and wondered a
bit about what some of the boys in the locker room were sniggering about.  Probably
some more of the tall tales that constantly circulated in the locker room...and just about
everywhere else in the school!  There was, for instance, a table with a variety of
swimwear in various styles and colors in the model's size.  The model or the
photographer would select a suit whereupon the model would change in a comfortable
dressing room and return to the studio where lights and several backdrops of tropical,
cruise, pool party, and related scenes had been set up.

Man, he had never seen such a variety of swimwear - everything from some neat
boxers to scraps of cloth that he'd never be seen dead in at a pool.  (The monster's
lurching told him that it might be fun, though, to at least try some of them on!)  For those
with modest equipment, there were lift panels with support rings; for those who had
more to offer, contoured pouches that seemed big enough to hold a small side of beef.
You could have suits in rubber, leather, cotton, or Nylon spandex.  They could be of
cloth so light that you felt nothing, or fishnet that managed to show everything (legally).
There were suits with full fronts (and almost no fronts), as well as suits with full seats (or
none at all).  Chris felt overwhelmed, but increasingly aroused!

Petersen got the shoot underway by handing him a string bikini in Hawaiian colors.  It fit
perfectly and he felt great in it.  In similar fashion, Petersen praised him to the skies for
the way he looked in a low rise cotton boxcut.  The photographer also liked an ultra
narrow pouch thong in copper, though Chris found that pretty extreme.  Man, you sure
couldn't have any public hair on top or to the sides if you were going to wear that thing -
and there wasn't even a thong in back.  The support simply tightened sufficiently in
back of your balls!  So it went for a good hour and a half before Petersen said that he
was all shot out.  When he told Chris to pick out a couple to take home for him, the
youngster claimed the boxcut and then daringly selected a wicked low rise contoured
pouch done in black fishnet with a thong back.  (If you looked closely enough, anyone
could see everything you had, but the fishnet kinda blurred the scene and, supposedly,
kept the cops away.  Well, he'd have fun with it in his bedroom!  He donned it once for
Betty and Kathy and they just about flipped!)

As the photographer handed him his check for $100.00, he thanked him, but said
quietly that he was wasting his time.  In response to the lad's raised eyebrows,
Petersen said that he could have earned a minimum of three or four hundred dollars for
the same amount of time had he chosen to do so.  The real modeling money, he said,
was in "art photography," involving one or more models, and "action photography" that
called for sexual action with another model.  "You've got everything," Petersen said, "to
make a mint in this line of work - and you'd have more time for your other obligations
than if you did several 'standard" shoots'.  Want to try a solo shoot to see if you're
comfortable in it?  Let's say $300.00 if you work with me for a couple of hours after your
football practice tomorrow night."  Chris didn't see how he could take another evening
away from the books, but three hundred dollars...  Furthermore, the nude requirement
didn't bother him one bit.  Indeed, the monster almost rose up and cheered!

Chris, including the monster, had a ball!  He went nude around the house most of the
time anyway and he was posing in the nude for the girls.  What was the difference?  He
was an athlete and found all of the moves desired by the photographer to be child's
play.  In like manner, he had always loved theater and found the photographer's acting
requirements to be just as simple.  When printed, the most severe art critic would have
had to agree that Petersen had made the most of Chris' splendid physique and evolving
presence.  You would have to go to the finest art books or to world famous pictures of
athletes from Classical Greece to see anything comparable.  Some of his informal
closeups of the youth also showed the complexities of his character, his growing joy...
and his underlying scars.  Oh, yes, he got a couple of hard ons, but Petersen just
laughed.  (Actually, he quickly took a couple of shots that were so provocative that
Chris went hard again when he saw them in the camera's LCD.)  At the end, Petersen
calmly handed him his $300.00 check, grinned, and ruffled his hair.  "One more thing,
Top Model," he said, "I've got an action shoot this Sunday that guarantees me big
money for a video.  The guy who was my top model has be out of town.  If you'll pull my
chestnuts out of the fire on this one, there's $500.00 in it for you.  Yeah, you have to get
a little sexual with a guy, but you're a red-blooded male and with a little direction I think
you could do it in your sleep.  What do you say?"  Blown away by lust and the money -
not only another $500.00, but $900.00 in one week! - Chris agreed to the shoot.

The youngster was in Lawton shortly before noon as directed, arriving before the other
model.  To be truthful, he was as nervous as a cat.  When Petersen asked him to get
hard, for instance, the best the monster could do was to puff up a little.  The
photographer grinned, threw his hand around the back of Chris' neck, and said, "Well,
Top Model, that's par for the course.  Almost everyone has troubles the first time."  With
that, he went into his office and came back with a glass of water and a little paper cup
that held two small pills.  Noticing the look of concern on the boy's face, he said not to
worry, for people took these things everyday with no problems.  Chris decided that he
had played square with him thus far and downed the pills.  Usually, only one use of the
pills was necessary to get a youngster into the game.  When the pills took effect, the
subject was beyond caring - or even thinking too much about what was going on.  The
bottom line was that he wanted relief!  From then on, however, the youth's natural
instincts were usually enough for him to fuck, suck, rim, or do anything else that the
script called for.  Thinking no more about it, he busied himself helping Petersen to set
up the props and organize his equipment.

Within a half hour, Chris couldn't stay still and the monster was not only as stiff as a
steel girder but more demanding that he ever remembered.  "Hail the super jock,"
Petersen laughed.  "Here, I'll help you out.  Besides, I've got to oil you down anyway.
Get the clothes off and climb up on the table."  Chris was so high that Petersen had to
help him strip and get up on the massage table, but a long, sensuous rubdown with
warm oil did help settle him down.  Asked how he felt at the end, he said that he felt
better, but he was still so horny that he could "fuck a T-Rex"!  The photographer
laughed and calmly asked if he could help him out "a little more".  Not quite realizing
what was involved, Chris answered, "Sure, Hal - and thanks!"   Hal proceeded to
massage his genitals with a "special cream," further taking his pleasure by working a
small dildo into the youth's heavily oiled anal chute and vigorously jacking him off while
he played with his low-hangers.  Following a fantastic orgasm, Chris actually threw his
arm around the photographer and thanked him as he was helped to sit up on the table.
As the photographer wiped the cum and oil off his hands, he smiled, wishing only that
he had had a little more time more fully to enjoy the beautiful teen.  Well, this one
appeared to be pretty naive.  Maybe there would still be a chance during the coming
week.

Somewhat upset, Hal mumbled that he had left a camera at his apartment that he had
been working on.  He had to go and get it, and that was going to take at least twenty
minutes.  "'Pete' will be here before I get back, but he's been staying with a friend and
will be ready for action.  Oil him down and see what you can do to establish a 'big
brother' relationship with him.  Ok?"  "Ok, Hal," the still hyperactive teen said.  "Get out
of here and get back as soon as you can!"  He had no sooner left when "Pete" (the
other model) arrived.  Though his head was foggy and he was still on super high, Chris
saw immediately that it was Wade Hempel, the redheaded fourteen-year-old from his
school.  "H-e-y, C-h-r-i-s," the boy slurred, fumbled with his raincoat, and stumbled
towards him.  "So you're the new Top Man who's going to fuck me today.  Man, that is
so cool!  Love yuh, Chris!"  Shedding the raincoat under which he was already stripped
and shaved, the redhead stumbled into his arms and tried to plant a sloppy kiss on his
cheek.  "Saw Hal outside in the alley as I came in.  He said to be sure to oil me down.
Really make me feel good, Chris!"  Had Chris not been on automatic by this time, he
would have resisted immediately, for he realized that the young redhead was stoned
out of his mind.  He lifted the heavy, muscular body up onto the table and reached for
the oil.  His impressive cock fully erect, Wade began to mumble declarations of love,
how he had always wanted Chris to fuck him, and how Chris was the only one who
really cared for him.  Placing Chris' hand on his throbbing pole, he begged him to climb
up on the table and take him now.  "I need you, Chris.  I need you so bad!" he
whimpered.

The word "need" somehow cut through some of the cobwebs in Chris' brain.  God
knows, he knew what that word meant and how others had responded to his needs.  In
tears, he frantically turned away from the table, threw his pants on, grabbed a blanket
from the photo set, wrapped the boy tightly in it, and headed out the side door for his
car with the redhead securely in his arms.  Having seen the local hospital on his way
into town, he managed to drive the short distance, though as he arrived at the
emergency room his erratic driving had already attracted a police car.  Not even turning
off the ignition, he ran into the hospital with Red, screaming for help.

He awoke the next morning to find Coach Kearns napping in a chair by the side of his
bed.  "Coach," he called hoarsely..."Coach!"  John opened his eyes and enveloped his
love in his arms.  "Shu...shu...We're going to get through this together," he whispered
as the curly-haired one slipped back off to sleep.  Later in the day, Chris was
interviewed by medical staff and a plainclothes vice officer with the Lawton Police
Department.  He was told that the ER staff had managed to clean him out as best they
could and administer some counteracting drugs.  They weren't about to say much more,
though one doctor told Coach that he should recover without ill effects.  Coach told him
that they had also worked long and hard with Wade and he was "showing
improvement".  Inasmuch as he was only 14, the County Children's Welfare Bureau
was already involved.  Late in the day, the Police released Chris to Coach's
supervision, telling him that he hadn't been charged, but that he had to remain available
for further questioning.  With obvious satisfaction, Coach added that Hal Petersen and
the friend who had been "taking care" of Wade had both been arrested and a long list
of charges was likely.  He would later thumb through Petersen's photos of Chris that
were quietly turned over to him by the police.  Many evenings, he sat overcome by their
beauty and saddened by the fact that the gifts of such a fine artist had been wasted.

Chris was never charged - in part because he wasn't a perpetrator, in part because he
cooperated in the prosecution of Petersen and his friend that sent them both to prison,
in part because he had twice tried to help Wade Hempel, and in part because Coach
Kearns was involved.  Though it never hurts to have influential friends, both Coach and
Chris realized the truth of the old saying that teenagers just have to learn some things
on their own.  You just hope that the results aren't fatal!

Life can be rocky, but it can also be so damned sweet.


(To Be Continued)