(by Edward Zeusgany and Alex Anders, © Copyright 1999, all rights reserved)

It was the third week of Corey’s sophomore year, fifth period, physical education class with Mr. Stevenson, whom the boys called “Coach” even when he wasn’t actually coaching. The students in his business mathematics classroom, where he taught arithmetic to students who hadn’t managed to memorize their times tables prior to high school, addressed him as Mr. Stevenson. But everywhere else he was Coach.

Mr. Stevenson, an assistant coach in football, had charge of the junior varsity, but he was head coach of baseball. Tall and sinewy, with a rather long and narrow face topped by bristly, black hair, cut short, he had been first baseman for his college team. That his talent could take him no further had never been difficult for him to accept. He made the most of what was possible and was satisfied.

The activity for the day was tumbling. Coach began with somersaults on pads, something almost everyone, except the most inept, could do. Over the course of the period the difficulty of the exercises was gradually increased. Students were allowed to drop out at the point where their performance became hopeless. Gradually the lower benches of the grandstand were filled by failures.

Two thirds of the boys had been eliminated from the ranks when the side horse was brought forward along with a spring board positioned at one end. Pads were placed at either side and at the far end, or landing area. The exercise was the vault. A boy would take a running start, jump to land on the spring board, bound up and forward, spread his legs, place both hands on the top of the side horse, bounce off and hope to land on his feet on the far side.

Corey opted to drop out, knowing full well that his coordination and balance were not up to it. However, Coach Stevenson goaded him into making an attempt by telling him in front of the other boys that he shouldn’t give up without trying. It is possible, if Corey had believed he could do it, that he would have succeeded. As it was, he didn’t even get to where he could have fallen off to the side onto one of the pads. Instead, he hit his left thigh on the front left of the side horse and strained it badly while trying to save himself from crashing to the floor.

“Shake it off. Take a jog around the gym,” Coach advised.

The teenager managed a lame trot about the perimeter before sitting down. He watched as the elite athletes bounced nimbly over the side horse then tried more advanced vaults. The one real gymnast in the group finished by springing off his hands, executing a somersault in the air and landing on his feet with only one step to the side to maintain his balance. After this triumphant finale, the boys headed for the showers, Corey limping at the rear.

*****

Coach Stevenson caught up with Cory in the locker room. “Looks like you’ve pulled a muscle. Take your shower and then come to the office. I’ll try to loosen it up for you.”

The boys’ locker room was located below the gym. To the left were two rows of lockers with benches between them. Gang showers were on the right. The office was located at the near corner. It had rippled glass blocks above a lower portion of yellow glazed bricks. The door had a frosted glass window, but was usually open.

There wasn’t much inside the Phys. Ed. office. There were a desk, a couple of wooden arm chairs, and wide shelving along one wall. The room was also used to treat the injuries of the real athletes. Corey had sometimes seen a member of one of the athletic teams, sitting or reclining on a padded table, being worked on. He had never been in the office himself.

“OK,” the teenager replied, straggling along as best he could. The prospect of being treated like an athlete pleased him, although he knew it was a fluke. For that brief moment he would be able to pretend to a status he knew full well that he did not have and could never attain. He had already begun to enjoy the experience though he knew it to be fundamentally an illusion.

The boys in the shower were their usual boisterous selves. They jabbered at each other, commenting on the excellence of the last vault, while pretending not to take comparative notice of each others’ bodies. It was done with a trick of the eyes. One moved one’s gaze about and didn’t focus on anything. In film making it was called “a wide angle shot.” It definitely wouldn’t do to be caught looking.

One boy had a very unusual, uncircumcised penis. A slender fillet of flesh, perhaps a half inch long, protruded from the end. As far as Corey knew, no one had ever asked Billy about it. Another boy had huge testicles, one the size of an ostrich egg, the other half that. But Ralph didn’t have elephantiasis, as the condition did not worsen.

As for him, Corey considered himself to be a quite ordinary boy, of average height and weight with dark, straight hair. A more objective observer would rate him in the upper third in appearance, intelligence and athletic ability, this combination elevating his appeal substantially. Most other boys had a weakness in one of these areas. True, there were some youngsters ahead of him on all three dimensions, but not many. Corey’s habit of underrating himself resulted in a pleasing humility that did not go entirely unnoticed.

*****

Wrapping a plain white towel around his ordinary waist, Corey took himself to the physical education office as directed. No one was there. He waited a few moments and was just leaving when Coach Stevenson appeared for a tour of inspection of the locker room.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Hop up on the table.”

The teenager went back into the office and hoisted himself onto the padded surface.

“What do you have next period?” Coach asked.

“Study hall,” the lad told him.

“Good. In that case, stay there until this bunch clears out. Then we’ll see if we can fix you up and I’ll give you a pass to get into study hall late.” And with that Coach Stevenson went back out to supervise the disorderly departure of the boys.

*****

Five minutes later, there was one last bang of the metal doors and it was suddenly quiet in the locker room. Half a minute passed before Coach Stevenson returned to the office, closing the door behind him. His demeanor was all business, as he approached Corey.

“Lie back,” he directed.

The teenager reclined on the table and stared at the ceiling. As in the rest of the school, it was made up of porous blocks, about eight inches square. They had a spongy look that he supposed were supposed to absorb sound. Some were discolored by leaks or mildew.

Coach, matter-of-factly freed the end of the towel that had been tucked tight at the youngster’s waist and let the loosened material fall to the side. This made sense to Corey, since the towel had been covering the area where he had been hurt. He knew that a real athlete would often be naked while someone attended to his injury.

He felt the man’s strong hands and fingers working deep into his thigh, massaging the muscle. The teenager worked at clearing his mind, not allowing anything into it that might lead to an erection. Luckily for him, Coach Stevenson did not represent his sexual ideal, while merely the words, college boy, sent shivers down his spine. But where would you find one? They were all in college.

He turned over at the coach’s prodding. At first the kneading of his thigh made him feel the hurt more acutely. That passed gradually and began to feel better. Unexpectedly, the coach’s hands moved beyond the area of the youth’s injury.

“I may as well give you the complete treatment,” Coach Stevenson declared. With this announcement, he began a full body massage. The man’s fingers probed less deeply than they had into the muscles of his thigh. Still, it was a firm rubdown that Corey received.

“Where are you thinking of going to college?” Coach asked him. College, the teenager wished that he hadn’t been asked that.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I graduated from Colby. It’s in Maine.” Corey knew this. “Corey from Colby, … sounds good to me. It’s a small liberal arts college. You get a lot of individual attention,” Coach said as his hands worked their way down to the small of the boy’s back. Then he was rubbed from ankles to hips. When coach massaged his buttocks, Corey knew that this was not ordinary but individual attention. That and talk of college had its effect. The youth’s stiff dick pressed into the padding beneath him.

At first, Corey resisted being turned over on the rubbing table. “I’ve seen a hard on before,” Coach kidded him. For some reason, the man knowing that he had an erection made it all right and he rolled over onto his back.

*****

The following Tuesday, Coach Stevenson got Corey aside and told him to hang back while the others finished dressing. He’d provide a pass to enter study hall late. So every Tuesday, right after fifth period, Corey got a rub down and a hand job. Well, no one else wanted to. Coach did and he used to be a college boy, about fifteen years ago.

They talked a lot. It seemed to the teenager that Coach really liked him. He wanted Corey to be a student manager for the school’s athletic teams. His senior year, he could be head manager of the baseball team and earn a letter. They’d be able to spend more time together.

Not having other extracurricular activities that he really cared about, the youth decided to do it. The football season was half over when the teenager joined the squad of student managers. The head manager and the rest of the crew were glad to have an extra hand. Since Corey was a sophomore and because Coach Stevenson had asked for him, he was assigned to administer to the needs of the junior varsity.

As a result, they spent every afternoon in each other’s company. Saturday was game day for the varsity. They were both there, but not together. As the newest assistant manager, he had the most menial and time consuming duties. Coach was busy with the defense, that being his specialty.

While the managers were cleaning up after returning from the last away game of the season, Coach suggested to Corey that he come to his house the next afternoon. The hockey season would be starting shortly and Coach Stevenson, who had charge of the freshmen, wanted to talk the lad into helping out.

*****

Hockey practice was held in the early morning, before school, because that was when the ice time was available. Games were at night on weekdays. Involvement would mean a radical change in schedule and a lot of adjustment of time for homework and chores. Corey was really doubtful about it. He had already promised to be one of the managers for baseball and thought maybe it would be better to have one season off. However, the youth didn’t want to just say no to Coach, so he presented himself at the front door of the Stevenson house at two p.m. and rang the bell. An animated, attractive Mrs. Stevenson answered.

“You must be Corey,” she chirped. “Come in.” And she held out a hand to be shaken. “Ed’s down in the workout room.” Mrs. Stevenson led the way to a door that opened to a set of descending stairs. “You can’t miss him.”

At the bottom of the steps, an open doorway revealed a weight room. Coach was in the middle, sitting on the end of a bench press, breathing heavily. “Hi, Corey,” he said in welcome.

“Hi, Coach,” the youth responded.

“Come try this out,” Coach Stevenson said as he rose from the bench, went to the rear where the weights rested on their stand and began to unload the bar. “Give me a hand.”

The teenager ambled over to one end or the weightlifting bar and held it while Coach removed a huge plate from the opposite end. “Let’s try 65 pounds, that should be easy for you,” he suggested. They loaded the bar with little plates on each end and Corey took his position under the weight.

He lowered the weight to his chest and pushed it back up to arms length. The first one was easy, so was the second. The forth was hard, and Corey wanted to stop. As usual, Coach egged him on. He barely was able to push the weight to arms length.

“One more,” Coach encouraged. “I’ll help you if you get stuck.”

The kid lowered the bar once more to his chest and gave it a shove. The bar moved quickly, but only about a foot. Coach put one finger under the bar and it moved another six inches. Straining as hard as he could, the youngster couldn’t make any progress. Then the man put two fingers under the bar and the lad was able to slowly and painfully finish the lift.

“Phew,” Corey exclaimed.

“OK, spot me while I do another set,” Coach requested. They changed the weights again and Corey stood behind the bench to help on the last repetition if needed. When Coach Stevenson asked for assistance, the lad grabbed the bar with both hands and helped to complete the elevation of the heavy load. The weights clanged back on the supports above Coach’s head.

While Mr. Stevenson caught his breath, Corey looked about. The room had other weightlifting equipment. To his left there was an iron stand that could be used for isometrics or squats, though the teenager didn’t know it’s purpose at the time. Three lockers and a stall shower completed the effect of a mini gym.

It was Corey’s turn once more. The weight was reset to 65 pounds and his performance was essentially as before. He strained hard on the last effort. Coach said that was the point where the exercise would do him the most good. By straining the muscle, a person’s body would make the muscle stronger over the course of the following day. On the day after that, it would be easier to lift that weight and most likely he would be able to increase to 70 pounds. Progress tended to be rapid at first, the man explained.

“OK,” Coach said. “Shower time. Get in and soap up. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Corey, who hadn’t been expecting this, immediately wondered why he hadn’t. It made perfect sense. He laughed to himself, and at himself. Coach Stevenson flipped open the door of an empty locker on his way out of the room.

The boy felt a little uneasy about doing this with the man’s wife upstairs, but supposed that she wasn’t likely to come down when her husband had other guys using the weight room. Corey stripped and entered the tiled shower. It was oversized for one person, but had only the one shower head. He turned the water on from the side so he could adjust the degree of warmth before stepping into the stream. A niche in the wall held an almost new bar of soap.

The youngster wet himself thoroughly, tilting his head back and letting the hot water run over his face. He reached for the soap. Holding it in one hand he rubbed the bar over his forearms, then over the rest of his body.

Through the semitransparent plastic curtain, Corey could make out muted hues and mottled forms. He saw Coach’s approach before the man pulled the shower curtain aside and joined him. Right away the teenager noticed that Coach Stevenson’s dick wasn’t any larger than his, but was already erect. He was carrying a white plastic footstool. It looked to have been cut down for the occasion. The youth moved aside and Coach placed the low platform under the shower head.

“Stand on that,” the man indicated. Corey stepped up and onto the stool. Through the roar of water cascading over his head he heard. “Hand me the soap.” Their hands touched as the bar was passed.

Then the kid felt strong fingers lathering soap into the crack of his ass, probing his anus. It felt good, even though Corey knew what it portended. Being his first time, he was a little apprehensive. He was glad, relieved really, that Coach’s endowment was less than might otherwise have been imagined given his overall size. A really big cock would have frightened him. As it was, while he had not sought this next step, he was willing to take it.

Coach wrapped a hairy arm around the boy’s slender waist. The youngster felt the pressure of the man’s penis on the opening. He relaxed and let his mind go blank. “Bear down on it,” were the words in his ear. Corey did and the man slid into him.

Pressed against the cool tiles of the stall, the youth raised his arms and held on to the pipe leading to the shower head. He felt Coach moving inside of him. But what impressed him was the man kissing him; his neck, shoulder and the side of his face. Then he felt the cock in his rectum swell, uniformity of rhythm became sporadic thrusts, he heard a gasp.

Coach Stevenson became still, holding the boy in a tight grip. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said. Corey felt himself being turned and pressed against the man’s body. His head was tilted back into the water. Then he was protected by Coach’s face covering his and kissing him over and over, repeating the mantra, “thank you, thank you, thank you,” and holding him in a fierce embrace.

The obvious pleasure that Corey had been able to give Coach amazed and delighted the youngster. He liked the weekly massage but this thrilled him. He knew that he would want to experience this excitement again.

*****

The Stevenson house became a second home to Corey. Coach and his wife, Lois, had two daughters in junior high school. They were vivacious and athletic, specially the older girl, Donna. Tall, slender, blonde and boyish, Donna was the star of the junior high girls’ teams. She liked to joke around and she liked Corey. They became good friends. He was nearly as close with the younger daughter, Sandy, who was dark like her father and also a standout in athletics.

The teenager often had lunch with the Stevenson’s on weekends. One day Lois told him how glad she was the he had become part of their family. Her husband would have liked to have had a son and now Corey was filling that place for them. She couldn’t be happier about it, she said.

The next school year when Donna began high school she and Corey went to school dances together. It was her suggestion to do so. Corey was considered a catch because he was a junior and so was Donna because she was so popular. Neither of them wanted to date anyone else.

After high school, Corey attended a local college. Since he came home every weekend, they continued to date. But Donna went away to college after high school and soon thereafter came out as a lesbian. Lois was shocked, but got over it. Sandy was determined to help Corey over his loss.

The young man took Sandy to her senior prom. That night she demonstrated an assertiveness the equal of her dad’s. So it was that Corey eventually became the father of Coach’s grandchildren and his son-in-law.

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