Gay Erotic Stories

This story is based on actual events, not a fantasy. ____________________________________________ I was a decent jock in our small-town school, and lettered in football and track. Our high school had the regulation that all jocks had to spend at least an hour a day in physical education, even in the sports off-season. For most, this was a goof-off period, usually at the end of the day. But I was involved in several other extra-curricular activities, in addition to sports, as editor of the school newspaper and President of the Student Council and I was having trouble scheduling any PE period. This caused a bit of a hiccup, until my counselor personally arranged for me to use the period just before noon to satisfy my phys ed obligation. I was relegated to the Athletic Department Athletic Office to spend an hour each day in a non-organized class. It was just me.

Since the various coaches at our school all taught other academic subjects in addition to the sports, it turned out that the only one that was there on a consistent basis was the Assistant Football Coach, Tom Alexander. He taught math, at various levels, and I had had him as teacher as well as a coach. He seemed a lot older but was actually not that much older, in his mid-twenties, with a very gruff exterior. That gruffness seemed to compensate somewhat for the fact that he was much shorter in stature than he wanted to be, at about 5’7”. Built like the proverbial tank, he was very muscular and husky in shape, with an amazing chest and incredible biceps; hairy chest, a flat-top haircut. His legs were muscular…but short! He had a marine like appearance in his approach to coaching and teaching, alike. “Thomas the Tank Engine”, a childhood book title, always came to mind when I looked at him. He was straight as an arrow, married with kids and seemingly tough as nails.

He and I had an uneasy truce for a bit, since it was just the two of us, but we settled into a routine as time went on and his gruffness often melted away. Every day at 11:00, I would show up and we would plan the hour. Sometimes we would shoot some baskets, sometimes we would jog around the track, sometimes we would work out with weights. I was a good student, and we got to the point where I would even assist him in the grading of math papers, and that turned out to be a fun event for us both.

As it started out, he would come across a name of someone he was not familiar with and he would call it out and ask me what I knew about the kid. “Dan Morgan?” And I would respond “Geeky rich kid, with a sister who is a cheerleader for the junior varsity.” He would chuckle. As time went on, we expanded on the little ritual and I was also allowed to call out a name and he would have to tell me something about the kid. “Ashley Vane?” And he would respond with some comment about the fact that he was never going to work up enough ambition or brainpower to graduate, and we would both laugh.

It started heading off into a definite politically incorrect arena when we started doing physical commentary. The first time it ever happened, I had thrown out the name: “Bob Smith?” And he responded with the fact that Bob had the longest foreskin that he had ever seen on any kid in the showers. Immediately, he seemed to know that he had stepped out of bounds, but I laughed and ignored his red-faced embarrassment. When he threw out a name, “Gary Jones?” I responded with the well-known fact that Gary had the biggest, hairiest set of balls in the senior class. He cracked up! Off-color remarks, some were true, but others were thrown out just for the fun of making an off-color remark. “He’s got a big dick.” “His hard-on slaps his belly?” “He jacks off three times a day here at school.”

The guys’ dick sizing seemed to grow into a topic of mutual interest. I started a series of fantasies of Coach Tom’s dick size also, and that gave me a lot of intentional wet dreams of imagining Thomas-the-Tank-Engine with his clothes off. (He was not Carl Hardwick, but he definitely came from that same mold shop!) I imagined how Tom might look naked even though I had not even gotten close to seeing him that way. He almost always had full workout sweats on and he was seemingly modest as well. In a “wife-beater” he could cause my pre-cum to leak, but he would never have known that.

We got to the point where we would openly talk about the jock-guys, usually in a joking sort of way. “Bet that kid has a monster-cock when that thing gets hard”, he might say, and I might just agree with him, or might tell him, “Naw, I have seen him get a boner and it just gets harder, not bigger” and he would have great interest in how I knew that. One day he seriously asked, “Do all you guys get together to compare dicks or for circle jerks? You seem to know about everybody’s hard cock!” (Well, maybe not everybody!) And he seemed genuinely interested when I responded truthfully that lots of guys that I knew did get together for joint-jerk-off sessions but I had never been to a circle-jerk. I boldly asked if he had. He re-entered his gruff mode and said that he certainly had never done anything like that or “any of those things”. But I began to notice how he would shift a larger bulge in his crotch from side to side when we talked about jocks and cocks and that just made me want to explore his crotch in my own way. I also knew that any physical contact would probably be akin to suicide.

His curiosity had obviously been piqued and he started quizzing me more frequently, with deeper probing. He often got very specific with names, and would ask directly “Tell me about Adrian: have you seen his cock get hard?” I withdrew a bit, afraid maybe that I had told him too much and I did not want to be a snitch on any of the guys or to give away any of our little “puberty-into-full-manhood-development” experiments and escapades. But occasionally, I would drop a tidbit that I knew caused him to take a breath deep. For example, once when I told him that a buddy Ron “blew loads like an elephant”, I could tell that he was getting really horned by some of these tasty comments. He also threw in a couple that had me breathing just as deeply, observations of guys with big dicks in the showers and even a couple of teacher stories.

Like when he told me that one of the teachers (that I thought was super-hot) had recently been circumcised at the age of thirty-two, and we both commiserated and sympathized with the thought. Tom told me how the guy had described the pain that accompanied his erections, and that gave me a raging boner for some reason! Tom teased me since he obviously noticed it, and it seemed as though he had a bigger bulge too, but he denied it when I tried to point it out to him too. I tried to not stare too hard. But if I did, it was because my biggest horns grew bigger daily because I was hot for Tom, though he never seemed to sense any of it.

It came to a head one day after we had been out jogging around the track. For the first time ever, he gave me permission to use the coach’s locker and shower room. Always before, he had sent me off to the boy’s locker room. But today when he offered the use of the coaches locker room and shower, and I immediately thought “Hot damn, I am finally going to see him nekkid!” He made it clear that he was “breaking the rules” by allowing me to shower there, and made me promise I would not tell anyone.

Once undressed and in the shower, I imagined I could feel there was a strong zapping of electricity in the air, a sexual tension, and I was anxious to move the sex along in any way that I could. When I got out of the shower, Coach Tom was already out with his back to me and was pulling his white jockeys up over his ass. My dick was at full tilt, and almost scraping my belly, it was so hard. I wanted him to see it since I knew that I was pretty well-endowed and he seemed to have so much interest in the size of meat... so I did not cover myself at all. When he turned, his eyes bulged wide as he said, “Damn, does that dick get any bigger?” (I remember his words as though they were a few hours ago, not years ago!)

As I let him stare at my throbbing dick, he could not hide that he was wearing a growing boner inside the jockey shorts, and I was bold enough to respond, “Sometimes. Does yours get any bigger?” It was as though time stood still while neither of us breathed or said a word before he said, “Sometimes. Why, you wanna see it?” Of course, I said “yes”, and he hooked his thumbs inside the waistband and oh-so-very-slowly, he pushed the jockeys down to let his hard-on spring free, jutting straight out. Then it was my turn to stare.

A beauty of a cock, it perfectly fit his body. His dick matched his body shape and form, maybe someone else might have described it as short and stubby, but it was also thick and demanding in appearance. If it had been longer, it would have been out of place on his body, and if it had been less thick, it would have looked odd on his body. But it was stubby and thick and it was full of blood and throbbing, curved with an upward tilt, dancing up and down. I wanted it. But before I could do anything, he had pulled his jockeys back up over the beauty. I said something but he over-talked me and said immediately that he was sorry he had done that.

And he truly did seem remorseful that he had done it. He went into his gruff mode and said he was sorry for being so stupid, silly, and immature, and then shifted blame to me for encouraging him. He was obviously confused over his own feelings and trying to justify why or why not. I knew that I had wanted him to show me his cock, and wanted more, but he was berating himself and beating himself up for doing it, and apologizing and nearly crying that this could get his fired and arrested, all sorts of guilt feeling flooding out. Somewhere in his rambling, he said “and the damned door is not even locked.”

Wow. I took that as a cue, and went to the door and locked it. I also turned out the lights, so that it might not look like anyone was in the coach’s locker room. Then I walked straight over to him, and groped his crotch through the underwear. He tensed up and pulled his chest and shoulders back and I honestly thought he was going to slug me, but he didn’t. And his dick did not go soft either. He was kind of mumbling inane questions like “what do you think you are doing?” all the time that I was now stroking his dick for him. Then very quickly, he suddenly went rigid and without word or warning blew a copious load all over my hand, and splattering my body. As he writhed and spasmed with his orgasm, he was pushing me away and there was no question about it, he was stronger than me. I was sexually turned on incredibly, but it was obvious by the tormented look on his face that he was troubled. He pulled his jockeys up again, and scowled at me, and said “If you know what is good for you, this never happened. You understand?” And I told him I did. His voice was threatening and scary! He disappeared and I got dressed and left the coaches locker room. There were wet spots on the floor that I knew were from Coach Tom’s spunk.

I was scared of the next day, the next encounter with Coach Tom. His voice had been frightening. But at 11:00, I was there, and so was he. Gruff is not the word for it, seething anger and abject fear probably described the boiling fire in his eyes and the tormented look that could be seen in his face. As soon as he saw me, he grabbed the keys to the school’s pick-up truck, mumbling that he needed some help at the storage unit. The storage unit was the old gymnasium at the junior high school that had been relegated to a storage facility for the athletic departments, the band, and the theatrical drama group; football gear in one corner, musical instruments in another, props and backdrops everywhere, that sort of thing. And the building was about a half mile from any other building. I was almost afraid to go inside with him, but there was no option.

Inside, we found a place to sit, among the football pads and gear (which had that sweat and jockstrap kind of smell that I have always found to be a turn-on) and it was obvious that I was in for a lecture. He was stern, and he was purposeful. It was obvious that he had planned this speech, and he told me that he had been up all night thinking about what happened and what he needed to say. He said that I should be thinking about everything that he was saying and that I could ask questions after he was through. He began with Chapter One.

Turns out, he had never shared such an intimacy with a man. He took no responsibility for his actions, finding every rationale that suited him to explain why he and I had gotten carried away. Making me feel guilty, if I could or would feel that way, for causing his actions! He also told me how this could ruin his career, wreck his marriage, and might cause the end of the world, he was so driven to exorcise the event. I let him get it out of his system, and when he thought he had said all that he needed to say, he asked if I had any questions. I told him that I had just one. I asked if we could get naked and do it again. I thought that he was going to have a tantrum or a heart-attack; he seemed to be so pained and horror-stricken at the suggestion. He started a repetition of why this should never have happened the first time and why it was never going to happen again.

By the time that he had repeated himself the third time or so, I had my hand firmly planted in his crotch, feeling his dick get harder and harder and he was not stopping me. I unzipped his fly, and he was not stopping me. Undid the belt and he was not stopping me. Pulled his trousers down and he was not stopping me. I pulled his cock out of his jockey shorts and he did not stop me. I started stroking him again, and by this time, he had gone completely silent. This time, however, as he got near the brink, he told me that he was close, and I backed off, and just played with his balls while he squirmed. He was breathing heavy, and whispering that he had never enjoyed sex so much, but even with my somewhat limited teen-ager experiences, we had not done much of anything very sophisticated according to my standards! He kept saying that he had never done anything like this, and he made me a believer with his words and his actions.

Somehow, I got his pants off and did get him naked from the waist down. Damn, he had a hot body! I was totally in control; he was mine to play with. I did plenty of exploring and massaging all over his crotch, with limited touching of his cock which was wet and slick with his dripping pre-cum. He was twisting and writhing and moaning and saying that he wanted me to stop, with no indication that he wanted anything other than for me to continue forever with more physical pleasuring. I asked him to feel my dick, through my jeans, and he verbally refused. When I took his hand and put it on my crotch, his hand instinctively started to rub me the right way. I unzipped myself and pulled out my dick, and his hand went around it very naturally and we lay there amid the football pads and slowly jacked each other while he moaned with pleasure. When we had both backed away from the brink several times, I knew the timing was just right, and I leaned over to bury his dick in my mouth. He delivered his load before I had even gotten his cock all the way in my mouth, and he was screaming with pleasure.

When he came back to the land of the living from his orgasmic trance, he still had a bit of the guilty remorse, but he also was willing to say and admit that he had never had such a pleasurable physical time. There he was, Coach Tom, telling me that he had never ever had a blowjob from anyone ever in his life and how good it was. He was also still afraid that I was going to tell someone, but finally conceded when I convinced him that it would not do my reputation any good for anyone to know that I was a “cocksucker”.

He asked if I liked “doing that”? I knew what he meant, but played it coy until I felt I could actually ask him to try it. I could not believe my ears when he actually said OK, that he would “try”. Slowly, he went down on me, then gagged and came up coughing and had a gag reflex and coughed more for a bit of time. His comment was that was enough for this attempt, but he would try it again another day. I liked the sound of that, since it meant that he was willing to do this again, and I was certainly OK with that.

In the process of dressing, he looked over at me, and said, “Hey, you didn’t get any relief, did you?” I nodded no, and he came over and very gently took my dick in his hand and began jacking me. While he was doing this, I could see that he was growing another hard-on. I went to my knees and then got him to lie down and he let me have my way with him for a much longer time before he blew the back of my tonsils away with another volcanic-like eruption. As he was gasping for air, I stood up and jacked off onto his chest, making sure that I also splattered his crotch and his dick. It was a voluminous delivery and he stared at it and rubbing it in his skin and then said to me, “is that what you meant by Ron coming like an elephant?”

Over the remaining time I spent with Coach Tom, we did a lot more experimenting, and I learned that his “physical education” had been far more limited when compared to my own. He was a willing student and permitted me to teach him a lot of things that he had never expected to learn about. I remember a lot of little events with him too, like the time that I held a musty jockstrap up to his nose. He protested mightily and shoved me away, then sort of gingerly brought it back to his nose, sniffed heavily, and said, “Damn, how did you know that was going to be a turn-on?” Probably one of his biggest amazements was with a truly hot experience when I introduced him to his first three-way. Then I graduated and left.

I met him a number of years later, and we had a chance to talk about these activities very openly. He assured me that he had never hooked up with another student, ever, and had only had one chance encounter with another male over all the years. We actually had the chance to spend a couple of nights together, as consenting adults, not in the teacher-student roles. We made some plans to meet more often. And we have always lived up to the plans.

Send me your comments to nednc@myway.com.