My name’s Lucas. I’m 18 and a senior in high school. I live in Tyler, Texas which is a rural, country town that is the picture of what you imagine when you think about Texas. Cows, farms, trees, fresh air, and high school football games on Friday nights.
More on that later.
I never meant to spend my high school years hanging around the football team, but somehow, here I am—filling water jugs, picking up sweaty jerseys, making sure nobody leaves their helmet in the locker room again. I’m not a player. Never have been. But I’m here, part of the team in my own way, even if I don’t exactly look like I belong.
I’m short—like, really short. Five-foot-nothing, stocky in a way that makes me feel like a human fire hydrant. I’m Mexican though I look white. I’m first generation Texan as my parents are both from Mexico. I’ve got tan, smooth skin, broad shoulders and a solid chest, like my body wants to look strong, but then my torso is kind of compressed, my waist just a little too thick, my legs short and muscular in a way that makes jeans fit weird. I’ve got strength—years of hauling around textbooks, coolers, and clipboards have made sure of that—but it’s not the kind of strength that gets you on the field. It’s the kind that makes me useful in the background, always moving, always working.
I walk fast, lighter than the guys I spend all my time with. They’ve got that heavy-footed, slow-moving confidence, all squared shoulders and easy strides.
Me?
I weave through them, dodging their swinging duffel bags, slipping past their sweaty backs like I was built for quick exits. My hands are smaller than theirs, but they’re strong, rough in a way that comes from constantly gripping things too tight—clipboards, towels, my own nerves when things get too tense.
I don’t really fit in with them.
Not just because of my size, but because of how I carry myself—looser, lighter, a little too smooth in my movements.
Before you ask: Yes, I’m gay.
Some of the guys notice it. Some of them don’t say much, just watch me out of the corner of their eye like they’re clocking something they can’t quite name. Others joke about it, harmless teasing, but always with that tone. But they don’t shut me out. I’m here, part of this strange, sweaty, dysfunctional team, even if I don’t fit the mold.
And honestly? I like it that way.
And that brings me to Joe…
Joe Stevens AKA Coach Joe… he asks us to call him “Coach Joe” instead of “Coach Stevens”...weird I know.
He’s a towering hulk of a man, standing at 6’3” with the kind of broad-shouldered, thick-armed build that screams former athlete—except age and an unshakable love of diner food have softened him just enough to give him that sturdy, barrel-chested look. He’s actually very hot. His arms, pecs, and huge quads are enough to make me drool.
His skin, once tight and youthful, is now sun-worn and weathered, lightly tanned with the kind of deep creases around his eyes and mouth that only years of yelling at teenagers under the scorching Texas sun can carve.
His hair is cropped short, salt-and-pepper but leaning more toward the steel gray that comes with time and stress.
It’s thick, wiry, and perpetually damp from sweat. His forehead, wide and furrowed, is constantly glistening, as though he’s been mid-sprint even when standing still.
The real chaos, however, happens below the hairline—his nose and ears have taken it upon themselves to sprout rogue strands of hair, untamed and slightly curling out like they have minds of their own.
And then there’s that chipped front tooth, a jagged little break right in the middle of his grin, a permanent souvenir from his younger days when he “didn’t back down from nobody.”
His voice is a deep, gravelly rumble, like a car engine that’s been running since 1985 and refuses to quit. It vibrates in the air around him, thick with authority and the slight hint of amusement, as if he’s seen every excuse and half-baked scheme a teenager can come up with—and none of them impress him.
Then there’s his scent, a strange concoction of must, musk, and something slightly sour, like old laundry that never fully dried. His clothes never seem completely clean, no matter how many times they go through the wash. There’s always that lingering dampness, the kind that clings, and his signature smell of sweat and old gym socks is as much a part of him as his booming voice. His high school-branded polo is permanently darkened under the arms, the sweat stains forming their own geographical map. A few stray chest hairs, coarse and dark, peek rebelliously over the top of his stretched-out collar.
Coach Stevens is a firm believer that basketball shorts are appropriate for all occasions. His thick, muscular legs—built from years of squats and drills—are covered in a fine dusting of hair and are always on display, no matter the weather. Paired with them are well-worn sneakers, scuffed and faded, their soles molded perfectly to his stride.
At the school, he’s a man of many hats—football coach, basketball coach, and, when the district tightens the budget, the reluctant warden of the detention lab.
And yet, despite all of it—the strange smell, the relentless sweating, the intimidating presence—there’s an undeniable charisma about him. A toughness that’s oddly endearing.
I’ve known Coach for years since he, his wife and his four sons lived on our street a few houses over until they divorced my freshman year. It was pretty bad. Rumor has it he was a woman beater and used to get drunk and fight his wife and eldest son Joe Jr. Anyway, after one night when the police got involved they ended up selling the house and Coach got an apartment across the street from the school–he basically lives at the school.
Anyway, I’ve always made pretty good grades and was recruited to help my peers in algebra freshman year. I ended up being assigned to Juan, one of the seniors on the football team and helped him pass the class. While I got kudos from the administration at the school and the football coaches, in reality, i just did his homework for him. That’s sort of where I found my fetish for bigger guys and uncut cocks. I’ll tell you that story another time—but just know I tutored him and he taught me a lot as well.
I spent more and more time around the football team and just sort of became a fixture. Instead of assigning me to electives like art, music, etc. the high school counselors would just assign me extra periods of gym. I ended up becoming sort of an administrative assistant for the coaching staff. Printing PDFs, answering phone calls, coordinating travel arrangements with the bus barn for the team, etc. and that’s when I started noticing Coach Joe’s weird habits.
He’d been divorced for a while now and it showed. As I mentioned before, his clothes were never “clean.” Now, don’t get me wrong, he was never visibly dirty, but you could tell he wasn’t as well-kept as he was when he and his wife were together…and he RARELY wore underwear.
I mean, when a man like him wears basketball shorts all the time, you can tell if they are free balling and Coach Joe ALWAYS free balled.
There would be times he’d be talking to me and I couldn’t help but look at his babymaker just hanging there.
I remember one time he’d come into the front office to give me instructions on a flyer he wanted me to make on canva. We were going back and forth and he just came around the side of the desk and leaned over me to point at the screen. His semi-hard dick was laying on my fore arm. Only the thin, mesh material of his basketball shorts separated his heavy, warm dick from my forearm. He continued talking to me as if he didn’t realize it.
Then one day it happened.
I’d usually hang in the admin office while he ran drills outside but practice had been cancelled that day due to the weather. Apparently, if there’s lightning for a certain period of time, they have to cancel. So everyone caught rides home—except for me because I didn’t live to far away from the school. I planned on just walking home once the rain stopped. Everyone had left and I was hanging in the breakroom of the admin building with the lights off charging my phone and scrolling Instagram. You know how you just scroll and scroll and lose track of time? Well, everyone had been sent home at like 4p and it was now like 6p. 2 hours of scrolling… crazy right?
I sat my phone down on the chair I was sitting in since I had to go piss and as I got closer to little individual restroom that the coaching staff would use, I could hear what sounded like porn. It was BLASTING. You know the little ads that play before free porn on sites like Pornhub or Xtube where it’s SUPER loud. It says something like “You don’t have to masturbate alone, log on to blah blah blah for fun.”
It was quick, like that… but you could hear the moaning and stuff in the commercial before the volume went down again.
Was someone watching porn?
I tiptoed getting closer and closer to the bathroom and I could see Coach’s door was opened just a little.
I got close enough to be able to peak in without being seen and there was Coach Joe slow stroking his massive penis.
It looked like a pringles can.
It was uncut. Probably about 8 inches or so…uncut with a curve to the left. I couldn’t really see his balls though because of the way he was positioned behind the desk.
I could hear the rapid sloshing of some kind of lubricant and I could see his basketball shorts down to his ankles. He was really into it by now. Nothing but the light from the computer screen lighting the room as he went to town stroking his babymaker… my heart was beating so fast.
Poor guy… resorted to having to pleasure himself… I could barely see what was going on completely because of the position of the desk and how dimly lit the room was.
“Take this dick, bitch” he moaned as he continued his jack session.
Then he made this grunting sound… Almost like it hurt… and a huge spurt of cum shot up into the air and on his face.
He started heaving and grunting like he was having some kind of medical emergency as spurt after spurt shot out landing again on his face, then the desk… then the floor.
Then he shuffled really nervously putting his dick away…
Did he see me?
Damn…
Oh my God. What if he did?
I made a bee-line for my phone and charger and shot out of the back door of the break room trying not to make a sound.
I rushed home and headed straight to my room where I jacked off while fingering my moist wet asshole imagining coach joe fucking my brains out. I came so good to that shit.
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When it was time for 4th period the next day, the first of my several “Gym” class periods, I didn’t see Coach Joe. I looked at the attendance board where all the coaches slide a magnet showing themselves “In” or out for the day, and it looked like he was in for the day, but I just hadn’t seen him.
I went and ran laundry for the day and did a little bit of filing before I almost ran head-first into Coach Joe’s pecs as I rushed around a corner heading back to the front desk where I worked every day.
“If I was a snake I woulda bit cha” coach Joe said with a grin and chuckle.
I nervously laughed, too.
It was as if nothing had happened.
Coach Joe ran drills with the boys outside after school and I finished my work without any irregularity.
As I was finishing putting up the towels I’d washed earlier and about to head out, I heard Coach Joe call for me.
At first, I couldn’t really understand what he was saying because he has a bit of a strong accent, but the second time he called, it was pretty clear.
“Hey Lucas, you finish with that flyer for the fundraiser yet?” he yelled.
I headed back to his office while answering “Yeah, but the printer can’t print on 11 by 17” I answered walking into his office.
“Sit down for a minute Lucas,” he said with a serious look on his face.
“How’s everything going?” he asked.
“Uhhh…fine… ummm…,” I replied.
Look Lucas, we’re a family out here in athletics and some things stay between family… you get my drift,” he continued.
Oh. My. God.
He knows.
He knows I saw him jacking off on campus using his computer.
He knows.
“Yeah, I understand…” I replied nervously.
“Good. See you tomorrow. Close my door on the way out,” he concluded.
I rushed out of his office. The several blocks to my house. Then into my bedroom once again to close my eyes and imagine Coach Joe plowing me.
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The next day was a friday. Game day.
This wasn’t a very important game. We weren’t playing our rivals from the other side of Tyler. This was an easy-peasy home game.
Afterward, I did my duty while the coaching, marching band, and cheer staff waited for the last students who participated in extra curricular activities to be picked up.
While I sorted materials, helped put away equipment, etc. I couldn’t help watch Coach Joe.
He was so fucking sexy to me.
To see him hold his own coaching and discipline the student athletes…
To see his dick swing ever so softly as he walked… I was so hot.
As the night grew later and the last of the students were picked up, I went into the admin building to look for Coach Joe.
It was now about 11pm.
Believe it or not, after a football game it takes a while before the last athletes and band kids get picked up.
I walked up to Coach Joe’s office door. It was pretty quiet, but I knew he was in there.
“You got a second coach?” I asked.
“Yeah, come on in Lucas,” he said.
I walked in and shut the door behind me.
“What can I do you for?” he said jokingly.
I simply walked over to him, sitting behind his desk and put my hand on his leg without saying a word.
“Lu–Lucas, what are you doing?” he asked.
I put my index finger up to my mouth to give the shhhh sign without saying anything though.
He gasped… looking back at me confused.
I slid my hand up his muscular thigh toward his now throbbing dick.
I gently stroked it as I got down on my knees.
He initially tried to stop me, but it was too late.
By now, he was putty in my hands.
“Lucas, you can’t…”
He trembled as I took the tip of my tongue and licked around the inside of his foreskin…
A dollop of precum belched out of his willing meat stick.
“Stahhhhp” he whispered…
His mouth said no but his body needed this.
In one feel swoop I aimed his pistol at my willing mouth and inched my way down his now throbbing cock.
The smell of his heavy, musky balls filling my nostrils as I take him all the way down.
I could fill his dick in my soft, warm moist throat.
His wiry pubic hairs now up to my nose as I’ve now totally engulfed this sex-deprived str8 man.
I held it there… throating him totally as my gag reflexes cause a heaving sound, but i held his dick all the way in my throat like the whore I dreamt of being the last two times I fingered myself imagining this very moment.
Then without warning his heavy, low-hanging balls tensed up and he convulsed. I looked up at him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started grunted… I could feel his dick jerking with the release of his salty, gooey cum going right into my stomach.
I moved up and down milking his deprived dick with my teen throat until he was spent.
Exhausted.
Neither he or I said a word.
I eased up letting his now spent dick out of the confines of my throat and licked it clean while looking up at him.
Him looking down at me… confused… relieved… speechless.
I climbed off my knees and walked out of his office as if nothing had happened… out of the admin building and the several blocks to my home where I entered my room and did another time what i’d done so many other times since seeing coach jack off that time…
I fingered myself and came so hard to the thought of Coach Joe Plowing Me.
