Page 25 of The Coach

The other guys snickered.

“Yeah,” Ethan chimed in. “I don’t want to oil-check anyone.”

“So you don’t mind someone oil-checking you?” Jared replied.

“Shut up, you fag!”

“That’s enough!” I yelled, rising to my feet. “Rosenberg, get your ass out of my class right now! You’re banned from the practice for the rest of the week!”

“But Coach—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT NOW before I threw you out myself!” The anger felt good; it helped me regain clarity, my boner going down before it had the chance to form fully. When Ethan turned around and dragged himself out of the gym, I scanned the shocked faces around me, a pissed-off Hulk towering over them. Ethan was not a bad kid; if I really thought he was a raging homophobe, I’d kick him off the team for good. But I needed to show the boys that this kind of language would not be tolerated. “If I hear any of you using hate speech or offensive slurs, I’ll boot your ass out faster than a greased pig in a country fair. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” a chorus of voices replied.

“I expect better from each one of you. Don’t make me regret it.”

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Tyler behind me, still kneeling on the mat, his eyes full of pure admiration. I don’t know why the fuck he looked at me like that, like I was some kind of a hero, when I would do the same for anyone.

“Look,” I addressed the group. “A lot of people get weird about butt drag because you have to reach between someone’s legs. In all honesty, when you do butt drag, you’re gonna grab some sack, okay? Even if you don’t want to, you’ll be shaking hands with the pope.”

The guys collectively chuckled, the atmosphere getting lighter by the second.

“Just get over it, okay? It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal. Every time your hand is inside someone’s thigh, you’ll be grabbing the governor. It’s just gonna happen, okay? Butt drag is what it is and you gotta go where you gotta go, you know? I’m not saying you should get a pink eye, but you gotta get in there. If you really want to win, you gotta use all you can.”

I got down on the mat beside Tyler and showed them the move one more time.

“See, already I’m grabbing some sack as we speak,” I said, my hand sliding over Tyler’s hard-on, to the delight of my audience. Everyone was laughing now, cracking jokes about how you can ‘swipe the credit card, but you shouldn’t ring the doorbell.’ No one noticed that I used the team’s frenzy as a diversion to grope Tyler in plain sight. At one moment I even managed to slip my fingers under the leg of his singlet and rub his hole, in all its bare and sweaty glory.

Only Tyler saw me bring my fingers to my lips and lick off his sweat, savoring his taste. He was hard the entire time, his bulge hidden under his body. But astempting as this game was, I had to stop myself from touching him before he came in front of the entire team. So I left him lying face-down on the mat and rose to conclude my lesson.

“Butt drags work, people. Embrace the gayness of our sport or lose.”

There were some whistles and good-natured jokes at that, but the point was driven home. As the rest of the team filtered out, the practice now over, Tyler lingered, still prostrated on the mat, his eyes meeting mine from below. I hesitated, glancing toward the door, but as soon as no one else was around, I found myself walking toward him, my heart beating faster with each step.

“You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “You did it. You made my fantasy come true. I almost came in my singlet several times. I had to control myself so hard.”

The simplicity of his words, the quiet sensuality in his tone, sent a rush of heat through me. I reached for him, pulling him into a quick, stolen kiss, the risk of being caught forgotten in the face of his closeness. A big wet spot of precum on his crotch made me snicker. “See you later tonight at my place. Then you won’t have to hold back. I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.”

* **

By the time the weekend rolled around, I was running on fumes, the weight of the season and the secrets I was keeping pressing down on me. I thought I might be coming down with a cold or something. But Tyler’s presence was a balm, a quiet reminder of why it was all worth it. He showed up at my house late Saturday afternoon, his hair damp from the rain, a Chinese takeout in his hand, and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I figured we could use a night off,” he said, stepping inside and shrugging off his jacket.

I smiled, taking the bag with the food from him and setting it on the counter. “You’re not wrong.”

“What—what are you wearing?” His eyes were glued to my nylon green shorts as he followed me into the kitchen.

“My silkies,” I said, unfazed. They were my favorite shorts for running, working out, or simply lounging around the house. Plus, they showed off my quads nicely. “Why?”

Tyler seemed enraptured, the biggest grin stretching across his face. “I’ve never seen men’s shorts that short. They look like panties!”

I placed my fists on my hips, striking a Superman pose, and tried to look as manly as I could. “They’re worn by servicemen across the country and they’re comfy as fuck.”

“I bet they are.” Tyler stepped close to me and palmed my bulge over the silky fabric. “I’m just concerned you’ll drive the neighborhood moms wild,” he murmured, fondling my balls.

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