An Eye-Full of Coach Martek

This story is based on a conversation I overheard back in middle school about one of our coaches, a man I'll call Coach Martek. He apparently would show off at the urinals to the cockiest guys at school as a way to remind them who was really in control.

I've changed some things: the ages of the guys involved, and the extent of his showoff activities (I've made it much more homoerotic, of course).

Enjoy!

_____

There I was, standing pissing at a bank of urinals in a 1940s-style locker room -- you know, the kind with beige tiles up to shoulder height, gang showers, and urinals going all the way down to the floor -- when Coach Martek came in and stood at the urinal right beside mine. Immediately, my piss stream dried up and I didn't know where to look or what to do next. You see, I'd heard about him. And the python in his pants (we could all see the outline, but some guys had seen the whole thing, right out in the daylight).

He unzipped those polyester coach's shorts and reached inside with both hands, pushing the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs down with his left hand while pulling his enormous meat and potatoes out with his right hand. His long, thick, cut cock almost hit the porcelain; I could well imagine the "thwack" it would've made if it had. The sound of his piss was loud in the silent, empty locker room (I'd gone in for a piss at the end of the day before walking home).

I couldn't hardly believe my eyes. I mean, I'd heard about it -- we all had.

Preston, the class clown and star basketball forward, had told us about it. Apparently, Preston had missed too many layups one game, and Coach had come into the locker room after the game and pissed right beside him. He said Coach was silent, intimidating, and massive, especially up close. He said Coach's cock was longer and thicker than his own forearm, holding it out for us to measure Coach in midair. He'd described the cut head, looking as large as a Red Delicious apple, and the long thick shaft curving down out of a nest of thick dark pubes next to testicles the size of tennis balls.

We hadn't believed him. We'd said, "Naah, man." "That can't be." "It's not possible." "I'd have to see it with my own eyes to believe it."

Well, that went on until Ray-Ray (Raymond, but we called him that since one time in kindergarten when we'd heard his mother calling him in for supper) said he'd seen it, too. In a side hallway, his voice choked up from the memory, he told us how he'd seen it.

Ray-Ray had made some mistakes during the last game -- he'd let an opposing player take the ball away from him and score (dunk, actually), not once but twice. And had smarted off at Coach when the big man had told him how disappointed he was.

Well, the next day in school, Coach had quietly come into the bathroom next to Ray-Ray's homeroom and had unzipped his monster next to Ray-Ray. To hear our friend tell it, he was completely intimidated: "I tell ya, I ain't NEVAH seen no dick that big, not even in my uncle's porn mags. Nevah."

And that wasn't all Coach had done. He'd let his dick swell even larger while he pissed a loud stream, letting it get to the size of the handle of a baseball bat, and then he'd milk it down. With both hands. Ray-Ray was visibly awed at the memory. "Both hands, y'all! Can ya b'lieve it?"

Coach had stood there, hands on his hips, waiting for the almost hardon to subside. Then, the worst moment (according to Ray-Ray) happened: Coach turned and looked at him and said, "Remember... I'M the coach." And tucked it into his coach's shorts (again, with two hands), zipped up, and walked out. Ray-Ray said he couldn't hardly stand, he was so weak-kneed after that.

And here Coach was, right next to me....

[to be continued]

He was pissing like a racehorse, there in the empty locker room, right next to me. I couldn't look at him but I couldn't look away either. I was frozen, like a deer in the headlights, holding my shrinking cock in my hand, while Coach's piss went on and on and on....

After what seemed like centuries, the stream stopped and Coach shook the last drops off. His shoulders moved when he did, and his cock swung heavily like one of those bendable dildos you see these days in porn shops. I was so amazed I was speechless. But what happened next took my breath away.

He turned to me. "Hey, <NCbear>, that felt good, huh? I like a good long piss at the end of the day." That deep I'm-SO-damn-much-more-macho-than-you voice was resonant, mellow, relaxed. Intimate and friendly, too.

I didn't know what to say. I mean, I wasn't stupid -- 18 years old and just coming out to myself, but was he just being friendly or was he Being Friendly??

"Um, yeah, Coach, I do too, yeah. Feels good, yeah." I couldn't hardly talk, I was staring so hard at his thickening cock.

"Always gives me a hardon, especially after a long day coaching." He chuckled. His right hand moved to caress one of his tennis-ball-sized nads. His left was still curled around the base of his thick shaft.

My mind raced. What the HELL? Is he CRAZY? I'm one of his STUDENTS. And then I realized I could play it off like he was just being buddy-buddy to a graduating senior (that would be me) who had already turned 18 and who was therefore part of the Masculinity Fraternity now.

"Yeah." I gave him one of those buddy-buddy smiles. I caught myself before patting him on the ass -- that might be misconstrued, I thought, if he's doing more than what I'm beginning to think he's doing.

I looked down at myself, and lo and behold, I was hard -- skin pulled back, head dripping precome, the whole enchilada. DAMN! Way to be obvious, <NCbear>. But then I had a thought: Maybe he is doing more than what I'm beginning to think he's doing. Let's test that hypothesis.

I stepped back from the urinal. "Me, too, Coach. Pissing at the end of the day gets me hard, too. See?"

His eyes got big faster than I could've snapped my fingers. "Damn, <NCbear>! Where'd you hide all that meat?!"

I smiled at him somewhat smugly, proud of his surprise and proud of my size (I go from about an inch soft to more than seven inches hard, and the difference is eye-catching). "I get big when I get hard, Coach!"

He took his big left hand off his cockshaft and clapped me on the shoulder (pretty hard, too!) and said, "Damn, boy. You sure as hell do. You sure as hell do." He put his tackle back in its box, zipped up those shorts, and turned away, still chuckling. I did the same, grinning openly.

At the sink, he caught my eye in the mirror and said, a little gruffly, "I'm usually here until after three, and then I head on home. You caught me a little earlier than usual."

[to be continued]

good story, interesting to see where this goes

Yes, please continue. This is the kind of writing and erotica that I like - no matter if it's gay, bi or straight.

Hmmm. Did he actually just tell me when I could see his big cock? Hard or soft? Hmmmm. What to say? What to say?

"That's cool, Coach. See ya later, then!" And I stepped out, my heart and my feet light with the knowledge that my coach was sexy as hell, that he thought I was sexy as hell, and that he'd just told me when and where we could check each other out on a daily basis. Woo hoo!

The rest of the school year, that's what we did. Almost every day, we'd catch each other pissing at that bank of urinals at the end of the day. I'd walk in and he'd be standing there, sometimes already pissing, sometimes not. Everything would be quiet, except for our piss streams--and then he'd milk his down, I'd milk mine down, we'd joke about seeing each other's hardon, and then we'd leave. (Me wondering whether he noticed the saliva dripping off my chin.)

At home, I'd jerk off at least three or four times a night and at least twice every morning thinking about Coach Martek's cock. And his interest in me.

But he was very professional (dammit!): he never crossed the line separating "good buddy joking around about hard dick" from "weird sexual predator about to lose his job." I came to admire that, because let me tell you, it became more and more difficult, those last three months before graduation, to keep from turning toward him and reaching out and grabbing that big thick thing.

Graduation night, he came up to me and my family and told them how he'd been following my basketball career and how happy he was that I'd been accepted to Duke on a basketball scholarship. And then he grew a little bolder.

"Y'know, <NCbear>, anytime ya like y' could come over this summer during basketball camp and shoot some hoops. Keep ya in practice. I'd let ya do it if y'd help me clean up afterward for about an hour. Whaddaya say?"

Wow. There it was--the opportunity of a lifetime. A hot older man who wanted me, and a ready-made excuse to be near him, plus a way for my parents to understand why I wanted to be near him, all in one!

"Coach, that would be wonderful!" That was my mom--a little clueless about what Coach and I might be doing other than just cleaning up, but still trying to look out for her son's interests. "<NCbear> can't talk right now, he's so surprised, but I'm sure he'd love that."

Huh? What'd she mean by that?

[Of course, I talked about this scene 15 years later, and she'd said, dryly, "Yes, it was obvious. The glances you two gave each other!" And then her tone had warmed and she'd smiled into my astonished face: "I just wanted my little boy to be happy."]

"Uh, yeah, Coach, thanks! Yeah, I'd love that."

His face broke into a big grin. "Great! I'll see you June 15th, then."

[to be continued]

June 15th rolled around and I couldn't sleep the night before. I was so wound up it wasn't even funny.

But when I went to school to help out with basketball camp, Coach was professional as always. He gave me a task and sent me on my way. I wondered what would happen at 3:00, but I soon became distracted by my task and got caught up in doing my job.

At the end of the day, when everyone had gone home, I found Coach Martek standing at the same familiar bank of urinals. He wasn't pissing, or at least I didn't hear any stream. So I sidled up next to him, my pulse rate rising, my breathing speeding up.

"Hey, Coach!" I tried to sound all chipper and gee-whiz.

"Hey, <NCbear>! Thanks for helping me out today!" He smiled at me while one big thumb rubbed his broad cockhead. He was almost fully hard already.

"Always glad to help you out, Coach," I said, hoping he'd pick up on the hint.

His eyes narrowed and I could see the wheels turning in his head, figuring out my offer and my age. "I kinda need another kinda help right now," he said, lowering his voice suggestively.

I raised my eyebrow, silently asking the question.

He nodded downward toward his enormous hardon, now fully erect and perpendicular to the floor. He'd even had to step back a bit to keep from drilling a horizontal hole in the porcelain, or at least that was how it looked.

I let my voice grow deeper, softer, more intimate, and I turned toward him slightly, letting him see my thick hardon, just a bit longer than average, with the skin pulled back and the precome beginning to collect at the tip. "Be glad to help you out, Coach. Just let me know what you need."

[to be continued]

"<NCbear>," Coach said, "I am about to bust. I've got the damnedest blue balls 'cause I haven't jacked off today, and I need some help."

Well, this was something new. He was talking about jacking off, something he never had admitted he still did. Hmmm. Wonder how far he'll go....

"What kind of help, Coach?" I tried on my best innocent face.

"Lube, son, lube. You seem to be making a hell of a lot of it, right now. Lemme have some so I can get off." He grinned at me, still buddy-buddy instead of sexual-predator.

So I took my hand and let some precome drip into it, wiped off my cock-tip, and reached out.

Wonder what he'll do?

He reached out his hand and caught the precome in his palm. It was so intimate a gesture I almost couldn't breathe. I saw his nipples become hard nubs poking out of his shirt.

Agonizingly, blissfully slowly, he rubbed the precome over the Red Delicious -sized cut head of his gargantuan cock. He leaned back and closed his eyes slightly as he smoothed the precome around and around until his whole cockhead was shiny and glistening. I swear I could hear the wetness as he moved his thick fingers over the head.

"That feels really good, <NCbear>." His deep soft voice was almost a sex groan. I could feel my own balls start heading up toward the base of my cockshaft. This was becoming really erotic, even compared with my dreams and fantasies about him.

"Let's jack off together," he urged, his face serious and still, one thick thumb still spreading the precome around.

In answer, I dropped my pants further down my thighs and took my own cock in my left hand (he was on my right, so I figured he might want an unobstructed view; that's me, always helpful).

Soon, the wet slapping sounds became stickier and stickier, and I noticed his cockhead wasn't so shiny any more.

"Coach, you need some more lube?"

"Yeah, <NCbear>, I do" -- and then he surprised the hell out of me by reaching over and grasping my cock harder than I'd ever done and milking my cock's precome into his hand, one smooth motion as I gasped and thrust my hips forward from the sensation of his callused hand on my sensitive cockhead.

He laughed, "Not so soon, son, not so soon! I'm not ready yet."

"DAMN, Coach! That was almost too good!" I was still breathing hard, my chest heaving, reeling from the dual shock of his touch (both psychological and physical).

He again rubbed my precome excruciatingly slowly over his enormous cock head, obviously luxuriating in the feeling.

This time, though, he picked up speed earlier and rubbed harder. His cockhead grew impossibly larger and redder, and his face grew almost as red as his cockhead. His massive chest started heaving, and his balls began to pull up toward the base of his tree-trunk cock.

I could hardly keep up. I knew he was heading toward glory, so I pumped faster and faster, myself.

[to be continued]

finish the story!

Great story so far. I can't wait for the big finish!

Don't you hate it when you cum before the characters do? What a great story.

My left hand, curled into a fist around my cockshaft near the head, pumped faster and faster, pulling the skin over the head and then back again with each stroke. I began thrusting my hips forward in counterpoint, feeling my frenulum pulling tight at the extreme end of each forward thrust.

"Aaah! Oh! God! Yes! Coach!" I couldn't help it. I always get vocal when I'm close, and even if a whole church full of Fred Phelps' followers had been within earshot, I'd still have started groaning loudly with each thrust.

Coach was staring intently at me, his eyelids half-closed with concentration. He too was pumping faster, his right bicep flexing with each big smooth thrust into his giant right hand. It looked as though he were rubbing wood oil into the handle of a baseball bat.

His left hand alternated between one tight nipple and his extra-large balls, which were beginning to draw up even tighter.

"Yeah, <NCbear>, yeah, son, do it!" His breathing grew even heavier as he encouraged me to push onward toward my orgasm.

I couldn't stop. My left hand became a blur as I rose up on the balls of my feet and leaned back, holding on to the urinal handle with my right hand to keep my balance. That familiar near-coming feeling seemed to rise up from the soles of my feet and up through my straining legs and through my balls and then forward out my shaft and out the tip....

"AAAAhhhh! Ohhhhh! Aahhh! OOOOOhhhh! DAMN, Coach, damn! Oh, damn, that feels great!" My whole body jerked spasmodically with each bullet of come spurting out of the tip of my dick. I couldn't get enough air, and everything became a little hazy. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Coach come like there was no tomorrow.

First, he started thrusting with bigger motions, and his face and neck grew even redder. Then his cock swelled up even larger, impossibly, and his dick head and balls grew so tight they looked like living marble. Finally, he threw his head back, showing an enormous Adam's apple, and shouted out his own ecstasy.

"I'm coming, son, I'm coming! Dammit, <NCbear>, I'm coming! AAArrgh! Argh! AAGH! AAAAAaaaaaaaahhhhh...." And then there was a huge puddle of come in front of him on the beige tile floor.

I had to bend my knees or else I would have passed out right there. He clung to the wall as though he felt the same way. We both stood there, breathing hard, as our heartbeats slowed and our cocks went back down.

After several long minutes, he turned to me slowly and grinned. "<NCbear>, that felt great!"

"Sure did, Coach!" But I wondered what would come next.

Was this it? Just buddies jerking together from time to time? I had no idea what he was thinking.

"Let's do this again, all right? But in a safer place. How about..." -- his voice lowered, as though he were momentarily less sure of himself -- "...my house?"

"I'd love that, Coach!" And I was sincere. It was as though the clouds that had obscured the sun had been blown away. His opening the door and taking that chance -- now that I had turned 18 -- had made everything possible.

_____

From then on, we talked, laughed, spent time together, and made love as often as possible, ignoring the age difference and the fact that we'd begun knowing each other as coach and student. I went off to college but came back to my hometown to teach. He and I are now the openly gay teacher couple who are volunteer firefighters, take in stray animals, and buy all the remaining Girl Scout cookies on our street. Oh, and we also host the annual neighborhood barbeque competition, with our two adopted children (Lai and Enrico) as judges.

And every evening, we visit my now-frail mother in her room at the local nursing home. She loves Coach as much as if he were her own son.

At the end of every visit, she reaches out and tousles my (now thinning) hair and says, "I'm so glad you're happy, <NCbear>."

Nice. Thanks for making my jeans uncomfortably tight. It's amazing how you found a way to weave your mother into the story.

great hope there's more

What a great finish. That was hot.

Thanks for the compliments!

I have some more stories:

Glances
El Rey (at Haulover Beach in Miami)
Sailing on the NC coast
ECU college student (inspired by a memory)

Enjoy!

NCbear (whose jeans get uncomfortably tight sometimes, too)