I started swimming as I was small for my age and not very athletic. I wasn't particularly fast, but the swim coach spotted me doing laps and thought I had potential.
I accepted his offer to join the swim team and began practicing with them. He worked on my technique and soon I was keeping up and beating the swimmers who had the long limbs people think of swimmers having.
Coach was a disciplinarian and used his whistle and a paddleboard to get the attention of his athletes. If he didn't like your stroke or thought you weren't putting in the right amount of effort you had better be ready to duck the second you heard his whistle because a few seconds later he would launch a paddle board in your direction.
I knew the swim team and I would part ways as I was headed to university.
I had never done anything competitive so it was a bit of a revelation to discover I liked to compete.
Coach and I got along. I didn't know why at the time, but I seemed to be his favorite. Maybe it was because I was coachable, eager to please, and put in a lot of effort to continually improve.
Or maybe it was something else.
I never talked to him after practice so it wasn't like we were buddies outside of the pool.
My parents have a small role in this story. They had met coach. They ran into him at a store or party and talked to him for a while.
Weekend was approaching. My dad's view of his offspring was they were a source of labor. He was a big believer in idle hands being the devil's workshop. Finding things for us to do was also a bit of a power trip for him.
He wasn't above loaning us out to others who needed a hand.
I was finishing up the yard when he told me he had something for me to do.
"Coach is moving into the neighborhood, two streets over. He needs some strong backs to move his things. I told him you'd help."
It was pointless to argue, and Coach had been good to me, so I answered, "Yes sir," and asked what time he needed me.
He told me a time. Next morning I headed over to Coach's house.
There were a few other people at the house to help with the moving. I thought we'd be done in a few hours with all the help he had. Turned out Coach had a lot of crap to move. He also wanted us to set everything up.
I knew zero about Coach. I didn't know his marital status (divorced), where he went to college (OU), if he had kids (yes, adults), what he did for a living (never did find out) or pretty much anything else.
He was in his late forties which made sense since his children were adults. He wore black framed glasses, what we jokingly referred to as birth control devices because they were so plain and made the wearer look like a bit of a nerd. He was clean shaven. He had short brown hair and brown eyes.
Nothing remarkable about him. He was of average height but taller than me as I was short. He looked fit.
He had nice things. By early evening we had all the boxes emptied, furniture assembled, closets, pantries, and cabinets filled. His pool of helpers had changed throughout the day, but I stayed the entire time.
The day was winding down and I was about to leave with the other movers when he asked me to stick around for a few minutes. He said he needed my help.
I shrugged my shoulders and said I would.
We really hadn't worked together but now we were hanging paintings and moving furniture around. It had been a long day and I tweaked my shoulder blade.
He told me how much he appreciated my help. I told him it was my pleasure. He also noticed I was favoring my shoulder.
I told him it was nothing.
He said, "Bull. We need to work that kink out before it gets worse. Let me see."
It wasn't a request but an order. He was an authority figure. I faced away from him. He massaged both shoulders for a minute. It did feel good.
"Better?" Coach asked.
I answered, "I think so."
"Just to be sure, you should let me give you a massage."
"That's not necessary Coach. It's late."
"Nonsense. It's not too late. A half hour and you'll be on your way."
He then asked, "How about it?"
I agreed to have him give me a massage.
"Great. It's better if your muscles are all warmed up."
A minute later we were in the master bathroom.
He grabbed a couple of towels, threw me one, told me one was for drying off and the other for wrapping around my waist.
He closed the door behind him.
My body sensed what was happening was not normal. I had a sudden urge to defecate. I was a bit embarrassed not just crapping, but having a touch of diarrhea at his house.
He did ask if I was okay. I told him I was fine.
I then knew he had been listening for movement in the bathroom. Looking back, I think he was wondering if I would bolt or for a reason to come in.
I stripped down, turned on the shower, let the water get hot and stepped in. I felt nervous and my penis seemed to be trying to retract. In spite of the heat I had goosebumps.
I kept telling myself to relax, that what was going to happen wasn't weird, that I'd get a massage and be on my way. I reminded myself he was my coach and looking after me.
I got out of the shower, toweled myself dry. The mirror was fogged over so I didn't look at my reflection. Once I was dry, I wrapped the other towel around my waist.
I hung the damp towel to dry, took a deep breath, and exited the bathroom.
Coach was sitting on the edge of the bed. The covers were pulled down. He had spread a few towels on the fitted sheet.
I was a bit surprised to see he was only wearing underwear, but didn't say anything.
He must have read my mind because he held up a bottle and explained, "Can get messy. I don't want to stain my clothes. And it's more comfortable."
He tapped the bed indicating that's where he wanted me.
