Bisexual Coach
by mandezulu
Note: bisexual man seduces younger (age 18 and up) pupils, examining and touching of a sexual nature. All is fiction and real abuse or inappropriate touching of unconsenting persons is immoral, illegal and we do not condone or endorse. The use of homosexual slurs is used but not in a hate crime way, but in the heat of the moment and as of "owning the word." The use of these words is not condoned or encouraged by the author. All is fake and imagination.
Coaching wasn't something I had honestly planned to get into but I was always into sports, competition and liked to help others so it just worked out that way. I was originally schooled in the Arts, Literature and abstract concepts but as I got more and more into weight lifting, got tattooed, and otherwise tried through social means to look like a bad ass, those ivory tower aspirations and knowledge took back seat to looking like I could get cast as a bodyguard in a direct to dvd movie. All jokes aside, volunteering was something I had been doing since I was 14, out of boredom and later because I discovered most times it wasn't hard, the good will I could generate and only lose time were the driving factors. I worked at a donation service like Goodwill, then a school in a recess supervisor role, and now here I was teaching college strength training to a bunch of 18-23 year olds. I was expecting the Dean to ask for my certificates but my huge arms, tattoos, stern confidence demeanor secured me the position. He laughed and mentioned that some things can't be taught in the classroom, to which I readily agreed.
There were occasionally older students, or returning adults from the workforce trying to refresh their resumes, but they didn't come to strength training classes. Young males, nearly always with some muscle on their skinny frames, full of testosterone and swear words, they were my soldiers, my blocks of clay. It was seen as, and really was, an easy physical education credit. As long as you broke a sweat, lifted some weight and put in a decent effort you'd get an "A" from me. The kids who "yes sir, no sir" to me I gave a C- only because I wasn't raised that way thinking verbal affirmation equated to respect. Respect is shown through actions and kindness, words are cheap; plus brown nosers were assholes, regardless of the age.
As would be expected, the word faggot was thrown around a lot in the weight room. I don't put much weight into the homophobic slurs and such in the locker room, like I said if the work gets done and no one is disrespected, it's fine in my book. It was easy to find a bully and punishment was class-related, such as 15 speed reps on the bench press, or 30 second wall sit and 10 burpees. Without fail, physical exercise robbed their fast running mouths of clever or cruel things to say. I was myself bisexual and would readily stand up for those who were afraid to for themselves.
I tried not to have any favorites but I did have a few. The quiet ones who showed incredible strength but took no congratulations or pats on the back I liked because they reminded me of myself at a younger phase of my life. The big ones who through genetics and not hard work, who put in a decent work effort but I knew had more energy in the tank, those louts I worked hard, sweat dripping down on the black work mats into what I called "snowflakes," these young men had great potential but needed to be shown they had it and not to rely on daddy to always pay the bills or get them out of a tight spot.
As cliche as it sometimes was, I was making men out of boys. There were 1 or 2 leaders in most periods, guys who encouraged one more rep or led by example, they were worth their weight in gold. It was a mixed blessing though, often the adulation went to their egos and instead of being humble, it turned into macho bravado. I have seen the fall of many a young man from loser to leader and then to scumbag bully with his toxic attitude. Many factors go into this transformation I believe; how parents influenced them, how they want to appear to their peers, and importantly how they stand on the pedestal and wield power over the mentally-weaker ones, the boys who lack ambition and a creative spirit. Those lads are the ones who are sheep, easily led because they never had good role models. Willing to do most anything to gain "respect" from their peers, not even knowing why they wanted it, only because they envied having power and never had it before. As it can be easily understood, that pitfall is an easy trap.
I can make you strong as a bull and able to pull a 600lb dead lift but if there's nothing upstairs, that time in the weight room will become a memory and not a moment that will be cherished or appreciated in future athletic endeavors. To me it makes no sense that after years of training and sport that once a man graduates he moves into IT or Biology and puts down the weights and looses that testosterone energy! There is an innate urge, a will, to want to continue to be better, stronger, more respected, a confidence that can rarely and truly be grown; sometimes I thought I saw it emerge and other times I put a match to a lad, but quantifying it and duplicating it I think is impossible. The ones that had that insatiable need, it was a gift but also a curse if coupled with a perfection mindset; those were the ones I looked for.
I had never made a move on a young man in the weight room, I tried very hard to separate my personal life from my work life and had succeeded until one day....
=
"Get on your knees, faggot!" I heard the yell from the shower room and put down my clipboard and walked from my office to the steam-filled locker room proper. There I saw Adam, the smallest blonde boy on his knees, completely naked surrounded by the 2 bullies, Jerome, a hulking Moroccan youth with broad shoulders and a horse cock, and Trevor, an older Italian boy with a history of disciplinary violence. Trevor will always be a name of a fuckup or bully, not just from this one lad but in general, Trevor is an asshole name. The two boys were on the left and right of Adam, who had gotten down and was squatting on the yellow tile floor, his hands covering his head. He looked pathetic and I caught a glimpse of his penis which must have been erect upwards because I only saw a large set of testicles touching the tile floor. Adam was whimpering, the very image of pathetic. The two bullies were laughing and pointing out his weaknesses. Both of them were naked, evidently comfortable being naked together.
"Little blonde bitch, you can't bench even 95 lbs! Motherfucker struggles with the bar itself, Jerry." Jerry was Jerome's nickname because when he asked girl's fathers if he had permission to date their daughter he was rejected using his given name. "No negro will date my princess," Jerome sneered to a class mate, then detailing how how he forced his 9 inch meat stick into his current girlfriend's dry vagina. His laugh made me angry, and now as he was humiliating Adam I snapped at him, walking directly towards the two.
"Jerome! You like bullying naked men, huh? You'll fit in real good in prison, where you can grab your ankles in the shower room every day! And you, Trevor, I see your little Italian sausage is getting hard. You enjoy a naked boy at your feet? Get out of here you faggots. I'll call the Dean right now and report both of you for a hate crime. You won't even be able to get a job at Walmart with that on your record! You heard me, get the fuck out of here!" Adam looked up I saw his small erection and shocked look on his face.
I had rarely yelled in anger and they both turned tail and walked out, grabbing towels and slamming lockers shut on their way down the hall. I reached and turned off the shower handles, Adam getting to his feet. The young lad had his signature bowl haircut and large brown eyes looked down at the floor. My dress shoes had gotten wet and the leather would be ruined.
"What the fuck was that, Adam?" I asked him, waiting for him to raise his chin and his eyes to meet mine. This was a defining moment in his life, I knew that and wanted to handle it right. I put my hands on my hips, felt stupid because I probably looked like superman, and then sat on the wooden bench in between the long row of lockers. The boy stood still, his hands at his sides, facing me. I was at eye level with his cock which I got a good look at. It was below-average length, shaved clean and he sported a large set of testicles which hung nicely, slightly lower than his cut member. I reach out and touched his thigh and spoke softly, "Sit. Let's talk." God, I had to stop looking at his dick, get my head straight.
Adam sat down on the bench, sideways and had a leg on either side of the bench, his legs spread wide open and again I had a great view of his hairlesss erection; he seemed oblivious to it. The Freshman was an easy target for the bullies. I had encouraged him many times to stand up for himself, he always hung his head and was either dead silent or sighed loudly and said "yes, Coach." There was no winning or educational progress that could be made with a resigned attitude like that so I would let him go, giving some weak platitude about how if you acted weak others would treat you that way, be man, stand up for yourself, etc. I know he heard it but actually taking action seemed out of his grasp or even trying. If the locker room was a prison, he would definitely be the prison bitch, the punk.
"Have they done that before, son? I know they're assholes but that looked rough." Again he hung his head, putting his hands on his knees, drawing them up and then down into a cross-legged position, his back leaning against one of the red metal lockers, tears in his eyes. I was disgusted with him but knew showing that would traumatize the poor kid more. He would be thinking about this moment many more times in his life, how he was humiliated in the locker room, coach saw his little dick, he was pushed around and called a faggot, queer, homo, and would probably go transgender if given the chance. He was no man, just a boy, a loser, a punk with no where to go, the future was bleak and hopeless. The 18 year old Freshman made a fist and slammed it on the bench between him and me.
"Those fucking fucks always fuck with me. I wish I could stand up for myself, Coach Roberts, I really do. I can't tell when is a good time and then I get tongue tied and, fuck, it all just gets fucked up, you know? I hate those guys. If you hadn't come along they were going to make me suck their cocks. I'm not gay! I mean I don't think so."
I was floored that he had the capacity for anger in his heart but he sounded desperate, pushed to his breaking point. Handling this situation was probably best for the trauma counselor but I wanted to say a few words, something not ham-fisted or cliche to help him out. Get him thinking on something else, give him time to process these events.
"Aww shit, I don't know what those assholes had planned, I doubt even they knew. Bullies are just major league pricks, they do whatever they think will hurt you the most. I bet Jerome and Trevor are gay, making you sit down on the floor and having their dicks out. That's really gay if you think about it." Adam looked up at me with his large brown eyes and he nodded, his eyes red but no longer crying.
