"Run it again, Harris!" Coach yelled.
I could barely hear the whistle he blew as blood pounded in my ears. Sweat dripped from my shaggy brown hair down my face and onto my smooth chest. The sun beat down on my bare upper body. Virginia summer, and all the humidity that came with it, was in full swing.
I returned to the starting line before running the drill yet again. Coach Williams was the assistant football coach at my high school. When colleges began showing an interest in me athletically at the end of my junior season, he offered to hold extra training sessions to help prepare me for the college recruiting season, and my senior campaign with the team.
It started with extra time in the weight room in the winter, but quickly ramped up in intensity as the weather got warmer. I practiced with the rest of the team during the spring semester but usually stayed later or got there early. Now that it was summer and I'd recently turned eighteen, Coach had me training twice a day including most weekends.
It was Saturday and I could see the park next to the school filling up with children and families enjoying a hot, cloudless day. I ran drill after drill until I was covered completely in sweat. My grey, mesh shorts had turned several shades darker as they became more and more saturated.
"Nice job, Harris," Coach said, using my last name as all coaches and teammates did on the field. "Take a minute to rest. We're running routes next."
I sat down on the bench by the water jug and rehydrated. My legs were already starting to tremble, and I knew we had a lot more left to do. Coach used to be a QB in college -- and was even drafted to the NFL but sustained a career-ending injury early on -- so he knew what he was training me for. He knew how to prepare me for success.
My heaving chest calmed as I caught my breath. The sweat on my forehead began to dry before I heard a loud whistle that forced me to my feet.
"We'll start with stick routes," Coach said as he peeled off his shirt.
Although he hadn't run the drills with me, he still had sweat marks below his neck and under his arms. After all, we'd been out in the scorching, summer sun for a couple of hours.
I knew Coach was in great shape. I'd seen him shirtless around the locker room plenty of times even though the coaches typically changed in their divided part of the locker room. But seeing his muscled, hairy chest glistening with sweat in the sunlight gave me a fluttering feeling internally.
We ran route after route interspersed with blocking drills. By the end of it, Coach had joined me in huffing for air on the bench by the water jug while we both dripped sweat onto the turf below.
As we rehashed the training session and Coach gave me pointers, I couldn't help but appreciate how handsome he was. I'd noticed it before, but more out of admiration than desire. He was a man I hoped to embody as I grew up. He worked harder than anyone and it showed.
His tightly cropped dark hair looked shiny from sweat. His sharp jawline and straight, white teeth kept me engaged as he reviewed the practice and gave me pointers. But I couldn't help being distracted by his incredible upper body.
His arms were cut like a model off the cover of Men's Fitness magazine. His pecs were easily twice the size of mine. And he had a thick coat of fur that covered his muscular mounds while his ripped abs -- a very impressive feat for someone in their early 40s -- were largely smooth aside from a trail of dark hair in the center that disappeared into his waistband.
He wore the same mesh, grey shorts that I did which were hiked up his thick, muscled thighs as he chugged water from a paper cup.
"Harris, you still with me, son?" Coach asked as I realized I was still staring in the direction of his crotch. I looked up into his piercing blue eyes which shone brightly in the sunlight.
"Sorry, Coach. I'm with you," I said. He continued without mentioning where my eyes had drifted.
After he addressed all the things I could improve upon and commended me for things I'd done well, he stood up and stretched. He raised his arms straight up above his head and arched his back slightly. I briefly noticed a bulge at the front of his mesh shorts as his hips thrust forward. I didn't allow my eyes to linger for long, but it certainly got my brain firing in all directions.
"Finish up with your cool down out here or in the locker room. Up to you. I need to shower," he said as he grabbed his sweaty shirt from the ground.
"I need to get out of this sun," I said as I grabbed my things and followed him toward the field house.
"Got plans today, Coach?" I asked. Normally, he lifted weights by himself after we finished a training session. I'd always appreciated seeing him work up a good sweat as I changed after showering.
"Got myself a date this afternoon," he said with a big smile.
"Alright, Coach! Who's the lucky lady?" I asked.
"She's a history teacher. For the freshmen," he said.
"Ms. Newbury? She's hot, Coach," I said.
"She is, isn't she? I guess I probably shouldn't be talking about another school staff member like that around you," Coach said.
"I won't tell anyone, Coach. But just so you know, all the guys on the team wanted to bang her when we took her class. They'd all be jealous as hell if they ever found out," I said.
Coach and I laughed and I couldn't peel my eyes away from his perfect teeth and smile. We reached the weight room and Coach threw his phone, keys, and shirt in his office before walking toward the locker room.
"Do your cool down out here, Harris. I'll let you know when I'm done," Coach said as he disappeared through the doorless frame that connected the weight room and locker room. At the back of the locker room were communal, gang-style showers.
Even though I was a legal adult, and we could very easily run into each other in a community gym's locker room and showers, the school still had strict rules against coaching staff and students showering at the same time.
As I started my cool-down routine and I heard the shower turn on, I desperately tried to keep my mind from imagining Coach stripping naked and scrubbing his impressively built body.
My sexual experience at that point was limited to girls in my school. Sure, I'd jacked off with friends before, but I'd never done anything more than that with another guy. I'd thought about it, many times, and after educating myself online I realized I was at least bicurious, if not bisexual.
My cock betrayed me as I stretched on the padded weight room floor. It grew in my jock strap while my mind painted a picture of Coach's ripped body under the flowing water. His thick chest hair would be matted down. The water dripped down his taut abs and into his groin.
Although I'd never seen his cock in the flesh, I'd seen its imprint in his shorts plenty of times to know it wasn't small.
My heart began beating rapidly when a thought popped into my head. Coach rarely showered while I was still around so it had a one-time opportunity feel to it. At least that's what I told myself. I battled internally for what felt like several minutes before I gave in to my teenage hormones.
