My first sexual experience of any kind was with the coach of the wrestling team, Mr Abraham, that I had secretly lusted after for some time. In my last year of high school, I found myself being kept behind so often after class that it was becoming second nature. It wasn't that I was disruptive or a trouble-maker; I just had a quick temper and wasn't good at following orders from authority figures. I was battling with deeply hidden emotions, not sure whether I was into girls or guys and this led to a great deal of pent-up frustration and anger. Also, I was a day-dreamer and would often find my head full of thoughts that kept me awake at night, my cock hard under the covers, until I had to take myself in hand to relieve my aching loins. I would often picture the other guys from the wrestling team, but had found myself thinking about Mr Abraham more and more, his natural masculinity a real draw to me and my secret passions.
The latest incident happened in gym class, when Coach Abraham overheard me call one of the other guys a 'fucking cunt' during an argument that had broken out between us. Zeb Wilson was a cocky son-of-a-bitch and always winding me up and knew exactly which buttons to press and I just lost my temper with him.
"I don't appreciate hearing that kind of trash in my gym, Smith. Stay behind after class," Coach Abraham barked.
I sighed inwardly, embarrassed at having been called out in front of the other guys, who seemed to move away from me, not wanting to get caught in the middle.
So later, after the last bell had rung, I waited on the bench in the locker room for Coach Abraham to come in and read me the riot act. He had a reputation of being a hard task-master, making guys do press-ups or laps around the gym, so I stayed in my shorts, anticipating that my punishment would involve some sort of physical activity. The locker room door slammed open and Mr Abraham came in, dressed only in a pair of sweats. His ripped, muscular body was covered with a thick coating of hair and I found my eyes being drawn to his manly chest, which was glistening with sweat. He was always tanned and had tattoos on his arms that were obviously from his days as a Marine. He kept his head shaved short and had a pair of sultry brown eyes that seemed to study your face when he was talking to you.
"You got a potty mouth on you, Smith. Where did you learn to talk like that?" he asked, standing over me, hands on hips.
"I'm sorry, Sir. It's just that he wouldn't leave it alone," I replied. "Zeb just rubs me up the wrong way."
"That's no excuse. I don't like that to hear that kind of language from my students. You've been spoiling for a fight for some time now. What's gotten into you? You got trouble at home, is that it?" he asked.
I wasn't about to confess the reason that I was so short-tempered was due to a simmering sexual tension within me, not when Mr. Holmes was stood within touching distance. I could almost imagine myself reaching up and caressing the big bulge that always showed in his joggers. I often wondered if he wore underwear or was just naturally gifted in the penis department.
"No, not trouble at home, Sir," I managed to reply, licking my lips that had grown dry. I found it almost impossible to swallow; I felt like I had an obstruction in my throat and was aware that my heart had begun pounding.
Mr Abraham gave a deep sigh and sat down beside me. His thick, muscular thigh touched my leg, but he didn't move it. The smell of him was intoxicating; a heady mix of aftershave and sweat.
"I remember what it's like to be your age and I wasn't too different myself, Smith. I mean, it wasn't such a long time ago, y' know. I always felt angry at the world; always fighting my feelings. You got problems with a girl, is that why you're so antsy?" he enquired.
I let out a short laugh. "No, Sir, not a girl."
He paused for a moment, then quietly said, "A guy, then?"
I looked at him, shocked that he might have read me so easily. Was 'SMITH THINKS HE MIGHT BE A FAG' written on my forehead in big, ugly letters or something? My face felt hot and I felt that I might pass out at any moment.
"Hey," he said, placing a hand on my knee, "I'm a man of the world. I know what it's like when your hormones are raging all over the place."
I was mortified to realise that my prick was hardening in my shorts as a response to that pressure on my leg. He gave my knee a slight squeeze and I almost moaned out loud. Suddenly, he got up and moved towards the row of rusted red lockers than ran the length of the locker room. I couldn't move; I was stuck to the spot. I saw the tattoo on his back, just at the top of his spine and nestled between his shoulder blades and willed myself to keep calm; to focus on anything but the swelling in my shorts that was beginning to hurt and make my balls ache.
"Perhaps a bit of physical exercise will help you with your aggression, Smith," Coach Abraham said now, then turned his back on me again.
"Yes, Sir, maybe so," I managed to respond.
"Maybe I'll join you," he said, then proceeded to pull down his sweats, exposing his tanned and toned ass that was perfectly encased in a startlingly white jock. He opened one of the lockers and reached inside.
I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I could not tear my eyes away from his glutes and his thick, muscled legs. All the moisture from my mouth had disappeared again and I swear he could hear the dry click from across the room as I tried to swallow.
Mr Abraham turned to face me, and I could see that he was getting aroused. If I had thought he was big before, it was nothing to the swelling that was there now. The material on the pouch of his jock was straining across his hardening dick and it was mesmerising. In his hand he held another jock, which he tossed across the room towards me. I caught it and held it close to me.
"This is a spare I keep, Smith. Best put it on," he said.
