Meeting the Coach

Brandon Davies had been impatiently sitting in his car in the parking lot for the past half an hour staring at the training facility with both anticipation and anxiety. Either his fondest wish was about to come true, his hopes would be dashed, or -- perhaps worst of all -- he'd get the opportunity...only to come off like some sort of blithering idiot and make a fool out of himself in front of the man he admired the most. He shook his head to get those thoughts out of his mind. "Positive vibes only," he muttered softly to himself before checking his phone again. No message. "Dammit!" He'd checked his phone for the text he was expecting every five minutes or so since he pulled into the parking space. "What the fuck is taking so long?!" He tossed his phone into the passenger seat in hormone-driven frustration.

Moments later, he heard the buzz he was waiting for. Excitedly, he grabbed the phone. There it was. A text from his buddy, Jason: "You're good. Approved press pass should be waiting for you at the desk. Once you check in, someone will escort you."

"What took so long?" he typed into his phone.

Moments later, Jason's reply came through. "Sorry. He wouldn't agree to approve you until after I did the deed. And then he made me cuddle with him for half an hour afterward before he'd call to issue the pass for you." After a few seconds another message was added to the thread. "You owe me BIG TIME!"

Smirking, Brandon typed out. "That bad, huh?"

"TB man!" Jason's reply came instantly, making Brandon shudder.

A few years back, a friend who knew about Brandon's fondness for athletes and coaches had set him up on a blind date with a guy who was somehow involved in that world. It turned out the guy was an obnoxious sports agent...and not the kind who would fly you on a private jet to Rome for dinner on a whim and then throw his legs up in the air and let you fuck his hungry bubble ass later that night. The guy turned out to be an obnoxious prick who talked incessantly about his own greatness the whole evening and kept referring to himself in the third person. Worst of all in Brandon's book, when he wasn't talking about himself, all he wanted to do was talk about his favorite player of all time: Thad Burnett.

An hour in -- 50 minutes later than he should've -- Brandon had excused himself to the restroom feigning the need to take a leak and called Jason, desperately pleading for a rescue mission. Because Jason's sort of a prick too -- but a loveable, endearing one rather than obnoxious and exhausting -- Brandon received a phone call a full 15 minutes later, pretending there was a family emergency. Ever since that evening, the two friends used "TB man" as shorthand whenever either had a less than satisfying time with a guy.

Another series of texts flew into the thread. Obviously his buddy was not pleased, to say the least.

"Terrible kisser," "Tried to swallow my mouth whole," "Gave terrible head," "Was even bad at giving a hand job. Who doesn't know how to give a freakin' hand job?!?!" "And let's just say this... I used to subscribe to the theory that it's not the size of the rise but the motion of the ocean. Not anymore with this guy. I had to fake pleasure." "Luckily, it only lasted 2 minutes before he shot. 2 minutes of action, 28 minutes of cuddling. Worst. Sex. Ever!"

"Damn! Sorry, bud," Brandon typed back, chuckling in spite of how bad he felt.

"You're going to be!" came Jason's reply quickly. "You're slutting out for me to pay me back for having to endure this."

Brandon and Jason had been friends for over ten years. While both men agreed there was at least SOME sexual chemistry between them, they'd mutually decided their friendship was more important than sex. They'd made a gentleman's agreement that there were only certain "break the glass emergency" situations that might warrant the two of them ever getting it on. Sure. Paying back a big favor was on the list. But Brandon didn't believe that bad sex rose to the level of needing payback.

"I'm not letting you fuck me" the top under most circumstances typed back.

As if he already knew what Brandon was going to say, Jason sent a response almost instantly. "He had a micro dick, Bran. A micro dick!!! When we fucked, it felt like he was using his pinkie."

Brandon roared with laughter like an idiot, sitting there alone in his car. Luckily, no one was nearby to catch sight of him. Once he regained his composure, he typed the only thing he could into his phone. "Weird. This text thread is breaking up. How can there be static on a text thread? I'd better get going, I guess."

"Yeah, yeah... If I were a petty man, I'd wish you the same luck I just had. Instead I'll just say go have your fun. I hope it's worth it."

"Thanks, bud," Brandon typed back. "Fwiw, I appreciate you taking one for the team. I'll be in touch."

"You'd better! I want details."

Brandon smirked. Then without responding, he muted the volume on his phone, got out of the car, and headed toward the front door, the butterflies already doing a number in his stomach fluttering even more.

When he walked in, he was greeted by the friendly woman at the front desk who looked to be middle aged. "May I help you, sir?"

"Brandon Davies," Brandon put on his most winning smile. "I have an appointment."

"I don't remember seeing you on the calendar for today." She looked at her computer screen. "Hmmm. Looks like you're here after all. One moment, please."

Brandon smiled at her before she picked up the phone and spoke with someone briefly. Two minutes later, a guy who looked to be in his mid or late 20s came out, greeted Brandon, handed him a lanyard with a laminated press pass on the end of it, and escorted him back through a series of hallways until they came to a large door at the end of a long hallway. The kid turned to Brandon. "You're the last interview of the day. You'll have half an hour -- 45 minutes at the absolute most -- then he's got to get going. He has family plans this evening that he can't be late for. I'll tell Janine to collect your pass on your way out. Any questions?"

"No. I'm good," Brandon replied, feeling like his knees might buckle from sheer nervousness.

"Okay. I've got to head to a meeting. He's expecting you. You can go on in."

As the kid hurried down the hall, Brandon called after him. "Thank you!"

He clasped the doorknob and exhaled sharply, his hand shaking a little. This was a big moment. When he and Jason had cooked up this whole idea, it had started out as wishful thinking...a fantasy that wouldn't actually come true but was fun to think about. But it seemed like serendipity when the two of them ran into a member of the team's front office that night at a bar. Brandon had been the one to chat him up, getting all the inside info on the team without making it too obvious that he was fishing for info on his fantasy man. Ultimately, after some prodding and sweet talk, the guy agreed to get Brandon some face time with his fantasy man...but only if Mr. Front Office could snag some alone time with Jason.

Brandon had felt bad about essentially pimping out his friend, but desperate times called for desperate action. And it had worked. It had all led to this. Brandon was now standing with only a door between him and the man he'd lusted after for longer than he could remember. Unfortunately for Jason, it had led to HIM having to have sex with Mr. Front Office in order to land the coveted press pass for Brandon.

Finally, remembering the confident and self-assured man he was, Brandon brought his other hand up and rapped his knuckle on the door. He was more than ready for this!

"Come!" came the familiar-sounding deep voice from the other side of the door.

"If everything goes according to plan, we both will be by the time I walk out of here!" Brandon muttered to himself before gripping the handle tightly, turning it, and pushing the door open.

When he stepped through the door, he found himself in a large, brightly lit office with white boards on two of the walls that had sticky notes stuck to them and what looked to be plays drawn up on them. There were also file cabinets, assorted uniform jerseys, a couple of lockers, and large round table for meetings. Lastly, Brandon's gaze rested on a big desk where HE sat, looking at what looked to be a tablet. He looked up, smiled at Brandon and set the pad down. He rose to his feet and walked around the desk to shake Brandon's hand...a tight grip, Brandon noted happily. "Josh Harding," the man said jovially.

For a couple seconds Brandon didn't respond, distracted and overcome by the raw sexuality that wafted off of him. Quickly, he snapped out of it and shook the coach's hand. "Brandon Davies."

"Nice to meet you, Brandon!"

"Likewise, Coach!"

Harding clapped his hand on Brandon's shoulder, causing his cock to start growing right away. "My dad's Coach Harding. And weirdly enough, my little brother makes his kids to call him Coach Harding. Call me Josh."

"Okay...Josh!"

For the next five minutes, the two men shot the shit. Harding was every bit the type of man Brandon had hoped he'd be: kind, personable, friendly, and eager to talk sports. He'd subtly flirted with the 59-year old, but it seemed as if the man was completely oblivious to any of the moves Brandon was trying to make. In the countless number of fantasies he'd had over the years, this had always gone so smoothly. Casual conversation segued seamlessly into the best sex of Brandon's life. He was quickly finding out that real life wasn't quite so simple.

"I'm sorry, Brandon. I've had so many interviews today that they're all starting to blur together. What outlet did you say you're with?"

"I didn't," Brandon replied. This was the moment of truth. He'd heard stories about Harding's past attitudes. But he'd also heard how the man's viewpoints had evolved over the years. He hoped the man would continue to impress by how he responded to what Brandon would say next. He remembered the line he and Jason had cooked-up and fed to Mr. Front Office about who Brandon "worked for" in order to snag the face-to-face meeting. Brandon inhaled deeply and prayed Josh Harding wouldn't disappoint him.

Once Brandon divulged the name of his employer - a prominent Gay Sports outfit - Harding went silent. Then, his eyes wide and a sheepish look on his face, he simply said, "Oh. I see. Okay. Uhhh..." Then he looked down at his fidgeting fingers.

Brandon got the picture -- or thought he did -- pretty quickly. "If that's a problem, we don't have to do this. I can go."

He was halfway out of his chair when the coach's voice stopped him. "No. Don't go." Brandon looked at the Coach with his hand outstretched. "Please. Sit back down." Brandon was struck by the warm smile on the coach's face.

Brandon did as asked and was tentatively happy that maybe the older man was about to pleasantly surprise him. "Thanks, Coa... I mean, Josh. I have to admit though, I'm confused."

Josh smiled. "I'm sorry. That's my fault. First of all, I'm at the end of a VERY long day. Secondly, my surprise IS about who you work for, but not for the reason you might think. Like too many of my fellow coaches, I haven't had the best public track record when it comes to gay-related issues. My views changed a long time ago, but my previous reputation has preceded me enough that no gay sports outfits have wanted to interview me. I have to say I'm stunned you're here."

Thinking quickly on his feet, Brandon covered, trying to sound official. "Well, uh... My employer is always interested in giving people a second chance. We understand that individual attitudes and viewpoints change and evolve over time. I'm glad you're willing to meet with me."

"And I'm glad you and your outfit are willing to do the same for me," Josh replied, shooting Brandon that megawatt smile that usually made him swoon with desire when he saw it on TV.

With that, Brandon whipped it out of his pants...the voice recorder he'd brought along with him as a prop to look like an actual reporter. If this whole thing went south, at the very least maybe he'd have a voice recording of the coach to keep as a memento. Over the next ten minutes or so, the two men conducted an actual interview. The night before, Brandon had come up with a set of questions to ask, counting that somehow the opportunity to segue into sexual contact would present itself. But he didn't want to seem like an amateur and raise Harding's suspicions.

They talked about the playoffs, the team's early exit yet again, plans for next season, free agency, the draft and a few other related topics. Brandon was well aware that the 45-minute max window of time the young PR rep mentioned earlier would be coming up in roughly another half an hour. Feeling like there was a timer clicking down in his head, Brandon started to get anxious. In his fantasies, the transition to sex just seemed to...happen. In real life, he was having a hard time figuring out how to get he and Harding there. If the man were gay, it would be easy. Brandon considered himself to be pretty good at pulling willing ass. But he had no game when it came to straight men and nowhere was that more obvious than this moment.

Now passing 15 minutes into the time he'd been allotted and quickly approaching the point where even if Harding was suddenly magically up for fooling around, there wouldn't be enough time to do anything worthwhile, things changed. They'd motored right on through all of the questions Brandon had prepared, so things were about to get awfully awkward. It was then that the hunky older coach posed an unexpected one out of the blue. "Brandon, do you mind if I ask you a question? Uh... Off the record, I mean."

"Sure," Brandon said, unsure of where exactly this was going.

"What's it like?"

"You mean working at a gay sports magazine? It's, uh, interesting. Fun. Rewarding too, I suppose."

Josh brought his hand up to rub the back of his head and winced. "That's great. But that's not what I was asking. When I asked what it's like, I was referring to being with a guy...you know...in bed."

Things just got interesting! If he wasn't nervous about scaring the guy off, Brandon would've arched his eyebrow, flipped into Casanova mode, and turned on the charm. But he knew he had to play this just right to reel in a man who was probably as skittish as Josh Harding or when he pulled his line out of the water, the hook would be empty.

Trying to seem as innocuous as the guy next door, Brandon leaned back in his chair and smiled good-naturedly. "I like it...a lot, actually. Then again, I'm a gold-star gay, so I don't really have anything to compare it to."

"Gold-star gay?" Harding looked confused.

"Oh, sorry. A gold-star gay is a gay man who's never had sex with a woman."

Coach grinned. "I'm learning a lot of new things here!"

"Hopefully the first of many new things you'll let me teach you," Brandon had to rein himself in from saying out loud. Instead, sensing 'blood' in the water, he asked, "You find yourself being curious about the lifestyle, Josh?"

"Maybe a little bit," Josh hedged. Brandon didn't quite believe it when the man quickly added, "strictly from the perspective of wanting to know more about how other people live their lives. I studied anthropology in college."

"I see," Brandon mused, realizing that time was quickly slipping away. He sensed Harding was ripe for the picking, but he needed to move things along more quickly somehow without scaring the man off.

"I'm sure you know this about me from doing your research as a reporter, but I grew up going to Catholic school and we all know how the Church feels about homosexuality. So, I didn't really have a lot of exposure to gay people."

Brandon chuckled. "I don't know, Josh. Some of the kinkiest guys I've had sex with in my time have been former Catholic school students. I bet you knew more gay men when you were growing up than you realize."

'You may be more on the money than you know. That change or evolution -- whatever you want to call it -- in attitude several years back... It was because I found out that a couple of really good friends that I've known most of my life had come out. It made me start to see things in a new way."

"They say with anything that's scary, unfamiliar, or foreign, when you find out someone you know is involved with it, it can change your mind about it."

"I guess that's what happened with me. It made me start to wonder..."

The coach looked like he wanted to say more, but it was as if he couldn't bring himself to say it. Brandon had an idea where this was going and felt like pinching himself. Now he felt like maybe he was finally in the driver's seat. "Forgive me for assuming that I know how you're wanting to finish that sentence." He looked the older man in the eyes, hoping to convey a mix of sincerity, empathy, and lust. "But I'll just say if there's anything you want to know or experience, I'm willing to help out."

For a few moments, Harding sat there behind his desk looking across at Brandon. Brandon recognized the look in the man's eyes: curiosity, sure. But also a not minuscule amount of horniness and desire. Finally, the coach spoke. "You seem like a nice guy, Brandon. It must seem so strange that the conversation has gone in this direction. It's probably not what you were expecting when you walked into my office a short time ago."

"Expected? No. Hoped for? O-ho yeah!" Brandon thought to himself before sounding more conciliatory out loud. "It isn't. But I'm always grateful to come across someone who's interested in learning." Fixing his eyes directly on the longtime object of his lust, Brandon continued. "And I'm a really good teacher. Patient, gentle. I promise."

Harding chuckled softly, blushed, and averted his eyes down to his desktop. "I should be having this conversation...doing this...with a closer buddy. But, there are some things you can't imagine talking about or doing with your friends, you know?"

Thinking back to his text exchange with Jason earlier, Brandon curled his lips into a smile of his own. "Trust me. I know exactly what you're talking about, Josh."

His face still communicating tension and uncertainty, Coach fidgeted with his fingers. "So, uh... Let's say you were to help me experience what I've been wondering about... How would that go?"

"Got him!" Brandon's inner monologue screamed out triumphantly. "Dreams really do come true!" He had to be careful not to appear too eager, though. "We can go as slow as you want. Do as much or as little as you want. No pressure. Seriously. I mean...I know how to show a guy a good time. But I know how to be respectful and not be pushy."

"Wow..." Coach mused. Brandon noticed his posture stiffen a little. "This is happening, isn't it?"

"I think it is..." Brandon grinned, feeling enthusiastic at the idea of a fantasy he'd had for at least 20 years on the verge of actually happening right here, right now. He scooted his chair back from the desk. If this were another gay man he was trying to seduce, his first move would be to spread his legs wide and let Coach see just how fuckin' hard and ready for it he was right now. But if he didn't want to scare the married man off, he needed to be more subtle. "Why don't you come around here and lean against the desk?" he encouraged.

Harding's eyes widened and he blushed. "Uh... Maybe not the best idea right now."

Suddenly, seeing the coach's posture stiffen a moment ago made sense. It wasn't tension. "It's okay, bud," Brandon encouraged. "In a proper setting, what you've got going on wouldn't exactly be appropriate. But right now, I'm more than interested in it...and flattered as hell."

The older man beamed from ear to ear. "Okay, then... But first, let me take care of something."

Brandon watched as the coach rolled his chair over and grabbed a laminated sheet of paper off of a stack, got up, and walked over to the door. Over his shoulder, he called back to Brandon. "I'm going to lock the door so no one barges in, but I want to put this sign up to make extra sure no one interrupts us by trying the doorknob."