It was June in Fort Lauderdale. If you've ever been there, then you know that June in Florida means the weather is hot, humid, and sweaty. It was Friday, the day after my eighteenth birthday. I didn't know it then, but that Friday was the turning point of my life. Everything is different now.
My name is Aaron Paul. I had just finished my junior year of high school, and I thought life was looking pretty good. I was one of the star players on my high school's varsity baseball team. I was getting straight A's in all of my classes. I even knew that Rachel Ross, the hottest girl in my grade, had a huge crush on me.
My original plan for that Friday night was to go grab a bite to eat at Coach Michael's house and then head over to my buddy Nick's party, where everyone popular in school was going that night -- including Rachel. My mom had just left to go on a two-week vacation in Europe, and I was planning on having a fun two weeks without any parents around to tell me what to do or when to be home.
Coach Michael is basically the father I never had. I lived with my Mom ever since I was ten years old, right after my father left. Not shortly after, we both met Coach. My mom had me going to play on a little league team two days a week after school, and Coach Michael was the team's coach. He was the best coach I could have ever asked for. After a while, he started coming around the house more often and helped my mom out with chores and played a role in raising me. When I started high school, he was the coach for the baseball team. I always asked my mom why she never tried to date him, but she said that they were always just friends.
Michael was forty-seven years old, but he looked really great for his age. He had a nice, short, trim beard, with defined facial features, big blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Some of the senior girls at school sometimes called him a "silver fox." I don't blame them -- he was a good-looking guy. It always confounded me that he didn't have a wife, or even a girlfriend. I always assumed he just liked to live alone or wasn't into any serious relationships, and went on tons of dates with hot girls on the side. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.
Coach asked me to come over to his place for dinner that Friday night so that we could celebrate my birthday. I'd been over to his place for dinner a countless number of times, so I didn't even think twice about it. He lived alone in an awesome house. He was also a great cook, so I was excited to see what would be for dinner. Since I just turned eighteen, I figured he might have bought me a cool present, too. He was usually pretty generous.
I got to his house around six o'clock in the evening. It was hot and humid outside, and I was a little sweaty having walked all the way there in the heat from my Mom's house about a mile away.
I knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened and I saw Coach Michael in the doorway. He was wearing gym shorts and a muscle tank top. I could see his chest hair poking up from underneath his shirt, and I could see the sweat glistening on his shoulders. I could tell he had just been working out.
"Hey, there's the birthday boy!" He said as he reached in for a hug. I hugged him back, reluctantly, because I could smell the fresh sweat evaporating off his body into the air I was breathing. I didn't have any hard feelings, though; he was like a father figure to me, after all. To be honest, his scent was kind of comforting in a paternal way.
"Hey, Coach." I said as he led me inside his house and closed the door and locked it behind us. "Good to see you."
We walked into the kitchen together and I took a seat on one of his barstools. I could smell something delicious coming from the oven.
"What did you make tonight, 'Chef' Michael?" I teased.
He smiled. "Pot roast. You'll love it." He walked over to the fridge and grabbed two beers. "Want a beer?"
I was shocked. In all of the time that I knew Coach, he never once offered me an alcoholic drink.
"Uh, sure," I said, "are you sure?"
"Yeah! You're eighteen now, in my eyes you should be old enough to enjoy a drink from time to time." He opened up the beer bottle and handed it to me.
"But before you take a sip," he added quickly, "I need to ask you an important question."
He looked pretty serious. "What's up, Coach?" I asked as I put down the bottle on the table.
"Do you trust me?" He said as he looked directly into my eyes.
I was caught pretty off-guard by this question. It just seemed so out of the blue. I started to chuckle, but he didn't join in on the laughter.
"I'm serious, Aaron." He said, not removing his eyes from mine. "Do you trust me, with all your might?"
"Of course I do, Coach." I said. "You're like a father to me."
He smiled. "Good. That's good. There's something I want to show you. Something that I think you'll enjoy a lot, but you have to be open-minded." He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Do you trust me and my judgment enough to let me show you?" he continued.
I laughed. "Of course."
He smiled, but then his smile quickly faded and he looked down at the floor.
"Well..." he tried to find the right words. "I have one more question. Will you forgive me if I show it to you and you don't like it?" He seemed really serious.
"Of course, Coach," I said, not knowing what I was about to get myself into. "You'll always be good ol' Coach Michael to me."
He smiled a very warm and proud smile. "Okay," he said, "drink up your beer."
I grabbed my beer bottle and clinked it against Coach's bottle. Then I took a very large gulp.
"So what is it that you wanted to show me, Coach?" I asked.
His smile was fading. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen," he said grimly, "but I wasn't sure how else to open up your world without being a little mischievous at first."
I was very confused. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but all of a sudden, my head started to feel very light.
"Coach, I don't...feel so...good." I started to slip off of the barstool. Coach was behind me. What was going on?
"It's okay, Aaron" He said as he hoisted my arm up over his shoulder. "Let's get you to the couch."
He walked me over to the couch and I plopped down heavily. The last thing I remember is looking up into Coach Michael's eyes as I slowly drifted off into a very heavy slumber.
.....
When I woke up, I was in a bed. It took me a while to gain feeling in my whole body. I tried to move my muscles one by one; I ached all over. My head was pounding. I could barely open my eyes.
Where was I? The last thing I remember, I was sitting down in Coach's kitchen, drinking a—
The beer. Was it the beer? I felt so hungover. But that doesn't make sense, nothing makes sense. Why couldn't I remember anything?
I finally budged my eyes open. I was in a bed, in a room with no windows and just a door. And then I realized -- there were handcuffs around my wrists and my ankles, attaching me to the bedframe. Someone locked me up there.
I tried to scream, but not much sound came out of my mouth. Just a faint croak. My voice needed to warm up. I needed water. I was so thirsty.
Just then, the door opened. Coach Michael came in and closed the door behind him, and calmly came up to me and sat down in a chair next to the bed. He was wearing the same tank top and gym shorts he was wearing before.
"Listen," he began. "I want you to know that—"
"What the fuck is going on? Where am I? How long was I out?" My voice finally came back, although it was pretty weak. I started shaking my head in confusion. But still, I honestly didn't freak out as much as most people would have—like I said, Coach and me were really close, so deep down I was somehow sure that there was a logical explanation for what was going on. Or at least that's how I felt in that moment. Maybe it was some kind of eighteenth-birthday prank with my friends, for all I knew.
"Look, Aaron." He leant closer to me on the bed. "Listen to me without talking and I'll give you some water, and then we can have an adult conversation. You've only been out for three hours, and you're in my guest bedroom." He seemed really serious. I didn't like it; I'd never really seen that side of him before.
"Calm down, Coach." I smiled, trying to make light of the situation. "What, did Nick put you up to this or something? Where are the guys?"
Coach didn't smile at all. "I know that this isn't right," he began again, "but there's something that I want you to open your mind to. I know you'll be reluctant at first..." He looked down at the floor again. I could tell he was conflicted between making me comfortable and trying to assert his power over me in the situation at hand.
He softly rested his hand on my stomach and began to caress me over my shirt. It tickled slightly, but I was too in shock to laugh or protest.
"Alright, I'll just cut to the chase." Coach moved his hand up to my chest and started to rub me there. "When I was your age, on my eighteenth birthday, a man that was very close to me did the same thing I'm doing to you right now." He moved his hand over to my right nipple and began to slowly play with it between his thumb and forefinger. My nipples were very sensitive, and I began to squirm a bit. I finally understood a little better what was going on and what Coach's intentions were. I didn't think I was going to like what I was about to hear.
"I was reluctant, too, at first. He drugged me and tied me up and..." he paused and looked into my eyes, trying to find sympathy from me. "Aaron, he opened my eyes to a lifestyle I had never imagined living until I was thrown into it. And I became obsessed with it." He moved his fingers over to my other nipple, and started to play with it between his soft fingers.
