He always looked at me, his eyes inspecting every inch of body, every birthmark. A boy gripping the chains on the swings so tight his hands might break, probably. He looked me over again with a curious expression on his face. For a moment I thought he was leaving and I almost screamed. He squeezed and pulled gently at my dick through my shorts. His tongue slipped in and out of my mouth, around my lips, finding my neck. My dick was lost in Coach's grip and I began to feel faint. My dick was so hard it hurt as it pushed against my shorts, begging to tear the fabric. His lips were thinner than mine but fit my mouth perfectly. His eyes were usually the color of peridot, but now were dark and clouded by his thoughts. He took his sunglasses and set them on his head. His hands hung over his crotch, concealing everything. While my head was upturned I was sure that I had seen movement in Coach's shorts. Coach was twisting his class ring on the his finger, watching me tip the bottle straight up. I sat on the middle one and chugged the last of the blue liquid down. The sun began to set as he handed me a drink and slammed the trunk. I followed him across the park and into the parking lot. "Lets go to my car, I have drinks", he decided. I don't know what he saw when he looked into my eyes. I was thin but firm, a little tall for my age but that was never a problem for guys. My legs, firm from running and dotted with sweat, shifted from nervousness. I wanted to feel that warmth again.įrom behind the sunglasses I saw the coach look me over. His hand left my shoulder and I panicked inside. The way you move across the field, It's almost." His words tapered. "Thanks, do you think I'm any good?", I said with a small smile. I hoped he thought my red face was from running. Every time I looked at him I could only do it quickly, and always looked away bright red. His hat was backwards and I was sure his eyes were smiling behind his sunglasses. He was tall and stocky in his red shorts, and his whistle hung low to his waist. They were hardened by his years yet soft on the underside.Ĭoach had a way of talking out of the side of his mouth, a quirk I found annoying and yet incredibly sexy. The weight and size of his hand had always stood out to me. We had only been practicing for a few weeks but I knew I felt close to him.Ĭoach walked over to me and set his hand on my shoulder. I had just gotten a new coach, who had promised he would help me win a game for the first time in my life. It was the summer after I graduated high school, and I was keen to keep up with soccer. The front part of my damp hair hung low over my face and I pushed it back. With one final thrust of my foot the ball was in the goal. I never let the ball get away from me if I could help it. I shot across the field, kicking the ball in and out of cones, panting and shaking. Warm wind pressed my shorts against my body, making my uniform tighter.