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Coach's Experiment

Posted by: Age: 18 then Posted on: 4 comments
3 likes 22 views Category: Masturbation Male-Female Tags: Male-Female, Masturbation Male-Female, massage, handjob, basketball, college, athletics

Another story from a client.


As I'm sure you know, basketball is a demanding sport. By the end of a game, if you've played properly, your energy is entirely spent. When I was 12, I was a bit taller than other kids my age, and people kept suggesting basketball. I was totally uninterested. I can't explain why, but over the course of a year or so, I became enamored of the sport. By the time I was 14, I was 6'2" and as it turns out, sort of a local star among kids my age. Having watched Harlem Globtrotters endlessly on YouTube, I had mastered a number of their tricks, and invented some of my own, which only made people think I was even better at this sport than I am.  Of course I got into college on a basketball scholarship. I know it's crazy, but I'm studying all the time. Oh, basketball is tons of fun, but what I really want to do is become a surgeon, maybe working for a while as a volunteer physician in a third-world country. The scholarship and perhaps a few years of pro play will make that possible. So, the first few weeks of school were just great, although I was a bit disappointed that all my classes weren't medically oriented. One has to complete the junior education first - biology, Latin, Chemistry, things of that sort. It's actually kind of fun anyway. But the most fun was the basketball practice. Most of the guys on the team are as tall as me, some taller. That's a refreshing challenge. I'm not the best player any more! Along about the third week, after a couple of local meets, the coach said that we were dragging like a bunch of old ladies. He then announced it was due to nutrition, and he put us on a strict diet: No sugar, few carbs. I didn't much care for it, but knowing what I do already, he's right. Then he said something else that I found rather too straight-forward, or what you might call personal: He said that our sex or masturbatory habits were probably all wrong. He announced that if we could control the timing, we'd be a more successful team. OK, that was alright. Then he went on to say that to that end, he had set up an experiment. This would be the first year his team would try it.  He made arrangements with a masseur and a masseuse to administer handjobs on the day before games. He actually used the word 'handjobs.' We were not to ejaculate between the time of these massages and a game. I was floored, as were everyone on the team. I saw several of the white guys' faces turn bright red with embarrassment. I didn't know the coach that well yet. surely he was joking. He concluded by telling us that this was a real treat. We were to cherish these handjobs, and take them as our reward for complying with his plan. If I wasn't as black as I am, I'm sure my face would be as red as the others. For the next couple of days, nothing more was said other than a lot of speculation among the team as to whether this would really happen, or whether the coach was touched in the head (he's a famous coach who's been guiding winning teams for many years). Then I received an email from the athletic department. My first massage was scheduled for 6:20pm the next day. Whattt? I was flummoxed. Dumbfounded. I was also thinking perhaps the coach was just making up the handjob part. Or maybe that part was optional. Top athletes do get massages all the time, after all. His email was in HTML and had a little reply box with two radio buttons. Did I want a male or female practitioner? Really! Well, you can bet I choose female. I didn't want some random guy touching my junk. Come to think of it, I really didn't want some woman doing that either. Bad enough when you get your balls checked in a physical. I checked with some of my teammates, and they got the same email, but scheduled at different times. We were all quite confused. This couldn't be real. To be fair, the emails never said anything about 'handjob.' Maybe they were just regular massages. I can't tell you how many flip-flops my heart and stomach did as 6:20 rolled around. I mean, as a solid athlete and student, I hadn't even had sex with any girls yet. I was happy to wait. Oh, yes, I'd get crazy and jerk off every now and then. OK, like once or twice a day. But never, ever, by someone else. I walked over to the little room off the lockerroom, and knocked on the door. I had no idea what kind of woman to expect. I half-wanted it to be an old, heavyset lady, so I wouldn't get all crazy. The other half of my mind imagined a super-sexy young chick. Maybe like this one player on the women's team I had been meaning to at least say 'hi' to. A guy answered the knock, opened the door and let me in. He immediately introduced himself as Jackson, my massage practitioner. "What... what?" I started to stammer. He cut me off, "Almost all the guys want a woman practitioner. There's only two of us, Shelly and me, and I'm afraid you're stuck with me... There's a lot more to this memoir. Let me know if you want me to keep going...  

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