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The Coach's Helping Hand

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 02 Feb 2000 1 comments
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By 303Tom I was living outside this high prairie town. Small, boring, conservative. Hell with blue skies. On my way home, there was a park. Trees, a lake, paths, parking areas. I stopped there a few times a week to rest my eyes from the unrelenting brown, flat, featureless landscape. I'd sometimes check out the men's room by one of the parking areas. It was small, with a sink, commode and trough urinal, no partitions. When you sat, you faced the urinal in side view. Perfect to check out str8 dick pissing. One day as I came out, I passed a jogger going in. WOW! Early 30s, jogging shorts slit up the thighs, hairy legs, hairy chest. He had the lean, tight, low-body-fat body of a long-time runner. I turned to look at him as he went in and caught him looking me over as well. I might not have been old enough to be his father, but maybe his youngest uncle. He smiled. I turned on my heels and went back in. He was pissing at the urinal, looking back towards the door, smiling, his jogging shorts half way down his thighs. His ass was perfectly framed by the straps of his jock. His left hand, the one holding his dick, was decorated with a wedding band. I had no shame. I went directly to the urinal, unzipping on the way. He shuffled to one side, giving me room. As I assumed the position, I glanced sideways. He had pulled his jock pouch aside, letting his dick and balls flop out. His cock was a little puffy, his hairy balls were hanging low. He stared at mine as I hauled it out. I started going a little chubby, then more, then got throbbing hard. As if his could see mine, it matched mine step by step, throb for throb. It stopped growing just about at the 7� inch mark, thick, straight, with a large, well-defined head. It was obvious that we were both interested, but to forestall the inevitable "No, just looking for a blow-job, man" I decided to clear the air. "Hi! How are you?" "Fine, thanks" came back the masculine voice. "Yeah, I can see that. Need a helping hand with that big problem of yours?" "I'm sorry, coach. I can't help it. It gets so hard all the time. All the guys on the team laugh at me in the showers every time." "Yeah, I've heard the ribbings you get in the showers," I replied, getting into his obvious fantasy. "But when I stroll by to check things out, I see that you're not the only one hard. What do you guys do in there? There seems to be an epidemic of boners every time you're in there." "I.i.it always happens! One of us will get a little chubby, then we all will. One of us starts to rise, we all do. Then, before you know it, it's Woodie City! But they laugh at mine the most because it's the biggest." "Yeah. I've noticed." "Yeah, I've noticed that you noticed. Your crotch always has a big bulge by the time you turn to go back to your office." "Well, I can't help it. Sympathetic boner. Just like you stud jocks." Looking obviously at his ring: "What's the matter, don't see your girl enough? Or doesn't she put out for you?" "Oh, it's OK, I guess. I get it enough. But when I'm with the guys, I seem to get hard a lot�but so do they!" he said defensively. "What about you? You're hard too." "Yeah. It seems to happen around the guys a lot. After I check out the showers, I have to go back to my office, whip it out and pull off a load. Why don't you do the same with the guys?" "Aww, I couldn't do that! Besides, an athlete shouldn't blow too often. Got to keep it in for the big meet. Makes us tougher." "Where did you ever hear that? Don't you know that the best way to produce those hormones is to get off as much as you want?" "Yeah?" "Go ahead. Jack off for your coach. Let's check out your technique." At that, he smiled shyly, grabbed his dick and started fumbling. "It never feels good when I do it. I think I'm doing it wrong. Would you show me how?" I reached into my pocket. Like a boy scout, I was always prepared. Apparently, the coaches in his fantasies always carried jack off lube with them, because he evinced no surprise as I lubed him up, then started worshipping that perfect prick with my eyes and hand. Slowly stroking, caressing, feeling, probing. Taking those low hangers in the other hand and rolling them in my palm. He started gently thrusting, moaning, whispering quiet "Oh, yeah"s. He looked me straight in the eyes. "Oh, yeah. That feels better coach. Much better than when I do it. Can I practice on your dick?" He reached out, palm up. I squirted some lube into it. He reached down, and we were off in dick heaven, doing each other. Little grunts, moans, thrusts, shivers punctuated the silence as we both got into prick worship. We discovered each other's hot spots, best moves, secret places. As we got closer to the end, I whispered, "I'm close. Gonna do it!" Yeah. Shoot it on me, coach, jizz my tight abs. C'mon, show me how you do it. That's it. Squirt that stuff. Hit the bull's eye." And I did, giving him a cumshower right there in the park men's room. I jizzed him good. And by the glint in his eye, the smirk on his lips, he enjoyed every white drop. As I came down, I continued to play with him. He got this look of panic in his face, pulled away, and went to the sink. He washed away my pecker tracks, the lube, his pre-cum, and with great difficulty lost his boner. He packed up, looked down at the water splashes and wetness seeping through from his wet abs and pubes, and smilingly said, "Looks like sweat. She'll never guess." Then a cheerful "See ya, coach", as he left. I answered "I sure hope so" to the slowly closing door. We met only on Wednesdays for about a year at 5PM. He didn't feel good about "watching the game with a buddy of his" at my house on the weekend, only in getting out of the park by 6PM. We graduated to my truck, parked by the dirt road leading to the fishing-only pond. He'd follow in his mini van, with the child seat secure in the middle of the back seat. It was safer, gave us more time to play. And play we did. He never gave his name in return to my "I'm Tom". I was "Coach", he was "Kid". It was never clear if he was in high school or college, underage or an experimenting, horny young adult. We'd start out talking about the team, the guys in the shower, boners. We'd notice each other's bulges, play with them through our clothes, slowly take each other's out. He always wore the sexiest underwear - jock straps, thongs, bikini briefs. He always ended up making me cum, or avidly watching as I got myself off. Only once did I get him off. I asked if he had "seen his girl" last night, if he was going to "see her" again tonight. No, he said he never "saw her" the night after they fucked. When he came, it was a geyser! The ropes of white spunk felt so hot as they splashed on my arm, his tight abs, his hairy pecs. He laughed softly as I massaged his sperm into his skin.