Pride Story

I remember thinking he was the best looking man I had ever seen.

True, in all of my eighteen years I hadn’t exactly “been around”…..at least not outside of rural Oklahoma. Just the same, he had a kind of intense masculinity that is still hard to forget. He couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, but he was unlike any other adult male I had ever seen. Even now, I think of the unreal blue of his eyes and the dark brown hair that swooped and curled across his forehead. The cleft of his chin and the hard angles of his stubble-covered jaw continue to push their image into my brain with little prompting. To be honest, however, as perfect as his face seemed to me at the time, it is the thought of his body that is most firmly planted in my memory. The first time I saw him he was in slacks and a freshly starched shirt with his sleeves carefully rolled back exposing the thick dark hair of his large muscled forearms. His tie was loosened and his collar undone, showing the hair at his throat that seemed to swirl across his body….or so I imagined. My imagination was rewarded the next time I saw him as he was wearing the shorts and shirt that became his uniform. The hair on his massive thighs and calves was the exact match to the fur on his arms. His chest and biceps pulled and stretched the fabric of his shirt and I could just detect the outline of his rounded nipples. I tried to picture his chest without the neatly tucked shirt and imagine the sea of hair that would gather and flow down to his crotch. I could easily detect the bulging mound of flesh that filled and strained the front of his shorts and moved and shifted as he walked or sat. Looking back, I bless the fact that he didn’t favor long baggy shorts. His were fairly tight and brief with a laced fly in place of a zipper. I used to lie in bed at night and think about those laces and the soft cotton they held together. I tried to picture myself untying that string, loosening those laces and releasing that mound of thickly swaying flesh. Obviously, I thought about Coach Nelson quite a bit.

Yes, I know; fantasies about the “High School Football Coach” are a well-worn cliché. In reality, however, I was too young and inexperienced to know that at the time. I just knew he was the man that first made me think about men in a way that I had never consciously done before. He thrust himself into my dreams and forced his powerful maleness into my willing thoughts. He was unreal and yet very real all at the same time. When I heard his impossibly deep voice I would swallow hard and catch my breath. When I caught sight of him my head would swim and my vision would blur. I tried to avoid the impulse to stare, but my eyes were unwilling to look away. Luckily for my sanity, I wasn’t playing any sports the year he moved to our town to coach. He also taught a science class which I had already taken from a teacher without Coach Nelson’s assertive appeal. The only direct contact I had with him was in the halls of the school as I went from class to class. He would nod and smile slightly as we passed while my knees wobbled and my palms itched. I wasn’t sure if he knew how he affected me, but he always made a point to look me straight in the eye and hold my gaze. It was my senior year when he arrived and I would soon be leaving for college. I would always be grateful, I thought, for the memory of him and the images he gave me…and that would be all.

As it turned out, however, he gave me so much more than memories.

The summer before I left for college I spent most evenings working out. I was killing time, really, as I wasn’t working and I was ready to be out of the house. The high school grounds held a small cinder-block building, the “gym”, it was laughingly called, filled with weight machines and assorted bar-bells. It was kept unlocked for the use of the athletes and any student interested in using it. I went in the evenings because I knew it would certainly be unoccupied (everyone else, apparently, used it in the morning, if anyone else used it at all) and I didn’t want to have to make conversation with the cocky jocks on the football team. That said, I was certainly not a skinny weakling, nor easily intimidated. I had filled out well over the course of the summer and my own muscles were growing and developing in a way that I was becoming accustomed to. I was also sensing that other people were noticing my rapidly maturing body, which I liked. At eighteen I was finally feeling comfortable in my own skin.

Early one evening, around the first of June, I drove once again to the small gym. As I pulled up to the front of the building I saw a black ten-speed chained against the fence near the entrance. “Damn”, I thought, “someone else is using the machines”. As much as I disliked the idea of sharing the gym, I certainly wasn’t going to pause in my nightly ritual. Sure enough, as I walked toward the door, I could hear the clanking of the weights as they pounded and slammed against each other. I paused at the door for a moment before turning the knob and tried to mentally place the owner of the bicycle. Everyone I knew who was likely to use the weights would have driven a car. I didn’t know of any current students who rode a bicycle; any high school student would rather be caught dead than ride a bicycle. As a matter of fact, I only knew of one person who made a habit of pedaling around town……….as I swung the door open it came to me:
“Coach Nelson!”
“Oh!.....hey there….Tom”.
He knew my name? Well, yes, of course he would know my name, I told myself. It was a small school, after all. He surely knew the names of all the students and their parents besides. At the risk of invoking another cliché, I have to say I stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn’t just the fact of his being in the weight room that made me freeze; it was the sight of him. He was positioned on the incline chest-press midway to lowering the weight. His furry legs were planted squarely apart and his large downy arms were bulging and throbbing with the strain of the lift. He was wearing those shorts with the laces that I had long fantasized about, but in place of the usual polo-style shirt he was wearing a grey tank top cut off just above his navel. A tank top, I noticed, wet and stained with the residue of his sweat; the same sweat that dripped from his matted hair, lingered on his forehead and pooled at his full upper lip.

“Here for a workout?”
“Yes sir, coach”, I managed to gulp out. I actually felt my blonde hair tingle.
“Well, you’re in luck then. I’m just finishing up, but I can ‘spot’ you if you need a hand.” With that, he lowered the weight and smiled for the first time. Not the smile that he gave me when we passed in the hall, but an actual full-out, happy-to-see-you smile. How come I never noticed his impossibly white teeth before?
“Well, thanks coach, but I just use the machines”, I croaked.
“Really? You’ve got a nice build on you…I figured you must use the ‘free-weights.’”
A nice build? Did he actually say I have a “nice build”? If Coach Nelson noticed my intensely blushing face he didn’t indicate it; he just continued to smile and bore those deep blue eyes directly into my own.

After what seemed to be hours (and was probably a few seconds) he rose slowly from the weight machine and walked casually toward me. Without meaning to, and powerless to do otherwise, I felt myself stare up and down his powerful body. I helplessly lingered on his wet, dripping tank top and the nipples that now showed through the damp fabric. My eyes drifted to his shorts with the laces and the covered mound that, if anything, seemed even larger that my unformed fantasies. Finally, reluctantly, I returned my wandering eyes to his handsome face that towered above me. Pausing for a moment he continued to look directly into my blinking eyes. He smiled again, slightly, and I blinked once more.

“Here, let me show you some things.”
His already deep voice seemed to grow even deeper with a gravely softness I hadn’t heard before. He placed his large hand on my shoulder and led me over to the bench press.
“I know you haven’t done this before, but I’m sure you’ll like it.” Keeping his hand on my shoulder he placed his other hand on my chest. His massive palm and outstretched fingers moved lightly across my t-shirt. Could he feel my heart pounding against the thin fabric?
“Just lie on your back and plant your legs apart…..yeah, that’s right…..good boy.”
I did as he told me; I couldn’t do otherwise and didn’t want to, and besides, I couldn’t even form words at that point.
“I’m going to start you off easy…..let’s see how much you can take….don’t want to tire you out all at once.”
“Umm….Ok”, I managed to bleep.
“Ok, sir”, he grunted, correcting me.
“Ok, sir”, I returned.
“That’s right….you’re gonna do just fine. Just do what Coach tells you to….like a good boy.”
“Yes sir”.
With that, he chuckled a bit and lifted the bar-bell from its stand. He was standing at the head of the bench and I looked up at him. From that position, he seemed even more massive and powerful than ever before. I stared once more at his gleaming chest, his powerful arms and the ridges of his stomach I could plainly see under the hem of his loose tank top. I could smell his sweat and see the drops that ran down the narrow river of dark hair toward his shorts. I actually imagined that I saw the bulge under the laces throb and grow larger.
“Now grip the handle….farther apart….there you go…..good boy!”
“Yes sir.”
He lowered the bar-bell into my hands and I felt the sudden, groaning heft of it. I wasn’t sure how much weight he was giving me, didn’t dare ask, and for a moment I struggled to balance the heaviness. He sensed my unsteadiness and held the bar in his more experienced grip.
“You’re doin’ fine….now bring it down toward your chest….don’t worry, I’m in charge….that’s good, now exhale.”
Carefully, I eased the bar lower and felt my muscles burn and ache. I was unsure and nervous about my ability to lift the weight from my now wet chest. My whole body seemed to tingle and strain in a way it never had on the machines. The coach was still staring at me….but not into my eyes anymore. I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be studying my abdomen.
“Yer doin’ fine……now bring it up….that’s right, easy does it.”

I still don’t remember how many ‘reps’ I did that night on the bench-press. Frankly, its a wonder to me that the whole night isn’t a total blur. At the time, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. When I recalled it later, however, time seemed to speed up and the events of the evening all ran together. I’ve tried to write down everything as I recall it, exactly as it happened. In any case, I know I have recorded the most important details…and of all the important details the most important is what happened next. This is one “detail” I will never forget.

After the coach set the weight back on the stand, he looked back toward my face.
“You just lay there and rest for a bit……I’ll be right back.”
Raising my head slightly, I saw him retrieve his ring of keys from a hook near the door. He lifted the jangling tangle of metal, selected one and thrust it into the knob. Turning it forcefully, I heard the bolt click into place.
“There. Now we won’t be disturbed.….no matter how loud you get.”
“….uh…no sir.”
“That’s right boy; you just remember who’s in charge here.”
Walking slowly back over to me he stood at the foot of the bench, his thick legs planted apart and gazed once more into my eyes. He lifted his hands slowly and ran them evenly over his chest, pausing at the peaks of his nipples and extending his fingertips to stroke them lightly through the clinging fabric. I heard his breathing, deep and labored like my own, rush past his open lips. He closed his beautiful eyes, only for a moment, and then stared once more back into mine. I saw him gather the hem of his tank top and slowly lift it past his stomach, above his chest and over his head. He stood for a moment with the damp shirt in one hand as I allowed my eyes to leave his face and memorize his torso. As much as I had imagined the secrets hidden under his shirt, I don’t think I could have conjured up the reality of his body. Outside of a comic book, I had never seen those kind of muscles….and haven’t since. The hair on his body just served to accentuate the mounds and ripples of his lean, v-shaped build. His large, dark pink nipples were the exclamation points to his twin slabs of meaty chest, while his stomach and abdomen was text-book “six-pack”, consisting of two neat rows of alternating ridges. His luxurious sweat only highlighted the highs and hollows of his heaving presence.

“Looks like we both worked up a sweat”, he whispered hoarsely, ”let me take care of that.”
Stepping forward, he straddled the bench and lay his tank top across the back of his thick neck, letting the ends hang loose toward his granite chest. As he leaned forward slightly, he placed his strong hands under my thighs and lifted my legs while he squatted to sit opposite me on the bench. With my legs still raised, he shifted his body forward until I could feel the laced mound of his firm, hard crotch push into the damp crevice of my buttocks. He lowered my dangling legs to rest on top of his own and then placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me down across the wet bench, lodging me harder against the massive bulge.
“That’s a good boy…..just relax.”
“Yes sir….” I panted.
He brought his waded tank top up to my face and began to wipe the sweat from my forehead. He moved it across my cheeks and near my mouth. After he had caressed my face with the wet cloth, he tossed it onto the floor and gazed once more at me.
“Let’s have a look at you, boy.”
I watched as he placed his beefy hands on the neck of my shirt and gripped the fabric. In one easy, quick gesture, he effortlessly pulled the fabric apart as it tore across my torso into two useless strands. It fell from my shoulders, off my sides to drape over my arms. The sound of the ripping fabric filled the small room and I felt his insistent crotch pulse and throb once more.
“Oh yeah…..that looks real nice.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Even in my immature fantasies I had never imagined this. I felt like a toy, his rag doll, unable to protest or resist. Looking back, I know that is just what he wanted and he as much told me so.
“You’re going to be real good, aren’t you boy? You’re going to do just what coach tells you, ain’t that right?”
“Yes coach….Sir…just what you say.”
He smiled once more and brought his hand up to my chin and held it in place. I could feel his fingertips caress my jaw as his thumb moved back and forth across my parted mouth. Without thinking, I opened my lips while he slipped his thumb inside. I closed my eyes and began to feel him move in and out with a lazy rhythm. Bringing another finger forward he placed it beside his thumb and pushed it farther down my throat.
“Suck on those fingers, boy…that’s right…..get ‘em nice and wet.”
More fingers followed and I sucked each one into my willing mouth. I’m sure I must have been moaning at that point; I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. I do remember hearing his deep, steady breathing and the feel of his now fully hard meat pulsing and pushing though his shorts farther into the valley of my damp ass cheeks.

“You like sucking, don’t you boy?”
“Mmmm” was all I could reply.
Withdrawing his wet fingers from my mouth, he leaned forward until I could feel his heavy breath on my face.
“What’s that you say, boy?”
“Yes, sir…I like sucking.”
“I thought so….time for some real sucking. This coach is ready to get a nice, long sucking.”
Realizing the enormity of what was happening, my head drifted outside my body. This all seemed so unreal……but it was real, alright, and he was making sure I knew it. Slowly, carefully, he raised my legs once more and shifted his body to the end of the bench. Lowering them again, he stood up and moved his hands to his waist, all the while never taking his eyes from my own. I remember him unlacing his shorts, pulling them off his waist and then kicking them aside to expose the stretching, straining cotton of his bursting jock-strap. I seem to remember him telling me to raise my hips as he leaned forward to jerk my own shorts off as well. What I do distinctly remember, can’t ever forget, was the first sight of his cock. Up until that moment I was rather proud of my almost seven–and-a-half inches. Yes, I measured it religiously, like most adolescents. I know I was fully erect at that moment, couldn’t help it, but his erection was another matter entirely. It bounced up from his crotch as a stream of pre-cum danced from its swollen head and landed across my stomach like a silky lasso. His penis was in direct proportion to his height, now that I think about it. He must have been around six-three tall and his dick was nearing ten inches, easily. I knew instinctively it was large, but experience has taught me just how extraordinary it was. As if the unreal length wasn’t enough, it was impossibly thick and veiny and throbbing with a life of its own, almost independent of this mountain of a man. His low-hanging horse-balls swayed from side to side as he planted his giant legs astride my own as I lay on the bench. Once more, the slab of meat bounced between his mammoth thighs as he moved closer to my mouth, straddling the bench and my chest. Sitting down firmly, heavily, astride my panting torso, he reached once more between my lips with his fingers and forced them inside. His giant cock pulsed and leaked above my chin and I felt his sweaty, silky balls resting between my nipples, teasing my skin. After a moment, hee eased his fingers from my mouth, raised his hips from my chest and leaned forward until the pulsing, dripping red head of his cock was touching my parted lips. He placed his strong hand under my neck and raised my head slightly. I closed my eyes for a moment as my own cock bounced and strained.

“Open up boy and take this dick.”

Without thinking, I placed my hands on his hard buttocks as his even harder shaft plunged down my throat. His own hands moved firmly to the sides of my head as he slammed further past my lips. Holding me strongly, he thrust his meat into me as I felt his hairy balls slap against my now wet chin. I opened my mouth as much as I was able, struggled to breathe and still there was more thick cock pulsing and pushing into my helpless throat. I could feel the muscles in his ass tense and ripple under my aching fingers as he pounded the muscle between his legs deeper inside me. It was more, much more than I could take and I could feel myself gag as the mucus gurgled around the shaft. I wasn’t really sucking at all; he was fucking my mouth deep and long and I could only struggle to hang on to his thrusting hips as the sweat from his balls slathered my neck and the thick pre-cum coated my throat. He continued fucking for an eternity as I hung on and tried to open wide enough to take every hard pounding inch. He plunged deeper and harder to ram at my mouth as his pubic hair sanded my lips. Just as I thought I would pass out from the force of the fucking rod, he slowed down and finally paused. I could hear his fast breathing slow slightly as he reluctantly eased the long, thick slab from the back of my well used throat. I could feel another wad of sticky spit gather in my mouth and coat his tool as he brought the rounded, burning head past my lips.

“Damn, that’s a nice mouth you got there boy” he growled deeply. Once more his eyes bore into mine as he released my head and sat heavily once more on my stomach. He continued to stare as he straightened his back and lazily stroked his still ram-rod hard dick poking up from his bushy crotch like a fleshy log. It was slick and sticky from the liquid he worked up from my throat and I could see the creamy spit ooze and gather between his fingers and dribble onto his squirming balls. He casually released the pulsing meat and reached for the remains of my shirt hanging from my shoulders. He yanked the fabric from behind my back and placed it on my chest. Again he ripped at the threads in one gesture until he was holding one ragged length of cloth in each hand.

“Raise you arms”, he commanded.
“Yes sir.”
I lifted my arms into the air as he stared down toward me.
“No boy, against the bar-bell.”
I did as I was told and lowered my outstretched arms until I felt the cold metal rod against the back of my hands. Taking first one and then the other shred of my former shirt, he expertly tied my wrists into place. The knots were neither tight nor binding, yet I knew they would hold me helpless regardless. I was in his control and he was totally in charge. As if he could read my mind, he once again reminded me of this fact.
“You’re gonna be good aren’t you boy…you’re gonna do whatever your coach tells you aren’t you….boy?”
“Yes sir…I’ll be a good boy.”

Once again his hand moved to his upright cock. Once again he worked the still fresh spit from my mouth up and down the engorged shaft. He seemed to be teasing me with the sight of it as he played with the hard thickness and ran his fingers toward the round head. I could see another bucket of pre-cum ooze onto his thumb and he tickled it out until it dripped near his knuckle. For a moment he released his grip as he brought his hand again toward my lips. I felt him raise the weight of his body from mine as his thumb slid past my lips and I tasted the silvery liquid. I licked and lapped at the juice from his dick as I felt his heavy, sticky balls lift from my wet torso. I closed my mouth around his finger as he move back toward the foot of the bench. Slowly, carefully he eased his finger out of my mouth and, straightening up, moved his hands once more to my thighs. He gently caressed the muscles and moving lower, massaged my calves and then moved his hands toward my ankles. Gripping one in each hand, he pulled my legs wide apart. Lifting my head slightly I looked once more toward his face. He smiled evenly and tightened the muscles in his jaw. He bent his knees slightly as his hefty furry thighs bulged and strained. Once more I pulled and jerked against the secure bindings that held my arms in place as I felt the doorknob head of his cock dance and tremble against my wet hole. He paused for a moment and locked his eyes into mine….and then slammed the hard full length into my virgin hole.

As much as I had struggled to take his mighty log down my throat I struggled much more to bear its length in my clenching ass. As I tried to catch my breath, his burning, plunging rod bore deeper and deeper as he lifted my ankles higher and pulled my legs further apart. I could feel the hot shaft pounding my chest as he leaned hard into me. Looking up, I could see the muscles of his torso moving and tightening under his glistening skin. I could feel the sweat drip from his pointing nipples as he leaned forward again, bending me further to pound more of his massive cock up to its hilt. I could feel him slamming his weighty balls against my cheeks as I strained against the cloth that held my wrists in place.

My eyes flew open and I tried to speak. His own eyes continued to bore into mine as his ramming cock plunged faster into my burning hole. He lifted my ankles higher, now past my head, as he slammed his greased pole into my gut once again.

Finally, I found my voice.
“I can’t….can’t…Oh!”
“What’s that…..you say boy?” he spat out between thrusts.
For a moment he slowed his hard pounding and seemed to catch his own breath. I tried to speak once more, but my voice was lost again as I struggled to form some words. I could feel his cock throb once more deep inside me.

“Wassa matter, boy?”
“Its so big…..big….so big”, I panted.
“You want me to pull out?”
“Well…..”

I could feel him pull back slightly as his enormous dick began to ease slowly from my ass. Keeping my ankles in his firm grip, I sensed his ever hard cock pulse once more as the giant head paused at the lips of my dripping hole. I felt my burning innards tighten and throb once again as he waited for me to look back into his burning eyes.

“How’s that, boy?”
“Oh, that’s better….thanks, sir.”
“That’s good…..now how’s THIS?”

As he hissed out the last word he slammed once more into my gut. Farther than before he pounded into my body and rammed the head of his even harder cock past all my useless defenses. I swear I felt every pulsing vein, every angry drop of relentless pre-cum thrust its way into my heaving chest. Once again he plowed his hips against my ass as he pounded faster and harder and I felt his sticky balls slap and slam against me. Again he thrust harder to churn my insides as I pulled and struggled against the fabric that bound my wrists to the hard metal.

Coach Nelson rested one of my now rubbery legs on his shoulder as he reached for my young throbbing cock. Gripping it tightly, he stroked the hardened shaft as he poked harder against my hole. At the first instance of his touch on my penis I could feel my ass tighten and thrust back to take more of his powerful ramming. I could feel each stroke on my dick timed to each slam of his powerful, meaty thighs. I strained once more against the metal and fabric that held my wrists in place as I felt my body shiver and send a boiling surge of heat from my head, through my chest, down my stomach, up the shaft of my cock….and blasting through the pulsing head. My tightened eyes burst open as I felt another surge of his steel cock pound another shooting gush of juice from my own. He continued to stoke hard and fast on my dick as he slammed one last, punishing thrust into my pliable, dripping hole…….and then stopped.

This time he did actually pull out of me. Incredibly, his dick was still rock hard. He really seemed to have a stamina that at eighteen I took for granted. As I felt my body float back to earth I noticed him once more stroking his incredibly large piece of meat. My hands were still tied to the bar-bell behind me while he moved his body once more to straddle my chest. I could feel the weight of him on my torso as the back of his thighs rubbed against my nipples….and I longed to reach for his. I regretted that I hadn’t tasted the sweat from his chest. I wanted to chew on his nipples and work my tongue toward the lush furry pits under his giant arms. I wished to lick and lap along his continent-sized thighs and work my way across his furrowed stomach…..the very stomach that was now heaving and dripping as he brought his rigid cock near my mouth.
“Open up boy”, he hissed between strokes.
Obediently, I parted my lips and extended my tongue. He gasped hoarsely while a hot surge of cum blasted toward my throat. Leaning forward, he thrust his dick fully into me as another gush of salty, thick liquid flooded my mouth. Bucking further, he forced yet more of his shooting juice into my willing gullet while I struggled to swallow and savor every drop. Even as the flood of creamy semen slowed and stopped he continued to pound his pubes against my lips. To be honest, I didn’t want him to ever pull out…..but he did, eventually.

I don’t remember much of what happened immediately after that. I know he untied me and wiped my torso with his tank top. I also recall him reaching behind my back and pulling me forward into a sitting position. Once again he placed my thighs onto his own as he pulled me onto his lap, straddling his crotch so that my face was level with his…..and then….he put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me toward him. He paused for a moment, an inch or two from my nose, our breathing in sync, while he stared once again into my eyes. He opened his mouth slightly then brushed his lips against mine. I could feel the stubble from his chin scratch against my own as his tongue pushed past my lips, opened my mouth and swirled inside. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled me fast into his arms and held me hard and close against his damp chest. I felt his arms move across my back and kneed my muscles while my own hands reached around his massive torso to feel the hard firmness of his burning smooth skin. I closed my eyes and felt his tongue, like his monumental cock, push and explore ever inch of my mouth. He held me tighter as he caressed my lips with his own and I felt my body once again drift and float about the room. I don’t think the kiss actually lasted more than a minute or two, but at the time it seemed much longer. It seemed to go on for hours….and yet not nearly long enough.

I think we must have talked for a bit and then got dressed (well, minus my shredded shirt). He walked me to my car and I told him that I had just gotten it as a graduation present. It wasn’t new, but I was proud of it and the job I had done getting it clean and polished. In particular I had taken a lot of time on the upholstery. As I opened the door to show him he pause for a moment, then looked me once again square in the eyes.
“That’s some nice leather, boy”.
“Why thanks, coach.”
I liked that he noticed my hard work and wanted him to be pleased with me. After a moment, he reached into his wallet and pulled out what I took to be a business card. He flicked the edge of the hard paper against my bare nipple and I felt a bolt of electricity shoot across my chest. He watched my reaction carefully and then slightly smiled again before slipping it into the waistband of my shorts.
“I’ll expect you to be at this address on Wednesday at six p.m. That’s an order, boy…..I think we better see just how much you like some nice leather.”
“Yes sir, coach.”

Well, that’s another story, if anyone’s interested.