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I started swimming as I was small for my age and not very athletic. I wasn’t particularly fast, but the swim coach spotted me doing laps and thought I had potential.
I accepted his offer to join the swim team and began practicing with them. He worked on my technique and soon I was keeping up and beating the swimmers who had the long limbs people think of swimmers having.
Coach was a disciplinarian and used his whistle and a paddleboard to get the attention of his athletes. If he didn’t like your stroke or thought you weren’t putting in the right amount of effort you had better be ready to duck the second you heard his whistle because a few seconds later he would launch a paddle board in your direction.
I knew the swim team and I would part ways as I was headed to university.
I had never done anything competitive so it was a bit of a revelation to discover I liked to compete.
Coach and I got along. I didn’t know why at the time, but I seemed to be his favorite. Maybe it was because I was coachable, eager to please, and put in a lot of effort to continually improve.
Or maybe it was something else.
I never talked to him after practice so it wasn’t like we were buddies outside of the pool.
My parents have a small role in this story. They had met coach. They ran into him at a store or party and talked to him for a while.
Weekend was approaching. My dad’s view of his offspring was they were a source of labor. He was a big believer in idle hands being the devil’s workshop. Finding things for us to do was also a bit of a power trip for him.
He wasn’t above loaning us out to others who needed a hand.
I was finishing up the yard when he told me he had something for me to do.
“Coach is moving into the neighborhood, two streets over. He needs some strong backs to move his things. I told him you’d help.”
It was pointless to argue, and Coach had been good to me, so I answered, “Yes sir,” and asked what time he needed me.
He told me a time. Next morning I headed over to Coach’s house.
There were a few other people at the house to help with the moving. I thought we’d be done in a few hours with all the help he had. Turned out Coach had a lot of crap to move. He also wanted us to set everything up.
I knew zero about Coach. I didn’t know his marital status (divorced), where he went to college (OU), if he had kids (yes, adults), what he did for a living (never did find out) or pretty much anything else.
He was in his late forties which made sense since his children were adults. He wore black framed glasses, what we jokingly referred to as birth control devices because they were so plain and made the wearer look like a bit of a nerd. He was clean shaven. He had short brown hair and brown eyes.
Nothing remarkable about him. He was of average height but taller than me as I was short. He looked fit.
He had nice things. By early evening we had all the boxes emptied, furniture assembled, closets, pantries, and cabinets filled. His pool of helpers had changed throughout the day, but I stayed the entire time.
The day was winding down and I was about to leave with the other movers when he asked me to stick around for a few minutes. He said he needed my help.
I shrugged my shoulders and said I would.
We really hadn’t worked together but now we were hanging paintings and moving furniture around. It had been a long day and I tweaked my shoulder blade.
He told me how much he appreciated my help. I told him it was my pleasure. He also noticed I was favoring my shoulder.
I told him it was nothing.
He said, “Bull. We need to work that kink out before it gets worse. Let me see.”
It wasn’t a request but an order. He was an authority figure. I faced away from him. He massaged both shoulders for a minute. It did feel good.
“Better?” Coach asked.
I answered, “I think so.”
“Just cebeci escort to be sure, you should let me give you a massage.”
“That’s not necessary Coach. It’s late.”
“Nonsense. It’s not too late. A half hour and you’ll be on your way.”
He then asked, “How about it?”
I agreed to have him give me a massage.
“Great. It’s better if your muscles are all warmed up.”
A minute later we were in the master bathroom.
He grabbed a couple of towels, threw me one, told me one was for drying off and the other for wrapping around my waist.
He closed the door behind him.
My body sensed what was happening was not normal. I had a sudden urge to defecate. I was a bit embarrassed not just crapping, but having a touch of diarrhea at his house.
He did ask if I was okay. I told him I was fine.
I then knew he had been listening for movement in the bathroom. Looking back, I think he was wondering if I would bolt or for a reason to come in.
I stripped down, turned on the shower, let the water get hot and stepped in. I felt nervous and my penis seemed to be trying to retract. In spite of the heat I had goosebumps.
I kept telling myself to relax, that what was going to happen wasn’t weird, that I’d get a massage and be on my way. I reminded myself he was my coach and looking after me.
I got out of the shower, toweled myself dry. The mirror was fogged over so I didn’t look at my reflection. Once I was dry, I wrapped the other towel around my waist.
I hung the damp towel to dry, took a deep breath, and exited the bathroom.
Coach was sitting on the edge of the bed. The covers were pulled down. He had spread a few towels on the fitted sheet.
I was a bit surprised to see he was only wearing underwear, but didn’t say anything.
He must have read my mind because he held up a bottle and explained, “Can get messy. I don’t want to stain my clothes. And it’s more comfortable.”
He tapped the bed indicating that’s where he wanted me.
“Lay down on your stomach.”
I got on the bed and did as he asked.
He stood up and said, “I’ll work your back side first then do your front.”
I had no idea his offer of a massage was going to be full body.
I also didn’t say no. I just stayed quiet.
He squirted some oil onto the back of my legs. He leaned over and started working the backs of my lower legs and ankles, rotating my feet.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“A little.”
“I could tell. You have goosebumps. Nothing to be nervous about. I don’t bite.”
It was a weird remark.
The edge of my towel went almost to my knees.
He asked if what he was doing felt good and I told him it did.
Lower back of my legs finished, he rather nonchalantly moved the towel up to where the bottom of my buttocks were exposed. He applied oil to the back of my upper thighs, worked his way up and down them, then decided to join me on the bed.
He was kneeling between my legs, moved from my thighs and started working on my shoulders and back. He was literally almost on top of me.
He commented I had muscles in my back and was lucky to have little body hair. He said something about how he had to remove his, especially on his back.
He was breathing heavier and I sensed growing impatient because he tugged at the towel and opened it, exposing me to him.
He exhaled loudly and said, “You’ve got a cute tush. Girls like guys with good butts.”
I didn’t know how to respond other than to say, “Thanks.”
He worked the backs of my arms, stopped for a second, got off of the bed, then back on.
I knew what he was doing, but didn’t say anything. I was in a state of disbelief that this was happening to me. I told myself I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t attracted to men.
He gets back on the bed, and goes to work again on my shoulders. He’s leaning çukurambar escort into me and I can feel his hardness brush against my bottom.
“Feels good doesn’t it? You like massages don’t you.”
I closed my eyes which he interpreted as consent.
He paused I think to coat his cock with oil. I could feel my sphincter pulsating. My penis had gotten hard.
He stretched out on top of me. I felt his breath on my ear. He used one hand to maneuver his cock up and down the length of my crack. Satisfied he had located my anus, he rubbed and prodded it with his cock.
The realization of what he intended to do hit me, but I made no attempt to bolt and I said nothing to stop him.
His mouth against my ear, “Relax.”
He then ran his tongue against it before kissing the side of my neck.
“You’re big.”
“It will be okay.”
He had me pinned to the bed so I wasn’t going anywhere.
His breathing was very labored. He was I realized very excited.
He placed the head of his against me and pushed, pulled back, then pushed again, and kept repeating until he was maybe a quarter inch inside of me.
He grabbed the bottle and poured oil where our bodies met.
Satisfied I was as lubricated as I was going to get and that he no longer needed his hand he took his arms, put them under my armpits and placed his hands on the back of my neck.
I was going nowhere.
He then continued his assault on my bottom. He pushed harder, warned me it would be a little uncomfortable, but only for a minute.
I told him it hurt, but again I didn’t say stop.
He paused for a moment to let my bottom adjust then pushed a couple of inches into me. It briefly felt like something was tearing. I felt a burning sensation as he sawed in and out of my bottom.
I wondered if he was all the way in me because it certainly felt like I was being fully penetrated.
I learned he wasn’t even close. He began fucking me deeper and deeper until he was all the way in. His strokes were long. He would plunge all the way in then pull almost all of the way out, leaving just the head inside of my bottom.
My body was slowly awakening to the pleasure.
I opened my legs wider. He took his hands off the back of my neck and wrapped them around my chest.
He licked my ear, nibbled on my earlobe. There was no stubble but his skin against mine felt rough.
He stroked in and out of me a dozen times before saying, “Turn over.”
He withdrew. I hurriedly rolled over, pulled my legs up to my chest. He grabbed the bottle, placed it against my sphincter, squeezed it, then got on top of me.
Only this time I reached down and guided him into me.
All the way in me with one thrust of his hips, he looked at me, then pressed his mouth against mine.
My first French kiss and it was with a man old enough to be my dad.
I felt like a switch inside of me had been flipped because I went from being a passive participant to an active one. I had my hands on his back and my feet hooked at the ankles as we fucked.
All sorts of indelicate sounds escaped my bottom as he stroked the length of his manhood in and out of me. What I didn’t realize was his cock was hitting my prostate and ejaculate was flowing from my soft penis.
He sped up his thrusts and thrust hard. His mouth still glued to mine he grunted during our kiss as he came inside of me.
He stopped thrusting but didn’t immediately withdraw. It was a weird sensation I felt when he did because it was a relief to not have him in me, but at the same I felt a void as I wanted him back in me.
The realization of what I had just done hit me.
I started to panic and said, “I should go.”
“Not before you shower. We need to get that oil off of you.”
What he said made sense.
“Come on.”
He took me by the hand demetevler escort and led me into the bathroom, turned on the shower. We stepped inside. He grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth and started washing me.
“My hair,” I said.
“I’ve got a blow dryer.”
His hands felt good, especially when he soaped my genitals.
He knelt on the floor of the shower to wash my legs and took my erection into his mouth. It didn’t take him long to coax a climax out of me. Afterwards, he finished cleaning the oil off my legs and feet.
When he stood up I felt his erection poking me in the stomach. I hadn’t seen his fully engorged cock until then. He was big. I wondered if he wanted me to suck it, but he had other ideas.
“Turn around. Lean on the wall.”
He squirted something on his cock, shampoo or conditioner. My legs wide open. He bent his knees as he was taller than me, then placed his cock against my bottom and pushed.
It stung, but I didn’t stop him. I just let him fuck me. The water pouring off of our bodies, his hands on my hips, he moved in and out of me before deciding he wanted to do something different.
He withdrew, turned off the shower, his voice hoarse with lust, told me to get on my hands and knees.
“Don’t worry about the water.”
I’m on my hands and knees on the carpeted mats. He gets behind me, positions his cock against my bottom, and penetrates me. He places his hands on my hips as he strokes in and out of me.
I lower my head to the floor as my arms are tiring and because I imagine it’s sexy. He has a lot of stamina. He pulls out, pushes me to the floor, reaches for a bottle. He must have felt he needed more lubricant.
I’m flat on the bathroom floor and he pushes himself into me. Extending his arms his hands flat on the floor, he fucks me for another two or three minutes before coming in me for the second time.
“That was good,” he said as he pulls out of me.
He stands up. I get off of the floor. He tells me to hand him a towel. I do. He dries me off, spends a lot of time drying between my buttocks.
Matter of fact, he tells me, “You’re going to be sore for a few days. Might even spot. Don’t freak out. It’s normal. Now go get dressed.”
He dries off, joins me in the bedroom where I’m putting on my clothes. He looks at the clock radio on his nightstand.
“Too bad we don’t have more time.”
He doesn’t get dressed.
I’m very aware of his nudity. He seems not just comfortable being naked in front of me, but signaling he’s in control.
“Come here,” he says.
He embraces me, tells me he had a good time, asks me if I enjoyed it.
I tell him I did.
Our age difference feels weird for some reason.
He lowers his head to kiss me, but I turn away.
He tells me, “Don’t be like that.”
This time I don’t just accept it when he presses his lips to mine, but hungrily kiss him. I like French kissing Coach.
We stand there and make out, me fully dressed and he completely naked. I run my hands all over his back and his bottom.
We’ve been kissing for a quarter of an hour. He’s aroused again. My youth, my kisses, the newness.
I want to please him. I just drop to my knees, grab his cock, and place my mouth over the head. I haven’t a clue as to what to do. He lets me suck him for a few minutes. I run my tongue up and down the length of his shaft, then back up and suck on the head.
He tells me I’m doing great, but he won’t be climaxing anytime soon. I get off of my knees, glance at his erection, feel proud for making it so big, but frustrated because I wanted to make him climax, to swallow his seed.
Another French kiss. He tells me he can taste his cock on my breath.
We laugh.
I ask him when can I see him again.
He tells me soon and says he’ll let me know.
I’m like someone with their first crush.
“Promise?” I ask.
“I promise,” he answers before another long French kiss.
His cock is really hard. I’m tempted to ask him to fuck me again, but my bottom hurts and it is getting late. I don’t want my parents, especially the old man, the one who loaned me out to Coach, asking me questions.
He then walks me to the door, but stays hidden behind it as I exit his house.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32