Brandon Beiler 1.
I feel the ache in my muscles, grinning as I lay the hand towel around my neck and make my way through the athletic complex from the gym to one of the men’s locker rooms. This is my favorite time of year. The players, newbies and veterans, will begin showing up in the next 45 minutes for the first day of football training camp. Potential thickens the air, and I breathe it greedily.
My grin falters for a moment, thinking of Coach Fred Heacock and whatever fresh hell awaits us all. He’s a fucking asshole, no other way to describe him. Wait, that’s not true, the English language is inventive enough to come up with some truly spectacular ways to describe that racist, sexist, mean-spirited fuckface. I just don’t have time to think of them all.
No matter, myself and the other coaching and periphery staff work diligently to protect the players as much as we can from his wrath. After talking with Lilly Geddes, the PR queen of the athletics department, I’ve decided to record everything, all the time. That man’s time is running out; I can feel it. This is the year we finally overthrow that ancient dictator and I can’t wait to rejoice in his absence.
But first, training camp. Well, first first is a shower, then welcoming my boys back for another incredible season of football. Entering the locker room, I think over everything thatI need to do this morning, and a few inspirational words to get the players into the right mindset. They’ve had a few months of lazy workouts, partying, and enjoying their youth while they still can. Today begins several weeks of a special kind of hell. Blood, sweat, and tears in abundance, but also comradery, brotherhood, personal growth, and team cohesion.
I stuff my workout clothes into my bag, grab my towel and shower caddy, and then slip into my sandals. Athlete’s Foot is real and unpleasant. I walk through the locker room to the showers, my mind still moving. It takes me a moment to realize someone else is here, another shower already running. I should be alone. A low deep moan catches my attention, and my steps falter as the sound hits me like a punch to the gut.
I stomp my foot hard enough to alert whoever it is they are not alone anymore. I hear a soft, “fuck”, and chuckle as I round the corner, naked and unashamed. It’s surprising to find Oscar Kusner, the university’s band director, wet and flushed in the shower, his dick proudly aroused and bobbing in front of him, even as he ducks his head and quickly turns around.
I glance down at my own cock, slowly plumping between my legs. Well, how about that? Not the first dick I’ve seen, not even the first aroused. I’ve spent most of my life in locker rooms surrounded by immature, horny, unseasoned young men. However, I can honestly say, it’s the first one to elicit such a reaction from me. It twitches with interest, but I shake it off, knowing he was just jerking off. Is sympathy arousal a thing?
Oscar’s a nice guy. We have had a few interactions since he started last school year. He’s good at his job, in his mid-thirties, so several years younger than me, short brown hair, broad shoulders, and muscular forearms. I snort at myself, how do I know what his forearms look like? Though now, naked andwet in the shower, I can add, firm, muscular butt to his list of attributes.
“I’m so sorry, Brandon, I thought I was alone. Didn’t…didn’t expect anyone for a while.” His voice quivers and I hate that he feels embarrassed.
Despite my hardening cock, I chuckle. “No worries, man. Hope you haven’t used up all the hot water.” I tease, trying to relax him. I step into the long open shower, hang my towel and caddy on a hook next to a showerhead and turn on the water, letting it warm up. Not too hot, I’m thinking a cold shower might be in order.
“Still…I’m sorry.” He quickly finishes, turns off the water, and hastily grabs his towel, wrapping it around his trim waist, and hot footing it out of the shower room. I laugh while I wash my hair and body. Everyone always makes fun of me for showering knowing I’ll be getting sweaty during camp, but I feel like the water resets my brain before each practice. Plus, athletes are creatures of habit and superstitious.
Oscar is long gone by the time I finish up and get dressed. Outside on the practice field, several other coaches and I begin setting up the cones for the different drills we’ll be running today. I am technically an offensive line coach; however, I am also the assistant coach, 2ndin command under Heacock. And because Heacock is still around, I’ve become the go-to person for everyone on the team, players and support staff. A liaison because no one wants to talk to him about anything. I don’t blame them; it just sucks that I’ve been thrust into this unwanted position because I seem to be the only one Heacock will listen to. But don’t fool yourself, it doesn’t happen often. He commands from on high and expects everyone else to rush to obey and never question his absolute rule. Well, I dare toquestion, and it irks him. He’s tried to have me fired over my time here, unsuccessfully. The board has made it clear that I am not going anywhere. A few of the board members have inferred I’m excellent at my job, but I am also in this position as a check and balance to keep Heacock in line. It’s a full-time job and there isn’t enough monetary compensation to make me enjoy it, but I continue because someone needs to protect the players and other vital staff members while the university figures out how to get out of an iron clad contract with Heacock.
Crue Pribula is the first to show up and I expect nothing less from the 5thyear student and captain of the football team. Prib, as everyone calls him, is one of the most dedicated and gifted athletes I’ve ever seen. And the funny thing is, unlike so many others, Prib could eventually be NFL MVP and repeat Super Bowl winner, but the boy wants to graduate and go back to his family’s farm and improve the quality of life for those in his community. He’s like a fucking unicorn. And while Heacock is dead set on getting that boy an NFL contract to elevate his own status in the college football world, Prib has remained steadfast in his future plans. I respect the hell out of this young man and look forward to watching him make a difference off the field.
The others start trickling in and it isn’t long before Heacock graces us with his presence and the first day of training camp commences. It’s brutal, and not just the heat. We run the boys through a rigorous circuit, awakening their muscles and minds. They’re all dragging ass by the end of practice, and I laugh openly as they meander off the field and into the locker rooms to shower. Geary, the team’s trainer, yells to remind players to visit him after they shower if they need anything. Camp is a great time to find muscle and ligament issues and head them off early, so the injuries don’t interfere with the season andplayer performance or start conditioning a replacement for their position.
I help clean up the field, wheel the water jugs into the complex, and close everything up. By the time I’m heading into the locker rooms for another shower, it’s blessedly empty. In the shower, my cock jerks in remembrance of earlier this morning. Oscar’s flushed skin, plump ass, and long, hard dick. I shake my head at my wayward appendage and finish washing up without jerking off.
I am a human being with eyes, I can objectively say I’ve seen some handsome men in my life. Beautiful bodies, muscular, tanned, and well-endowed. I’ve never thought of any of them beyond the initial assessment. I’m not sure why Oscar is any different. And I don’t have the bandwidth to delve into it right now.
Instead, I run through the players and how they fared during practice. By the time I’m completely dressed and heading down the hall to my office, my mind is resolutely on making notes for tomorrow’s practice, and which coaches I’ll need to tap to ensure improvement. I look up as I reach into my bag for my office keys and find Oscar leaning against the wall next to my office door. He fidgets when he sees me but meets my eyes with a self-deprecating smile.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I unlock my door and wave him inside. “You guys were too far away to hear properly, but what I could hear sounded good. How was band practice?”
“It went well. Lots of room for improvement.” We both chuckle at his diplomatic response.
“If they’re anything like my boys, it was clear they didn’t spend their time off practicing.”
“No, they did not.” He runs a hand over the back of his head and grips his neck. “Uh, I wanted to apologize again for this morning—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “No need, it’s all good. Gotta take care of it when inspiration hits.” I smirk and he laughs lightly but avoids eye contact. I don’t like that at all; he shouldn’t be embarrassed and especially not with me.
“You, uh, you want to get dinner? I don’t know about you but working in this heat builds an appetite.” My first inclination is to decline the invitation, but his body in the shower flashes in my mind again, and I decide to lean into my curiosity and see what happens.
“Yeah, man, sure.” His eyes flare slightly, probably in surprise, and his lips stretch slowly into a smile.
“You in the mood for anything in particular?”
You, on your knees, my cock in your mouth.
I shake my head to dispel my thoughts, having no idea where that came from. Oscar nods, taking my head shake as a “no”.
“Do you need to finish anything up here? I can wait for you.” I stare a little too long at his lips, watching as they form each word, wondering what they taste like. Is there a gas leak? What the fuck?
“I do.” I answer, my voice low and gravelly. I clear my throat and continue. “If you could give me a half hour? I need to make some notes about practice.”
