His joking about bringing Jeremy inside.
The bathroom is my sanctuary, and no one needs to know but me and my imagination.
I grab the soap and add a bit more to my hand, lathering it so I’m all nice and slippery.
Reaching behind me, I seek my hole, gasping as my finger teases the entrance.
What would it feel like to have his cock filling me up? Would he push harder when I demanded it, or would he always be gentle?
The coach in my mind seeks my little bundle of nerves with two fingers, knowing exactly how to take me to heaven and back.
I regret not bringing a toy into the shower, but my fingers are doing a good job. I wrap my hand around my cock, and after a few pulls, I’m coming so hard that I see stars in the backs of my eyes.
“Fuck me to the land of Oz and back. If this is what fantasy Coach does to me, real Coach will kill me.”
I finish the shower and open the window to let the steam out while I dry myself.
Once everything is tidy, I close the window and settle into the big master bed.
I love that the fireplace is electric because I can have it on a comfortable setting all night.
I’m not sure what I’ll do tomorrow. I’d planned on decorating the cabin for Christmas before Juju arrived, but since it’s all done, maybe I should start baking.
The oven in the kitchen is top of the range, which is a luxury I’m only afforded at work, so I definitely want to make the best of it.
I open the book I bought at a book fair on the square in Chester Falls.
Maybe it’s my recent orgasm or the day full of Coach, but I don’t remember any of the words. All I know is that I spend the night dreaming of the big man that has me all twisted into knots.
The man has glued himself to my soul and won’t let go.
Not that he knows it.
Which is a Bubbletastrophe.
9
COACH
I tossand turn all night. First, I’m cold, so I get some more blankets from the closet in the hallway. Then I’m too hot, so I push them down to the foot of the bed.
There’s never been a time in my life when I’ve had trouble sleeping. Mel used to complain about it. She always liked to talk about her day and ask about mine while we were in bed.
She called it pre-sleep chit-chat. But I’ve always been an early riser, and because I am very active in my coaching practice, I usually fall asleep easily.
Since I can’t get any shut-eye, I may as well start one of my many projects around here. One good thing about being married to Mel was that she never let me slack when it came to doing things around the house.
My status as an NFL team coach didn’t matter as far as she was concerned. Whether there were games, press conferences, or trips away, I still needed to fix the sink or put a picture up when I was home.
So I have plenty of practice and skill when it comes to home projects. Not to mention all the years I spent helping my dad as a teenager. It seems the women in my life always have something that needs hanging.
I put on an old Marinos tracksuit I’ve worn more times than I can count and head over to the kitchen. The coffee machine, my one luxury here, brews a fresh pot in the time it takes me to push the couch aside to set up a work space in the middle of the living room.
This could wait until spring, but what else will I do here on my own?
Knowing me, I’ll start regretting not taking my parents’ offer to join them in St. Barts, and that’s just a sad thought for a divorced forty-six-year-old man to have.
I pour the coffee into a cup and take a sip. “Ahh, baby, thank you for that. It’s just what I need,” I say to the coffee machine, who’s currently the best relationship I have in my life.
