Chapter #32Coach Class by: Seuzz   Whatever Keith is up to, it's probably not worth worrying about. "Go get cleaned up," you tell Steve. "Then we'll go talk to Coach White about scoring us a fuck room." He arches his eyebrows appreciatively and crab-walks backwards halfway across the gym floor to the showers, watching you lasciviously the entire way. You return the stare, so hard you don't notice your new company until she has sat down beside you.
It's Lisa Rickover, one of the girls Alyssa uses to keep tabs on all the goings on in school. She's not a pretty thing, with her hard, hatchet face and even harder eyes, but she's smart and cunning and knows how to talk in a way that leaves most boys helpless and most girls furious. You don't trust her any farther than you can throw her, which is why you keep her very, very close.
She's sitting very close to you now, and you start a little at her appearance. She is gazing at the doorway to the boys' changing room with a faint smile on her face, and you can guess she was watching you watch Patterson. Your guess is confirmed when she leans in close: "He's not good looking but he moves like an animal. Like a cross between a gorilla and a panther."
You give her a sideways glance. "Never thought you were blind, girl, but I never heard you talk like that."
She smiles faintly. "Don't worry. I'm not trying to get between you guys."
"What do you mean by that?"
Her smile broadens. "Please. I saw the way he was leaning in on you a few minutes ago."
"We made a connection."
Her smile does another subtle metamorphosis. "That'll make it easy for you, then."
"What are you getting at, Lisa?"
She looks at you with what looks like mock surprise. "Didn't you say he needed taming? If you two already have a ... 'connection' ... it'll be that much easier for you." You hold her eye, and she holds yours; but she's the first to withdraw. "And I've already been telling people you've put dibs on him, and competition isn't allowed. If people start competing for him, he'll eat us all alive."
Something about what she is saying makes you very uneasy, but you can't put your finger on it. Lisa always gives the impression that she plays angles, and something about this conversation fairly screams 'ulterior motives.'
You're saved--if that's the word--from having to figure out what Lisa is on about by the emergence of Ian from the changing room. Seeing you, he trots over. "So, how did we look?" he asks. His tone is easy and confident, but there is still an undertone of worry to it.
"To me it looked great," you reply. "How was Steve?"
His face tightens a little. "Patterson's good. He just needs to meld with the team."
"I'm sure you'll bring him around," you smile. Under breath you add, "Or vice versa. Does Coach White have anything to say?" you continue, more loudly.
Ian's expression combines bemusement and disgust. "He watched for about five minutes and then went back in his office."
"A little drinky-drinky never hurt anyone," Lisa laughs. Ian's lips briefly disappear, but he doesn't respond.
"Is he still there?" you ask, getting up. "I need to talk to him anyway about some stuff."
"Don't say anything about Patterson to him," Ian says in a warning tone. "I don't want him taking an interest."
"Don't worry, I'll leave you guys to work out your new relationship." With an easy stride you cross the gym floor to the door to Coach White's office. You knock, and at a grunt go in.
Dale White is in his mid twenties, and he still has a college athlete's body: stocky and muscular, but trim. He won't keep it long if he keeps hitting the beer and harder booze, though. Right now, for instance, he is looking rather the worse for drink. Part of it is the disordered brush cut that has sent his short, wiry dark hair springing out in all directions. Part of it is the five-day growth of dark beard on his cheeks and chin and jawbone. Part of it is the way he slouches in his chair with a foot on his desk. Mostly, though, it's the red and bleary eyes. So unattractive, you think. All the girls at Eastman would be drooling over this hunk if he'd only clean up a little. But the little shrewd voice that helps guide Alyssa adds: But maybe that's why he drinks. Because he's not supposed to touch girls like me, and it's driving him nuts.
You just smile. "Do you have a moment, Coach White? I have a problem and I can't talk to Coach Reynolds about it."
He grunts. "You having trouble with some of the boys?"
"Not yet, and that's the problem." He draws back a little as you go around the desk to lean over him. "We want a place to get in a lot of trouble." From your commanding position, you've no problem putting the anima band on his forehead.
He blinks and his foot falls heavily from the desk. He grunts again and shakes his head, then leans forward and rubs his temples. "What were--? Shit." He struggles for a moment, then put his face on his desk and covers his head with his arms. You watch him with mounting concern for a few moments. Then with a deep breath he raises his head and lets out a deep sigh. "Okay," he says, and swallows. "I think I know where I am. But God, I need a--" He reaches for his desk, then stops. "No, that's not the answer."
"Who are you?"
"It's me, Caleb," he sighs. "But you put me in Dale White, and I wish I could remember how many shots he's had. Four, I think."
"Do you remember being in here?" You point to your chest.
He looks up in puzzlement. "Here?" He points to your chest, then drops his finger to your crotch. "Or there?"
"Don't be a scumbag." You peer at him. "But he is hot for me, isn't he?"
"Not particularly," he shrugs. "I mean, you look fine, but--"
"But what?"
"What do you want with this guy that you put me here?" His tone is very irritable.
"I want a private space, in the gym. You know, for a fuck room, like they have at Westside."
"What's wrong with the custodian's closet?"
"You know about that? I mean, Coach White knows--"
"Pff. Yeah."
"Is Coach White--? Never mind, I don't want to know."
"Yeah, you don't. But what's wrong with the custodian's closet?"
"We want a VIP room."
"Ooooh!" He leans back and rubs his cheek. He's still rubbing it when there's a knock on the door. After a brief glance at you, he bids the visitor enter. It's Patterson, all cleaned up, and White gives you a worried, querying glance.
"You can say anything you want in front of Steve," you say. "He's on the team. Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" He is still sounding irritable.
"I put you--that anima band--on Alyssa at the party Saturday night. You--it--was riding around on her for, like, 24 hours."
"Last thing I remember is sitting in Blackwell's library while we were making the damn things."
Interesting. You'll have to remember that anima bands don't retain memories of their use. "What about a fuck room?"
"There's the store room behind the bleachers. That's the only thing around the gym I can offer." He fishes some keys from his desk and leads you out into the gym. Between the wall and the end of the bleachers on one side there is a narrow pathway leading to a far wall, in which is a door. He unlocks it and ushers you and Steve in. It's long and narrow and windowless and dark, and when he switches on the light you see it's neatly packed with lots and lots of extra equipment. Only a narrow aisle running up the middle is clear and useful.
Steve grimaces. "The fuck room at Westside is up in the attic, and it's got windows."
"This isn't Westside, you dick," White growls. "It's this or the boiler room under the boys' showers." He watches as you and Steve exchange unhappy glances, then tosses the key ring to you. "Try it out. I'll be in my office."
After he's gone, Steve looks at you speculatively. You're not much more turned on by the room than he is, but you glance around, trying to find the potential. "If you put a lot of candles in here, turned out the lights, it might be kind of romantic."
"I don't want romance, I want a place to take girls and fuck them."
"Seduction would work better." You shake your head at Alyssa's idiotic belief that she could corral this beast. That reminds you of your conversation with Lisa. You're frowning over it when Steve surprises you with a hard kiss to the side of your neck and a soft pinch just under your left buttock. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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