Coach Stevens looked to weigh about 275lbs. He had a thick frame, with beefy biceps, pecs and glutes that filled out his clean, neat polo shirts and khaki shorts. He probably would only weigh about 220lbs however if it weren't for his bouncing beer gut, where all his fat had accumulated, which stuck out from his midsection like he were pregnant. His belly wrapped around his sides and sagged slightly over his waistband to make two juicy love handles. Oh, how you wanted to grab them and squeeze them and feel how soft they are. You wanted to feel him pin you down with all that powerful beef and do... things teachers shouldn't do with students.
You let out a dreamy sigh as football practice had come to a close. You admired the butts of some of the players as they left the field. Many of them had nicely built bodies, either toned with muscle or thick with a gut, but none of them matched the perfection of Coach Stevens. You began to pack up your books. "Aw, shit." You exclaimed as you noticed you had barely made a dent in a sketch for art class. It seemed you had been too distracted by the show. It was no big matter, art was one of your better subjects and you could whip up something decent at home.
The arts were definitely more your forte, as a lithe twink with more of an eye for color and an ear for music than an arm for pitching throws. The most athletic you get is your morning jogs. As much as you enjoy a belly on other guys, you weren't sure you wanted one yourself, not yet at least.
You slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed off in the opposite direction of the football team. While admirably attractive from afar, some of them weren't the type you'd want to get near in real life, just as one wouldn't want to be locked in a cage with a gorilla. As you passed through the gate of the football field, you heard a familiar voice call to you from behind.
"Hey!" The voice called your name again.
Immediately recognizing the voice of Coach Stevens, you whirred around, face flushed red. "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!" You thought in your head. Was he going to accuse you of checking him and his players out? Was he going to get you in trouble? How could he know that? Your nervous thoughts weren't helped by the way the coach's hefty stomach bounced as he jogged over to you.
"Hey, how's it going?" Coach Stevens said, breathing a little heavily.
"Um, good... What's up, Coach?" You respond, trying to act cheery but shaking on the inside.
"Oh, uh, well I just wanted to say, well, how should I put it..." The handsome man paused for a split second. "I've noticed you've been coming to our practices a lot!"
"Y-yeah, it's just a place to get homework done, and I figure it shows support!" You know that this excuse is bullshit. The library was open and often times the only other people there are the players' doting cheerleader girlfriends. In fact, you were half sure the only reason you haven't been beat on by a linebacker was because said cheerleaders thought you were cute and were always searching for a "gay best friend", as if you were necessary for some occult popularity ritual.
"That's great!" Coach Stevens smiled genuinely. "But have you ever considered trying out for a team?"
You blinked. "What? No, not really, Coach, I could never be a football player!" You allowed yourself to let out a tiny sigh of relief. So this wasn't an interrogation.
"Well I didn't say it had to be football. Listen, I think you could be really good on the track team! You're a good runner in gym class, and I see you jog past my house every morning."
Your brain whirs through the path of your morning jog. "One of those houses is the Coach's? Which one?" You wondered.
Coach Stevens put a hand on your shoulder, sending your blood rushing at what felt like twice the speed. "Listen, I was like you when I was your age, kinda tiny and scared to join a team. I didn't join the football team until 11th grade! But my coach saw potential in me and helped me out, and now, well, neither of those things are true, for better or worse!" He chuckled, giving his belly a pat. "So I'll give you time to think about it. Winter track tryouts are in two weeks. If you feel you need any help, just let me know!"
And with that, Coach Stevens left to the parking lot. When he was out of earshot, you let out a deeper sigh. "Track team?" You thought to yourself as you made your way to your own car. "And does he really mean 'if you need any help'? Like, training stuff?" Your mind flashed to images of "training" sessions gone dirty and you giggled as you hopped into your seat and drove home.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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