being so stupid, silly, and immature, and then shifted blame to me for encouraging him. He was obviously confused over his own feelings and trying to justify why or why not. I knew that I had wanted him to show me his cock, and wanted more, but he was berating himself and beating himself up for doing it, and apologizing and nearly crying that this could get his fired and arrested, all sorts of guilt feeling flooding out. Somewhere in his rambling, he said “and the damned door is not even locked.”

Wow. I took that as a cue, and went to the door and locked it. I also turned out the lights, so that it might not look like anyone was in the coaches locker room. Then I walked straight over to him, and groped his crotch through the underwear. He tensed up and pulled his chest and shoulders back and I honestly thought he was going to slug me, but he didn’t. And his dick did not go soft either. He was kind of mumbling inane questions like “what do you think you are doing?” all the time that I was now stroking his hot dick for him. Then very quickly, he suddenly went rigid and without word or warning blew a copious load all over my hand, and splattering my body. As he writhed and spasmed with his orgasm, he was pushing me away and there was no question about it, he was stronger than me. I was sexually turned on incredibly, but it was obvious by the tormented look on his face that he was troubled. He pulled his jockeys up again, and scowled at me, and said, “If you know what is good for you, this never happened. You understand?” And I told him I did. His voice was threatening and scary! He disappeared and I got dressed and left the coaches locker room. There were wet spots on the floor that I knew were from Coach Tom’s spunk.

I was scared of the next day, the next encounter with Coach Tom. His voice had been frightening. But at 11:00, I was there, and so was he. Gruff is not the word for it, seething anger and abject fear probably described the boiling fire in his eyes and the tormented look that could be seen in his face. As soon as he saw me, he grabbed the keys to the school’s pick-up truck, mumbling that he needed some help at the storage unit. The storage unit was the old gymnasium at the junior high school that had been relegated to a storage facility for the athletic departments, the band, and the theatrical drama group. Football gear in one corner, musical instruments in another, props and backdrops everywhere, that sort of thing. And the building was about a half mile from any other building. I was almost afraid to go inside with him, but there was no option.

Inside, we found a place to sit, among the football pads and gear (which had that sweat and jockstrap kind of smell that I have always found to be a turn-on) and it was obvious that I was in for a lecture. He was stern, and he was purposeful. It was obvious that he had planned this speech, and he told me that he had been up all night thinking about what happened and what he needed to say. He said that I should be thinking about everything that he was saying and that I could ask questions after he was through. He began. With