I was sitting outside the cafeteria, leaning against a rock, drinking a soda when the Coach came outside to talk to me.
I was a senior in high school, 18 and no longer a virgin, and feeling older and more mature than most of my classmates. It wasn't the loss of my virginity that made me feel older, I had just always felt that I clicked better with men than with the boys in my class, better than with the boys in college who came home during the summer and holidays.
I was having a tough time with some personal family issues and didn't feel like sitting with my friends at lunch, gossiping and being juvenile. I wanted to be alone, to think. But in that moment, Coach made me feel safe, he made me feel wanted and able to express my feelings.
As I told him about my worries, his hand moved to the small of my back, gently rubbing to console me. He moved it up higher, and over to my side, down to my waist and back to the small of my back. All the while, we never lost eye contact, his hand now dipped a little lower, gently caressing my bottom.
I was a little bit surprised, we've always flirted a little bit, but it was the first time he had ever touched me. In his mid-30s, dark wavy hair, broad shoulders, he was a teenage girl's fantasy. He has never treated me as a student, never looked at me as a student, but as a young woman who he has befriended, who he may even fantasize about.
Over the next few weeks, my last weeks in high school, people started talking about us. Coach would walk me to class, on the days I knew I was sure to see him I'd dress a little older, a little more professional and provocative, not like a slutty teenager in low-slung jeans and a half shirt. I would wear a skirt with a slit, thigh highs that he'd catch a glimpse of when I'd sit down, and low cut blouses that revealed my hard nipples when I saw him. I would see students watch us as we walked down the hall together, laughing, and flirting openly, his hand occasionally grazing my back as we walked.
I loved that people watched us, that they wondered if there was anything going on between us.
Over those last few weeks the tension between the Coach and me intensified. He'd stand closer, let his hand linger on my back a little longer, look into my eyes a little deeper. Every time he touched me, I could feel my body tighten, I could feel my nipples harden and my panties get a little wet. My lips would part as I looked at him, hungry to kiss him, to taste him. But we were always in the hallway, or a classroom with little privacy, in fear of what little privacy we had being invaded at any minute.
When I graduated a few weeks later Coach gave me a card and said that he'd be away most of the summer, but would be back in time for football practice and wanted to take me out for dinner before I went off to college.
"It's OK, you're officially a college co-ed," he said, sensing my hesitation, kissing my cheek.
I kept dating my boyfriend through the summer, but began fantasizing every time he slid his fingers inside me, every time he slid his tongue over my lower lips, every time he pumped his 18-year-old cock into me ... I'd fantasize that it was Coach touching me that way. My boyfriend nearly caught me one time, when I groaned "Coach ..." as he buried his face between my legs. I denied saying anything, I was just moaning, I'd told him. I'm sure he didn't believe me. He heard the rumors, he knew people suspected something was going on between me and his football Coach.
The summer was coming to an end. It was August, I was busy shopping for things for college when I got a call.
"Hello," the familiar voice said. "Are you available soon for our going-away-to-college dinner?"
My panties moistened at the sound of the Coach's voice. I knew my boyfriend had plans with his friends, so I told my parents that I was out with my boyfriend and met up with the Coach at a restaurant near his house.
He was sitting in a booth in a dimly lit corner, a bottle of Pinot Noir on the table. I walked in, wearing a black halter dress, the neckline dipping between my full breasts, allowing them to come together and nearly pop out of my dress. The thin fabric couldn't hide the arousal in my nipples, straining against the dress.
The full skirt flowed and swayed around me, as I walked toward the table. Coach stood up, looked me up and down, smiling with approval, his eyes lingering at my cleavage. He pulled me to him and hugged me, sliding his hand down my bare back, to my bottom, to my waist and around my bottom again.
"No panties?" he asked quietly.
I smiled at him, allowing him to see the naughtiness in my eyes.
"No panties, no bra ... just the dress and high heels," I said. "Do you like the shoes?" I asked, putting my foot up on the seat, sliding my dress up to reveal my creamy thigh, running my hand along the length of my calf.
