"Hey, Kent, this is Head Coach James Conrad from the baseball team. I had a talk with Anthony and Robbie. I need to talk to you in my office ASAP."
That was the message on my phone.
All the college coaches had offices in a brick and metal building which looked like it could double as an agricultural supply store. It also housed the gyms and sports medicine area. It wasn't surprising to see hot muscled half-naked athletes milling around the complex. Lucky coaches, I thought, swinging open the big glass door while looking at two swollen shirtless football players, one with long curly black hair and another with a blond high and tight military cut, leaning against a front column watching something on their phones. I swear one of them looked up and smiled at me. They had their jerseys tucked into the waistbands of their shorts; I could barely make out their names -- "Torres" and "Adams". I'd have to remember that, I thought to myself.
I stood outside Coach Conrad's office and took a deep breath before knocking and pushing at the door. Inside it was a lobby area, not just a small office. It was a shrine to the college's baseball team-- huge full trophy case, posters/memorabilia, and photos of the team over the years. It was carpeted, with couches, tables, and chairs in conversational groupings like in a library; shelves were loaded with cases containing autographed baseballs, books about baseball, and various other preserved objects under glass like a museum. A young stylish man sat at a desk in the corner.
"Can I help you?" he asked as I approached, looking over his glasses.
"I'm here to see Coach Conrad. I'm Kent..."
"Oh, yeah, the four-leaf clover...lucky us," he interrupted. "Hold on a sec..."
He walked over to a wooden door and knocked before entering.
I noticed his pants stretched amazingly over a very round taut ass.
He reappeared seconds later.
"Go on in."
I shifted my book bag to my other hand and opened the door, slipping nervously into the office.
I was expecting an older man with graying hair and a beer belly, not an attractive, muscled thirty-something with a sharp military haircut who should have been showing off on Instagram. Coach Conrad wore a tight polo shirt with the usual whistle hanging in front of it, his huge pecs with prominent nips stretching hard against the cotton material. He had a short scruffy blond beard with a more prominent mustache, and blue pool-coloured eyes you couldn't believe were real. I didn't notice the small thinning spot on his head until he bent forward to gather some notes. He looked up at me with a big smile.
"And you must be Kent!" Jim Conrad said as he stood up and walked around to greet me. He was wearing some retro football shorts that rode high on his hairy muscular thighs, showing off a sizable package. "Have a sit-down," the affable coach told me, motioning toward an office chair. He perched on the corner of his desk, his package more pronounced than before snaking down his meaty thigh. He bent forward, resting his forearm on his thigh. "Something has come to my attention, and I believe we need to discuss it."
Oh, fuck, I thought to myself. What the fuck have those three guys been saying to people to where the coach has to get involved. I just smiled some stupid closed-lip smile.
"I was asking Anthony and Jamie...and even, Robbie... about their game lately. They mentioned you as the reason."
Oh, fuckin' fuckity fuck.
"Oh, really?" I asked, nonchalantly, even though I thought I might keel over. I shifted in the chair to attempt to get more comfortable...it didn't help. I rested my hand on the zipper of my book bag in case I needed something to vomit into quickly.
"Well, Anthony and Jamie, as pitcher and first-base man, and Robbie...we have yet to really define Robbie's position on the team...let's just call him a 'pinch hitter'...he's there when we need him. I try to listen to members of the team, and I try to implement new ideas and new ways of doing things. And with you, I think we got very lucky." He gave me a big wink. He reached for a file and started reading. "Anthony wrote: 'I ain't never believed some little...uhm, expletive...nerd could open my eyes to the world and make me feel so good about trying new things'...end quote. Well, you seem to have enchanted our pitcher with some of your spells," Coach Conrad joked. "I'd say you were working for our rivals, but our game has improved tremendously. We might actually win a national championship at this rate."
I sat there not knowing what to say.
.
"Anyways, they've told me about your positive tutoring sessions with them. It seems your methods have greatly improved their attitudes and demeanor..."
My methods? More like my ass and mouth, I said to myself as Coach Conrad started talking about team cohesiveness and everyone working together. I dropped my eyes to the long outline in his shorts, imagining if that was soft he must be gigantic when hard. I looked up at him and nodded as if I were listening. I noticed a tuft of dark blond hair peeking out of the neck of his shirt. He reminded me of Tom Selleck in that old show "Magnum PI", only with blond hair...maybe a bit shorter and bulkier. I couldn't leave with a hard-on so I shook the images of coach's cock and hairy chest out of my mind.
"Anyway, Anthony had mentioned you were looking for a part-time job and Robbie had a talk with his father..."
I straightened up and was listening very intently now.
"Robbie's father's company wants to donate the money so we can hire your services..."
"My services?"
"As a tutor... adjacent to the coaching staff. I'm not going to be your boss, you'll be like an independent contractor...helping the guys out as needed," the coach continued. "The money we're getting will let you travel with the team and pay for any materials you...or they need. So what do you say?"
"I say give me a cap and let's get started, Coach," I told him standing up and holding out my hand.
That evening I told Anthony the great news.
