GAY OLDER YOUNGER FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT.
Coach Thompson was black, and big. Really black and REALLY big. A huge chest, a huge pair of thighs, a huge , broad back and a really, really huge packet that filled out the front of his tight football shorts in an almost obscene way.
Almost but not quite. Or that's how he seemed to me.
Even the straightest of the football jocks envied his physique. They all wanted to worship at the alter of Coach Thompson. And the closet gays? Well they openly drooled over his fit body, dark brooding eyes, sensuous lips and that hard lunch box swinging between his muscular thighs.
It didn't help that he was only twenty two and recently transferred to Malverne High from the Rochester Penitentiary on the prisoner rehab programme for young offenders. No-one knew exactly what he had done wrong but the gossip said it had been to do with a married woman and a beat up husband. That was why we thought he was working at an all male boarding school. Lower the temptation!
He was cool and out there, with a big following among the older teenage boys, especially those on the football tea, me included. We loved his fit, tough attitude towards training and that he expected all team members and players to give a hundred percent effort. And what he did for others he did for himself too.
You could see him pushing himself hard at every opportunity, whether in training or his professional teaching life.
No-one knew much about his personal life. He didn't have a girlfriend that anyone knew about. ( Or a boyfriend as some younger staff members did. )
No-one had caught him wanking in the showers or perving over the naked students as they soaped themselves clean after a hard game or at the end of the day.
In fact he had gained everyone's trust and respect in the short time he had been with them. It was fair to say he was a well liked and respected member of staff, by colleagues and students alike.
But the senior staff kept a close eye on him and held regular, weekly review meetings to monitor his progress. He was a recent convict after all and an incredibly hot one .
"Well he's been with us two months now and not a step wrong," said the deputy head to the assembled personnel committee.
"Anyone come up with any negatives?" queried the head of humanities.
"I can't think of any reason why we cant make his position permanent, can you?"
A murmur of agreement swept through the assembled team and Carl gave Sam a quick, unseen smirk and a slight nod. They exchanged glances and unseen eye contact..
"So shall I tell the head that we all agree? Make him permanent from the start of next month?" The deputy scanned the meeting quickly.
"OK everyone. Unless you hear differently we'll meet again in a month. Thank you all for your efforts. Have a good weekend and I'll let Mark, err Coach Thompson, know our decision tomorrow at his review meeting. Well done everyone," and he added a few notes to the last sheet in the folder on the desk in front of him.
Everyone stood and left the meeting with the usual banter and farewells.
Everyone except Sam Giles, the executive bursar. He sat and looked at the desk in front of him before raising his head and giving a quizical stare.
"So what the fuck was that with "Mark"? So much for keeping everything professional. You dropped his name there as though you and he are pals."
"I know, I know. Bit of a slip up but no-one seemed to notice."
"You hope! We don't want anyone getting curious about how well you know him, do we? Or how you are related by marriage to his sister. Or what fun things you've done with him in the past, eh?"
"It's ok. We've got it all covered. No more fucking around and Mark has been as good as gold about changing his habits. He's become a real "baitor". Just poppers and porn for him for months and his right hand of course. No more direct contact, and where would he get a sniff of pussy in this place?"
"Lets hope he can keep it together for the foreseeable future. And you too."
With that they both stood and left the room, assuring each other they would meet for poker as usual on Saturday night.
* * * *
The football team practice was over and they jogged into the locker room as directed, kicking off their boots at the door. They flung themselves down on the bench adjacent to their locker and most slumped, hands on knees as they gulped for breath. It had been no surprise that the session had been hard. Coach Thompson had a reputation for a hard training session and this had been no exception.
"I am knackered!" said Dale, a lower sixth student. He exhaled noisily and stretched out his muscled legs as he rubbed the cramp out of his firm calves.
"Yeh, me too," mumbled Sonny. He was a fit upper sixth boy, one of two who had returned to complete the year again. He was already eighteen now and keen to be let lose on the world.
"My back is killing me. What I wouldn't give for a back massage." He stood and his back cracked as he bent and stretched, trying to ease it and find some relief.
"That's the trouble with you oldens, no staying power," and Dale and a couple of others jeered as they stripped off and made their way to the showers.
