The Legendary Coach Broos

I stood on the fifty yard line surveying my team. I was in my third year as head coach of the Richmond Rebels. Richmond had a decent history of success. They almost always finished over .500 and every now and then made a run in the playoffs. They had finished district runner-up the year before I got there but that momentum was halted when Richmond fired their head coach after that year on account of some bullying accusations and treatment of former players and coaches. That's when I moved in and took the job. It was a great opportunity for me. I was 30 years old at the time and had only six years experience as an assistant beforehand. It was quite remarkable I had been offered the job honestly. But, I came from and coached in perhaps the best program in the state. I am sure that fact went a long way with the hiring team. But unfortunately, my lack of experience was showing up in the wins column. In both of my first two seasons we finished 3-7. The heat was on me to perform better this year, or I could be out of a job. So far, I was living up to the challenge. We were 5-0, although that was thanks in part due to the D1 running back I had in my backfield. He was a transfer from Richmond's rival, the Cedar Springs Red Raiders, who we happened to be playing tonight.

I looked around the stadium and took in the familiar scenery. The field had recently been renamed Don Brooks Field after their longtime and current head coach. It's not often that a school or community renames their field after a coach who still hasn't retired yet, but then again, the Don Brooks' of the world didn't come around too often. Coach Brooks had seven state championships attached to his name in twenty years of coaching (along with sixteen district titles). That included the last two state titles, and he and his team looked to be serious contenders again for a third straight. No doubt he would be inducted into the Hall of Fame as soon as he retired. Some people claimed that while Coach Brooks was the head football coach of Cedar Springs, he may as well also been the sheriff and the mayor. He could get away with anything. Normal laws and rules didn't really apply to him. Anything he wanted, he got. It didn't matter if it was new uniforms, new equipment, a new bus, or to shut down a street to build a new weight room. If Coach Brooks said he wanted something, everyone bent over backwards to make it happen. People held him in that high regard. Either that or they were too afraid to tell him 'no.' He had an aura about him. He spoke with absolute confidence. No one dreamed of challenging him. In all my time I had never heard an adult tell him "no" or a player or student disobey him. Cedar Springs football was the pride and joy of the town and everyone credited that to their star coach.

Cedar Springs also happened to be my alma mater and where I got my first coaching job as an assistant coach for Coach Brooks. I had played for Cedar Springs (and Coach Brooks) fifteen years ago. Well, "played'' might not be the most exact term. I was the backup quarterback my senior year. I very rarely made it onto the field unless it was a blowout which did happen on occasion. I had a better knack for the mental side of the game. You have to be a stud to be able to play quarterback for the Red Raiders. In my experience of playing for Coach Brooks, I'd say he was a tough old bastard that rode my ass all the time (I wish that sentence was literal but unfortunately it wasn't. One can dream though!). But despite the frequent tongue lashings I received I still admired and looked up to the man. The man was a legend.

The seats were almost full and would no doubt be at full-capacity come gametime. This was a rivalry game, and the first time in a long time both teams were undefeated. In fact, the popular opinion was that Richmond actually had the more talented team. But with the game being at Cedar Springs and the difference in each team's coaching (as painful as it was to admit), Cedar Springs was still favored by the local newspapers to win (but only by an extra point). I looked up at the painted numbers on the side of the press box. There were ten numbers in all, each of which represented a state title. I took a deep breath and rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants. How was I supposed to defeat this kind of juggernaut program? I had better figure it out soon. I knew my job was potentially on the line this year.

My anxious thoughts were broken for a moment by a loud cheer erupting from the crowd. I turned toward what I knew must be the cause of such a cheer and saw the Cedar Springs football team running through the East side tunnel and onto the field. Running in front and leading this sea of red jerseys was none other than the man himself, Coach Don Brooks.

Coach Brooks was a well seasoned man at 55 years old and his movement showed that he was a former star athlete. He had been an All-American safety at Ohio State. As he charged onto the field one could make out the exact shape of his impressive thighs and the full trunk he carried in the back of his pants. He was clean shaven, had a good looking yet rugged look, short salt and pepper hair, and a strong jaw that was perfect for giving a stern look or a verbal ass chewing. His skin was a tan leather color from many hours in the hot sun. He was built stoutly at 6'1 and 220lbs. His arms looked big and strong as was his chest. Being in his 50s, he had added a healthy layer of fat on top of toned core. As a fan of bigger men, burly men, it was my opinion that Coach Brooks became sexier with each passing year. Coach Brooks stopped at the fifty yard line on the home side of the field and high fived and low fived his players as they ran by, slapping a few of them hard on the rear. Damn, how I miss those Coach Brooks butt pats!

I first discovered my attraction for men through Coach Brooks. He was the first man I fantasized about. Maybe it had something to do with not having a father growing up and Coach Brooks being the closest thing to a father figure in my life. I needed a strong male figure in my life and to receive his approval. It may be that this feeling was why I saw myself as a mostly submissive man and never had tried to venture too far from that role. It took a lot of courage to even submit an application for a head coaching job. Deep down I had my doubts if I was up to the challenge. I still do.

Both teams continued to warm up. I stayed near midfield allowing my assistant coaches to run the team through warm up drills. Coach Brooks made sure his team was doing the same and then he headed toward me taking long deliberate strides as he went. It was customary for the head coaches to meet and chat before the game.

"Coach, good to see you." I said, sticking out my hand to greet my former mentor. Usually, I would greet the other team's coach by his first name, but I couldn't with Coach Brooks. He would always be "Coach" to me. Calling him anything different would feel inappropriate almost.

"Timmy, welcome home. How's my favorite backup quarterback doing?" He shook my hand with a strong squeeze. I had to use considerable effort not to wince. We made small talk for a bit and congratulated each other on successful seasons so far.

"I still can't get used to seeing you in the blue and yellow. I bet your mamma had a heart attack when you told her you were joining the enemy." That was the second time Coach had remarked about my departure from my hometown. His smile after these words disguised his remark as a joke, but I was smart enough to know every joke has some truth at its core.

"Oh she had mixed feelings at first, but she came around. Plus, blue and yellow isn't so bad."

Coach Brooks gave me a side eye look. Clearly, he disagreed.

"Sounds like things are getting tense over there in Richmond. Even despite you winning with my players." He was referencing the stud running back we had now who had played for Cedar Springs the previous season. "I've heard some rumblings about wanting Coach Wheeler back."

Now, this comment took me more off guard. Coach Wheeler was the head coach I mentioned earlier. I was surprised Coach Brooks would explicitly bring up the rumors about me getting let go at the end of the season if things didn't turn around. I took a step back.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Coach Brooks ignored my question. He patted me on the back, gave me one more strong handshake and said, "Good luck, you're going to need it." I stood there stunned for a few seconds and then walked back to my sideline with my tongue in the back of my throat. I just wanted the game to be over with already.

I was growing more nervous as game time approached. Watching their team warm up didn't help much either. They looked as big and tough as they always were, and they appeared motivated tonight. My eyes quickly found their line coach and followed him as he shouted out instructions. There were certainly larger line coaches out there, but he had a solid build at 6'0, 260lbs. He had wide hips and a nice round belly typical of the position. He was a handsome masculine looking guy with short brown hair and a matching goatee. The facial hair was clearly an attempt to look older as the rest of his face revealed he was still a young man. His name was Tyler Hall, and I knew him well, very well.

Tyler and I had been best friends growing up. We lived in the same neighborhood and went to school together all throughout elementary and high school, eventually playing together at Cedar Springs. We were both a part of the same senior class that won the 2006 state title. Tyler was the starting center for that state team and earned all-state honors. We were inseparable. We were both only-childs, so it was natural for us to become like brothers. We shared rides together, took many of the same classes, hung out together on the weekends either in the same friend group or just the two of us. Oftentimes we spent the night at each other's houses. This friendship found its way into a sexual relationship, partly, thanks in part, to football and the nature of the two positions we played.

You see, if you don't know much about football, let me clue you in. The center is the one who starts the play. He bends over fully at the waist and snaps the ball between his legs to the quarterback.

He then blocks in order to protect the quarterback from the other team's defensive linemen trying to tackle him. At Cedar Springs, we ran an under-center offense which meant that the quarterback put his hands underneath the center in order to take the snap. In order to do this properly, the quarterback has to put the top of his hand firmly pressing into the center's ass in that area between his balls and ass crack. Most young quarterbacks and centers experience lots of fumbled snaps at the beginning because the quarterback is too shy to get his hands up in there properly. It is a rather intimate position for such a rough and tough sport. You can't be shy about it, and Tyler and I certainly weren't.

As I said before, Tyler and I were childhood friends and frequently played together at each other's houses. We rough-housed and wrestled frequently. Tyler always won. He was bigger and stronger than me. His big midsection and tree trunk thighs were always too much for my skinny athletic frame to overcome. I point to Coach Brooks as the start of my attraction towards men, but maybe it was Tyler. Tyler was always bigger and stronger than I was and I used to love it when Tyler would wrestle me down and put me in some type of pinning hold or powerbomb me onto his bed (I loved the part before where he would put my head between his legs!). I wanted to be big and strong like the guys who played for Coach Brooks. I saw how Coach treated them and wanted that approval for myself. But I didn't see that kind of masculinity in myself. I did see it in Tyler, however, and I gravitated to him in a physical way.

One summer night when we were in college, after too many rum and cokes at a party, I decided to stay over in Tyler's basement to avoid the wrath of my mom who would not have approved of such drunken behavior. For some reason we thought it would be funny to practice our snaps in our inebriated state. Tyler was wearing these shiny silver shorts. I can still see him to this day, that size 38 waist bent over, his beefy ass fully spread just popping out at me. I wanted to do all kinds of unspeakable things with it (touch it, slap it, kiss it, you name it!). After a couple snaps, and feeling the confidence of excessive liquor, I decided to spank his ass real hard as he bent over to deliver another snap. He didn't even jump or yelp. He simply took it, laughed, and told me to stop goofing around. So I did it again. And again. Still nothing.

At this point, his shorts were riding up from being bent over at such an acute angle. I could even see underneath his ass and see his sizeable bulge pressing against the thin fabric. My mouth watered and I was drunk on lust now, too. I took things one step further and reached underneath Tyler and tickled his balls. This did make Tyler jump up in surprise, and, while giggling, he turned around and gave me a hard push. I stumbled backwards several steps. When I returned to him and playfully leaned on his chest, he took the chance to tickle me below the belt as well. Instinctively, I pushed him back, but he did not budge. Next, an impromptu wrestling match broke out. He quickly got me into a headlock and dragged me down to the carpet. He kept his weight on top of me and maneuvered so that he was sitting on top of my chest with his back facing me. I was stuck in a precarious position not being able to get this behemoth off me. He lightly punched me in my abs, and eventually lifted up my shirt and delivered some slaps to my naked torso. I pawed at his big ass acting like I was trying to push him off but really just taking advantage of the moment to put my hands on it.

"Who's the boss?" he taunted. I laughed with the little breath his weight afforded me. "Who's the boss?" he repeated.

"Fuck you!" I said.

"Oh, fuck me? Alright then." Tyler kept me pinned but scooted back so his ass rested on my forehead and his balls on my chin. "Since you like to tickle my balls, how about you kiss them as well."

I tried half-heartedly to struggle out of this position but couldn't. The only thing I could do was lift my legs and try to kick him off of me. But he grabbed my ankles and locked them underneath his arm pits and now, my ass was trapped sticking straight up in the air. He joyfully began spanking my ass over and over. I screamed and yelled, but his ass and balls muffled any sound I made. Being the horny eighteen year old that I was, I eventually became aroused from this activity. Tyler noticed the tent forming in my shorts.

"What do we have here!" he said mischievously. His large hand wrapped all the way around my dick while feeling it through the fabric. I tried to protest but any noise I made only sent vibrations into Tyler's underside. He must have liked this feeling because he sat further back on me and he continued to play with my groin. I gave up the charade of fighting and began to lap at Tyler's balls through his shorts. I created a wet spot with my saliva that seeped through no time. Tyler rolled off of me. Once my vision adjusted to the light, I saw Tyler's shorts were tented as well. But Tyler was clearly packing more in the pants than I was. Our two veiny members shared the same difference as our two body types. Tyler's dick was big and meaty while mine was small and skinny.

That was the first night Tyler and I messed around. We were too shy to go beyond fondling one another, and neither of us spoke much during it. Obviously we were nervous and slightly embarrassed at what we were doing. But the next morning when we partook in this same new and forbidden fun, this time with sober minds, we loosened up and began to let go of the initial shame that accompanied it. Physical encounters between us became a regular occurrence after that. We didn't have the courage to escalate further than blow jobs. It naturally worked out that I did most of the blowing. This was the case for several reasons. Tyler was the bigger man and the more aggressive and confident of us two. Also, as I mentioned earlier, Tyler had a much bigger dick than I did. It made sense that his cock should dictate the fun (pun intended). Tyler loved pointing out this size difference. He would frequently tease me about it during our sexual fun and wasn't afraid to make subtle jokes/comments about it in public (disguised in such a way only he and I knew what was really being said). I loved this teasing too, and that is why he continued to do it. My small cock was secondary to his king-sized. My role as a giver and servicer and his role as the bigger alpha male were solidified by this one of many physical differences.

Tyler and I remained friends during all this. I wouldn't say we were ever dating. We were just friends who liked to mess around (in secret - both of us are still in the closet). It was good to have a friend, a brother, to share this secret with. Being gay in any small community, let alone a football crazed one like Cedar Springs, can be very difficult. It also turned out we were both attracted to Coach Brooks. He was that mentor, that second father-figure (for me a first father-figure) whose approval we both craved.

Tyler played college football at a D2 school, so I didn't see him much during the school year. But it was quite the homecoming when we both accepted jobs on Coach Brooks' coaching staff. That ramped the sexual part of our relationship back up. We were more experienced now - more willing to explore new things. While we could be versatile at times (Tyler had been very versatile in college), Tyler resumed his role as the top while I took up the bottom. For six years, things were great! But things got awkward between us when I accepted the Richmond coaching job. Not only did it mean I would be moving thirty minutes down the road and we wouldn't see each other as often, but Tyler had applied for the job too. That created an unspoken rift between us. It had been a surprise when I had been offered the job over him. Tyler said he was cool with it, but I suspected this wasn't the exact truth. Tyler had more football success than me growing up, and I think it was difficult for him to see me elevate to a head coaching position before he did. We still talked and hung out on occasion but things were definitely different.

I hated playing Cedar Springs, but Tyler was one of the few bright parts about this game. Seeing him barking at his guys getting them pumped up before the game brought back all these good memories and made me long for them again. The past two years we had wagered on this game. Loser serves the winner later that night. Needless to say, the past two years I had been Tyler's slave boy for the night and he had pounded me almost as hard as my team had been on the scoreboard earlier that evening.

Game time was a couple minutes away. Each team's captains and head coaches gathered at midfield for the coin toss. All friendliness and familiarity were no longer to be found in Coach Brooks. He was focused and ready for war. I looked over his shoulder and saw Tyler. He gave me a nod of the head to which I returned. Then, he adjusted his groin real quick and then pretended to be stretching his hips, putting his hands on them and moving side to side, back and forth. The subtle thrusting motion communicated this gesture's real meaning. I couldn't help but smile. "Cocky bastard," I said under my breath. 'Not this time big boy!'

Our run-first offense was to receive the ball first, but right away Coach Brooks caught me by surprise. He onside kicked to success and took the momentum and wind out of our sails right away. He didn't stop there. Four plays later (all completed passes) and Cedar Springs took the lead 7-0 barely two minutes into the game. I told our team not to panic. We picked up a couple first downs to start and moved the ball across midfield. But the drive soon stalled on their 40 yard line with a 4th and 1 play upcoming. My offense stayed on the field expecting to go for it, and my assistant coaches were calling for me to do the same in the headsets. "HB Lead! Let Dez pick this one up." But looking over at Coach Brooks, I knew he had done some extra film study for this game and judging by the swagger with which he was standing, I thought he had something special dialed up. "Punt!" I called out. Everyone groaned. I wanted to play the field position game and keep it close. If we could pin them inside the 10 and hold them, we could get the ball back at roughly midfield and try again. Maybe that would have worked, but we shanked the ball out of bounds for a net of 15 yards. They took over on their own 25 yard line. My defense had no answer for their quick hitting passes. A couple long plays and just like that, 14-0 midway through the first. The mistakes continued to pile up. We were completely out of sync. We missed tackles, missed blocks, and I couldn't make a good call to save my life. I was trying to get back in the game in a hurry and kept calling big hitting pass routes despite my coaching staff calling for me to give Dez the ball. We threw two interceptions on consecutive drives and went into the half down 28-0. Halftime was a mess too. Players were visibly frustrated; coaches argued with each other; I was flustered and unable to make any sense in my halftime adjustments. We went back out onto the field completely dejected. We did manage to kick a field goal late in the third quarter but by that point it only brought the score to within 35-3. Looking back on it, I probably should have gone for it again in order to keep the drive alive. We needed touchdowns not field goals. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. We lost 49-10.