Mr. Meyer Makes a Man Out of Me

A gay story: Mr. Meyer Makes a Man Out of Me My nightmare–hell, the worst nightmare of pretty much any teenage boy–was coming true.

Gym class hell.

God help me.

Growing up as kid back in the 80s, I was… well… skinny. Gangly. Skangly, I guess. All elbows and knees with toothpick-limbs holding them together. I was hardly friendless, but I was naturally quiet, even on the shy side. Especially with strangers. Which was made worse by the fact that I raised by a single mom who tried to manage every detail of my life with all the obsession of a chihuahua on Adderall.

In other words, I was a neurotic wimp.

Worse, I was on the cusp of manhood. An 18-year-old senior set to graduate at the end of the year. Theoretically, I was ready to grab life by the horns and make my mark on the world. Yet I was completely unready to defend myself if anyone messed with me.

Yeah… some “manhood.”

Given all this, I was terrified about being bullied into oblivion by any of the other guys who had their lives together, especially the jocks in gym class. I know bullying is obviously a problem today, but back then the bullying was done with brutal, no-holds-barred, Leviticus-levels of torment.

My usual defense was to hide as much as I could. Vanish into the carpeting. Oh, I know I was earning no points for bravery, but my long-range hope was the big, massive jocks who went around terrorizing people would overlook me and vent their fury on someone else.

But today was the kind of day that made that strategy utterly impossible.

At the start of the new school year, our gym teachers did a few days of testing to set a benchmark for performance over the course of the year. Essentially, every single student would need to submit to public evaluation on how well they could complete a range of physical tasks: how many sit-ups you could do, how many pushups, how fast you could run an obstacle course, and so on.

I had been active as a kid growing up; but in my gangly state, there was no way I could possibly run with the jocks.

Worst of all, everyone had to demonstrate these skills in front of everyone. There was no way to hide, no way to avoid showing your frailties in front of Every. One. Else. In. Fifth. Period. Gym.

Everyone would see how much of a physical failure I was.

My one strategy for survival was that by hanging back at each apparatus to the end, I could usually count on the fact that everyone who had gone before me was completely bored with the process, and I could squeak by without anyone really caring. It was a risky strategy, born of desperation, but it was all I had.

Well, it was my turn up the bar to do chin-ups. And I was terrified. This was the worst of the worst for me; I was generally fast and had decent core strength, but my puny little arms were an unending source of embarrassment. Ugh.

Worst of all, the monitor was… Mr. Meyer. Crap. Gym teachers sometimes have the reputation of being washed out has-beens with a beer gut, who delighted in making kids do all kinds of physical activity that would leave themselves winded.

Mr. Meyer wasn’t like that at all. He was the jockiest jock that jocks prayed to so they could receive the blessings of divine jockdom. He was a machine.

I didn’t really know much about him, which made him all the more intimidating. He had an amazing body, as if the major leagues were about to call him up to pitch in the starting rotation in the World Series. Worse, he was… like, handsome. The kind of guy who could easily star as the new James Bond movie. If someone ever printed a poster of Mr. Meyer shirtless, I’m sure half the jocks would have ripped down Farrah Fawcett and put him up in her place.

His age? I mean, from a highschooler’s perspective, he was an “adult,” and that could be anything from 20 to 50. I think he was like an Assistant Athletic Director, so he didn’t teach as much as some of the other colleagues. But I did see him around in the gym teachers’ locker room. I know that he taught a few gym classes, and was an Assistant Coach for… something. And that every female in the school drooled over him, and drew obscene doodles about him in notes they passed around with each other. Teachers and students alike.

His bare existence made me feel like the clumsiest, scrawniest, most hopeless idiot in the universe. Unworthy in every way.

So, of course he was going to be the official chronicler of my miserable performance on my weakest skill.

I had no choice. Dead last, there was nowhere to hide. I slithered up to the apparatus, desperate no not make any sudden move that might draw someone’s eye. I jumped up, grabbing it….

…and promptly humiliated myself. Even by my own timorous standards.

Part of the problem is that to build momentum, I kicked my legs wildly to the side. Right where Mr. Meyer was standing. Getting him good in the gut. He instinctively doubled over, and looked up at me. I met his eyes. His eyes.

His eyes.

Something… some feeling… rushed through me, and my body… quit. I could feel myself losing my grip, and like a slow-mo assassination scene, I let go… and crumpled to the floor.

Oh God. Oh God. OhGodohGodohGodohGod. My life was over. I had humiliated myself in the worst possible way, in front of the worst possible audience.

Panic. Oh God. Did anyone see? See that I didn’t even do one stupid chin-up before dropping off the bar? OhGodohGodohGod. I turned to flee. Flee for my life. With whatever was left of my tattered dignity and the wreckage of my miserable existence.

But it got worse. I heard his voice. A warm, ringing baritone. Him. He was talking to me.

“Son, hold on a second. Could you come here?”

OhGodohGodohGod.

More dead than alive, my head bowed to hide my burning shame, I shuffled back to him. My panicked gaze dancing every which way, seeing if anyone was watching. So far, so good… I think everyone left in the area was caught up in the rapt conversations of teenagers. Oblivious.

I stood before him. Afraid to acknowledge his–or my–existence.

“Son, that didn’t really go too well, did it?”

I shook my head.

“Can you… do… any chin-ups?”

God. Why was he doing this? Why was he cornering me? Forcing me to publicly admit to my failure? Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

“Son?”

I numbly shrugged. Anything to end this mortifying spectacle.

“That’s a problem, isn’t it? Don’t you want to grow up strong?”

“…I…”

“The other boys are doing good, don’t you want to be like your friends?”

“…I…” What the…? Friends? Somewhere underneath my humiliation, I was starting to get mad. So now I wasn’t good enough to have friends, or something?!?

“Don’t you want to be able to… live your life like a real man? To… move furniture, do your job?”

What was he saying?? God, stop already. I get it. I’m worthless. Go to hell… leave me alone…

“Don’t you think….”

“SHUT UP.”

I snapped. I was hissing violently. All the rage, humiliation, and frustration of my whole stupid life boiling up and roaring past all my defenses. Somehow, I was speaking up, for what may have been the first time in my entire life.

Mr. Meyer looked blankly at me, and blinked twice.

“Don’t you think I know how pathetic I am??” I hissed. “Don’t you think I know I’m a loser? Don’t you think I live every moment terrified that… oh, the football team, the wrestling team… hell, the debate team isn’t going make my life a living hell, every single day? ESPECIALLY in the locker room, where I live every day of my life in terror that I’m gonna be thrown into my locker? Or that they’ll drag me into one of the bathroom stalls and give me a swirly?”

Mr. Mayer seemed to recover from his shock and catch his footing. “Easy, there, son. Calm down. If you’re worried about the other boys, why not do something to build strength? Why not try out for a team? That’s a great way to get into shape and to….”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?” I didn’t know I could whisper so loud. “Don’t you think I want to be in shape??!? But the first time I go out for a team, any team, every idiot on the sidelines is going to see just how pathetic I am. I’ll be the biggest laughingstock of all! Laughed off the line, and then thrown into a locker or given a swirly. And after I’m gone, at every practice ’til the end of time, they’ll gather and tell the story about that one time That Pathetic Loser tried out and made a fool out of himself. Look! I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know what to do! I can’t get started until I’m in shape, and I can’t get in shape until I get started. What do you all want with me!!?!”

At this point I was nearly in tears. Years of frustration and self-loathing boiling up, unstoppable. I just wanted to run. Run and never stop.

I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. A big, meaty hand… surprisingly strong. Surprisingly gentle. I looked up, but Mr. Meyer had leaned down, to better look me in the eye. “Can your dad work with you? I’m sure he’d love to throw a ball, teach you a few things….”

“He’s gone.” I was biting off each word. “Divorced my mom when I was six, moved out east. My brother is older, out of the house, in college. And he’s always hated me for ruining the good thing he had going as being the only child. It’s just me and my mom who’s terrified that I’m gonna grow up to be like my dad.”

“Oof,” he gently exhaled. Mr. Meyer looked down, not saying a word for a minute. Well, what for me felt like a 100-year-long minute. His big hand still holding my shoulder. Strongly… with a kind of effortless strength. He looked back up at me. “What’s your name, son?”

“Troy.”

“Well Troy? It looks like you’re marching off to manhood without anyone to show you the ropes. No one should have to do that alone.” There was a long pause. A very long pause. “Maybe I can help.”

I looked at him. Curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters… I could help you get into shape. You said you’re terrified someone bigger’s gonna come around and mess with you. I could show you how to bulk up, build some muscle, get yourself in fighting shape. And, show how to take care of yourself. Would you like that? Like being able to stand tall, and be your best self?”

I… I was speechless. No other man in my life had ever talked to me like this. Men didn’t know I existed… or if they did, looked down on me for being pathetic. Was… was he serious? Without even realizing it, I nodded. Looking down. But feeling… hopeful. Well, maybe not hopeful, but less terrified.

“There we go!” he enthused cheerfully. “And see, that’s just the start! When you feel strong, you’ll be strong. Strong enough to look a man in the eye when he’s talking to you,” he said with a grin.

I blushed, and looked up at him. His smile lit a fire under mine.

“Alright! That’s the spirit!” he rustled my hair.

My residual distrust still bubbled up. “But why would you do this, for… well, me?”

Mr. Meyer gave me a glowing grin, which… somehow lit up some deep, cobweb-filled corners of my mind I didn’t even know were there. It was a strange feeling, inside of me. “Troy, growing up is hard enough on its own. It’s easier with someone older and wiser who can help you ride the rapids. I’m a coach. That’s what I do. I shape people to be their best selves. You’ve been dealt a rough hand, but you’re stronger than you think. That little bit of self-righteous temper proves it!”

I blushed again, thinking about how I had word-vomited all over him.

“Most of my coaching duties aren’t until spring, so the timing is good. Troy, I’ll make a deal with you: Give me six months. Let’s call it February 1. I guarantee you’ll see progress and start to feel like a new man. We’ll make a plan and stick to it. Work after school, and maybe weekends. If you like it, we’ll keep going. You think you can do that?”

“I… I guess so.”

“C’mon, Troy… is that all you got?”

“Yes. YES. I can do that!”

“Atta boy!” he gripped my shoulder again.

“I just gotta ask my mom first.”

Mr. Meyer stood and fixed a look. “Troy, first lesson is that a man doesn’t ask his mom’s permission. He confirms his plans with her!” he said with a wink.

I broke out into a huge grin. “I’m going home to confirm with my mom!”

“Getting there! You’re totally getting there!” His laughter was… rich, baritone. Like honey-stained oak. “Troy, I want to change your thinking. You need to be bold. And the best way to do that is to start acting bold, even if you’re not feeling it. Then, in time, it will be second nature. I want you to always think, ‘What would a hero do?’ Lift yourself up. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes I can!” I blurted out.

And… God help me… I think I actually believed it.

Mr. Meyer beamed down on me. There was this… enthusiasm in his voice. A masculine enthusiasm. Like we were gonna climb Mt. Everest or swim the English Channel. Together. He… actually made me believe I could do it. That I could make myself into one of those action heroes I was always watching on TV.

What would a hero do. A hero. I don’t know that I ever had many real-live heroes in my life, but at that moment… Mr. Meyer was one of them.

We agreed to meet for our first lesson on Wednesday. I had spent the entire previous night thinking and rethinking what I could wear. His words, “What would a hero do?” still ringing in my ears. I didn’t have proper gym gear–we were way too poor for that–but I pulled out my favorite outfit, figuring a hero needed to like what he wore.

That first encounter… changed everything. And made everything that followed possible.

I got to the locker room at the appointed time. Mr. Meyer, aware of my insecurities, had suggested that I show up well after the final bell to be sure that everyone was out. So I was waiting alone, in the deserted locker room.

And then, in he came.

He must have had teaching or some administrative time, because he came in wearing “civilian gear.”

“Troy!” He boomed out in hearty greeting. “Right on time, and ready to go. Good man! Gimme just a couple of minutes to change gear and we’ll be ready. The Mrs. will get mad if I wreck my good clothes!”

“Ok, sure!” I started somewhat at his comments; kids rarely give one second of thought about their teachers’ home lives. “Are you married?”

“Yep, and even have a baby girl. Well, not exactly a baby anymore… she’s growing up too fast. C’mon back while I get ready!”

Mr. Meyer led me into the gym teachers’ locker room. I had never been inside, just seen it through the windows that looked into the main room. The main part of it was essentially an office with a series of built-in desks. Further back, there was a locker room for the teachers and coaches, with a bathroom and showers. It was all pretty simple and straightforward, but for me it was like walking into a cathedral. A Cathedral of Manhood. It was amazing. Sounds, sights, and even smells overwhelming me. My only frame of reference for gym life was the boys’ locker room. But this was different. A place radiating masculinity. Camaraderie.

Maybe it sounds stupid, but having him bring me back into this forbidden space made me feel extra special, like I was a new initiate being ushed into the Holy of Holies. Into the Citadel of Manhood.

I was so overwhelmed taking everything in, I had momentarily lost track of Mr. Meyer. He continued to talk about this or that, I wasn’t really paying attention. And then I turned back to him.

Oh.

Oh God.

He was naked.

Naked.

And… he… was…

…Jesus….

Of course, I had seen the male body before. Through gym class, I had had to shower around a lot of guys. But they were always my age. Mr. Meyer was… a MAN. He had this… build… to him. Real muscles. He wasn’t a weightlifter or anything, but even so he had this powerful athletic frame. Powerful beyond any of the jocks in school. Radiating strength. Commanding respect.

But it was more than that. I was… shocked… to realize he had… hair. All this body hair. Far more than the guys I showered with. I had been proud when my pubes came in, and when I started growing snaffles of fur around my nipples. But Mr. Meyer had full-on body hair. A wash of dark, curly hair across his cast-iron pecs, which ran down his center to open up again below his belly button. It thickened again into this… freaking… forest… around his dick.

Dick.

Oh… God… his…

…dick…

It was a freaking MAN-DICK to go with the rest of him. I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of in that department relative to the other guys. But there was a vast difference between a good-sized teenage dick, and a good-sized man dick. Jesus. It was this huge slab of meat perched over a pair of hairy baseballs. Oh… Holy… Crap….

Once he had fully stepped out of his pants and underwear, he reached down to his balls and casually shook them off, giving them a stretch and chance to breathe after having been confined all day.

All conscious thought had left my body. There was only this… Thundering Roar of a Man standing before me, in all his manly glory. So casual, unthinking about his powerfully masculine body. Unlike anyone I had ever seen before.

As I stood there in overwhelmed awe, he continued to chatter about… well, I have no idea. But he kept jabbering. Oblivious to my stupefied state. At one point he casually reached into his gym bag, pulled out a jock, raised it to his nose and gave it a passing sniff. Satisfied, he bent down and stepped into it, positioning himself in the cotton fabric.

At this point, he finally glanced over at me.

I was still struck mute.

“Uh, you okay, Troy?”

Oh God. What was…? How was…? Oh God. Oh… GOD.

I was too terrified to move, let alone speak. What happened? And even worse, what did he think of me?

Mr. Meyer looked at me, his gaze slightly softening. I didn’t know if that was good or bad, or made me feel better or worse. “Troy? Ah… I get it.”

“Uh… you… do…?”

“The hair. Look, I get it all the time. I’m guessing you’ve never seen an ape-man before. Right?”

I blushed furiously. “None of the guys look… like… you….”

“Yeah, I get stares from little kids at the beach all the time,” he joked. Mr. Meyer shifted his weight to one leg. Looking for all the world like a Greek statue. Only hairier. And a lot more masculine.

I couldn’t laugh with him. A mix of terror, embarrassment, and too many other things hitting me all at once.

Something…changed… in his gaze. Softening it, I think… but I couldn’t really read him. There was a pause while he studied me. Finally, he went on. “Troy, from what you’ve said, I’m sure it’s been hard growing up, without men in your life to show you the ropes. So let me give you a few pointers. Lesson One: every man checks out every man. Every chance they get. It’s in our nature. Men in the natural world are competitive, hierarchical, territorial. And yes, we are particularly competitive about our dicks. That’s the way it is. There is no shame in sneaking a peek. Don’t worry about it. But Troy? You gotta be more careful. Guys don’t like being checked out, regardless of how natural it is. Got it?”

I swallowed, and nodded.

“Good man!” He playfully tousled my hair. “Alright, let’s get to it. Sooner than you realize, you’re gonna bulk up and be able to give all the other guys something to think about!”

And so it began. The long climb towards building up my body.

I have to say, it was… amazing. I essentially had my own personal trainer to help build me up. Over the next few weeks, we worked on a program to build muscle, yes, but to also build overall strength and stamina. You could tell he was a coach; Mr. Meyer was really good–surprisingly good–at being able to push me along. I guess I expected this guy, who looked like the alpha-most of alpha guys, would be screaming at me like I was in boot camp for the Marines. Dumping on me, tearing me down. But he didn’t. He was patient, yet persistent. Instinctively knowing when to prod and when to pull back. Never afraid to give it to me straight.

Plus, he was surprisingly physical. My midwestern upbringing meant that people–especially men–just didn’t touch each other. Ever. But here he was, hands all over me as he moved me into position, changed my stance, or braced me when I needed it. Clapping my back when I nailed a routine. Touching me. Freely.

But it wasn’t just about becoming strong. He took seriously his role of mentoring me into the world of men. Showing me, along the way, all kinds of things that my overprotective, vaguely neurotic mom never wanted me to know. Showing me how to spit. Getting me to feel comfortable adjusting myself when necessary. Teaching me how to snap back and bust another guy’s chops. And also, how to embrace life, with a jock-like confidence. His philosophy was “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take,” and that ethos slowly worked its way into my thinking. No longer being afraid to go for it.

And that was the true transformation going on. He was leading me to being tough, physically and emotionally. To feel comfortable in the new body I was creating.

And slowly, over time, things started to change. I started filling out more. Even I could start to see the contours of my muscles slowly spring to life. Looking less like a boy, and more like a man.

Mr. Meyer’s body remained my ultimate goal. When I stared in the mirror, his was the body I wanted for myself. Just the… shape of it. The mass of it. The obvious power of his muscles. And a dusting of manly hair of my own.

Curiously, that chance encounter of seeing him naked on our first day together remained seared into my mind. And… that wasn’t the only time I saw him like that. He was remarkably casual about getting undressed. Sometimes, he and another coach would be casually bantering back in forth in the office, and one or the other of them would be stark naked. Hidden off to the side so they couldn’t see me, I silently gawked at them. I couldn’t get over it. It was so… foreign to me, especially since my mom usually acted like a guy with his shirt off was obscene. I was… amazed? thrilled? that he was so free with his body. Envious of his confidence.

The raw power of his body was reinforced a few weeks later. Later in the fall, we got a late blast of summer weather. As the heat got to us, we stripped off our T-shits, and it was all I could do not to oogle him as he pushed me through my drills. Watching his muscles, now sheened with sweat, in action. The sight… got to me. Stayed with me. Tripped along the edges of my mind… my memory.

Something else happened that day. After I finished my drills, he sent me running to grab our discarded shirts. As I was running back, I… I don’t know what I was thinking, but I… well, I brought his to my nose and… smelled it.

I… it was like… I mean… it just….

Wow.

His scent… filled me. I mean, I was aware that he had a… well, a day-in, day-out scent to him. But this was different. A sharper scent. A scent of sweat, and action, and… man…. It was amazing. Throwing me off. Hitting me in ways I… didn’t… understand.

It stayed with me.

I think it was around then that… strange thoughts started to come into my mind. I mean, as a red-blooded American teenage boy, I thought plenty about sex. I had started the usual… dance… of trying to get the attention of cute girls in my class. Along with my few buddies from the neighborhood, I had of course snuck peeks at girlie magazines whenever we could get away with it. And, naturally, that Holy Grail of teenage life–sneaking views of dirty videos that my buddies’ dads had thought they had hidden away.

It also should go without saying that I had a very healthy acquaintance with jerking off–and had even snuck a bottle of lotion under my bed so I could enjoy myself at leisure. I trained myself to be deathly quiet to avoid arousing the wrath of my mom.

So yes, I was acquainted with sex, at least from the perspective of a repressed, 18-year-old virgin.

But as the weeks drifted by, my thoughts on the subject became… disjointed. Less clear. My daydreams were less about abstract, big-titty women I had seen, but of… I dunno… physical pleasure of a… different sort. One that I couldn’t even put my finger on, and that never quite came into focus.

Besides, it didn’t seem as important. What I was really into was hanging out with Mr. Meyer. Those sessions became the bread and butter of my life. Making me feel confident. Making me feel alive. And somehow, Mr. Meyer became one of, if not the most important person in my life. His opinions started mattering more to me than my buds. I mean, they were just a bunch of kids, while Mr. Meyer was a freaking God.

It wasn’t just the drills, I loved just… doing things with him. Making him proud of me. Making him… pay attention to me. Thinking how good it felt to have his hands on me as he shifted my position, or set my legs or….

It was… strange….

Things became really strange one day when he was working on some drills to build flexibility. He was pushing, I was pushing, and… something happened as our balance got out of whack, and he ended up hands-on, flat-out pushing my butt to stabilize me.

It was only an awkward, passing second, and we reset to get it right.

But that…

…it felt…

…man…

Wow.

There was something about that moment that hit my body in a way I didn’t understand. I could feel a… burning… on my cheeks. A… tingling… in my gut. And almost like an… after glow… of his hands. I realized my pulse was up. And not from the workout.

Oh crap. I was bewildered. Confused. And I pulled back. It was weird. I looked at Mr. Meyer. Oh God. What did he think? What was I even doing? God, I was such a spaz!

But his look was… curious. Maybe the most curious thing about the whole situation.

I went home. There was plenty of time before my mom got back from work, so I usually enjoyed a bit of uninterrupted “me time.” I slid into my bedroom. I was all set to rub one out. Maybe with a contraband dirty magazine that I had stashed under my bed.

Yeah. That’s what I needed. Clearing my mind by shooting a big load.

I grabbed some lube and slid it around my rapidly-swelling dick. Hoping the rush would burn through the confusion and set me to right. My slick hand worked my meat. Feeling good. It only took a second for my dick to rear up, ready for battle. I was long; seven inches or so when I measured last. Curved slightly back towards my belly, with a good-shaped mushroom head. A good dick for jacking off, giving me lots of surface to work.

I got down to business. I loved the tight feeling as I twisted my hand slooowly around myself. Loving the torque. Loving the pressure. Rubbing my thumb around the tip, teasing my piss slit. Oooooh yeaaaaaah. With my left I started working my nipples. That always got me going. Pulling. Tweaking. I had just a brush of hair around them–they were not nearly hairy as Mr. Meyer’s. His were big and fat too, filling out those might pecs of his….

Aw crap, why was I thinking about… him? Like, a guy? No! I was trying to get myself off! I pulled out my well-used magazine, and opened it to my favorite page. A page of her fingering her twat. God, I wish my hand was there. Without thought, my left hand slid down to my balls, kneading them roughly as I pulled my dick. Loving the feeling of my bush as tickled my fingers. Pushing up on that magic spot behind my balls. Yeeeaahhh. Feeling gooood as my lotion-slicked fingers started working my dick. Harder.

I was enjoying myself immensely, and enjoying the clarity that came from pleasuring myself, all other thoughts gone.

I closed my eyes. Somewhere, unbidden, disjointed visions danced around my mind, in time with my right hand’s motion. Hands. Yeah, they were hands. Hands on me. Hands rubbing me. Rubbing me like I rubbed my dick. Hands. Nice. Smooth. No, not smooth… rough hands. Hands with a dusting of hair. Under my balls. Hands. Hands reaching…

…reaching around my butt…

Hands.

Big, rough, hairy hands.

Hands like his.

Mr. Meyer’s hands.

Mr. Meyer’s hands on my butt.

Hands. Butt.

Oh God.

OH GOD. I realized my left hand was working my butt. God, that was so… wrong. My ass was… you know, like… dirty. You couldn’t–shouldn’t!–play with it. That was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. No matter how good it felt. Working. Hands. No, that was wrong! Hands. Rough hands. Forbidden. But setting off something….

Oh God. Oh God.

OH GOD.

All I could see was Mr. Meyer working my butt. His rough, meaty hands behind me. OH GOD. My right hand furiously pounding my dick. His hands. My middle finger of my left hand lightly brushing into my crack. OH GOD. Furiously pounding my dick. OH GOD. My Meyer’s hand. Feeling me. Feeling me. Me raising my hips for him. His…

His dick.

I looked at my dick. Harder than I had ever been in my life. My cockhead slick not just from lotion, but… from… seeping… precum. I saw it. Saw my dick.

And then I saw Mr. Meyer’s.

OH GOD.

OH GOD. OH GOD OHGODGODGODGOD

And just like that, every other thought I had ever had in my life went out the window. In my mind’s eye, I could see was Mr. Meyer’s huge, angry cock. Hairy as hell. Furious. Seeing him pull his pud as violently as I was pulling mine. Our cocks. Becoming one. Huge. Man cocks. HUGE.

MNNNNGGHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Without realizing it, I shot off. Bigger than I had ever shot before. A screaming cannon-blast of spunk that blasted all over my face. OH GOD.

Oh God.

What was that? What was going on? Did this mean I was…. You know….

[…]

[…]

…God, I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word.

No! No way. Those people were… those people. I wasn’t… you know. I was just… I mean, this only meant that…

Oh. God.

Please.

* * *

In the days that followed, I was too freaked out to dare beat off again.

Worse, our training sessions started to feel… strained. At least for me. I had finally started feeling confident in my own skin, but with this… new development, I was thoroughly spooked. And I’m sure Mr. Meyer could sense it; he wasn’t his bold, larger-than-life self, either. Which made me spiral even further… did I just royally screw up the best thing I had going on in my life?

And that thought penetrated deeply. This was the best thing I had going on. I realized just how… ferociously I looked forward to time with Mr. Meyer. Drinking in his strength. Feasting on his masculinity. Eating up his….

Eating…

His…

God help me. I had visions now of… my face… my mouth… against him. Against his… the taste of his…

It was torture.

The scenes came to me fast and furious, and suddenly I was throwing wood like all the time. Like when I had just hit puberty. What gives?!? I wasn’t a kid anymore. How could I….

My resolve to hold back from beating off faded with the onslaught of testosterone constantly flooding my body. My jerking sessions becoming savage. The stupid cum-sock I kept under the bed to mop up after I shot my load was soon crusty and hard enough to crack concrete blocks.

Weeks passed, and the cycle ground on relentlessly. And the times I spent with Mr. Meyer were making it worse and worse. Maybe it was my ongoing neurosis, but I was sure he was still being more aloof. He wasn’t as hands-on as he was before. But that just meant that every time he did touch me was like an electric jolt. I deliberately burned every casual brush with him into my mind as fuel for my masturbatory fantasies later.

This one session together was particularly bad. He had patted my ass for nailing a routine perfectly. It was nothing–just the common, stupid, “homoeroticism-masking-as-straight-guy-rough-housing” kind of maneuver all jocks do. But it set me off. I could barely hide it. I was terrified that he might see. That he might somehow guess. So I made up some crap about having forgotten something big at home, ended our session early, and all but ran off without even going back to the locker room to change.

After a minute, I pulled myself short.

Real smart, Troy. Real smart. There was no way I was going to make it home in nothing but my workout gear, especially with the cold weather at this time of year. I swallowed hard and humiliatingly made my way back to the locker room. I quick changed as fast as I could, desperate both to get away and get back home to rub one out… but as I was leaving, I realized something.

The door to the gym teachers’ office was ajar.

Holy crap.

I wasn’t surprised, as Mr. Meyer was the only one there and he probably thought I was nearly home by now. No need to be fastidious in making sure the door actually latched. So I cautiously slipped in.

Not sure why. Not sure what I hoped to achieve.

Again, the main part of the office was a shared administrative space, but behind there was a mini-locker room, just for the teachers/coaches. With showers. As I crept forward, I could hear water running.

Mr. Meyer was showering.

Oh God.

My stomach was turning summersaults. My hands shaking. I think I was starting to hyperventilate.

I crept in and cautiously looked around the corner. The shower was definitely going, and by the irregular splashes and sounds I could tell he was in there, washing himself off. There was a small row of lockers, with a bench in front of it. I could see his gym bag, and his clothes nonchalantly laid out. I slooowly peeked toward the showers. From that angle he was well hidden by a partition. Safe for the moment.

But then the gym bag grabbed my attention.

Something… on the gym bag.

There. Right on top. The last thing he removed when he undressed.

Mr. Meyer’s used jock.

Oh God. OhGodOhGodOHGODOHGOD.

No! This couldn’t be happening! This was too much! Too much!!! OH GOD.

Without hesitation, I grabbed it. Touching it. Feeling it. And then, God help me…

…I ground it into my face and inhaled as deeply as I possibly could.

Ohhhh…

Myyyyyyyyyy…

GOOOOOOOOOOD!

His musk exploded any rational thought I could have ever had. Far stronger than his sweaty shirt from last summer. Far more potent. It floored me. Every neuron in my brain started going off like a pinball machine.

His scent was rich, sharp… aggressively masculine. Raw. I huffed it, again and again, making myself dizzy. All my dreams about manhood were there, alive in that earthy, dank, man-stink. I instinctively shoved my hand down the front of my pants to grab my throbbing dick. Every part of me feeling… alive. Feeling…

CRAP!

Breaking out of my mental frenzy, I realized the water had turned off. How long ago??!? OH GOD. There was NO TIME. I had to….

And just like that, my world ended. Plummeting from the highest high of my life to the lowest low I could imagine…

…Mr. Meyer came around the corner, drying himself off.

And he saw me.

I was too terrified to scream, let alone move.

“Troy?” he asked, startled. “What are…? What…? What… are… you… doing?”

I couldn’t answer. There was no possible answer for why I was standing there with his jock in my face and my hand in my shorts. That… pretty much spoke for itself.

There was a sing-song cadence to his words. “You’re… in… my… stuff….” His voice had a timbre I had never heard. It drained away to nothing. The same way all my blood had drained from my face.

He stood there. Naked. Water sluicing off him. I dreamed about this for so long. And now it all felt so… empty. Ruined.

He was now looking down. I couldn’t read him. Not at all. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur. “You… like that. Don’t you? Really like that.”

“I… don’t… think….” Not my most eloquent moment.

Then, he… surprised me. He… laughed. Not a big laugh, just a a low rumble. An ironic chuckle, as he slightly shook his head. He threw the towel around his shoulders and pressed on. “Unbelievable. Troy, tell me straight. You like that, don’t you?”

My initial shock had well and truly given over to raw panic. “I don’t know… what you mean…?” My voice all but cracking.

“Oh, I think you do,” he said. And to my fascinated horror, his voice started to sound sounding like a hungry lion on the prowl. “Here all this time I thought it was just me. That I was the sick perv. Afraid. But I think we’re in this together.” He approached me. I tried to back away but my muscles had entirely deserted me. I was hoping to God I wasn’t wetting myself.

He took the jock from my helpless fingers, and raised it to his own nose. He inhaled. “Mmm. Man-scent. Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

I about jumped. That word. Hearing him say that word. A word my mom would have strung me up for using.

“That’s a good smell,” he said in a thick, heavy voice. “The smell of men, in all their sweaty glory. The smell of dick and balls. Raw. The smell of sex.”

I swallowed hard. Desperately trying to make sense of him. To sense if I was in some sort of trap. What was going on??

“Troy, let me tell you something. Every coach realizes a few men on his team have more than the usual attachment to them, as a coach. Sometimes it’s a daddy-son relationship, sometimes it’s a straight forward liking for authority figures. I see it all the time. In fact, this happens with such regularity, I realized it was a natural relationship common to all men on team sports. Entirely natural. So don’t be scared. You, son, are part of a wide-ranging, long-running fraternity.”

“Uhhh, no…. I mean, I’m not…. I don’t feel….”

“Don’t worry, Troy… I feel it, too. We’re alike.”

“WHAA-?? No! I… I… I can’t! I don’t think of myself like that! I’m not….”

“It doesn’t matter what thought of yourself. It doesn’t matter what you think at all. You know you feel it inside you.”

At that moment, I was in full fight-or-flight mode. More terrified than I had ever been in my life. What did he mean??

I found out soon enough. He reached down and gripped my crotch in his huge, meaty hand.

I gasped.

There was no way he didn’t feel how rock-hard I was. Even through my jeans.

Wait… think about it, Troy. Oh God… I was… rock-hard. I was. Hard.

Oh God! He knows! He was gonna kill me! He was gonna….

Wait….

His hand never left my crotch. He was… feeling… me.

Feeling me.

Our eyes locked.

“You’ve been thinking about me this whole time, haven’t you. Day dreaming through the day, and sweating through the night. Thinking about things you shouldn’t be. Thinking about… men. With a hunger eating you alive. I’ve been there, Troy. I know the drill. Lots of guys do. So. Here we are. We’re both men… grown up men. We understand each other. We can be honest with each other. Will you be honest with yourself?”

I looked at him. Saw… things… in his eyes. Things I’d been feeling. Things I’d been hiding.

No, I wasn’t… I shouldn’t….

What the hell should I do????

He had fallen silent. Just watching me. Waiting.

Screw it. I remembered Mr. Meyer’s life lesson. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?

So.

I looked him dead in the eye. Man to man. I took a breath and breathed it out. I found my voice–a growl that to match his own. “You don’t know how many loads I’ve blasted thinking about you.”

A sinner’s smile spread across his face. “I can imagine.” His voice was golden-smooth. Undeniable. He shifted his hand, and drove it down my shorts to grab me, skin-to-skin. “Yeah. I can tell.”

I gasped. My knees all but buckled. If I hadn’t been backed up against the lockers, I would have certainly collapsed in a pile of hormone-laced goo.

No one had ever grabbed my dick before. Never happened. Certainly not during any of those abortive attempts I had to get something going with the girls in my class. His hand started to roughly work me over. He had my Un. Divided. Attention. Looking into his eyes. Seeing… something. Something that not that long ago would have terrified me.

“You’re hard, Troy. Nearly hard as I am.”

He shifted, and I could see… him. His… him. Oh God. The biggest dick in the universe. Hard enough to drill through steel. Huge. Monumental. And standing at attention. God. Damn. It. The most roaring, powerful piece of masculinia that I could imagine. Thunderously raw. Curved. Surrounded by a mane of tangled hair, like a sequoia towering over the forest brush.

My mouth went very, very dry.

“So,” he growled. “What do you think of, specifically, when you’re jerking off and thinking about me…?”

I barely had control over my voice. But Mr. Meyer had taught me how to speak up. “Everything. Your hands. Your smell. Your taste. You… taking me.” He leered at that. “But right now, I can think about is your dick.”

“Touch it.” When I didn’t react, he growled sharply, “Do it.”

My hand was trembling so hard I could barely control it. But I reached out… reached out…

…and for the first time in my life, I ran my fingers around another man’s cock.

Oh God.

Mr. Meyer shuddered for a second as I got my grip, and then let out a rumbling sound of approval.

I was scarcely able to believe my good fortune. All my dreams. My sweaty nights. My jerkoff sessions that left me raw. My fingers embraced him. I was amazed at the feel of him–both harder, and softer than I thought. He was thicker than I was used to. God. It was so… raw… to jerk him. Slowly. Intently. Feeling his fingers on me, matching my motions. The glide of his skin sliding under my trembling hand. Our shared breaths, coming in sharp intakes. My whole body alive. My pulse racing. Feeling on top of the world. Feeling him. His male power.

“You want to suck on it.” He wasn’t asking.

I didn’t trust my voice to answer him, not with my pulse pounding in my throat.

“Do it. C’mon Troy. You want it. I do, too.”

Ah man. I leaned in. Terrified and exhilarated. His huge mushroom head flared in front of me.

“Don’t think. Do it.”

Oh GOD. I reached out with my tongue and touched him. Just the tip. Flicking his piss slit.

He smirked. “You’re gonna need to go harder than that.”

Yeah, Troy. Quit being a pussy. Be a man.

I opened my mouth…

…and took him in.

Mr. Meyer hissed. “Careful son, watch the teeth.”

Oh God. I was humiliated. Mortified. I pulled back, lowering my head and murmuring, “Sorry.”

He enfolded my head with his meaty hand, and scritched me companionably. “You’re doing great, and your heart’s in the right place. Or at least your dick is!” he joked. I smiled sheepishly. “Just roll your lips over your teeth. It’ll feel awesome!”

I tried again. This time, Mr. Meyer simply growled in a way that could not be mistaken for anything but masculine pleasure. “Ughnnnnaaaaah. Yeah. Fuck yeah! Yeah, suck that fucking cock!”

Jesus. That… vulgarity again. Words my mom would kill me if I ever said out loud. But here this… well, this fucking man was growling it out. Naturally. Like… like a man. The perfect word for the moment. Pronounces in a voice drenched in sex, making it real. Drenched in arousal. Arousal… for me.

As my mouth started working his hairy dick. It was… raw. Nasty. Taboo. And above all, it was primal. Primal masculinity. Not giving a shit about propriety, decency, or anything civilized. Just like masculine sex.

And for the first time in my life, I felt like a fucking MAN.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

I laid into him. Deep. Fascinated. Feeling something inside of me that I couldn’t explain, but needed to let out. I mouthed him, trying to imitate the few dirty movies I had watched on the sly with my friends. Working that massive cockhead of his. Tickling him with my tongue; he liked that. Above me, Mr. Meyer had put both hands on my head and started working me, guiding me as he swayed his hips. Working me over like I was some human sex toy or something. Using my mouth.

And I was right there with him. Wanting nothing more than to make him as excited as I was. The… sounds… he made almost terrified me. Full-throated snarls, growls and moans. Barely human. Male. Rich in their arousal.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

“Suck it, Troy… suck hard. Suck like you mean it! Atta boy… YEAHHHHH!”

I’d never been so turned on in my life. This is what it felt like to be a man! Everything in my body focused on that cock in front of me. Doing everything I could. My free hand started roughly squeezing his hairy balls, rolling in my hand. OH MY GOD. Wanting more… wanting everything… wanting….

“FUCK YEAH, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. WORK ME! WORK MY FUCKING COCK!” I grabbed him, my hand gripping his shaft while my mouth worked his head. I started jacking him, knowing how much I loved that feeling. His skin slick from the shower. Jacking him. “YEAH RIGHT THERE! RIIIIGHT THERE! C’MON!!!!” Jacking him. Jacking him!

Fucking JACKING HIM!!!

OH MY FUCKING GOD

His hands crushed me into him, harder than I could believe. His body started convulsing. Rapid grunts interrupted by gasps. A roar building. His eyes rolled back….

And to my utter astonishment, he fucking blew. Cum. Cum everywhere. Filling my mouth too fast. Drowning. Drowning in cum. CUM! I wrenched my head back and started spit-coughing his cum out. Desperate to breathe. Panting. OH MY FUCKING GOD

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

But we had no time to collect our thoughts. Outside, we could hear the locker room door get flung open, and the booming sounds of excited guys starting to come in.

My heart sank. My excitement burned away into raw terror. Panicked. Unable to move.

Oh GOD.

Thank God Mr. Meyer, at least, kept his wits about him.

He used the towel around his shoulders to quick wipe my face, and the remaining spunk from the tile floor. He tossed it onto the pile of laundry, and deftly grabbed another for his waist. Mercifully, I was still fully clothed, and my fear had killed any evidence of a hardon.

Without a word, Mr. Meyer whisked me back into the office part of the locker room and stood facing me in seemingly innocent tableau just as Coach Williams came around the corner, with the team filling the locker room right behind him.

“Mike!” Mr. Meyer said, bluffly. “We were just talking about you. This here is Troy. Troy, here’s Coach Williams himself. I’ve been working with Troy on some strength training, but he was asking me for some specialized skills, too. He wants to try out for the baseball team in the spring. I think he’s got a shot!”

Coach Williams gave me an approving look-over. “That so, Troy? Good plan, and this is just the guy to help you. Meyer here is the expert, and is great at putting together training schedules.”

Somehow, from somewhere, I got the gumption to answer… and answer convincingly. “Yessir!” I enthused. “I’ve learned a lot from him!” Better keep it simple… and vague.

“Sounds great! Say, I don’t know that I’ve seen you around before.”

Adrenaline carried me forward; in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve always loved the game, but I’ve never thought I could play varsity. I guess I’ve always been too… um, chickenshit to get off my duff and try out. Um, excuse the language, sir!”

Both the men laughed, warmly.

Coach gave me a more appraising look. “No, no… we’re all men here. And I don’t know why you’d think you couldn’t go for varsity–you’re looking good. Nothing to be ashamed of, son.” My mind… raced. He thought… I looked good…? “And let me tell you a secret. Talent is great, but determination will always carry you farther. I like a man who pushes himself to get what he wants. Keep it up Troy, and absolutely go out for the team.”

“I sure will! Can’t wait for spring! But, I have to run… got my chores before dinner!”

We made our goodbyes, and I slipped away while the two men started talking.

And what happened next was… remarkable. I made my way through the guys piling in, doing my usual dance of trying to fade into the paint. But these buff, rowdy guys actually treated me… like one of the guys. I even got an occasional head nod. Instantly… accepting me. Like I belonged there.

I ran, absolutely sprinted back home. Nerves and elation and fear and a half-dozen emotions churning inside me like a whirlpool. Laughing. Laughing like a crazed hyena. Did I just… lie? To a coach? Bluff my way through that, with the taste of Mr. Mayer’s cum still in my mouth??

OH MY GOD DID I JUST HAVE MR. MEYER’S CUM IN MY MOUTH??

I was flying. High as a kite, my feet barely touching the ground. My biggest hero-idol? And I got to touch him? feel him? Suck his hairy dick? Share with him the biggest moment of my entire life???

And he was into it? Into me? So turned on my me that I got him to blow his load?

When I finally burst inside my room and ferociously jacked off. No time for lotion, no time for shutting the door. So fast and furious that I nearly rubbed myself raw. And even after blowing the biggest load of my life, I had more in me. Still hard as a railroad spike. I palmed my spent cum, and smeared it into my mouth, thinking of his cum. God, his CUM! I went back, still jerking myself. Replaying the scene again and again. Seeing him. Tasting him. And I surprised myself by blowing a second load almost immediately.

Ohh God. I lay there. Panting. My clothes covered in cum-splatter. Still somewhat hard. I didn’t think my dick was ever going to go soft again.

But something else tripped my memory. Both these men, manly men, admiring me. Saying I looked good. The other guys. Assuming I was one of them, unquestioningly.

Could it be?

I stripped down, stood in front of my mirror, my rock-hard dick dominating the view. But there was more. Seeing my body. Stronger than I could even believe. I… I liked what I saw.

But as I stared at this unfamiliar male body before me, my mind went back to Mr. Meyer coming out of the shower. Looking like a God Among Men. And seeing Mr. Meyer reflected in… me. Seeing our bodies together, like an overlay. Seeing me become like him. Wanting nothing more than to be one with him. I jerked off again. Thinking of our bodies. Male bodies. Blasting another load all over that mirror, and the tangled images–the tangled memories–of Mr. Meyer and me. Together.

I slumped back onto my bed, God knows how long, still fondling my spent dick. Sucking on my cum-splattered fingers, and tasting that salty, nutty taste of cum. Dreaming of his. Dreaming….

And at that point, everything came to a screeching halt. I had a minute to pause… and the sheer enormity of everything that happened this afternoon broke over me.

I had stepped forward into a world men! Real men. Not my buddies playing games in their parents’ basement, but men. Sexual men. Standing tall. Among my heroes. Making choices. Thinking on my feet. And taking a seat at the table.

I actually felt… powerful.

The next day I sought out Mr. Meyer. Propelled by his ever-present life philosophy: you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

It wasn’t our scheduled work out day, but he was easy to find. When he saw me, there was a momentary hesitation, before he gave me a sheepish half-grin.

“Troy. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

His smile broadened. Becoming almost… wistful. “I guess I’ve taught you well. I just didn’t want to… assume….” There was a long pause; I could tell he was struggling for the right words, and I didn’t interrupt. “Troy, what happened yesterday was… pretty out of control. Are you… okay?”

“Psshhhh. Yeah. It was… like the best day ever!”

He nodded, looking down for a second. “I want to be careful. This is… dangerous territory we’re in now. Dangerous. I… want you to be… not just okay with things, but good with them. To know what you’re getting into.”

“I… it’s that….” I took in a deep breath, and let it out again. “Yesterday wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t a mistake. I’ve been feeling… things… for a long time, and been feeling so… messed up. Dreaming about… you. Thinking I was dirty. Thinking I was doing you dirty. But then… Damn. Everything came together. It was perfect. And suddenly all these strange, dirty feelings I had made sense, and they didn’t feel dirty any more. They felt… real. Natural. And the thought, even the possible thought that you might have them, too… my dick’s been hard ever since. I need to know for sure. I need more.”

“Troy. You’re asking for a lot. And there’s all kinds of dangers. I’m not gonna lie. This could blow up in everyone’s faces.”

“You’re the one who taught me about setting a goal, and going out there and grabbing it.”

Mr. Meyer’s posture softened, as I think he relaxed for the first time since yesterday. There was a long silence. A silence filled with potentialities. “It’s funny. When we first met, when I first agreed to work with you, you were afraid of your own shadow. Now look at you. Out of your shell. Strong. And… hot as hell.”

I blushed. Glowing.

He leaned in. “Let me tell you something. Society thinks man-sex is bad. Contrary to God and nature. But here’s the thing… there is nothing else like it. It’s amazing, beyond description. I know–I’ve been there.”

My jaw about hit the ground. “You? You do… that… with other men?”

He chortled. “Absolutely, and I’m not ashamed to tell you. For me, it started with my cousin. We were your age when we started, come to think about it. The only boy cousins in the family and we fell in together a lot. And then we started experimenting… and loving it. God, we were a pair of unholy terrors. Thing is, we’re still at it. We get together every now and again for some guy time–ski trips in the winter, golf trips in the summer. And sometimes,” he added with a wink, “we even get to ski and golf!”

I could only stare stupidly at him. In awe. Standing with the shattered wreckage of all my pre-conceived notions laying in ruins around me.

He went on, with a knowing look in his eyes. “Troy, I want you to know something. There is nothing more special, nothing more sacred than men coming together and sharing themselves. Men know each other’s bodies. Men know each other’s psyches. We can give each other things, give each other feelings, that no woman ever can. We can push each other in ways women never can. Provide for needs women don’t know even exist. We know what we can take. Man-sex is real in ways other sex can never be. There is no bond stronger, no feeling so intense. It’s not something to take lightly. But it is the ultimate in freedom. The ultimate in intimacy. The ultimate in bonding. The ultimate in masculinity.”

He paused. An electric tension between us. “Do you want to take the ultimate step? Feel what it feels like to be a man?”

“Yeah.” My voice was quivering, and we both knew it wasn’t from nerves.

His smile will stay with me forever. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to be the one who opens you up to this. My wife is taking our daughter away on Saturday to visit her sister. Won’t be home until dinner. We can have the house to ourselves. And I’m gonna rock your world.”

The rest of the week, I was a basket case. Completely unfocused. In a deep hormonal daze. Mr. Meyer forbid me from beating off, saying to wait and save it for Saturday. I wasn’t going to let him down.

For all that, I was… incredibly nervous. This was… it. I was going to be taking a step there was no going back from. What did this say about me? What did this mean? Was I throwing away my future? Was I inviting the Wrath of God?

But something keep echoing in my mind. His words: there is nothing more special, nothing more sacred than men coming together and sharing themselves. He was… him. He was my hero. He had seen the other side, and wanted to take me there. After everything he did for me, everything he meant to me, there was no other answer but to trust him.

And trust him I did.

It was one of those cold days, where winter disregards the calendar and refuses to let spring get its due. Mr. Meyer opened the door and let me in. He was shirtless, just wearing his sweatpants. I fretted nervously, suddenly wildly self-conscious about my clothes. Too casual? Too obvious? Damn.

For all my conviction, my hands were sweaty. Uncertain. Mr. Meyer took my jacket. He turned to hang it up and nodded me toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.” There was a fire in the fireplace. I sat on the floor among some pillows. Warming myself.

He came in and sat on the couch right behind me. Silently. The room was warm. I was flushed.

We didn’t say anything. He knew what a big step this was for me, and gave me space.

Well. You only live once.

I scooted back, settling between his legs. Wrapping my arm around so I could rest my hand on his beefy thigh. Slowly. Rubbing. Savoring the touch of him, the hardness of his muscles. His hand reached down and rubbed my shoulder. Not a caress, not a massage. Something deeper.

It was so… intimate. In my experience, guys always seemed to carry this… bubble around them, that other guys can never get past. Not now. I bathed in the sensation of… touch. Touch that awakened me. Opening my mind, as if I had just taken a shot of booze or a hit of weed. Touch.

Our hands started working each other. Finally letting ourselves be who we wanted to be. Exploring. It felt good. His hands, those powerful hands, drifted off my shoulders. He leaned in and started circling my chest. Strong movements. Strong under my loose T-shirt. My pulse quickened. Everywhere his fingers went, I could feel my skin shiver, then relax under his movement. Opening me. Stirring something. His hands had always made me feel secure. Steady. They still did, but were also making me feel… ooooooohhhhhhhhh.

My stomach had been tight, a ball of nerves, but the tightness was dissolving away into… something else. I finally understood what people meant when they said they had butterflies. Tingling. A warm tingling. In the pit of my stomach. Growing. Dancing everywhere.

He was everywhere. Surrounding me. Close to me. Touching me.

I turned around. His hairy chest. Right there. Oh God. I’ve thought so long about what he would feel like. What he would… taste like. Smell like. Oh God. And he wanted this, too. My hero wanted this.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against him. He breathed heavily in response.

Breath. God. Damn. His scent was strong. Washing over me. Dusky. Rich. Unlike our previous encounter, when he literally just walked out of the shower, his smell was… real. No soap now, just… man. His chest hair tickling my nose. My lips reflexively went to his skin. The feel of him. Hard. Tight with all those muscles. It wasn’t just the feel of him; I savored the taste. Uninterrupted male. I rolled my face around his skin, catching the light scrape of his hair against me. I’d never. Never experienced these… sensations. Flowing over me so unexpected.

The hardness, and softness, of a man.

Mr. Meyer leaned down, kissing me on my forehead.

And I melted.

My man, with all the toughness, the strength, the drive of a man. This raw, muscle-bound titan who embodied everything masculine in the entire universe… was tenderly kissing me. How did I ever deserve this?

I raised my face up, looking at him in awe. In overcome joy. Willing to do anything he asked. Anything.

He leaned down. And he kissed me. Lips on lips. Sealed forever.

Something awoke in me. I wrapped my arms around him and let into him. Roughly making out. Needing his masculine power. Needing him.

His hand slid down my chest. Greedy. Oh God. He was rubbing me firmly. Massaging my steel-hard cock through my jeans. Straining. It was a massive rush. My heart pounding. I could feel it in my throat.

With his other hand he hoisted up my T-shirt, dragging it over my head. I could feel the warm air against my chest. My nipples jumping to attention, as hard as my dick. Then he was back to kneading me. My cock alive in his hands, even through the denim.

I was feeling it. Fire. Fire unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Fire burning more brightly than it ever had from the picture of a stupid pin up girl. Or from the actions of my right hand alone. For the first time in my life, I was feeling sex, and the feeling was ripping through my entire being.

Mr. Meyer was feeling it, too. He reached down, and deftly pulled open my belt buckle. I was amazed at how easy it was for him. His fingers reached in, feeling my dick through my underwear. I could feel a wet spot forming as precum started gushing. I hauled down my pants, slithering out of them, leaving me in just my briefs.

Hornier than I had ever been in my life. In my fucking life. Yeah. Fuck yeah!

Need. Need awoken. I broke the kiss, and started wild, sweeping sweeps across his chest. Licking. Biting. I went after his nipples, hoping his were as sensitive as mine. With the heat from the fire, the heat from us, he was juuuuuuust starting to sweat, adding a salty tang to his skin. Sucking him. Making vulgar slurs with my tongue. Leaving a trail of spit.

I needed more. My mouth slid down his furry midriff. By the time I got to the waistband of his sweats, I did not give a fuck. I wrenched them down from his hips, down around his ankles. Freeing him completely, his steel-hard cock slapping against him. He was as naked as he had been that first day we started working out. Naked.

And all mine.

I buried my face in his hairy crotch. His smell singed my nose. Musky. Powerful. Raw. Inviting me into a world of savage masculinity. I went for it, huffing his smell as I mouthed his hairy balls. Rolling them in my mouth one at a time. Getting them slick with my spit. Their taste matching their scent.

He was growling in pleasure. So was I.

I lined my mouth up on his cockhead, rolled my lips like he taught me, and swallowed him down. He made a maniacal cry above me, simultaneously gasping and groaning. I took him in, hard. Mouth-fucking him, bouncing my jaw up and down, feeling the friction of his cockhead fucking my taut lips. He was leaking, too. That sweet-sharp taste of precum. His hand gripping my head. Bouncing his hips as I worked him over. Not caring about shit.

Loving it.

His hands caught my attention. He slid his palm roughly down my spine as I was hunkered over his crotch. Down, down, eased by a thin sheen of sweat. His fingertips hit my underwear’s waistband, and slid in.

I gave a yelping-grunt sound.

Oh God. My ass! His hands on my ass! I barely ever touched myself there. My forbidden zone. But him! Jesus Christ! He went there! His fingers sliding down my crack! My body shivering from the sensation. He was…

He was…

OH MY FUCKING GOD HE WAS FINGERING MY HOLE.

I went berserk, savagely bucking at him. Savaging his dick. Screaming. Screaming loud enough to wake the dead, if his dick hadn’t been balls-deep down my throat.

That did it. Mr. Meyer gruffly threw me off of him, my spit running down his cock to his balls. He all but ripped my underwear off, fully naked before him. Next, he roughly manhandled me so that I was on my hands and knees, with him between my legs. My butt open and vulnerable. I shivered–whether out of excitement or terror, I couldn’t tell. Oh God… what was he gonna do…? What was he…?

OH MY GOD.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

To my ever-loving astonishment, he leaned in and started licking my asshole.

I screamed, my mind shattered. What the hell? You could do that? It was so wild, so unredeemably vulgar, so unforgivably taboo, I was sure the vice squad was going to kick down the door. That God would strike us down.

But my hero was eating my ass.

And it was the greatest moment in my entire life.

I was howling like a pack of wolves. He was vicious in his attack, slamming his face into me, again and again. Wild. Sucking as hard as he could. Digging with his tongue, as if it was his last chance for water in the desert. Raping me with his tongue, then sweeping side to side. His stubble was shredding my tender, untouched skin. Making me savage in response. Bucking desperately against him. Needing. NEEDING. GIVE ME FUCKING MORE!!!

I don’t know how long he ate me out. There was no time. There was only savage pleasure. Unspeakable. Hungry. But he needed more, too.

He pulled back with a breathless gasp from both of us. I grabbed something from somewhere. Then, there was… a wet feeling, as something dribbled down my crack. Right around my hole. And then, a searing jolt. Oh God. Not pain, not quite, but something completely outside my understanding. His finger. Sinking deep inside me.

And for the first time in my life, something went up my butt.

My legs went wobbly as my body tried to adjust to the sensation. But before I could adjust, he… found something. Something. Inside of me. I don’t know what it was, but it triggered something utterly primal inside me.

And I thought I was going to explode.

My startled grunts transformed into a wailing bellow as this new sensation rippled through me. I didn’t know such pleasure was possible. I didn’t know how I could stay grounded.

Mr. Meyer was talking, soothing words, explaining. Putting me at ease. I couldn’t hear, couldn’t focus. The words were swept away by the tidal feelings. And they kept going. After a few minutes of bliss, I could feel another finger inside me, then another. Oh God… a fourth! A tightness. A fullness. My butthole pulled open. Stretched. My guts whirling around like an amusement park ride. Oh God. OH GOD.

And when he thought I was as loose as I was going to get, I could feel him lining up his dick against me. I was panicking. In all of this, I hadn’t had a chance to mentally prepare. Oh God. He was going… he was going to fuck me. Of course he was. That was the plan. But right then, at the moment of truth… what was I thinking?? I had to…

AAAAAAARRRGHAAAA!

There was pain. Pain beyond anything. Sharp and all-consuming. Driving out all other thought–perversely, the same way that all the previous pleasure had. Through the agony, I could hear Mr. Meyer’s voice. A sound that had gotten me through so many painful situations before. A voice I implicitly trusted.

“You’re okay. It will sting, but it will pass. Trust me, I would never hurt you. Breathe. Keep breathing. And when you can… push out.”

“I… I can’t….”

“Trust me. Breathe. It will pass.” His beefy hands caressing me. Calming me. “You trust me, right? We work though the pain. Work it! Like we always do! And it will be unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. I promise.”

I was used to trusting him. Used to obeying him. I breathed. GOD IT HURT. Breathe. Breathe.

Breaaaaathe.

And… the initial shock vanished, taking some of the pain away. He could feel me unclench. And he started tiny little movements. Rocking. Barely moving at all. But… it was working. The movement got me to start relaxing.

“It’s okay,” I hissed. “It’s getting… better.”

“Just breathe,” he cooed. “Push through. Push through the pain. Pain is only the feeling of weakness leaving the body. Push.” His hips starting to circle. Starting to move. My body starting instinctively to match him. Starting to….

Ohhhhhhhhhhh.

Something was… something was starting to happen. I could….

Ohhhhhhhhhhh.

What was that? It was starting to feel weird. It was like.

Ohhh GAAAAAAWWWD.

Something was triggering inside me. Something… unknown. Unexpected. And my body… blossomed.

Blossomed in golden LIGHT.

“Ohhhh, yeah… yeah you feel it, don’t you?”

IMMMGGHHHHAUH

“You feel my hard dick opening you up, don’t you”

“Ohhhh MUUUHHHAAAAHHHHHHH”

“Yeah, feel it. Feel my cock. Feel it! Fucking MAN SEX.”

It was like everything inside me started glowing with radioactive light. I could feel, fucking feel his cock sink into me. Re-arranging my guts. Setting me on fire wherever it touched. A glorious, shocking, obscene, sucking feeling.

A feeling of fucking LIGHT.

He slammed on top of me, laying us both out flat. His hairy chest pressed against me. Oh God his hairy chest. Scrubbing me. Scrubbing me clean. I was obsessed with that feeling. Something in the back in my mind wondered if my smoothness was as sexually devastating to him as his hairiness was to me.

His left arm wrapped around me. His right arm stretched out, grabbing me by the wrists and pulling them forward. Extending me. His face… rolled… all over me. Neck. Ears. Shoulders. Wet lips. Catching me breathless. His stubble scratching me. God, my head started lolling in response. Extending my neck to him. Reveling in the sensation of him. Overwhelmed by the force of him. His presence. Enfolding me. Possessing me.

God. The feeling of him. The physicality of him thundering around my body as lighting filled it within.

His hips started torquing and twisting, with devilish intent. Deeper. Deeper. Oh God I could FEEL his head inside me. Deeper. Pushing. Insistent. Hungry. My hole slowly embracing him, adjusting to the massive intruder. Kissing his cock. Massaging it inside me. God, all of it. All at once. His cock. is stubbled face. His thick hands. That barrel of a chest. His hair. All of it. Oh God. The electricity inside me. Arcing. I was convulsing. Writhing. He was overwhelming me. It was this feeling of utter euphoria….

Oh GAWWD.

He started rocking. Driving his dick in deeper with each movement. Sliding his hairy chest across my back. Until he pulled me in tight and we moved as once. I felt like I was losing control. The unholy SLIIIIDE of his dick plowing into me. Ripping me open. Open. Open for him…

Thrusting. Oh God he was thrusting. Driving inside me. Slowly. Relentlessly. A force of nature. Each drive ripping my mind apart. Thrusting. I could feel his man-bush crushed against my hole, then sliding back, then grinding into me again. Thrusting. Our bodies pushed forward each time from the power of him. Thrusting. Slow and deep. Making us both writhe together. Hitting places inside me. THRUSTING. The hair on my arms standing straight up. THRUSTING. Oh God the electricity. Electricity inside me. THRUSTING. Inhuman sounds from the both of us. My guts were exploding. THRUSTING. Oh God what was happening?? THRUSTING. Rushing in my ears! Oh God! THRUSTING! I was seeing fucking stars! THRUSTING! THRUSTING!! My balls were on fire!! Oh GOD! OH GOD!

OHHHMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Without touching myself, I blew the biggest load of my life. My body jerking and convulsing at the force of it. Lightning. Lighting. Oh GOD IT WAS LIKE I WAS STILL CUMMING. STILL. NGAAAHHHAA!

Mr. Meyer pulled out, and roughly tossed me over, like I was nothing. “I wanna see your face as I fuck you.” He smeared more lube on his cock, fisted it against my savaged hole, and ripped into me again.

NGAAAHHHAA!

My back arched. My mind running with sensations too wild to contain. My legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, my heels digging into his ass cheeks. I grabbed his neck, pulled him to my face and spat out from gritted teeth:

“FUCK! ME! FUCK ME RAW!”

The next few minutes were a savage blur. He went from deep, slow thrusting to fucking pounding the shit out of me. All thought of easing me into it gone. Knowing I could take it. Knowing I was strong enough for it. I was fucking on fire. Our eyes locked. I couldn’t look way if I tried. My body felt like I was still cumming, all the whirling electricity ripping through me. He was so… overwhelming. Terrifying to see. His sweat dripping into my eyes. In that moment, he looked strong enough to rip the sun out of the sky. Each thrust jolting my body forward from the force of it. Showing me just what the male body was capable of. What my body was capable of.

The fearsome, terrifying friction. Oh GOD. This was a sign of him I’d never seen before. Violence unleashed. Lost, lost entirely in a moment of raw sexual barbarism. He pounded me. Kept pounding. Pounding POUNDINGFUCKINGPOUNGING….

…and everything spiraled into a terrifying frenzy. His movements started jerking wildly. He was making a string of bestial sounds from bared teeth. Squeezing his eyes into slits….

…and with a savage roar he fucking BLEW. I could… feel… his cock start to buck like a rodeo bronco as his cum filled my guts. I could feel its spasms. My hands, gripping him, could feel the ripples across his whole body. He kept bellowing. Staccato grunts as he finished off.

I was in terrified awe, not sure what was going to happen next.

But he looked down on me. With a grin and a glow of raw masculine satisfaction… and a fucking twinkle in he eye… as he started slowly thrusting again. Again. And again. And Again.

Oh God.

He showed no sign of slowing down, and I was in no mood to let him go. He had let loose something inside of me, a beautiful, terrible hunger, and that hunger was only growing.

And… to my astonishment, he showed me a different side of sex. Of masculinity. And shared sexual joy. He was showing me just what the male body was capable of… but in other ways. Not just the raw power, but the dance of pressure, of touch… and restraint. Of delay. The way his lips tickled my neck. The way his fingers slid through my sweaty hair. Pulling back, letting the moment slow… and come roaring back to life. Eb and flow. Letting me savor the moment, without pushing too far, too fast.

Letting it come to me. Letting me learn.

I answered, running my fingers through his sweaty chest hair. Astonished by the touch. By the hardness of his muscles and the way they moved. I reached my face up. Smearing my nose in his sweat. Breathing him in. Tasting his salt. Listening to the changing pitch of his groans. Then making out with him. Our tongues dancing in each other’s mouths.

Connecting. Connecting with this Man.

He’d go back to relentless pounding, harder than fuck. But then pulled back. Not allowing himself to pull the trigger. Not just yet. For either of us.

He kept us on the edge of battleaxe… but only honed the blade. Not drawing blood.

All the while I writhed and thrashed, ripped out of my mind by the immensity of what he unleashed on me. Sexual fire I had never known in my life roared through me, obliterating all else. Needing release. Pressure building with nowhere to go. Hunger. Raw masculine hunger setting me ablaze. Wanting no restraint. Needing no restraint.

After God knows how long, I had enough. I needed more. I was his equal in hunger and need. And I needed it! Needed masculine release! Feeling the most savage frustration I’d ever felt in my life.

In a sexual fury, I pushed him off–throwing him on his back and riding his cock for all I was fucking worth. Slamming his dick inside me in a white-hot rage, with everything I had. As hard as he had pounded me. As hard as we needed. Equals as men. My leg muscles screaming. I could feel his body rush toward rocket launch. Feel the tell-tale signs of his body reaching for release. His hands tearing into my pecs. I grabbed his wrists hard enough to break bones. Using the leverage to pound harder. And when he screamingly blew his rocks inside me, I swear he came so hard that he about launched me into orbit. Feeling his load inside me, I threw my head back and blasted out endless ropes of cum myself, spraying all over him. Pasting his face with my jizz.

Falling forward. Falling into a kiss of savagery and bliss.

Oh God… his hands. His hands that moments ago had been gripping me hard enough to rip my body apart had gone back to hands caressing me with the lightest of feather touches. Feeling me. Skipping across my sweaty skin.

“So smooth. So beautiful.”

And I swear the hardness of his body melted into softness. His mighty arms enfolding me, steadying me. Making me feel safe.

And there it was. Another side of masculinity–Man the Protector.

It was the most intimate moment of my entire life.

* * *

I continued my “education” with Mr. Meyer for the rest of the year. Physically, of course–it goes without saying that he also opened up vast new worlds of physical pleasure for me. Pleasures I would never have come to on my own without an experienced hand to guide me. And at the same time, we continued our strength training, too. Giving me the body I wanted and deserved.

But his lessons weren’t only physical. There was… wisdom… in his training as well. Teaching me confidence. Pride and carriage. How a man should march forth in life, and seize his own destiny.

He taught me how to grab life by the balls.

And I will carry these myriad lessons forever.

But.

As we all know, nothing lasts forever, and our time together ultimately came to an end. As the year wound down, life delivered a 1-2 punch to my gut–his wife got pregnant again, and he got a job offer in a bigger school district, with a salary he couldn’t possibly turn down.

I guess in a way, there was a lesson for me in that, too.

Our last time together, he finally asked me to fuck him. Maybe it was a final exam of sorts, to show everything I learned. It’s funny–I still hold today that the best way to learn how to fuck a guy well is to get fucked yourself. And trust me… by now, I was an expert.

I cried the day we said goodbye. Alone, and unable to say anything to anyone. And that night, alone in my room, I cried harder. So many tears, I don’t think I slept at all.

But the next morning, I put that all away and started to push forward again.

You see, that’s what a man does.

And with Mr. Meyer’s help…

…I most certainly had become a man.

THE END