Coaching

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I am a college coach. I do not fit any given renditions that are formulated out, approved, and switched ‘on’ to function in the oft ill-designed machine of the educating of what dodgers have deemed “what you need to know to get some sheepskin around here”. What I coach is how to be human according to standards that have yielded the best aspects of civilization throughout time.

A culture is known for the tools it uses to survive. I believe the body is the most useful tool, or vehicle or what-have-you word of analogy to “It’s a big fucking deal”. Being human would of course bring the mind, and faculty of emotion into the consideration gymnasium. Another big fucking deal and this is one Big Fucking Deal! is where the body, and mind, and emotions intersect in what is wrongly called the sexual dimension. A main demonstration of this Venn diagram of vexation is sex, it is not a stand alone act.

I understand well my potential and the limitations of being given the opportunity to teach in this setting. Part of being human is understanding the differences, which are many, between right and wrong. This walks in step with knowing the rules of the road. The road to being human is getting rougher and rougher. On occasion someone will come along who wants to learn more than what is colored between the lines of college etiquette. They understand that what they need is not taught in ivory towers.

Jim was one of those students. He was driven by an itch that he couldn’t quite get to no matter how hard he reached. For Jim, his reaching was to get ahead of the pack however he could. He fell into competitive swimming naturally. Water was all around San Diego, where he grew up. When he was not at practice he was surfing, or studying. No one saw that Jim was driven by fear. He had learned early that his physical presence kept him safe. He knew that his social position won through his medals kept him safe. The college town where he studied and trained was a safe place where he could explore safely. His explorations, known as extra-curricular, were about sex. He felt safe among the other students who were exploring how indulged they could be. “Live and Let Live” loosely translated to college jargon of the day, “Have it any way you want, and don’t be a dick”.

There are boundaries of right and wrong. There are boundaries made by rules. A human has the skill to recognize and navigate these boundaries, even though, and especially, when they cross. Jim and I were naturals at feeling out the nuances of how we work it – creating and entering a safe space.

Nods, smiles, friendly noises and other signs men make to acknowledge they are not a threat to each other. Fear based men, especially alpha males, are driven deeper in their passions to understand. We had exchanged more than the social appeasements as we chatted about the Eastern philosophies about the body, mind, and soul. Physical fitness, manliness, and sex are treated differently there. Most likely stemming from a lack of Hell in their fairy tales. More than once the words Kama Sutra, sexual yoga, and the ever mis-used word Tantra were thrown out. I knew that they were water testing lines. I had flashed “I am Bi!” in response to the obvious exhibition of his hard cock, accompanied with a big smile asking “How does it look?”

We had given each other enough signals. I could feel it in the air, the sexual tension. An attraction that hasn’t found kilis escort its way. Yet. Jim had always looked his best after his 400-meter Butterfly and Freestyle Thursday workout. He was always last out of the pool. Thursdays were usually slow, and tonight his and my cars were the only ones in the university parking lot.

Jim was walking almost wobbly as he turned a corner to see me by the vending machines right before the locker room. He took me in, holding a chilled electrolyte drink. Chills came over me as the smile widened. The look in his eyes was delight.

“Thanks, Coach.” He took the bottle from my hand and put his hand on my shoulder as he leaned back. He arched as he tilted the bottle high. I could feel he was letting me look at his body… he knew it was perfect. Lean, well-defined muscles, wide shoulders, narrow waist, and all the rest a lifetime of competitive swimming yields.

It was natural that we walked to his locker and made small talk along the way. He knew I liked checking him out. He almost floated as he would sway his rippling legs. He looked over at something to give me a good look.

There is a moment I like to freeze in my mind. It was when the moment we would start to do what we both wanted but never talked about, hinted at but never made real. This is where real tension builds. I put the back of my hand against his abs, gliding slowly up and down. We looked into each other’s eyes. His breath quickened as did mine. But there was a back-off, a nervousness.

“Jim, it’s OK, no rush, we can talk about it at the diner,” I said.

Jim started to chuckle amidst his near inability to speak.

“No coach,” he looked at me, and the desire shone bright, “it’s just… I haven’t ever, well rarely… I, ah…” I could just feel how right this all felt. So I leaned, my hand on his beautiful pec, pressing gently, but the strength was felt.

“Let me guess. You fooled around with a friend when you were just starting to sprout pubes. Then there were girls and romance and breakups and trying to get laid. Now you are in college, and you are having thoughts about guys, sexual thoughts.” As I spoke, my hands slowly glided over his torso. I could feel his heart racing.

My attitude was grounded, sexual, and masculine. My palm was letting out Macy Parade fanfare as my fingers rubbed on the string that held up his speedo.

“How did you know?” was such a toss-off line. We both knew we had moved to play.

“We’re the same model – different years.” I pulled the string and opened up his speedo. His hands were on my shoulders, and he was out of the chute, unbridled, going where he’d always wanted. I pulled up the front of my shirt, our abs touched, and sparks flew.

He was grabbing for my shirt, and it was immediately snatched and gone. His eyes were full of lust as he massaged my chest. Body worship is what I call a beautiful man’s body being felt, completely felt through the fingers and hands. Touch is a magical way to know.

“God, I feel like such an idiot… I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s OK, Jim. You’ve got a coach.”

Jim watched me unbuckle my pants, intently looking at my body which was still in great shape. I had placed just shy of the Olympics over a decade ago but staying in shape was a default for me.

“I got the hottest coach ever.”

We looked in each others’ eyes as I took kilis escort bayan his wrist and pulled his hand; a very willing hand turned to meet my swelling cock. He instinctively knew that this time was for him to feel into what he was feeling and doing. I enjoyed his staring eyes roaming all over my body.

“You are so… so…” Jim was trying to find the right words.

“Sexy?” I threw out.

“Yes,” He looked at me in question. We all want to learn what is OK to do, say, and act because often, what we feel is not OK to say, and we are pressed, needing approval.

I led him by the hand to one of the full-length mirrors that exist everywhere in the sports world.

“Do you ever check yourself out in front of the mirror?” I knew he was going to tell me the truth, and I knew the answer.

He nodded along with me. We were both checking out how he looked in the mirror. His eyes glanced quickly at my reflection as I queried further. “Do you ever jack off in front of the mirror?”

I was tugging on his speedo, my waving cock touching, sometimes pressing into his perfect thighs. He stepped out of the suit, and I could feel him relax. He was at home in his world-class body.

He was still a bit… shy? Not really, maybe a bit anxious being in a circumstance where he didn’t know what was OK and what was not. Looking for permission leads in our dance of life.

I stood behind him, a bit off to the left. We were both naked, polished athletes, and I was teaching Jim with my hands. Outlining his pectoral muscles, his nipples, his arms, bulging back and front, they flowed like water as he flexed.

He still held back a bit. I reached down to his erect cock, he reacted with an immediate moaning breath.

One of the more intriguing taboos in our society is to enjoy your own company. To enjoy yourself attracted to your looks and energy. I pressed further, “You jack off in front of the mirror because that turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yesss, it does.” His response was more breath than words. His eyes and mine were broad searchlights, lighting up every lean shape of masculine beauty.

A coach is also a teacher and I began, “That is because you are very, very, sexy. You are so fucking hot. Aren’t you? Is it so wrong to say you are sexy? Is it wrong for an artist to say his art is good? One who knows that beauty is a Divine Gift not only to be admired but also felt. A sensitive artist who sculpts out of flesh and blood with enough energy to light up New York City, made by hand. He understands beauty and knows he doesn’t own it. He leases a loft. And that is you, in your body, a body you make beautiful” Our eyes met in the reflection of an overall sight of male beauty.

I moved over a bit and stood in front. I was stroking my cock, looking at my reflection. Classic, archetypical, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The years had filled me out. I was still buffed and ripped but more seasoned with added mass. Jim watched me, his hand massaged his cock and balls. I flexed and was getting very turned on. I love my body and how it looks as I jack my big cock — the bedrock of male aesthetics.

I’ve made my own porn model that will do exactly what I want. I motioned Jim over to stand as I had with him. I was in front and him a bit to the side.

“I want to feel your hands all over me,” I said.

One hand around my escort kilis back, the other in front. His hand landing on my abs. Jolts of pleasure shot through me as his hands… such a weak word to describe the magic force they carried and shot out as he grabbed my chest.

“Feel my arms,” I whispered as I flexed. “Feel me with your whole body.”

He felt so good, the body-to-body contact, which included feeling his rock-hard cock pressed against my thigh and sometimes my ass.

“You need to realize just what you are!” I started walking him back to the wall. I was jacking his cock as I put my hand around his throat, our eyes locked one more time. The Male Fuck Energy was thick.

“You are what everyone desires! You know it! You know it because you feel that desire, you know how fucking hot men are, you dig checking me out!”

He looked down, and he was given over to it. He knew it. Swells of pleasure lifted him up as I told him, “Say fucking.”

“Fucking.”

“Now say, fucking hot.”

“Fucking hot.”

I pushed against his pec, then smacked it. The sound of flesh struck by the heel of my palm reverberated. The sound echoed as orgasm came out of the closet. The dawn of Ecstasy lit the horizon.

“Tell me I’m fucking hot.”

“Oh, coach, you are so fucking hot.”

“Tell me, you’re hot.”

We were barely making words that made sense as our breathing, in evered moans as he tried to say it, “I’mmm…. oh fuck… oh, coach.”

I was pinching his nipple and leaned forward to take the other one. He quivered as my tongue flicked. Our bodies touched in many places; every touch was a new something to lean into.

“Say it,” I kissed up his chest, nibbling on his neck and biting as he tried to say it. I put my face millimeters from his.

Looking him in the eyes, I whispered, “Tell me how hot you are.”

“Ah… ah… I–” he leaned forward, putting his hand behind my neck, he started a hungry kiss. Pulling on me, it started. Feeling a male orgasm can be a zenith of experience. Ultimate pleasure, emotions that can lead consciousness to ecstasy, and it started. The fanfare of sight and sound, his chest starting to heave loud and strong like the blacksmith bellows. It was as if I could feel the spasms of pleasure flashing in fits and tensing throughout but always lit from his cock and balls.

The human body is not a lot of independent parts. It is a system of energy like a circuit board. Erotic points generate more energy into the system. The erotic point of mind opens gates closed by “no no’s” and “now I’m supposed to’s”. His “no no’s” and “now I’m supposed to’s” dropped with the generation of His quivering body vibrating against me. His arms wrapped around me, his mouth fell away as he moaned. Our words fell away too, as sensual bodies moaned and passed man energy back and forth, ever more powerful. Our fingers, hands, and bodies overall pulsed in rhythm. He drew one huge breath and started to shake. He was humping my hand with his cock. Our eyes made contact. I could see he was in Ecstacy. His eyes rolled back in his head as the lids sauntered down. He grabbed my cock as if by instinct. A rush of energy flooded me from below. We put our foreheads together and looked down at our ripped, buffed man bodies. I looked back into his eyes and he made me climax instantly. The spasms I make in an ejaculatory and non-shooting orgasm are a bit different but my body writhed against Jim’s as the spasm, and contractions of orgasm went on and on. Images of what I was touching of his perfect body flashed before my eyes. Until the event eased down. Both of us starting to be able to make intelligible sounds.

“Good workout Jim.”

“Thanks, coach.”

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