Best in the County (musc oral)
by MS_alberta
No one ever said Robert Brand was a smart man. An honest man; yes. A caring man; yes. In most respects, he was the embodiment of what could be considered “The Perfect Man”. Except of course, in intellect. Everyone around him could see this, even from his altruistic, if not sometimes a little slow-witted grammar school days, when he was always the first to share his peanut butter sandwich during recess, but could never remember which of his schoolmate’s were allergic to peanuts. Needless to say, this kind of well-intentioned behavior sometimes got him in trouble. Fortunately for the slow, but charitable, Robert Brand had been surrounded by caring and loving individuals in his early years, who always understood his intentions and took an interest in keeping him safe and sound.
In his first year of Jr. High, he found himself wandering around the pool of the near by high school, the high school he would attend one day. The water polo team had been practicing passes from one side of the pool to the other. Robert watched one of the passes that was aimed at no one in particular sail into the air, and over the heads of most of the boys. He followed the arc of the ball and realized it was coming towards a boy who had been resting, holding on to the side of the pool. “Watch Out!” Robert cried, the boy looked over and gave Robert a puzzled look just as the yellow water polo ball came down and made full contact with the side of the boy’s head. Now, as those of us who have had the pleasure of being hit with a water polo ball can testify to, while it can be painful, and cause noses to bleed, it’s usually not a very serious event. Unless of course, the impact causes the other side of your head to crash into the cement over hang of the pool, as it did in this case. Robert watched as the boy slid under the water’s surface. Without thinking, Robert dove into the water, fully clothed and reached the boy at the bottom of the pool. Putting both arms underneath the unconscious boy’s, he kicked off the bottom of the pool and pulled him back up to the surface. Most of the team had not even realized anything was a miss, but the Coach had, and he was there ready to help pull them both out of the water, when Robert lifted both himself and the boy from the pool and onto the deck. The coach begin CPR and within moments the boy began coughing up water and breathing. Robert heard an ambulance siren approaching, and observed the harried blur of the EMTs as they checked the boy over and loaded him into their truck and drove off. Robert stood there, beginning to shiver in his wet clothes as the day ended and the stars began to appear. “Kid, you must be freezing your ass off.”, said a gruff voice from behind him. Robert turned around to see the mountain of a man who had performed CPR. “I’m the Coach for the boy’s water polo team, my name’s Coach Williams” The large man said, and held out his hand. Robert shook it and winced at the strength of the older man’s grip. “You really pulled my boy’s ass outta the fire, back there.” said Coach Williams. Robert began to wonder if all the coaches at the high school cursed in front of the students. “That was fucking amazing, kid.” Coach said as put away the equipment that had been left out in the fluster. “C’mon, we better get you outta that clothes before you get sick.” he said as he walked towards the locker rooms. Robert didn’t know what else to do but follow, and so he did. Coach Williams began stripping off all of his semi-soaked clothes and leaving them on the bench closest to the showers. “Move your ass, kid. I’m not staying here all night.” Robert, who had almost never been yelled at by a teacher, quickly obliged. He stood next to the Coach, next to naked, the only bit of cloth left on were his briefs. He silently prayed that the Coach would not take off his speedo. Robert was smart enough to know that if the Coach was fully naked, he would be expected to be naked as well, and at 12, he was still rather bashful, and had never seen another person naked. Robert’s prayers went unanswered. The Coach peeled off his speedos and walked into the showers. By this point, Robert’s face was beat red as he pulled off his own briefs and followed the Coach in. The Coach turned on the water and steam began to fill the room. The Coach asked “Who’s your homeroom teacher? Mrs. Harmon? Mr. Snider?” Robert didn’t recognize either of those names, and responded truthfully. He shouted over the water “I’m in Ms. Crandle’s homeroom!” The Coach paused and stared down at the tiled floor. “Hey kid, there’s no Ms. Crandle here. In fact, the only Crandle I know is that hot little thing teaching down at the Jr. High… Kid! Are you telling me you’re in 8th grade!” hollered the Coach. Robert shuddered, completely unaccustomed to this kind of treatment. Robert managed to stutter out “7th, sir.” The Coach threw his hands up in exhaustion. “Shit, boy! I had you pegged for a sophomore, or at least a big freshman. And you mean to tell me that you’re what? 12? 13?”
“12, sir”, Robert replied meekly.
“You’re one hulluva huge 12 year old. Do you know how big that kid you pulled from the drink is? I’ll tell you! He’s 6’4 and 200 pounds of pure water polo muscle. Boy, do you even swim?”
Robert replied happily and relieved that he could finally answer the Coach in a positive manner “Oh sure, I swim all the time, Sir! When we visit my cousin in Hawaii every Christmas” The Coach thought the kid might be a little smartass, but quickly dismissed that idea. This kid is no genius he thought to himself; he’s sweet, but dumb. “Sir? Do I really look like a High School boy?” Robert asked, anxious to be told he did. “Sure as shit, kid. You had me fooled. Boy, I saw you in the water; you’re fast, and obviously strong. Now, I can’t let you swim or play for the teams until you’re enrolled, but I think you should start coming to my practices.” Robert stood there rather dumbfounded, which was actually a very common and comfortable place for him to be. The fact that he had just been invited to participate in a high school sport, even if he couldn’t play against other schools yet, was the best thing he had ever heard. “Kid? Hello…” The Coach Williams was waving his hand in front of the boy’s face, Oh yeah, he thought to himself, sweet, but dumb.
The boy was a natural in the water; learning the strokes and the drills easily, in fact, it seemed his brain was suited to sports, if nothing else. So with two years of practice on the team, it was no surprise when he made varsity his freshman year, and that it was his skill in Water Polo and Swimming that got him into college.
Four years after he left the high school that had given him so much, he returned. Coach Williams had asked him to come back, after he himself had been asked to coach at the University level. Robert could not have accepted the offer faster.
But as the saying goes, you can’t go home again. Coach Williams had left a year ago, and the replacement the school had hired had allowed the team to turn into a bunch of slackers, who’s only real concern were getting tans and goofing off in the pool. The serious players had all left quickly once the replacement had arrived. Now, it was Robert’s job to get them back. Luckily for those of little brain, like the newly appointed Coach Robert Brand; his reputation as an athlete was legendary at his old high school, and most of the team flocked back as soon as they heard he would be coaching them starting in the summer.
Coach Brand scheduled the first practice for the Friday after school let out, he was eager to see what kind of team he’d have. As they trickled in, he could see that his team was a hodgepodge of seasoned swimmers, hopeful youths, and a rather large group of slackers. He managed to get them all suited up and in the water; with some of the slackers actually protesting against wearing speedos. They spent the whole afternoon going through drills and racing each other. When Coach Brand finally excused them, most of the team was grumbling about the practice and some were talking about quitting. However, a number of the old swimmers and some new ones were quietly excited about their new dedicated coach.
When Coach Brand arrived home that night, he set straight to crunching the numbers from the team’s practice. Normally, he couldn’t do math to save his life, however, he had found he was a whiz at sports statistics; in fact, it was a statistics class that had saved him from getting kicked out of college, when he couldn’t pass the offered calculus. Finally, around 1:00 in the morning, he was done. He looked at his numbers, and his charts and graphs and saw that while there was a lot of potential, his team was a wreck. With their current swim speeds, even with intensive training, they’d never make it to the water polo finals this Winter, maybe not even the swim finals at the end of Spring. He cracked open a bottle of water, flopped down on his couch, and decided to go through the piled up mail he had been ignoring since he moved in. He had nothing but junk mail; well, almost nothing. There was a sports supply store catalogue. He flipped through the pages, checking on the price of wholesale speedos and kickboards. When he was finally done with the catalogue it was 2:00 in the morning. He tossed it aside and got off the couch to go to bed. Just as he was about to turn off the light, his eyes were caught by a small advertisement on the back of the magazine. It was an ad for non-steroid, non-addictive, and completely safe and legal performance enhancers. There was no number, only a website address. Coach Brand had seen what “performance enhancers” or simply put, steroids, could do to a person and decided to check the site and report it, if it looked shady. He was surprised by the site, it was very open and not at all what he expected. It stated early on that the drugs offered were completely FDA approved for trial, and that the site was meant only for coaches. It asked him where he coached and what sports he coached. It also asked him how large was his team and what problems he had with his team. He answered all these questions, and before he knew it, he had even given them his home address. Mentally exhausted from calculating the teams speeds, and with his eyes tired from staring at the humming screen he went to bed.
He woke up before dawn, garnering only a few hours of sleep, and was surprised to find a box on his doorstep. It was from “A coach’s best friend”, he recalled that as the name the strange website called itself. Inside was a large canister of supplements. They were supposed to help his team get more force from their pulls and kicks after a weeks worth of use. He gathered his keys and headed out the door to meet the team for their Saturday morning practice. When the whole team had finally arrived, he distributed the supplement tablets to each of the boys and told them that this was to improve their skill the way a vitamin might. Each boy took a white pill, swallowed, and practice began.
The week went by; with a white pill once a day for each boy, until the canister was empty after Friday’s distribution. Saturday came around again, and a group of sleepy, teenage boys fumbled their way into the lockers, slowly into their speedos, and back out into the water. Coach Brand watched his team jump in and begin their warm up drills. He noticed how much faster they were going now. After practice, when the exhausted boys managed to pull themselves out of the pool, Coach Brand actually saw why the team was doing better. Every boy’s hands and feet seemed to have grown over the last week; they also all seemed to be a little taller. It wasn’t that the boys swimming technique had improved, just that their hands and feet were now very out of proportion with their bodies, or at least they would have been out of proportion for any other person. For a swimmer, these attributes were a blessing. He watched as each of his boys left the pool deck, paying special attention to their hands, and flip-flopped feet. He guessed the absolute smallest foot he saw was a size 10, maybe 10½. One of the freshman was just barely getting out of the lockers, he was a tiny guy, about 5’2, but Coach Brand seemed to remember the boy being exactly 5 feet last week, when he had measured and weighed everyone. The Coach’s eyes wandered down to the boy’s hands, which looked like they could palm a basketball. Not having a basketball handy, Coach Brand called out to the kid “Heads Up!” and lobbed a water polo ball to the kid. The kid caught it easily with one huge hand and tossed it back with ease. The boy looked shocked at what he had just done, and stared down at his massive hand and long fingers. The Coach quickly suggested “Growth spurt, kid. Count yourself lucky.” The kid couldn’t take his eyes off his hands and just slowly walked out of the pool area.
Coach Brand practically broke the sound barrier driving back to his house; he had to check that site again. As soon as he signed on, he saw he had an email waiting for him. It was a survey from the company, asking if he was satisfied with the product and if he wished to continue on the program they had created for his team. He checked over the site again, and it still looked safe and legal. So he responded to the email, with a “yes”. Just like the last time he was one the site, there was a new box of supplements waiting for him the next morning. This time the label indicated that the boys drag in the water would be cut down. On the way out the next morning, Coach Brand scooped up the canister off his front porch and headed to Sunday practice.
What Coach Brand had not noticed on his team, was the other growth occurring. The boy who had caught the water polo ball noticed it first. As he left the school that day, still wearing his speedos underneath a lose pair of shorts he realized those speedos were very tight and even more binding then usual. He looked around the street, and satisfied that no one was watching him, stuck his hand down his shorts and tried to readjust himself. Only, he couldn’t, he felt himself filling the speedo completely with no room to move. He rushed home, and dropped his shorts in front of his bedroom mirror. He could clearly see the outline of himself in his small suit. He turned to the side and gawked at himself when he saw how much of a bulge stuck out from his body. His room also seemed smaller now. He began to lower his suit. He had measured himself before, and knew he was an even 4 1/2 inches, hard. Now, as he lifted each foot out of the speedo, he knew he was probably around 4 inches soft. He swayed his hips side to side, and watched his dick sway, too, along with the now much larger balls that hung lower on him. He wrapped his hands around it and began stroking, wondering what his huge dick would feel like in his hands. When it didn’t feel any different the boy stopped, completely puzzled, He quickly realized it didn’t feel different because his hands had grown as well, probably in proportion. He didn’t think about it too much, as he quickly became engrossed with pleasuring the obscene 8 inches of flesh that jutted out from his compact body. As he stared down, watching his large hands work his large dick, he finally noticed feet. He hadn’t worn shoes since after Tuesday’s practice; they had felt a little too small that Wednesday morning, so he had worn his sandals. He let go of his dick and walked over to his bed. He reached under, pulled out his shoes, and tried to slip them on, but they just wouldn’t go in. He lined up his foot with the bottom of his shoe and saw that his toes began after the end of the shoe. He had been a size 8½, now he was probably around a size 10. The boy stood there, examining his altered body in his mirror. His long feet, bouncing dick, and frying-pan sized hands. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, so he did what teenage boys are best at; he began playing with himself again.
After the boy finished up, he called his friends on the swim team and asked if they had noticed any changes. Most responded that they hadn’t, until he mentioned it. The boy heard some screams and curse words that day over the phone, as his friends each comprehended their larger body parts. The news quickly spread through the whole team. Everyone had grown, from the smallest freshman to the biggest senior. By the end of the night, there were rumors among the team that one or more of the seniors had size 15 feet, and that some boys couldn’t find speedos that would accommodate their new packages.
Sunday afternoon practice came, and the whole team seemed to show up early, each boy eager to check out his friends and compare to see who had grown the most. Coach Brand held the new canister in his hands and called the team together. Many of the boys were shocked to see a new canister, looking down at each other’s hands, feet, and speedos, and half wondering, half afraid of how much more those body parts could grow. Whatever the boys thought, it was put to rest as Coach Brand explained that this was a new pill made to help them bring down their drag time. He handed each boy a clear pill, and each swallowed it immediately. It seemed Coach Brand wasn’t really aware of the boy’s changes, and no one was about to bring them up. The practice went ahead, with the boys a little distracted, most of them wondering what this new pill would do to them.
The week went on, along with the clear pills. Coach Brand kept finding measuring tapes around the pool deck. He didn’t realize the boys were measuring each other to see if they were growing anymore. Wednesday’s practice was nearly over, when our little swimmer came in to fast off the backstroke, and ran his head into the pool wall. He climbed out and waved the Coach over and explained what happened. Coach Brand told him to go sit on the deck and sent someone to get a bag of ice. The boy began to shiver and started looking for his towel, only to find it had blown away during practice and was now at the bottom of the pool. He would have sighed, except he didn’t feel cold anymore, he looked down and saw he was already dry everywhere, except for his hair and his speedo. He had only been out of the pool for less than half a minute, and it wasn’t very sunny or windy. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the ground as tried to figure it out. He felt one drop of water bead off his speedos and quickly descend along his thigh and calf to the ground. The boy looked at the path of the water. He sat down and awkwardly brought his shin up to his eyes and examined his skin. There was less hair! He checked his arms, and his arm pits, and even took a quick peek into his speedos. He was positive now, he had less body hair. He began to wonder if he was losing the hair on top of his head, too. He quickly ran to the locker room and checked in the mirrors. Thankfully he still had all the thick, dark, and unruly hair on top of his head, but in the mirror he could now see his peach fuzz was completely gone, even his eyebrows seemed a little thinner. He sat down on a bench and mulled over what was happening to him. He had been excited about getting all this new body hair, but at the same time he kind of liked being smooth and quick in the water. He knew some of the other boys might not feel that way, so he decided to keep his revelation a secret.
Coach Brand kept meticulous records of the boys’ times, and had noticed the times were slowly coming down. He e-mailed the company asking them if they could send the complete plan. They were happy to oblige, and sent him one last canister and a time table.
By the time Saturday had come around, most of the boys knew what was happening to their bodies. It would be hard for any 18 year-old to overlook the fact that he had the same amount of body hair as a 13 year-old standing next to him. When they all went into the locker room that Saturday, they all saw the same results on their team members; not a single one had a hair beneath their noses. They all had the hair on the tops of their heads, and eyelashes, but every other hair was gone, and their eyebrows were much smaller now, too. Some boys grumbled about losing their beards or chest hair, or being too smooth “down there” and wondered if it would ever grow back. Other boys couldn’t stop running their hands along their arms and legs, or along each other’s bodies. The other boys called them fags, and they quickly stopped their examination. With suits on, and caps and goggles hiding what little hair they had left, the boys went out to practice. A surprise met them outside that day, as the bleachers in front of the pool were packed with dozens of giggling girls, all pointing and winking at the team as they made their way to the pool. A sophomore boy walked over to the girls and started flirting with one of them, until Coach Brand told him to “get your scrawny ass in the water, Romeo!”. The girl he was speaking with let her hand wander down his arm, kissed him on the cheek and sent him off. As the boy dove into the water, the girls giggled and shrieked “He’s soo smooth!” The girls stayed the whole practice, ogling the team.
Coach Brand spoke with the team in the privacy of the locker room, away from all the girls waiting for his team. He told them they were making great progress, and that it was time to move on to the next supplement. The Coach heard some griping, something to do with hair, but Coach Brand dismissed it; he hadn’t noticed the loss of hair on the boys. He gave each boy a red pill and ended practice.
The boys were out of the locker room in record time, each boy showering and dressing as quickly as they could to go out and meet the girls, many of them choosing not to shower at all, and just left with their towels on.
The Coach had read that this week’s supplement was meant to help build muscle; so accordingly, he had scheduled extra time for his team in the weight room. Now practice was a third longer, with the same amount of time being spent in the pool, and a large increase in the time they spent hitting the weights. The changes this time were obvious to everyone, as over the next week, what little fat the boys had on their bodies melted away, to be replaced with pounds of toned and lean muscle.
For everything that escaped the Coach’s attention, one thing did not; tardiness and absences. Some of the boys were only coming for the pill and then leaving, or not showing up until the end and then they would ask for the pill. A few even had the gull to miss a day completely and then ask for two pills the next day. Coach Brand quickly found out the cause of this problem. Girls. There were girls at every practice now, and when he caught his boys skipping practice, they were always with a girl. Friday’s practice was the straw that broke the camels back; over half the team didn’t show up. Coach Brand had never been this angry before, but he reigned himself in before he took it out on the boys who had showed up to practice. He used this time to address each boy’s problems and questions individually; he felt he had still made major progress today. That night he e-mailed the company telling them about his new problem, and asking if they had any way to help him out. As soon as he sent it, he received a reply, simply stating “Your package is en route”.
Saturday came, and he knew all the boys would be there, if not for the possibility of a new pill, then to receive the one many of them had skipped the day before. First he attended to the boys who had skipped their last dosage. Then he brought out a new canister. This one was definitely different, it was larger, and it wasn’t the hospital-white the other three canisters had been. It was bright neon-pink. He handed each boy a strange three sectioned tablet. They looked like three large jelly beans stuck together. The sections were neon green, neon yellow, and neon pink. Each boy took one massive pill, and half swallowed, half choked the quarter sized tablet down. Coach Brand started practice and the day went on. Sunday’s practice was normal, and none of the boys had noticed any differences yet, the only thing out of the ordinary was the pill. It was the same three colored pill, only now it was the size of a half dollar. This time it took some of the boys a few more tries to get the pill down.
Monday, Coach Brand presented them with the largest pill they had ever seen. It was the size of a large grape, with a diameter of about an inch and a half. Each boy held it in their fist and wondered how they were ever going to swallow it, that is, until our little swimmer popped it in his mouth, and swallowed it like nothing. The other boys were a little shocked, and not to be surpassed by a freshman, they all swallowed theirs, and each was surprised at how easy it was. The other thing that happened Monday was a slight decrease in the number of girls attending practice.
In the locker rooms some of the boys quietly told their closest friends they were getting bored with their girlfriends and were thinking of breaking up with them.
Tuesday and Wednesday were one of the strangest days the school grounds had ever seen, with nearly every boy on the team breaking up with their girlfriends, and the last few holdouts, quietly ending their relationships on Thursday morning.
Once again, our littlest swimmer was the first to figure it out. After practice on Tuesday; just before the team-wide break up, he had been back in his house when it became clear to him. He had just arrived home, still smelling of chlorine and feeling the tightness of his skin begin to irritate him. He turned on the shower and stepped in with his speedo still on; so that he could wash it, too, and began rubbing his chest and stomach. As he did he felt pressure in his speedo. He stripped it off and left it on the shower floor. He pictured some of his classmates kissing each other and he felt his dick thicken and grow heavy. He pictured some of his teammates groping each other and changed his stance as he felt his dick rise and point at the ceiling. His hands were traveling up and down the length of his dick, with one sometimes leaving to rub his sack or palm the head; he couldn’t draw his mind’s eye away from the image of the varsity captain, leaned over his own lithe body. The Captain’s large, smooth chest pressed against his taunt back, the feeling of the Captain’s long arms and strong hands holding his small frame so tightly and hearing the grunts and moans of the captain in his ear, as he imagined what it would feel like to have the captain deep inside him. The boy’s hand’s were a blur now, as he let a moan escape his lips and felt his dick jump and his whole body tense. He felt the massive release shoot through him like so many shocks. By the time his orgasm had subsided he was only semi-conscious. He sleepily looked around the shower, and was glad that the water was washing away all the evidence of his little show. He muttered to himself, “Whoa… there’s so much…”, before slowly stepping out of the shower, toweling himself off, and falling on his bed, face first, completely naked, and out like a light for the rest of the night.
The boy woke up the next morning when he tried to pull the covers over his chilled, tanned flesh, and found there were no covers on him. He got up off the bed and realized he had slept in the nude, but on top if his covers. He also discovered his morning wood, and walked to the bathroom with it bobbing and pointing the way to the shower. He turned on the water and felt the jets of hot water strike his back. He looked down and saw his speedo on the floor, bent down and picked it up, and brought it to eye level. He checked it inside and out, and was glad to see none of his cum had stained it. He let his hand wander down to his dick and began playing with his foreskin, pondering why he had such an intense fantasy. He knew he was gay, and he had had jerk-off fantasies about boys before, but never so forceful and potent. He put two and two together quickly, and considered the new pills the boys were being given.
Later at school, as he watched boy after virile boy, break up with their girlfriends, his idea was only supported.
On Wednesday, when Coach Brand gave each boy their pill, our little swimmer discreetly pocketed his, and feigning that he forgot his goggles in his bag, went back to the locker room and put the pill away in his back pack.
Practice went on, with absolutely no one showing up to watch, and every single team member in attendance. Well, actually, there were a few boys in the stands, only about half a dozen or so, but they didn’t bug the team like the girls had, so Coach Brand just ignored them. The boys ran a pretty wide gamete of high schoolers. He had seen two of them in the music building a few times; one was an actor, the other pianist. Another boy he recognized as a talented young artist; the apple of the art department’s eye. There was one of the resident “brains” in attendance, too. Coach Brand also recognized a freshman QB there, too, and chuckled as he thought he might end up stealing some of the other coach’s players. And lastly, there was a very quiet and shy boy, sitting far off from the others. Coach Brand approached them and told them all that if they wanted to join the team, they’d all be welcome to try out. He was glad to see more kids taking in interest in sports. When practice was over, it took over 45 minutes for the boys to clear out of the lockers, when it normally took them no more than 15. Each boy took his time showering and flexing, strutting and bending, for each other. Then, finally, what our little swimmer knew would happen, happened.
He had finished dressing and was on his way out. As he passed by the shower entrance he spied only two boys left in there. One was a freestyle sprinter, Blake; a loud boisterous blond boy, who up until this week, had always talked about how many girls he had been with, how great his car was, and in general, how he was absolutely amazing. The other boy was much quieter than Blake. Calvin was a long distance swimmer; taught to keep pace and conserve energy; both virtues he applied to his real life. So it was a definite surprise when out little swimmer boy saw the usually serene Calvin standing with his back to the shower, his head rolling on his shoulders, and breathing heavily with his chest rising and falling. Upon closer observation past the steam, our little swimmer spied the ever-confident Blake standing behind Calvin, roughly kissing his neck and with one hand groping the other boy’s chest and abs, and the other tugging and squeezing the boy’s large, veined cock. Our little swimmer watched as Calvin’s hands found their way on top of Blake’s and began guiding him to all the areas he knew were most excitable on his body. Blake looked up and locked eyes with our boy, and as if he were a predator, licked his lips. Eyes still locked, Blake bent his knees, and then straightened them, invading Calvin in the process and making him shudder and cry out strangely in his deep bass voice, as his knees gave out on him. Blake held him up and continued his invasion. He began slowly lowering and rising himself beneath Calvin; the whole time watching our boy, as he flexed and throbbed inside Calvin, making the other boy tremble and tense. Our boy watched as Calvin began moving his hips back and forth and as his abs tensed, caressing Blake inside him. Our little swimmer looked down and saw his own dick making itself rather obvious in his shorts. He swung his back pack off his shoulders and kept it in front of himself. He slowly began moving away from the shower entrance, but with his last look, he thought he saw Blake mouthing the words “You’re next”.
And as each day passed, Our little swimmer witnessed more and more of these little indiscretions, as they became more and more frequent among the team. He found pairs of boys in showers, the bathroom stalls, and in cars in the student parking lot. The easiest observations were during practice, itself. On Thursday, at the beginning of practice, he could see that almost every boy had his hand on another boy’s ass; by the end of practice, those hands had migrated to the front of the speedos. On Friday, those hands had traveled again, beginning inside the speedos, caressing and kneading the bottoms they found inside, and by the end of practice had begun playing and teasing the cocks they discovered in the front.
Saturday arrived, with the boys showing up in pairs and threesomes, and one group of sophomores showing up as a bakers dozen. The boys stood close to each other, limbs casually dangling off each other and arms around shoulders and waists. To any outsider, they would have been displaying the camaraderie and physical closeness athletes normally display among their teammates, but our boy knew better. He saw the eyes on each boy as they devoured the bodies on deck, and saw the small circles fingers made or touches each boy gave to another.
Coach Brand continued giving the boys the new three-sectioned pills, and noticed how much closer they had all become. In fact, his boys seemed to be the perfect team now, with the only exception being they we’re taking nearly an hour to get out of the lockers after practice these days.
The weekend came and passed, and Coach Brand finished the boys supplement plan. He was amazed at how much his team had improved in speed, but also in moral, in just three short weeks.
The 4th of July was coming up and Coach Brand had reserved a large part of the nearby beach to celebrate. The idea was an instant hit, and every boy made sure they’d be in attendance.
Our little swimmer was particularly excited about the holiday. He had saved each pill since Wednesday, which gave him a total of three pills, each larger than the last.
The 4th was on a Friday, which afforded everyone a night to sleep over at the beach. It was around 6 o’clock and still very bright out. Almost all of the boys had shown up, and each came only with a towel and a brand new colorful speedo. No one had planned or requested that everyone show up in a new speedo, each boy just came to the same conclusion of what to wear. Coach Brand had worn an old polo and a pair of faded red swim trunks that only went mid-thigh. He was manning the barbeque with a few boys hanging around him, while others were lounging around on the sand or in the water. Of course, a good number of boys had retreated to more hidden areas of the dunes for some other activities. Our little swimmer came later, around 7, but tucked into his speedo was a small baggie filled with a large amount of powder.
The night progressed, and the sun set. The food was served and the boys laid down on the sand and watched the fireworks as they colored the sky. Coach Brand had yet to notice the behavior of his team; he had only ever known homosexuals as large, manly women or delicate, effeminate men, and his team spoke with deep voices, had muscular, athletic bodies, and horsed around the way boys do. He was just so glad his team had come together so quickly.
With everyone’s eyes skyward, our little swimmer saw his opportunity. He filled a cup with the powder he had been carrying around all evening, and mixed it in with punch. He slowly walked over to Coach Brand and sat down next to his lounge chair. He offered the cup to the older man, who took it and tussled the boy’s hair. Coach Brand took a sip, and all the boy could think about was the hour spent before he left for the party, crushing up the three large pills and bagging the powder that remained. Coach Brand had drunk about a third and was beginning to moan and squirm in his seat. Our little swimmer let his hand wander up to the Coach’s shin and began stroking it. “Wh-What are you doing?” the Coach said weakly as he took another long sip for the cup. The boy responded “Do you like it? Do you want me to stop?”, Coach Brand shook his head no, “I-I like it… don’t stop…” The boy’s hand wandered up his leg, past his knee and was now on the older man’s thigh. Coach Brand let out a low moan, and started at the boy, as if it was the first time he had ever really seen him. The boy guided the cup back to the Coach’s mouth and tipped it back; gently forcing the Coach to finish his drink. As he finished his drink, the Coach let out a grunt that drew the attention of some of the near by boys. Our little swimmer moved behind Coach Brand and slid his chair all the way down; the coach was now staring straight into the sky. He felt small, quick hands groping him through his old trunks. Thin fingers breached the line between his suit and his skin, as he felt his suit being pulled down. The boy watched as the man escaped his confining trunks and knew this man had not needed any other pills; Coach Brand was already very large, heavy, and thick. Coach Brand whimpered as the cold night air struck his exposed organ, “Coach”, the boy moaned. “Robby. My name is Robby,” the coach whimpered back loudly as the small, hot mouth of our little swimmer engulfed him and the fireworks continued above them. Coach Brand moved his hands down to guide and hold on to the boy. His hands wrapped around the boys head, tickling his palms as he felt the short bristly hair on the back of the boy’s head.
The rest of the team was watching now, their speedos stretched, strained, and stained at the site of their smallest team member and their coach together. The team was awed, the boy’s mouth was so small, and Coach Brand was so large.
It wasn’t very long till speedos littered the beach and no one was left wearing anything. The night stretched on, with some boys trading partners and some remaining only with one. Many of them tried to approach the Coach, but the ferocity in our little swimmer’s eyes and body made it clear; the Coach belonged to him.
Dawn came; the smoke and smell from all the fireworks still hung in the air. Boys were entangled everywhere, covered by a towel or two. Our little swimmer lay on the Coach, his head resting on broad muscular chest of the other, their arms wrapped around each other. The boy lifted his head; his lover was still awake and staring back at him. “Robby, it’s amazing what you did for this team. I know it was those pills. Maybe you could talk to the other Coaches, you know, Football, Soccer, Baseball, Track and Field, Tennis… I bet the boys on those teams would really benefit from these supplements, especially this last one you gave us.”
Robby replied, “Yeah, that’s a great idea. We’ll have the best teams in the county.”
The boy lifted himself off his lover and with a smirk, murmured “Yeah, that's it; we'll be the best in the county…”.
END