01 Bisexual Coach


01 – Bisexual Coach Adventures

by mandezulu

– this is incomplete –

Note: bisexual man seduces younger (all over 18) pupil, grooming and touching of a sexual nature. All is fiction and real abuse or inappropriate touching of unconsenting persons is immoral, illegal and I do not condone or endorse. All is fake and imagination. Having knowledge of physical fitness is a plus, as weight lifting is discussed.

Coaching wasn’t something I had honestly planned to get into but I was always into sports, competition and liked to help others so it just worked out that way. I was originally schooled in the Arts, Literature and abstract concepts but as I got more and more into weight lifting, got tattooed, and otherwise tried through social means to look like a bad ass, those ivory tower aspirations and knowledge took back seat to looking like I could get cast as a bodyguard in a direct to dvd movie. All jokes aside, volunteering was something I had been doing since I was 14, out of boredom and later because I discovered most times it wasn’t hard, the good will I could generate and only lose time were the driving factors. I worked at a donation service like Goodwill, then a school in a recess supervisor role, and now here I was teaching college strength training to a bunch of 18-23 year olds. I was expecting the Dean to ask for my certificates but my huge arms, tattoos, stern confidence demeanor secured me the position. He laughed and mentioned that some things can’t be taught in the classroom, to which I readily agreed.

There were occasionally older students, or returning adults from the workforce trying to refresh their resumes, but they didn’t come to strength training classes. Young males, nearly always with some muscle on their skinny frames, full of testosterone and swear words, they were my soldiers, my blocks of clay. It was seen as, and really was, an easy physical education credit. As long as you broke a sweat, lifted some weight and put in a decent effort you’d get an “A” from me. The kids who “yes sir, no sir” to me I gave a C- only because I wasn’t raised that way thinking verbal affirmation equated to respect. Respect is shown through actions and kindness, words are cheap; plus brown nosers were assholes, regardless of the age.

As would be expected, the word faggot was thrown around a lot in the weight room. I don’t put much weight into the homophobic slurs and such in the locker room, like I said if the work gets done and no one is disrespected, it’s fine in my book. It was easy to find a bully and punishment was class-related, such as 15 speed reps on the bench press, or 30 second wall sit and 10 burpees. Without fail, physical exercise robbed their fast running mouths of clever or cruel things to say.

I tried not to have any favorites but I did have a few. The quiet ones who showed incredible strength but took no congratulations or pats on the back I liked because they reminded me of myself at a younger phase of my life. The big ones who through genetics and not hard work, who put in a decent work effort but I knew had more energy in the tank, those louts I worked hard, sweat dripping down on the black work mats into what I called “snowflakes,” these young men had great potential but needed to be shown they had it and not to rely on daddy to always pay the bills or get them out of a tight spot.

As cliche as it sometimes was, I was making men out of boys. There were 1 or 2 leaders in most periods, guys who encouraged one more rep or led by example, they were worth their weight in gold. It was a mixed blessing though, often the adulation went to their egos and instead of being humble, it turned into macho bravado. I have seen the fall of many a young man from loser to leader and then to scumbag bully with Bursa Escort his toxic attitude. Many factors go into this transformation I believe; how parents influenced them, how they want to appear to their peers, and importantly how they stand on the pedestal and wield power over the mentally-weaker ones, the boys who lack ambition and a creative spirit. Those lads are the ones who are sheep, easily led because they never had good role models. Willing to do most anything to gain “respect” from their peers, not even knowing why they wanted it, only because they envied having power and never had it before. As it can be easily understood, that pitfall is an easy trap.

I can make you strong as a bull and able to pull a 600lb dead lift but if there’s nothing upstairs, that time in the weight room will become a memory and not a moment that will be cherished or appreciated in future athletic endeavors. To me it makes no sense that after years of training and sport that once a man graduates he moves into IT or Biology and puts down the weights and looses that testosterone energy! There is an innate urge, a will, to want to continue to be better, stronger, more respected, a confidence that can rarely and truly be grown; sometimes I thought I saw it emerge and other times I put a match to a lad, but quantifying it and duplicating it I think is impossible. The ones that had that insatiable need, it was a gift but also a curse if coupled with a perfection mindset; those were the ones I looked for.


“Get on your knees, faggot!” I heard the yell from the shower room and put down my clipboard and walked from my office to the steam-filled locker room proper. There I saw Adam, the smallest blonde boy on his knees, completely naked surrounded by the 2 bullies, Jerome, a hulking Moroccan youth with broad shoulders and a large cock, and Trevor, an older Italian boy with a history of disciplinary violence. Trevor will always be a name of a fuckup or bully, not just from this one lad but in general, Trevor is an asshole name. The two boys were on the left and right of Adam, who had gotten down and was squatting on the yellow tile floor, his hands covering his head. He looked pathetic and I caught a glimpse of his penis on the tile between his legs hanging low. Adam was whimpering, the very image of pathetic. The two bullies were laughing and pointing out his weaknesses.

“Little blonde bitch, you can’t bench even 95 lbs! Motherfucker struggles with the bar itself, Jerry.” Jerry was Jerome’s nickname because when he asked girl’s fathers if he had permission to date their daughter he was rejected using his given name. “No nigger will date my princess,” Jerome sneered to a class mate, then detailing how how he forced his 9 meat stick into his current girlfriend’s dry vagina. His laugh made me angry, and now as he was humiliating Adam I snapped at him, walking directly towards the two.

“Jerome! You like bullying naked men, huh? You’ll fit in real good in prison, where you can grab your ankles in the shower room every day! And you, Trevor, I see your little Italian sausage is getting hard. You enjoy a naked boy at your feet? Get out of here you faggots. I’ll call the Dean right now and report both of you for a hate crime. You won’t even be able to get a job at Walmart with that on your record! You heard me, get the fuck out of here!”

I had rarely yelled in anger and they both turned tail and walked out, grabbing towels and slamming lockers shut on their way down the hall. I reached and turned off the shower handles, Adam getting to his feet. The young lad had his signature bowl haircut and large brown eyes looked down at the floor. My dress shoes had gotten wet and the leather would be ruined.

“What the fuck was that, Bursa Escort Bayan Adam?” I asked him, waiting for him to raise his chin and his eyes to meet mine. This was a defining moment in his life, I knew that and wanted to handle it right. I put my hands on my hips, felt stupid because I probably looked like superman, and then sat on the wooden bench in between the long row of lockers. The boy stood still, his hands at his sides, facing me. I was at eye level with his cock which I got a good look at. It was average length, shaved clean and he sported a large set of testicles which hung nicely, slightly lower than his cut member. I reach out and touched his thigh and spoke softly, “Sit. Let’s talk.”

Adam sat down on the bench, sideways and had a leg on either side of the bench, his legs spread wide open and again I had a great view of his clean, shaved penis. He was average in every aspect of being a boy, but he was an easy target for the bullies. I had encouraged him many times to stand up for himself, he always hung his head and was either dead silent or sighed loudly and said “yes, coach.” There was no winning or educational progress that could be made with a resigned attitude like that so I would let him go, giving some weak platitude about how if you acted weak others would treat you that way, be man, stand up for yourself, etc. I know he heard it but actually taking action seemed out of his grasp or even trying. If the locker room was a prison, he would definitely be the prison bitch, the punk.

“Have they done that before, son? I know they’re assholes but that looked rough.” Again he hung his head, putting his hands on his knees, drawing them up and then down into a cross-legged position, his back leaning against one of the red metal lockers, tears in his eyes. I was disgusted with him but knew showing that would traumatize the poor kid more. He would be thinking about this moment many more times in his life, how he was humiliated in the locker room, coach saw his little dick, he was pushed around and called a faggot, queer, homo, and would probably go transgender if given the chance. He was no man, just a boy, a loser, a punk with no where to go, the future was bleak and hopeless. Adam wondered what the least painful route to suicide would be. The 18 year old Freshman made a fist and slammed it on the bench between him and me.

“Those fucking fucks always fuck with me. I wish I could stand up for myself, Coach Roberts, I really do. I can’t tell when is a good time and then I get tongue tied and, fuck, it all just gets fucked up, you know? I hate those guys. If you hadn’t come along they were going to make me suck their cocks. I’m not gay!”

I was floored that he had the capacity for anger in his heart but he sounded desperate, pushed to his breaking point. Handling this situation was probably best for the trauma counselor but I wanted to say a few words, something not ham-fisted or cliche to help him out. Get him thinking on something else, give him time to process these events.

“Aww shit, I don’t know what those assholes had planned, I doubt even they knew. Bullies are just major league pricks, they do whatever they think will hurt you the most. I bet Jerome and Trevor are gay, making you sit down on the floor and having their dicks out. That’s really gay if you think about it.” Adam looked up at me with his large brown eyes and he nodded, his eyes red but no longer crying.

“Yeah, probably fags. You’re right, Coach.” Adam leaned back against the lockers and brushed wet hair from his eyes, looking really fucking gay honestly. He could pass as an ugly girl with different clothes. My cock stirred, and for a split second I felt cold and vulnerable. I chastised myself for thinking like that Escort Bursa and tried to focus on him and fumbled some healing words. I had never been a victim of bullying, my father had beaten me and taught me how to fight the bullies. I had given and taken my fair share of black eyes and bruises. My father loved me but I was a rebellious shit in my grade school years and I figured that’s the only way he knew how to discipline me.

“It’s Rob, Rob Richards. I’m not a coach right now, I’m just a concerned guy. You need to, listen to me, need to stand up to those guys. Not tonight but the next time you feel afraid you need to hit him as hard as you can.” Adam shook his head, his hair falling over his forehead again.

“I’ll get in trouble, Coach, umm, Rob. They’ll hurt me worse. I can’t win.” He said the last words, defeated like, and I got angry again. Not thinking clearly I made a move, reached over and roughly grabbed his upper thigh, near his dick. He scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck?” His face was flushed and was sporting an erection, the glans of his penis was reddish purple and he looked down at his leg, looking for bruises but not seeing his flagpole at full mast. It looked good from my angle, a healthy young cock; he would make a woman very happy someday. Shaking those thoughts off I stood up to face him.

“Did that make you angry? You need to get angry, Adam. Pretend I’m Jerome. Hit me.” I barely got the last word out when a surprisingly-fast fist smashed my jaw, sending me down to the bench again, I put one hand on my jaw and the other raised in a defensive posture. A laugh escaped my lips, the little shit had a spark in him.

“Shit.” Adam was apoplectic, unsure of his action, sat then stood again. “Shit, you said to hit you so I did. Sorry, Coach. Shit, I’m sorry.” I stood again, rubbing my jaw and smiled at him. “That was a good shot, kid. Do that to Jerry and that faggot Trev when they try to mess with you again. I promise they won’t. That’s all bullies understand, is violence. They’ll know you’re not a bitch anymore, okay?” It felt good to get that speech out to him.

Adam furrowed his brow, standing up with his shoulders back. “Bitch? You think I’m a bitch, Coach? Fuck you, okay?” This was a sudden change in demeanor for the slight blonde lad and I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t resist. I expected him to cry but he didn’t. Grabbing his shoulder I pulled his in for a hug. My black long sleeved dress shirt felt wet as his body hugged mine in an embrace. He pulled away suddenly, both of his hands covering his dick.

“Fuck,” he stammered, “I don’t know why that happened.”

“It’s okay, Adam. Your body is confused and you’re naked. Here’s a towel.” Throwing him a fresh towel he wrapped it around his shoulders, barely covering his genitals.

“You should go. Fuck this class, just take a walk, get in some fresh air. It’s a lot to think on.” The parting was awkward but necessary for both of our sakes. “I’m gonna take a walk. I need to process all this crap. Do you want me to tell the Dean? I can easily get them expelled, no problem.” I was back in work mode, my erection and wet shirt completely forgotten about.

“Like you said Coach, it’s a lot to think on. Let me think. Can I text you?” Somehow he looked more put together, had his shit on straight and was acting like student again, not a rape victim. I pulled a pen from my pocket and wrote it down on a flyer on the wall for Spring Break vacation.

“Let me know either way. I’ll keep my cell on. Call me anytime if you want to talk. Or you can see the trauma lady down in Seaton Hall, okay?” We were walking down the hall through the jungle of lockers to my office. Adam went to his locker and I went into my office and looked for the counselor’s business card. As usual my desk was fucking disaster, I couldn’t find shit.

“Coach Roberts.” I turned and saw Adam in the door way to my office, his dick was hard again, he was tugging on it looking at me, not in the eyes but on one of my shirt buttons.

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