He dropped the jock down on his desk and sat down in his chair.He dropped the jock down on his desk and sat down in his chair. Tim stood there, nearly naked, but for some reason felt he had a lot of power in the situation. "Sit down, Tim. I've got some advice for you." "So, you finally went for the big prize, eh Tim?" said Coach somewhat mockingly. Tim wanted to pick up his cummy jock that lay on the desk and wipe the smirk off Coach's face with his cum. Tim didn't know what Coach's game was. He always struck him as eminently cool, not someone hurtful or judgmental. Tim felt fine sitting there, half-covered with a towel and the smell of sweat and cum rising off his young body. Coach had come back from a run when he stumbled upon the two boys in the locker room, and his hot 28 year-old frame was glowing with perspiration. He was wearing a large, loose-fitting tank top that was soaked with sweat. One reason that Coach was such a fantasy object around the high school was his hot body and the fact that he did not dress as the traditional coach; no polyester shorts, shirt and whistle with knee socks for Coach Miller. He was wearing black lyra shorts that stopped a few inches above his knees, short ankle socks and running shoes. He leaned back in his chair; the sweaty tank top covered his crotch. Tim wanted him. "You know you could have anyone in this school, Tim. You're 18, you've got the best body/looks combination here and you're graduating in three months. Why are you wasting your time with Chris?" Tim was pissed. Who the fuck was Coach Miller to sit there and comment on his choice of fuck-buddy? Did he know how hard it is to hook up in high school with other guys? Tim knew he wanted to fuck boys and he was beginning to come into his own with that opinion. His shyness had always held him back and was the excuse for why the hunky boy was without female companionship. |