Coach Johnson (Illustration and Story)

Coach Johnson

My old man passed when I was only thirty. He and I weren’t exactly close or anything, and that only became strained after I came out to him at twenty. He left his sales firm to my sister and me, which was expected, and luckily he had hired such capable directors and employees over the years that the place nearly ran itself. The one wrinkle to this is that his company also owned a semi-professional baseball team. I suppose calling it ‘semi-professional’ might be too kind, they were just a bunch of guys from around the company who took the game way too seriously. My old man loved baseball you see. Used to take me to games as often as he could, play catch whenever he had a spare moment, quote me statistics of the best players and was over the moon when he was finally able to put together his own team. 

And that was, sort of the problem. I wasn’t big into sports and I just found baseball boring. I went to the gym several days a week to stay in shape and feel good but my dad’s love of the game was not passed down. In fact, ten years ago when he formed the team, he had done everything in his power to attempt to get me to join. I was way more interested in meeting guys (no small feat in a small town!) and hanging out with my friends. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. Honestly though, my other interests weren’t the main reason that I didn’t want to join the team: It was the guy he hired on as coach.  

Coach Johnson is just one of those guys, how do I put this? He’s big, he’s crass, swears, smokes cigars and spits. He’s, kinda gross, you know what I mean? Dad met him online, liked his resume and they really hit it off in person. Hired him on the spot. Whenever I’d go watch the Bull Balls play, (Yes I know, and no I didn’t name the team.) Coach Johnson would be red-faced, yelling at the players, screaming his lungs out at the umpire and basically just making an ass of himself. I didn’t like even being around him. But then, that was when I was twenty. I guess things tend to change over time.

I had stopped going to ball games years ago, long before my dad ever got sick. Now that I had inherited the team, I figured I should at least show up to a game, shake the hands of the players and let them know I had no plans to dissolve the team or anything as long as someone else was willing to manage them. They had just had their second practice of the new season so I drove down to the ballpark and headed out to the field. The first thing I heard before I ever set eyes on him was Coach barking at one of his poor players. I rolled my eyes.

“What the fuck was that Vasquez?!” He swore. “Hustle yer ass round those bases! Get the goddamned lead out!”

I hung back near the fence watching the guys. Immediately I was flooded by old memories of being out here with dad. They were mostly middle-aged guys from the company, doing their best and actually, not doing too badly. The team always performed quite well, winning most of their games each season. They looked good in their uniforms too, I couldn’t deny it. After a few minutes Coach noticed me lingering by the edge of left field and waved me over. I sighed and started walking toward him. He met me over near the dugout, after yelling at the players to keep doing whatever it is he had them doing.

“Holy shit, look at you. Ain’t seen ya in what, five years?” He asked.

“More like eight I think.”

“Huh. Well yer all grown up now, looks like yer taking care of yerself. You missed tryouts though.” He said, giving me a once-over.

“Uh, I’m not here for tryouts.” I said. “I just sorta, I dunno wanted to check up on everything, make sure you all know the team isn’t getting dissolved or anything after, well after dad’s passing last year.”

Coach Johnson narrowed his eyes. “Well I didn’t think it was gonna be, until ya mentioned it.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine, but I just need you to be team manager or one of the guys I guess.”

He laughed, a big boisterous bellow that startled me. “I ain’t a manager! I’m a coach! And none of these goons are gonna fuckin’ do it!” His belly shook as he laughed. He had grown pretty round in the middle over the last decade. I hate to admit it but it sure looked good.

“Well I can’t do it either.” I began.

“Why not? Huh? You so busy?”

“Well, I, uh, I have my own job and er…” I hadn’t expected him to fire back at me, and the truth was I probably could handle the team management on top of my less-than-robust social life.

“Just don’t want to, is that it?” He asked, quickly determining the real reason. 

“No, it’s just--”

“Got a boyfriend?” Coach asked, completely disarming me.

“What? I, why would you--”

“If ya do, just bring him to the games, he’ll have a good time.” Coach said and shrugged.

I felt my face go a little red. “How did you know?”

“What that yer a homo?”

“Please say gay.”

“Yer dad and I talked about it sometimes.”

“You did?” I asked, rather surprised.

“Sure. He always wanted what was best for ya, even if he didn’t know how to show it.”

I grew silent. Coach Johnson took a long drag from his cigar and then scratched his bushy beard. Damn, he had grown his beard out since I last saw him too, and it was a lot more grey. When he wasn’t screaming, he was actually pretty hot. Maybe. In the last ten years I was really starting to see the appeal of bearish guys and well, had always liked older men. When his appalling personality wasn’t getting in the way, the man was quite easy on the eyes.

“What else did you say, uh, about me?”

“I told him you were young, figuring things out. Just cuz ya liked cock didn’t mean ya weren’t a man. Just cuz ya never seemed to like baseball too much, didn’t mean there wasn’t something you two might have in common.”

“That’s uh, surprisingly insightful of you.” I commented.

Coach grunted. “Thought I was just some dumb country boy huh?”

“N-no! I just, I’m not sure. I guess I figured you just ate, slept and breathed baseball.”

He chuckled at that. “Well yeah when I’m on the field, it’s literally my job, kid. And I like ta think I’m pretty good at it too.”

“You are.” I assured him. “So if you could just manage the team too…”

He put one of his heavy, hairy hands on my shoulder. “Nope. Yer dad would never forgive me if I let ya do that. We both know he wanted you to take care of this team. Give it a year, see how it feels. I’ll do what I can to lighten yer load.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I knew he was right. “Fine, one year. But if my work starts to suffer as a result--”

“Relax, it won’t. Yer dad ran a tight ship.”

“Okay.”

“He’d be happy, just seeing you out here ya know.”

“I guess he would at that.”

“Our first game is in a couple weeks. We gonna see ya out here with yer guy?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, but, maybe I will make it out for a game.”

That was twice where he made mention of me having a boyfriend. Was he fishing for information? Was it, something to read into? No, that would be nuts. Coach Johnson was literally the straightest dude I’d ever met. And yet…

Before I left, Coach brought the players in, most of whom I already knew from work to let them know I’d be the new team manager. We shook hands and they expressed their gratitude over me stepping up to fill the role, as well as their condolences. Coach clapped me on the back and said again that he expected to see me at their first game, and each one after that. I sort of gritted my teeth but agreed. I told them all goodnight and drove home.

-----

I was true to my word. I showed up to the Bull Balls’ first game and sat right behind the third base line. After that though Coach wanted me to be in the dugout with him and the rest of the guys when they weren’t on the field. I felt awkward about it at first, but grew to like it by the third game. It was, actually pretty cool being down there, almost a part of the action. It felt like I was part of the team, which I suppose I technically was. I started to enjoy watching the games, and started understanding why Coach yelled at his players when he did, or even when he’d go after the umpire. I started to admire the passion he had for the sport, and, well, just being around him was exciting for other reasons too: He’d take the time to describe certain plays, and what each of the players was best at. As he did so he'd often drape one of his brawny arms around my shoulders and pull me in close. When I’d ask a dumb question, he’d smirk, but he didn’t tease or make fun of me, he just patiently explained it. I suppose I most started getting into the game as an excuse to be next to him. He always smelled of cigar smoke and man sweat, not bad, he didn’t reek, he just… It was nice. When he’d lean out of the dugout sometimes his shirt would pull up and I’d see the top of his hairy crack poking out of his shorts. And, I promise I’m not a size queen but the basket in the front of his shorts looked damned impressive too. Yeah, if I’m being honest, I had it bad.

It was after the fifth game, which we won, that Coach asked me to linger and have a smoke with him. The team went out to a bar to celebrate, and usually Coach went with them, but that day he hung back in the dugout on one of the benches. The crowds had all left the stands and the park grew still. The sun had just started making its descent but it was still hot out. At least down where we were it was cooler. Normally I’d make some excuse and head home but the prospect of spending some quiet time with my current crush was just about my top priority.   

“Here ya go.” He said and handed me one of his cigars.

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t smoke.” I said and smiled.

“Fair enough, bad for ya anyway.”

“I don’t mind you smoking though.” I added quickly.

“Mhm.” He said and lit a fresh one.

We sat side by side on the bench for some time, just looking out at the green grass, the cloudy summer sky beyond that. It was a beautiful day, but I wasn’t focused on the scenery, just the butterflies filling my stomach. We were both quiet for several minutes before Coach finally broke the silence.

“It’s been real nice havin’ ya show up to the games.”

“I admit I’ve been enjoying them more than I thought I would.”

“It was hard on all of us ya know, losin’ yer dad. He was a good man. You steppin’ up to lead the team, he’d a been real proud.”

I really didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help myself, the tears welled up before I knew it. Dad had only been gone six months and I had a lot of unresolved stuff going on inside. I missed him too, even if we hadn’t been that close.

“Aw gee, I’m sorry kid!” Coach said. “Fuck, I shouldn’ta said that!”

“N-no, it’s alright. Sorry for crying like this, it’s just,”

Coach shifted in his seat and pulled me into a tight bear hug. I was so shocked by it that for a moment I just froze in his arms. He held me tighter and rubbed my back.

“Nothin’ ta be sorry for. Just cry if ya need to. Yer safe with me.”

Fuck. Well that did it. If I wasn’t blubbering before, I certainly was after that. Coach pulled me in tighter and kissed the top of my head. I got myself under control and had the time to appreciate my current predicament. Through the thin cotton of his shirt, I could feel what must have been a sweater of fur over his meaty pecs. I inhaled deeply and felt light-headed as I took in his pheromones. After another minute of bliss I gently pulled away from him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah, I am actually, thank you.” I said, and I meant it. “And thanks for the hug, that was nice of you.”

Coach took a thick finger and rubbed it at the corner of his own eyes.

“Were you…?” I asked.

He smiled. “A little. I ain’t ashamed to show my emotions from time ta time. And yer welcome.” The big man said.

“You really, are not the person I thought you were.” I said, shaking my head.

“Oh?”

“I thought you were just this, loud, angry, super-straight jock. I uh, was wrong about you and I’m sorry.”

“Well, right about two of those anyway.” He said before taking another puff on his stogie. “I suppose I’d definitely be classified as a jock, and I’m pretty fuckin’ loud.”

I raised my eyebrow.

“What?” He asked. “See a wedding ring on my finger? Ever hear me talk about a girlfriend?”

“I guess not.”

“Geez ya really are dense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I been askin’ about a boyfriend, I get ya to show up to our games… Been tryin’ like hell ta spend some alone time with ya for weeks. Do I really need to spell it out?”

I blinked at him. “You aren’t saying… You like me or something?”

“Yes dammit!” He exclaimed, his face quite red.

I was stunned. “Really?”

“Well sure, who wouldn’t be? You’re in great shape, got a good head on yer shoulders, nice guy, and handsome!” 

“I just, wow, I uh, wow.” I said dumbly.

“So?”

“So?” I echoed back.

“Have any kinda feelin’s fer me? Other than me bein’ a loud-ass jock?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sexy bear dads are pretty much my life energy source.”

“And me specifically?”

I leaned back into him, running one hand over his belly, and with the other moved his cigar to the top of a nearby cooler. I kissed him, tasting his mouth and cigar still, grabbing the back of his thick neck and climbing onto his lap. Coach kissed me back eagerly, his paws roaming over my thighs and ass as he moaned into my mouth.

“Damn kid, yer makin’ me feel real good.” 

“Fuck, me too Coach.” I said and moved down to tug at his shorts.

He lifted his big ass from the bench just enough to pull his shorts and jockstrap down. My eyes just about bulged out of my skull. The man’s girth didn’t stop with the rest of his body.

“Speaking of bull balls, look at these things!” I said appreciatively. I grabbed them with both hands, lifting and caressing the hairy orbs.

“Well sure! Where do ya think yer dad came up with the team name?”

“Are you serious?”

“Saw me in the locker room way back and made that joke.”

I laughed. “This whole time, our company’s baseball team has been named after your nuts?”

“Yup.” The man said proudly. “Now get down there and show me how happy ya are to meet ‘em!”

I was kneeling in the dust of the dugout quick as a flash, lapping at each of those round sweaty boys, inhaling their musk and pressing Coach’s fat, drooling cock against my cheek. He groaned as he ran a calloused hand through my hair and bucked his hips slowly upward. I took one last, long swipe with my tongue up the seam between his hairy balls and up his rigid manhood. I had already tugged my own shorts down to my knees and was pumping my cock slowly. Was too turned on so I had to take it easy, didn’t want to shoot before I spent more time on Coach. 

He put his cigar back in the corner of his mouth while he watched me work. I had sucked and licked my way all the way to his cherry-red knob and was chewing on the excess foreskin there. 

“Good boy.” He growled. 

I practically had to dislocate my jaw to get that mammoth cock down my throat. It was worth it just for the sounds I made rumble out of Coach’s mouth. Now, I’ve been sucking dick for over a decade and, not to brag but, I’m pretty much an expect by this point, and I wanted that beefy bear daddy to know what a prize he had found in me. I slurped down that fat pole for all I was worth, kneading his bull nuts while I did so. I kept up my pace for several minutes and then, while feeling bold, slid my right hand between his meaty cheeks and pressed a thumb into his eager, sucking pucker. As my knuckle pushed inside of his rectum, he moved as if to slow me down but it was too late. Coach roared as he shot ropes of his seed down my throat. I swallowed every precious, gooey drop as I rubbed my thumb in a tight circle up his furry arse. His gut rose and fell as he caught his breath. Then he hauled me up and kissed me passionately, swabbing his tongue around my mouth, hungry to taste any remains of his fluid there.

“Get up on the fuckin’ bench.” He ordered.

I stood up and he had me place my feet on either side of his big thighs as he took my cock deep into his mouth. He grabbed my bare ass cheeks and guided me into a rhythm of hard-fucking his face. I knocked his ballcap off and grabbed his bald head as I plowed his pulsing throat with abandon. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy. I never would have guessed ol’ Coach to be such an enthusiastic cocksucker. That man has one talented mouth though, let me tell you! He gagged a couple times, but never even slowed down. He had me shooting my wad in under two minutes and kept sucking until I eventually grew soft. He wouldn’t let me move though, not until he had every last taste drained from my deflated sack. At last, I collapsed down onto the bench next to him, both of us with happy, satisfied grins on our faces. We sat bare-assed in the early evening light, kind of eyeing one another in a bemused way.

“Couldn’t ask fer a nicer way to celebrate a victory.” Coach said.

“Hope we can do this again next time you guys win!” I added.

“Maybe even between games?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh, as often as we can I hope!”

“Maybe uh, grab a movie or something sometime too?” 

“You asking me out Coach?”

“Yeah, guess I am.”

“Sounds good to me.”

We sat quietly, enjoying the moment, happy for the future. I remembered what I lost, but now I was seeing for the first time what I was gaining. I laughed.

“What’s funny?” Coach asked.

“Oh, just that my dad was right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I ended up loving baseball after all.”

“Welcome to the team officially then, Mr. Manager.” Coach said and smiled.

END