Yeah, this is the one, I think.  It’s perfect.  I carefully look at my Jockmail solid red football lace up, which I had just lifted from the jock drawer and smile.   I’m not even nervous about tonight.  I’m just excited.

I was sitting on my sofa the other day in a pathetic, self-pitying funk – perseverating on having finally ended things with Jimmy.  When you’re single, there’s nothing  quite like Valentine’s Day coming up to make you rethink  your life choices that have led to the gloom you’re now wallowing in. 

But athletes don’t wallow. We get the fuck up and stay in the game.

So I did what I usually do after a break up.  I pulled out my phone and started looking to get my big coach dick taken care of.  For some reason, I decided to scroll through Tinder.  Grindr and Scruff are my go-to’s, but I thought, What the hellIt's Valentine's DayWhy not give Tinder some love?  Tinder for gays and bi's is more like  OK Cupid and E-Harmony for straights. It's more of a dating app. It's funny because you see the same guys on there as you do on Grindr or Scruff, but they’re all spruced up and scrubbed clean of raunchiness, looking for future marriage material instead of somebody to bang their holes for twenty minutes.

Boom. Right away, this guy matched with me, not for dating, but he presented me with the most perfect of Valentine’s Day possibilities – exactly tailored for the needs of Coach Rick.  So here I am, on Valentine’s Day, stepping into my red football lace up, so cocky, bordering on arrogant, smiling and smirking about the evening to come, with this unexpected Valentine’s tryst.  

I arrive at Derek's house, a lovely, Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired home on Long Island’s North Shore, with a massive waterfall greeting you at the door, and he’s everything I expect him to be. The pictures he sent of himself included one in a suit, wearing designer glasses, and one on a sailboat, wearing Vineyard Vines.  It was like he was putting together a modeling portfolio for me.  Here, now, in his home, he answers the door, barefoot, wearing those sexy glasses, slacks, and a well-tailored, button down shirt. He looks like Clark Kent, if Clark Kent went to an Ivy, now works in banking, and is about to live out a fantasy with Coach Rick. 

I take him to the wall, right there.  I put my hands on that wall, on each side of him, lean in slowly, and kiss him. He moans into my mouth, which sends a heat surge through my whole body.  I rub his cock, just to be sure, and yes, he is rock-fucking-hard.  I squeeze the shaft with my big hand.  It’s not a huge cock, like mine, but it’s solid – probably almost 7.  I finger the head.  Cut, also.  He leans forward and starts to speak, but I push him back to the wall, cover his mouth, and keep rubbing. He inhales and rolls his eyes.  Yeah, I like this Clark Kent guy.  This is gonna be such a memorable Valentine's, for me and for him.  I kiss him hard again, taking his hand.  Fuck yes. There it is! There’s that wedding ring! This is gonna be more fun than I even imagined.

I unbutton his shirt as he watches me, one button at a time, all the way down.  I slide it off his shoulders and half-way down his back. I love this because it restrains him.  And the restraints were all his idea.  It's his game, his kink, and who am I not to fulfill that for him on Valentine's Day?

I turn him around and cross his arms behind him, just to see his reaction.  His head jerks back, reflexively, and he looks at the ceiling.  It's an involuntary movement and exactly what I want it to be.  I reach my hand around and under his white t-shirt, trace his abs, and run my fingers over his pecs and nipples.  I get a handful pec, like it’s a tit.  God, he works out, this one.  And God, am I a tit man. I'm boning so hard, and he hasn't even touched me.

I lick his neck, then take a few steps back, releasing him.  He turns around, so vulnerable, to face me.  

“Take it off,” I say.  “Everything but the jock. Right now.”

He struggles out of the shirt, unbuttons his slacks, and steps out of them.  He pulls the t-shirt over his head and drops it on the foyer's tile.   Now I see it clearly: the red and black Bechoice Fighter Jockstrap, which I made him order.  I laugh, because the head of his cock is sticking out of it, at a clumsy angle.  

“Oh, poor guy!” I say, with mock concern.  “Let me help you with that!”  I tuck his cock back into the pouch and give his ass a little slap.  “Lead the way, Champ!” I say, grinning and leaning way too close to his face. 

He walks ahead of me and his exposed ass looks so nice, his cheeks rising and falling as he walks, as if waving and calling to me to follow him. He’s ahead of me as we enter the bedroom. It’s beautiful, sleek, and modern, like the rest of the house, warmly lit, but the design is not the only thing of beauty in this room  There she is, on the bed, face down, as I had given instructions that she should be. Her silky white wrists and ankles tied to all four posts of the bed. I walk over and touch her calf.  “Hi, Sharon” I say.  “Wow, you're beautiful! So nice to meet you!”

She turns her head to the side, to answer me.  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Derek is now seated in a kitchen chair, out of place in this room, perhaps, but not out of place in this game. Derek has been a good boy and prepped everything as instructed. I pick up the handcuffs from the pile next to the chair, walk behind him, bring his arms behind the chair, and snap the cuffs onto his wrists. God, I love that little clicking sound.  “I hope you have the key for this!” I joke.  “Otherwise, you're gonna have a really awkward conversation with a locksmith after I'm gone!”

I use the ropes to tie his ankles and calves to the legs of the chair.  He has very attractive feet, muscular, athletic, probably size 11.  He ran Cross Country and played tennis in high school.  It shows in the bulging of those calves.

I position myself so they both can see me undress – she, with her head turned toward me; he, starting to breathe heavily, his chest rising and falling, with such anticipation.  I slip off my letter jacket and toss it on a chiar. I undo the belt of my jeans as they're both watching.  I’m about to toss it on the floor, when I have a better idea.  “Hey, this might come in handy!” I say, stepping over to Derek, making a loop with it. I fasten it around his neck, draping the leather down his chest and between his legs.  “Oh, yes!" I say. "That looks real nice!” I say, giving him a couple of light, playful slaps on his cheek.

I kick off my sneakers, then peel off my hoodie, letting them see my well-maintained pecs and upper body as I speak.  “It’s really soooooooo sweet of you two to let Coach be your gift to each other this Valentine's Day.  Just to go over the game plan one more time, the rules are simple. It's only one, in fact. You do every goddamn thing I say. That's all, team!  We clear?"

She nods.  He nods and says, “Yes, Coach! As you wish, Coach!”

I peel my jeans off slowly, letting them see the red of my jock and react to it before continuing.  I am so hard. My cock is straining the pouch to its capacity.  “Ah, fuck! I still have my socks on!” I say, grinning.  I sit and half recline on an ottoman near Derek and run my size 12 over his chest and pecs.  “I wonder . . . how the fuck . . . I’m going to get these  . . . fucking  . . . socks . . . off?”  I trace his chiseled chest, his supple abs, and let my foot stop near his neck.”   I point my toes toward Derek’s mouth.  He knows what to do, and Sharon sees this.  I stick them to his lips, and he carefully gets my toes in his mouth and begins sucking.  “Oh, that’s a good boy!” I say.  “Sharon? Isn’t your husband such a good boy?”   I don't even look at her, but I feel her nodding.

After letting him such and chew a bit, I press my big toe to his teeth, and he carefully bites the sock, lightly tugging.  "Hold on tight!" I say, and pull my my foot out of the sock, which then just dangles there in Derek’s mouth.  “Oooh, hold it right there!" I exclaim.  My big, size 12 feet are so agile, probably from playing so many different sports – from football to track, from lacrosse to basketball, from wrestling to tennis. So I take my big and second toes, put them on each side of his nipple, and lightly pinch.  He lets out a sigh that’s nothing short of womanly.  “Ahhhh! He’s fucking beautiful isn’t he, Sharon?  If you weren't already married to him, I'd tell ya you've found a keeper!"

I stand, pull off the other sock, and step so close to Derek that my cock, which is now straining down my thigh in the fucking pouch, is just inches from his Clark Kent face.  "Wet me up, Derek!  Get me worked up for that hot wife of yours!  She deserves it, you know?"  He dives onto the bulging pouch with his open mouth and begins chewing and licking.  I have to touch the back of the chair for balance because it immediately brings me up on my toes.  "God damn!  Sharon, do you see this?  Do you see what your husband's fucking doing?  How much does he love you to be sucking me like this?"

It's not very long before I have to put my hand on the back of his head and begin stuffing my cock, red pouch and all, into his Clark Kent mouth.  I think this is the moment -- for me, anyway -- when he actually becomes Superman, though I seem to be the Man of Steel. 

I turn my attention to the other beauty, Sharon, who is watching me so intently, and now squirming and humping  the mattress.  "Good boy, Derek!" I say, giving him a thrust that hits the back of his mouth.  "What a good fucking boy!"

It's time, so I pull out of his mouth. I walk slowly over to Sharon, flexing and releasing my big glutes for Derek to see, as I walk.  I place my hand on her ankle, then slowly run it up the inside of her leg, until I reach her waiting pussy.  I finger her and explore it. God, she is wet. I look at Derek as I lift my fingers to my mouth and suck on them, tasting her sweet juice. I reach my fingers under her, until I find her clit and my middle finger makes contact.  Derek knows I've hit it because her whole body undulates and she rises off the bed. Derek, though, is the one who lets out the loud moan.  

What a slut. 

Him, I mean.

I lean forward in a push up over her,  and look Derek directly in the eye.  "What is it you wanted me to do, Derek?  Was it this?" I ask, scooping my hips my crotch down onto her.  My cock lands so perfectly between the lips of her pussy, splitting on each side of the pouch. My cock head is now breaching the jock and pushing upward onto her crack.  I pulse my cock, wanting her to feel it.  I don't want her to be afraid of my big jock cock. I want her to get to know it. It's a good inch longer and way thicker than her husband's. I want her to love it, welcome it, serve it, and remember it.  

I untie her ankles so her legs are now free but she's still secure by her wrists to the bedposts. I bring her up to her knees as Derek watches. Then I say, "Oh, shit! I still have the jock on!" I get up and walk back over to Derek.  "Undo me," I say, meaning the laces of the jock, of course, but also I just want to be undone -- to have such a rollicking good time that past, present, and future just coalesce as one.  Derek obediently unties me -- with his teeth -- as the woman who said "I do!" to him watches.  I step out of the jock, put the strap around Derek's neck, and let it hang there, like a second necklace, with the belt.  God, he looks so hot!  I walk back to Sharon and give her the attention we all need. 

It's been so long since I've eaten pussy, and I welcome it with the same fervor as when you've given up carbs for a long time and finally get that first delicious bite of pizza on your tongue.  Sharon was my pizza.  And my God did I eat that slice up.  

When it seemed like she was about to orgasm, I stopped and positioned myself on my knees behind her, took my big cock in hand, slapped it over her ass cheeks, ran it up and down her pussy, reached under with it and batted her clit with it a few times, just to watch her buck up off her knees, then inserted just the tip into her dripping baby canal.  

She wanted me. So bad. With such love and desire, she wanted me.  This was, after all, Valentine's Day -- a day so full of love and desire. I didn't need to do what I did next, but it was for both of their benefits.  I wanted Derek, to see it; her, to feel it.  I knew she was wet, totally ready, and could take it, so I didn't ease in.  Oh, no.  I did not go easy. 

I held her by her ass cheeks and thrusted, really hard, full shaft, all the way, one go, to the hilt. She squealed, and Derek's chair was squeaked loudly as he was writhing over there. "Oh, I'm sorry!" I said, with dripping sweetness in my voice. "Was that too fast?  Too hard? I can do it over if you want!"  I rhythmically flexed my cock inside her, feeling my balls rise and fall with each flex.  I winked at Derek and began my game.  

It had been so long since I'd fucked a woman, and I'd forgotten how they're made for it and how fucking easy it is.  "Ah, Derek!" I cried, as I hit my rhythm.  "You lucky son of a bitch!" I said, slapping her ass and increasing my speed.  I suppose I didn't need to look Derek in the eye for so long right then.  I didn't need to grin at him and flick my big tongue out at him.  I didn't need to release my hands from her as she started pushing back and literally point out, with both hands, her eagerness to slide on my cock.  And I definitely didn't need to raise my arms and flex my big biceps at him. I wasn't in a body building competition. I sure had the moves of it, though.  I didn't need to do all that. 

But I did. Like I've said, it was Valentine's Day.

I ask you, Dear Reader, what would you, yourself, do next?  I mean, if you were me?  Or if you were her?  Or if you were him?  Think quickly, because I'm not gonna give you much to respond. Coach has a job to do and takes his work very seriously.  

"Oh, Sharon!" I cried.  "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can last much longer! You're too hot, too wet, too tight, and too good!  But Derek knows that, doesn't he?"  I bit my lower lip and thrust her a hard one.  God, that beautiful sound she made!  So I did it again and she did it again. "Oh, yes! Derek knows!  Hey, Derek!" I shouted over to him.  "Think I should dump my load in your wife's pussy?  Maybe give her some of my babies"

He nodded, vigorously. 

"Hey, Sharon?" I asked, circling my hips so I stretched every wall inside her.  "I don't know if you're a sports fan, but do you know what pinch-hitting is?"  

Sharon gripped the sheets and cried, "No, I don't!"

"Allow me to explain!" I practically grunted, through gritted teeth.  "It's when one player steps into the batter's box for another." I winked at Derek.  "Typically at a critical point in the game!"   I gave her three deep ones, really clenching my big cheeks to give her every inch.  Then I started the build that was gonna give all three of us the home run we needed.  "Derek, you see, is gonna pinch-speak for you. Aren't you, Derek?" 

He looked confused.

"They're your words, Sharon, but they're gonna come out of your husband's mouth.  Coach Rick loves words, you see?  He fuckin' loves those things!  So think them, right now, and magically will them over to ole Derek Clark Kent Superman over there.  Derek, what you will do is speak exactly what Sharon's thinking!  Exactly!"  I swear I saw a lightbulb go on above Derek's head.

"Please, Coach!" he whispered, tentatively.

"Please, what?" I replied, fucking his wife. "And I can't hear you!"

"Please fuck me!" he said, leaning forward, still restrained to the chair, but like an athlete, wanting to get off the bench and get in the fucking game already.

"Like this?" I asked, now holding her by the hair.

"Oh, fuck yes!" he cried.  " Please fuck my pussy, Coach!  Please fuck it!, Daddy!  I need it so bad!"  

I laughed  He was a fucking author now. "Go on!" I shouted. "You can do better than that!"  And I fucked in time with his words goading me on.  He was the coach now and I the player on the field with a winning touchdown in sight.

"Fuck it so hard that you leave your fucking stud Coach cum inside of me!  That milky white shit! Knock me up with your fucking babies!"

I looked to the ceiling. "Stop, Sharon!  Or I'm gonna cum!"

"Flood me with your fucking athlete dick.  Not like my husband's fucking little banking pen!"  He was on fire now, and I was so close. "Do it, Coach! Fucking give it to me!"  And I did.  Harder and steadier, the clapping of my pelvis against her ass resounding off the walls.  I could actually have shot, right then, but I held back another fifteen seconds as Derek's words continued to pour out of him and then my seed poured into her. Shot after fucking shot.  I think it was five ropes, in total, but who's counting.

What the fuck am I saying?  I'm counting.  Coach Rick is counting. It was five.

I collapsed on top of her, feeling my nutt backwash out of her, dripping onto my balls. "Ohhhhh, Sharrrron!" I whispered to her ear.  "You're fucking awesome!"  My heart pounded against her back.  Her perfume was sweet and intoxicating.

After I had recovered, I released both of them from their restraints and the love games continued for another hour. The three of us made out. They sucked me individually, then together.  Then it was Derek's turn.  I positioned Sharon comfortably with pillows, her back to the headboard, with her knees up and legs spread in front of her.  I fucked Derek, holding him by the belt around his neck. Then I took that off and put my jock over his face.  Then I held his face to her cunt, making him eat my load out, asking him how it tasted.  I couldn't understand his words though.  They were muffled, disppearing into her vagina. 

I came, finally, with him inside of her; me, inside of him, leaning an arm on him, making out with her until the moment of my second load. 

Afterwards, I dressed quickly, deciding to go commando and freeball it home.  Derek saw me out, walking me to the door.  He kissed me goodbye, a long, deep, tongue-twisting kiss.  I held him by his ring finger, touching that gold band with my thumb and index finger.  Then, while still kissing him, I reached into the pocket of my letterman's jacket, pulled out the jock, and slipped it into his hand. I pulled away, looking at him, smiling.

"Something to remember me by!" I said.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then back to me. "Can I see you again? Just you and me?" he whispered.

I smiled, empathetically.  "I doubt it," I said.  "But you never know!"

As I walked down their sidewalk to my Jeep, I felt so good -- about everything:  them, the ending with Jimmy, getting over Covid, the world and its current conflicts, even life itself.  Even my brother-in-law, Brian, seemed to be doing well in rehab. We all struggle, so hard.  We really do. It's so rare that any of us has moments like tonight, especially with all the pressures and expectations that get placed on Valentine's Day.  For me, a Bi guy, tonight, with this couple, was nothing short of awesome.  I looked at their Frank Lloyd Wright house, then got in the Jeep and let it warm up.  It's so hard negotiating the Jimmys and Dereks and Sharons of this modern world.  But they're negotiating me, too.  Derek wanted to see me again, but it wasn't gonna happen.  I loved this moment with both of them, but I do not want to be responsible for breaking up a marriage, or at least causing it further complication.  No, they needed to keep going, in the game they had already started.  And I need to keep going, too.

So I put the car in drive, and steered into the night, feeling more love for myself than I'd felt in a long time.  How had I allowed myself to be obsessed with Jimmy for so long?  It's so humiliating sometimes, when we can see how stupid we have been, though we previously could not see it. It doesn't matter, really.  The important thing is that I had let go -- of Jimmy and whatever I was chasing in the name of Jimmy.  Time was already doing what Time does so well.  I hadn't thought of Jimmy once tonight.  So I smiled. I was already healing.   On some yet undetermined date in the months ahead, I would go a whole day without thinking of him at all.  And that's when you know you're whole again -- when you forget to even think of the person who once totally occupied your thoughts.

The weird part, though, is you don't even notice the shift.  It just happens, and the heart is healed. You're once again living, loving, and just being in the great Game of Life.  And aren't we all  lucky to be in that game, for as long as that game is in season?

Aren't we? Am I right? I hope I am. Please tell me it's so . . . 

What do you think? 



Coach Rick