HUNG BY THE LOCKERS: a Coach Rick Christmas Fantasia

(CLICK ON THE CHARACTER NAME TO SEE WHAT THEY'RE WEARING!)*

I lay there in bed, smiling, probably even smirking. What a great evening it had been. It’s always awesome seeing my frat bros, no matter how much time has passed. I especially look forward to seeing Kenny, who was two years younger than me, with his room on the other side of the wall from mine. We basically heard each other’s every fuck for two years. So many of our fucks were completely for the other's benefit, making sure our moves made the girl (or girls) super loud so it would distract your buddy from his studying or his own fucking or whatever. It was just fun and immature. And I loved Kenny's immaturity. I could hear him on the other side of the wall; he could hear me, this awesome echo-language, including bed squeaks, headboards against walls, sex partners against walls, and whatever hot sounds you could get out of your lady so the guy next door would totally hear and wonder how the fuck that was happening. I commonly jerked off while listening to him fuck, imagining Kenny and me, sometimes, each with a hand on the wall in our respective rooms, doggy styling it hard, as a team, totally in time with each other, a test of strength and endurance.

But Kenny ultimately married a sorority girl. I never liked her, but what can you do? Their oldest kid is starting college now, but Kenny looks better than ever. Hot dad type right out of Central Casting: silver goatee, muscled dad build, rugged looks, and a tender smile that still makes me weak in the knees. I had such a crush on him, back in the day, though there was always that wall between us. It hit my heart, honestly, in a really bad way, when he asked me to be a groomsmen at his wedding. I admit it. I never liked her. She’s always been so hard on him, so unappreciative, so nasty, never happy with how hard he is working and all he is providing for them.

But when we were looking at the menus tonight, and when he put his hand on my back, and casually asked what I was in the mood for, I practically stopped breathing. I wanted to turn to him and say, “What am I in the mood for? A do-over of the last thirty years? A hot twenty minutes in the sack with you? You tell me! Oh, yeah. But there's no Brenda in the picture.”

I didn't say that, though. I told him I was leaning toward the chicken fried steak. Thank God for the waiter – a young, confident, well-tweezed, 26 yo,Twink boy who stood his ground well with this table of testosterone-on-overload. He locked eyes with me immediately and doted on me throughout the meal. So it wasn’t a complete surprise that, when I got up to go take a whiz, he was actually waiting for me in the bathroom. He locked the door and never stopped looking at me as he opened my jeans to get some of what he wanted.

Here’s the shameless commercial, of course: I was wearing the Red Jockmail Easy Access Jockstrap. It wasn't long before he took advantage of the easy access. It gave him quick release, then I, myself, quickly released. I usually take my time and finish in about forty-five minutes, but we were done in six. To my credit, I held back on using both hands until around the 4:40 mark. Even then, I alternated, switching it up, left, right, left, right, but then I just gotall cocky with that shit and dribbled his head like a basketball. I gave him what he wanted, and his service, as a waiter, was impeccable. He brought out my winning game as I finished in the way he wanted. Down his throat. I cleaned up and was back sitting next to Kenny in no time, saying, “No, I don’t feel like dessert, myself.”

I touched my jock as I was starting to get drowsy, and giggled. This was going to be a great Christmas. This blow job, Kenny, seeing the guys tonight, all put me in the holiday spirit, just so glad to be alive and to have survived my own cancer. I felt so snug in my bed, with the thick duvet pulled over me. Word-lover that I am, I had one last conscious thought before drifting off: “And here I am in my Quick Release Jockstrap/Having just settled down for a long winter’s nap . . . “

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the gym

Not an athlete was stirring – not a he, they, or him.

The jockstraps were hung by the lockers with care

In hopes that Coach Rick would soon work magic there.

The players were edging, all snug in their beds,

While dreams of Coach Rick played on loop in their heads.

The Trainer, in his office, knocked back a nightcap;

Ergo he passed out, for a long winter’s nap.

When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the showers to see what was the matter.

Away to the gym doors, I flew like The Flash,

Wearing only a robe – then fuck!! I lost the sash!

The moon shone on my chest, like new-fallen snow.

And I glanced at my “Happy Trail” leading to the objects below.

When what, from the sky, should descend and appear

But a sleigh full of Twinks??—Oh, those cute little queers!

And a hot, sexy driver with a whip and huge dick,

I knew in a moment it must be Coach Rick.

More regal than eagles, his Twinks all looked the same!

Coach Rick cracked his whip, coaching each by their drag name!

“So, Dasher! You'll fuck Dancer! Now, Prancer! You pound Vixen!

Cum Comet!! You're on Cupid! And Donner! Suck that Goddamn

Motherfucking, bull-mounting stud, Blitzen!

To the showers and strip! Let those clothes hit the wall!

It’s an off-season orgy! Holiday team bonding, y’all!

"Huddle up! Take a knee before these Reindeer Games fly!”

With heads humbly bowed, they whispered their secrets to the sky.

Then against lockers, on benches, and to the showers they flew

To sleigh with those jockstraps, leaving one for Coach, too!

And then in a Twink-ling (see what the author did there? a “Twink-ling?") like footsteps on a roof,

The prancing and pawing of winter boots with heavy hoof.

I drew my cock out of Comet and was turning around

When, through the locker room doors, Coach Rick came with a bound!

Donned in red and white fur, from his bare ass to his head.

Apparently his trousers had another party instead.

His thighs were so massive. Oh, to watch those hips sway!

His round and deep glutes gave all something to say!

Dildoes and sex toys were in a sack on his back.

Like a true Father Christmas, he opened his pack.

His eyes, how they twinkled! His butt dimples! How merry!

Those globes, like pink roses! His bud like a cherry!

And, oh! -- that damn smirk! It was drawn up like a bow.

He sees you when you're sleeping! That’s all ye need to know!

A really fat joint he held in his teeth;

The smoke mystically circling his head like a wreath.

Such a wide, chiseled face – classic Nordic yet Greek.

The Twinks melt when he smiles; he’s the dad we all seek.

So muscled and ripped, a bit Steam-punk meets Elf.

I got hard when I saw him, in spite of myself.

We locked eye to eye; then, with a nod of his head,

He soon let me know that I had something to dread.

He barked every word, vowing to go straight to work

To fill up my stocking, with his thighs going beserk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose

Shouted, “Anybody have poppers? Coach Rick loves those!!”

His hips fucked the air, and his team gave a whistle

As he sprang open his Easy Access Jockstrap, bouncing out like a missile.

I heard, when he came, it was a glorious sight!

Streaking the Christmas sky with its light,

The ascendency of the athlete, victorious in his might,

Shouting,"Happy Christmas, you fuckers!! And to ALL a good night!”

(And that goes for ALL you glorious, awesome, amazing, beautiful, and fabulous fuckers out there in blog-reader-land . . .Happy Holidays from Coach Rick and The Locker Room Jock! )

CLICK ON THE NAME TO SEE WHAT THEY'RE WEARING!

NARRATOR: Nothing at all!

THE TRAINER: Jockmail B & W Stripes Long Johns

COACH RICK: Red Jockmail Easy Access Jockstrap

DASHER: Red Camo Pixel Compression Shorts

DANCER: Red Jockmail Camo Mesh Jock

PRANCER: Red Brief Wrestling Singlet

VIXEN: Red Open Chest Singlet

COMET: Red Jockmail Solid Mesh Sport Brief

CUPID: Red Jockmail Jock Sport Brief

DONNER: Red Jockmail Simple See-through Thong

BLITZEN: Red Jockmail Football Lace-Up