Getting There is Half the Fun
Coach Springer's tough little bulldog body was wound up tight today like a spring that was going to snap. He was all temper. When he heard the announcement, in his office, that Tommy Carson was to report to the Assistant Principal's office, he raged out of his office, into the locker room roaring "TOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYY! WHAT DID YOU DO NOW?"
Tommy was in the shower. Hot water beating down on his body deafened him to Coach Springer's summons. Tommy opened his mouth under the running water, filling it and then spitting it out into the shower. His soapy hands were working at making his butt the cleanest butt in the world, rubbing the cheeks with his palms, getting his fingertips into his crack. He was dreaming. Smiling and dreaming, eyes closed.
Coach Springer finally got his attention when he turned around. Something - maybe the sight of Tommy's big _c_o_c_k_ thickened up by all the dreaming and rubbing - pushed the coach a little further into his rage.
"Get out here!!!" he yelled, pointing to the cement floor at his feet. Tommy's blue eyes widened in innocence as he hurried out of the shower, grabbing a towel as he passed the window where they were passed out.
Coach Springer caught the end of the towel and pulled it out of Tommy's hands. "You don't need THAT!" he shouted. "Hit the floor and give me 20!"
Tommy hesitated a moment. Springer raged, "Come on! You don't have all day!!! You're wanted in the Assistant Principal's office, RIGHT NOW!!"
So Tommy complied, getting down on the floor into push-up position and beginning to do the exercise as ordered. The other boys in the locker room - stunned up until then - let out a laugh or two at the sight: the red-faced coach staring down at the pale, naked backend of a student, whose fat _c_o_c_k_ slapped the floor every time he went down for another push-up. All too familiar with the routine, Tommy called out the numbers as he did the twenty push-ups. By the time he finished and stood up again, his _c_o_c_k_ had slimmed down to its usual shape. Cold cement.
Coach Springer grabbed his arm and said, "Now get your clothes on and get to the office!" As the sleek boy walked away, the coach snapped the towel at his smooth backside, shouting "You'll need THIS, won't you?" and Tommy reached back for the towel, murmuring "thanks, Coach," in a low voice. The towel had left a star-shaped red mark on Tommy's buttcheek.
At his locker, Tommy ignored the stares of some of the other students, who were impressed with his quiet bravado dealing with the coach. He put on his white briefs and tight jeans, white socks and loafers and pulled the t-shirt over his head, grabbed the books from his locker and shut it, heading off for the office.
Tommy never failed to draw attention in the halls. Boys and girls alike responded to his physical magnetism, his manly beauty and his superficially sweet personality. And boys and girls alike also never failed to look back over their shoulder for a glimpse of the very shapely fleshiness of his butt, full, round, yet muscular, straining the seat of the jeans.
One right turn down the hall and he came to the door of Assistant Principal Baker's office. He paused for a moment, cleared his throat and opened the door. There sat Mr. Etting, his guidance counsellor, in Baker's chair! With a sharp intake of breath and a coloration of his face that matched James Etting's, Tommy said "Hello, sir!"