It had been a long day at school, and Jim Hughes had been trying as hard as possible to drag it out. He knew what awaited him when he got home.
"Hughes!" Coach Williams called. "I'm glad you want to do some more laps, but I've gotta lock up the pool and get goin'. You've had a good workout; now let's go!"
Jim reached the end of the lane and pulled himself out of the pool. The water slid coolly down his lithe teenage body. Jim was in great shape, but he wasn't the best swimmer on the team – he just used it to keep in shape during the winter. Jim ran cross-country in the fall and track in the spring. And he had the runner's bubble butt to prove it.
Brock Williams – or Coach Dubya as the boys started calling him after President Bush got elected – was a big man. He stood six foot three and had huge shoulders. And for a man of thirty-five, he was in incredible shape. Even the seniors who had filled out (most of the way) weren't as big as Coach W. The biggest boast in the school was when a boy claimed only Coach Dubya could bench press more than he could.
At that moment Williams was just noticing Jim's barely covered (by the team Speedos) butt when he realized there was a little redness around the lower seam. "I see you had a meeting with Dean Johnson," the coach said as the boys' back was turned.
Jim's hands flew involuntarily to his butt as he spun around awkwardly. "Yeah," he said rather sheepishly as his face turned a matching shade of pink. "I guess it's kind of peeking out at the bottom."
_d_a_m_n_, thought Jim, it's still showing. That'll really piss Dad off.
If only he'd been wearing his jeans, but no, Max Stuart (who'd gotten in trouble with him) had had to open his big mouth and remind the Dean that it was Jim's third time in a month. And so his jeans had come down. Why couldn't January have had only 30 days? At least it hadn't been the fourth time, though – then his boxers would have joined his jeans on the floor.
"Well, go hit the showers and get dressed. I'll lock up the pool and then the locker room when you're ready," he said as he walked over to the seventeen-year-old athlete.
"Thanks, Coach."
"No problem. Now get goin'!" Coach Williams gave the boy a good swat to the rear as he turned to go. (Mr. Williams was the football coach in the fall, and used to giving a good motivational swat to keep his boys moving. None of the swimmers had yet had the courage to tell him it stung a little when there was only a Speedo between his hand and the boys' backsides instead of a football uniform. It was rumored that when a football player had complained a few years ago, coach had given him something "that would really sting." When Williams had been named the new swimming coach, to replace the retiring Mr. Lorenzo, Jim's friend Billy – who had been the football team's starting halfback – warned him, "W is for whippin', Jim. Don't piss him off.")
Jim grimaced and trotted off to the boys' locker room door, which led straight to the showers. He was glad the other guys had pretty much left already. He'd gotten enough ribbing about his butt when they'd changed into their swimsuits for practice. No one was left in the shower area, and he could hear the last of them getting ready to leave.
Jim peeled down his Speedos and turned on the hot water. It felt so good that for a moment he relaxed and forgot all about the inevitable ending of his day. He stuck his short, sandy blonde hair under the shower nozzle and rinsed out the chlorine. Then he pumped some soap out of the dispenser and started lathering up. His hands scrubbed up and down his smooth, muscular body. Though his tan lines from the summer and early fall had faded a bit, he was still noticeably whiter from his waist to his upper thighs.
Jim let his hands linger over his crotch, and really soaped up his large endowment, which started growing from the attention. Normally, when the other guys were in the showers with him, Jim barely touched his genitals – it didn't take much to get him "excited" and the guys would never have let him hear the end of it. But since he was alone, he didn't see the harm. If coach hadn't sounded in such a hurry, Jim might have decided to finish the job.
He saved his sorry behind for last, and, facing the shower, soaped it up gingerly. To his surprise it didn't really sting all that much anymore. That's when he remembered what would happen when he got home. In all likelihood his butt would be stinging a lot more – probably throbbing – before the day was done.
"That's it, maybe you can wash the red out!"
Jim spun around in surprise, thinking he'd been alone. It was Coach W, who'd just come in from the pool. Jim grinned awkwardly. "Well, yeah, maybe." It was a pretty dumb thing to say, but he hadn't been expecting Coach to be there. Coach never came into the showers with the boys – he always headed straight to his office after practice and came to lock up afterwards. But since Jim had gotten him to stay late to do some extra laps, today was clearly different.
Coach's eyes drifted down to the boys swollen (though not really erect) member. "Hughes! You aren't playing with yourself are you!?"
The boys eyes went wide with embarrassment as he glanced down at his crotch. His cheeks flushed red and he quickly looked back up at the coach.
"No, sir! I was just washing it and . . . well . . . that's just sorta what happens I guess."
Coach's eyes narrowed as he _c_o_c_k_ed an eyebrow and considered the naked teenager. "I once caught Bill Barton playing with himself in the locker room and we skipped the paddle and went straight to my razor strop!"
So that's what Billy had been thinking about when he said "W is for whippin'." Coach was right handy with the paddle, but Jim had never seen the razor strop in action before.
Jim went pale with fear. "Please, Coach, I wasn't. Honest."
Coach paused for a moment as he considered the boy's plea. "Alright. My gut tells me I oughta take a layer of skin right off that backside o' yours, but I guess I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. This time. Now hurry up! I have to take Mrs. Williams out tonight and I don't want to be late!"
Jim silently thanked God for Mrs. Williams. Coach W. wasn't known for showing mercy when it came to corporal punishment, and Jim was sure if the coach hadn't been in such a hurry, his butt would have been burning like fire even before he got home.
Coach Williams turned and headed for his office in the main part of the locker room.
Jim quickly rinsed off, picked up his swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed for his locker, his still swollen manhood bobbing in front as he walked. Eager not to piss off Coach W. any further, he toweled dry as he went and quickly opened his locker. He pulled on his Abercrombie boxers and Levis, mercifully covering his rather vulnerable-feeling glutes. He carefully sat down on the bench -- it was still a little tender down there -- to put on his socks when the coach walked up.
"Jimmy." The coach had already put on a shirt and tie; man, he was fast.
The shirtless teen stood up. "Yes, sir?" Now was a time for politeness.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you for . . . well . . . back in the showers. It happens to lots of guys your age, and you weren't even playing with it when I walked in on you. Your friend Bill was a lot further along than that when I caught him! Mrs. Williams just has me a little wound up right now. I hate going to these _d_a_m_n_ musicals – so mamby pamby – but I have to do it. I was sort of taking it out on you, and that's not fair." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're a good kid, at least most of the time. And besides, I'm sure your Dad'll take care o' that butt o' yours when you get home anyway," he finished with a knowing wink.
Boy, that's an understatement, Jim thought. Everyone knew Jim's father reenforced his sons' punishments at home.
"Can I give you a lift home, Jim? I think Mrs. Williams can wait a couple extra minutes."
That took Jim by surprise. "Yeah. Thanks, Coach." Jim felt a sudden warmth for his coach. This big man, the toughest he'd ever known, well maybe aside from his own father, had been big enough to apologize and was even offering him a ride. Coach W. really cared about him, and that felt really good. Jim had been planning a long, slow walk home, but suddenly facing the music didn't seem as hard as it had a few minutes before.
"Alright, then. But it's a little cold to go outside without a shirt!" Coach W. smiled. "Hurry up and let's go."
Jim threw on his T-shirt and "Tommy Sports" sweatshirt he'd gotten for Christmas, and the two headed for the door. Coach Williams clicked off the lights and locked the door behind them.