The Audience: My Old Coach?!

You want to know what's wild? Your baseball coach from college being a fan of your material.

It wasn't as if I knew it was Davey initially, but he reached out to me via email to kick off conversation, and to applaud my writing skills claiming the stories made him hard.

"I'm on the toilet right now jacking off," he told me the first time.

Davey recruited me to be his shortstop, and I started for four years in that corner earning all sorts of honors, and even in the conversation of being drafted in the big leagues while either us knew we'd meet up in this world. Davey reached out to show he wasn't reading it by accident either; he was an avid fan who stumbled upon my stories while looking for something else, and became hooked.

"I wonder if you fuck like you write," he asked, like other fans.

I avoided responding to that question as he turned me on, like many of the others who reached out like he did. I chose to change the subject to settings of my fictional work, and that only enhanced his interests.

"I live in Virginia Beach. Your stories are all in familiar places surrounding the city, and other places within Tidewater," he messaged. "So are you here?"

I wouldn't confirm or deny, only to say that "I spent a considerable amount of time in Virginia."

"So you're here, LOL," he replied. "I wanna meet you."

I was always first reluctant to meet my readers, as I thought most of them were some sort of quacks, or weirdos, who got off on reading my material. It was an overzealous thought for I could've had no followers, but I'd chatted with some of them previously to come to the conclusion I'd rarely link up with a reader.

"I see you're 35," he texted. "I'm 64. And I'm white. Hopefully I'm not too old for you?"

"Send me photos." I directed.

"Absolutely not. I have to keep my discretion, plus you haven't confirmed if you're in the area," he said.

"I live in Norfolk," I replied.

"Where? And I have a feeling you're one fine ass stud, so you should send me photos," he mentioned.

I laughed as he tried to pull leverage, something he'd done as a coach.

"I actually just retired from coaching baseball in the area. I can't just put myself out there," he said.

I sent photos of me fully clothed, then ones of me naked, showing off my bear body.

"Holy shit, Aubrey," he replied.

Me knowing of Davey, he was not only in shock, but embarrassment knowing one of his former players was interacting with him like this. Davey, who stood at six foot four, was a man of the community, a man of God, and a man of family and integrity in most eyes, and couldn't be associated with the world of which I provided stories.

"Son, what in the entire hell," he asked as he might've passed judgment.

I reminded him that what I sent him, and what we read, had nothing to do with anyone else in any capacity.

"You like reading about cock, and obviously you enjoying looking at them, so this is no one else's business," I told him.

"Aubrey, my son, you're just so fucking goregeous," he said as we went back and forth. "And son, I can't tell you how many times I've read your stories to cum all over myself."

I stopped the email messaging to give him a call, and he'd answer, right as he was laying naked in bed, with the wife gone.

"There have been times I've broken out her dildo, and shoved it up my ass because of you," he said.

"So coach likes to get fucked," I asked.

"You damn right. But it's only happened twice, once two years ago, and once some years back on a recruiting trip," he told me.

"How the fuck, or where the fuck do you conjure this material?"

I could only laugh before explaining of my dirty mind. He knew of me being an English major in college, and I often wrote teammates' papers for pay, since I was good at it. We recollected back to the time when I was in college and excelled in all my coursework, so much that I was one of the players he never needed to touch base with professors on.

"So you've had this dirty mind, even when you were on the field," he asked.

"Not against other players, but the coaches, perhaps," I rebuttaled.

"You wanna meet?"

"You damned skippy I wanna meet," he said as he claimed to be stroking himself over the phone.

He went on to talk about fantasies of him getting laid with one of his star players. His wish was coming true as I was one of the best shortstops he ever had, and would literally show him the bat he wanted to see swinging between my legs.

"You've got one magnificent cock," he said. "I'd love to rub on that stick of yours."

"What about the stories," I asked facetiously.

"Fuck those stories when I can have the real thing, in my bed," he asked.

He ended up sending me photos of himself to further entice me to come over. Davey gained a little weight, but in all the right places as his pecs turned flabby, and that once stiff midsection contained the same material, to go with some girth.

"I don't run, or workout like you guys remember, but when you have seven grandchildren, that's a grind in itself," he said.

I continued my routine of hitting the gym, and eating vegetables regularly. It showed with Davey complimenting me for still looking as if I was slinging ground balls in double plays.

I made my way to the house he still lived in with his wife, and dogs, a spot just a block from the Virginia Beach Oceanfront in an exclusive, private neighborhood on the north edge. He came to the door in a robe, with me noticing his blonde scalp turned gray, and these days he was sporting a thick, salt and pepper mustache that was cut within the length of his lips.

"Got the perfect mouth for sucking some black dick," I said to him.

"Oh, that's good. I just read one of your stories, and feel like my ass could take some of that black dick, too," he said. "C'mere."

We kissed, then he admitted he sucked black dick in the past, but never had it up his ass.

"A dick is a dick," I told him.

He scoffed at my comment while his arms were around my shoulders, and we were in eye contact as I smelled the Ralph Lauren on his body.

"I thought queers only wore cologne," I asked, making him come back on a statement he made 10 plus years prior.

"Well, I like cock in my mouth, and cock in my ass, so what does that make me," he replied.

We kissed some more before I pulled the robe off his shoulders, and he shut the door behind me, before he bent to his knees behind it. He pulled down my sweats.

"You're huge, baby," he said as he parted his lips to take my prick after seeing what he was looking for.

I was nine inches long, and an inch in width, but he wouldn't struggle as he inhaled the dick.

"Your baby momma take care of you lately," he asked.

He was alluding to my son's mother, and aligned the moment to one of my stories where I wrote a fictional tale about a black guy struggling with his kids' mother. Shana in fact was a pain in my ass, but I didn't realize I put that pain into words, for she'd silenced my needs when we were together. I put my hands on Davey's shoulders while watching him feed off of me, and be hyped after reading numerous stories which caused him to be the slut he was. I watched him bob his head back and forth while slobber ran down his chin, and his eyes were closed as he had a rhythm going. The sloppy toppy he was giving raised so many questions, such as how long, and who else? I even wondered if he fantasized of his star players truly, to include myself for I was one loose cannon with the dick back then (females, of course). I asked them silently as he chose to squeeze his lips tight in trying to make me litter his throat.

"Nah, fuck that. Let's take it to the bedroom," I told him as I was close to cumming.

I stripped walking down the short hallway, then sat in a lounge chair in the corner of the room while he walked towards the dresser. I wanted him to ride me, and he read my mind as he walked over with Astroglide.

"I ain't been fucked in six months," he said as he poured the liquid on my tip.

He and I kissed while he stroked the gooey substance up and down my shaft, slowly rubbing and squeezing my prick to make it even harder. I pushed his hand away, and he turned around while I spread my legs apart, and he'd have a seat directly in the middle as my cock opened up his hole.

"Feels good, Davey," I said as he wiggled his ass side to side, and allowed for my throbbing dick to swell his hole.

He kept moving his ass in different direction while I placed my hands on his nipples, and allowed my fingers to flicker at the hardened beads. I tugged them lightly and that made him rise and fall on my girth as that little ass of his was bouncing. I pulled harder, and he moaned louder before he bounced more to allow me to enjoy the feeling of his tight slot massaging my shaft. He tilted his head back, and turned it sideways as we began to French kiss, then he bounced even harder, and caused me to linger even deeper in his trench. His bitchy whimpering turned me on as it showed I reached his spots, and he reached between my legs to rub my balls as he couldn't stop riding me.

"This what you wanted coach," I asked him.

"Fuck yes, son. Fuck..... yes," he yelled before I pushed him forward.

He fell off the cock, and onto the floor, but his ass was pointed to the air for me to hover over, then drop this dick directly on his g spot. He spread those ass cheeks to show off that bruised hole, and I crouched over him to pound away at that pussy the way it was meant to be pounded. I loved hearing his squeals as I continuously landed on that prostate, and his screams when I went deeper to beat on that sphincter. His hole was beyond loosened, but I felt his initial ring still pull on my foreskin, and I tapped it harder until I lost control, then busted a hot load deep in his cunt.

"Oh boy, I feel your balls just emptying in me," he said as I filled him up.

I raised up when I finished to see that "pearl" at his swollen flower, just waiting to roll out, and onto his balls if he would've sneezed wrong.

"You just made my fucking year," he said as he laid flat on the floor.

"You wanted to meet the writer," I joked. "Well, here you are."

Coach learned that I lived what I wrote, even if it was fictional.