Chapter 7
Donna Overstreet wore a new yellow cashmere sweater to school the next morning. There was a big purple 'F' sewn onto the front of it. The sweater looked rich and warm, and it fit snugly over her tits.
"I like it, Donna," Spud praised, when they met on the sidewalk, leading up to school. Then he asked where she got it.
She grinned and said mysteriously, "A smart girl has ways. But, to tell the truth, for this little item, I got laid."
Spud winked knowingly and smiled.
"Coach?" he asked.
"Like you didn't know!"
Until then, the incident in Coach's storeroom hadn't been mentioned by anybody. One thing about Donna, though, she was free and outspoken and discussed the sexual attributes of her various bed partners. She had bragged that going to bed made her feel adult.
As they walked on to class together, she said bitterly, "The monotony of this prison camp is getting me down. Anything you do, old Miss Parks thinks ain't decent!"
Spud said seriously, "She ought to try getting a dick in her sometime!"
"Who'd want her?" Donna flared.
Spud had to admit that was a sensible question. Maybe she and old Rankin would make a pair! The thought pleased him, but he was in a pensive mood that morning and decided Donna was exaggerating her boredom. She just wasn't the type to sit around and let boredom take over. She was forever passing notes in class, telling dirty jokes, rubbing her pussy in some boy's face. She couldn't keep her hands off the boys, though most of them didn't mind.
Spud decided that love and sex for her - and a lot of the other kids - was a game. But what the hell! Bored housewives and philandering husbands, like Hazel and Coach, liked to play the game, too. Spud's thoughts went to Frani, who was different. Girls like Donna were irresistible and irresponsible. Donna could wreck a car or a marriage with equal abandon.
They went on together to Miss Glover's algebra class. In class, Donna printed a note and held it up to Spud.
"You're entitled to one kiss," it read. "Will also neck if coaxed."
Spud had never screwed Donna, though he was sure he could if he wanted to. Donna didn't really send him on the sex route. He supposed it was on account of Frani, at first. And now, Hazel.
Nobody could compete with Hazel Rankin.
As usual, algebra class was a bore, and Spud thought the dismissal bell would never ring. At last, it did.
He got up quickly.
Donna grabbed his arm.
"Spud, Coach wasn't the man I thought he'd be," she said, as they walked down the corridor together. She sounded disappointed.
"Better watch it, kid!" Spud cautioned. "He was man enough to knock up his wife!"
"I know how to take care of myself!" Donna flared.
"Bragging?" Spud taunted.
They had reached Donna's locker, so Spud left her there and headed for the gym.
On the way over, he got to thinking about some of the things Coach had taught him. Coach knew a lot of the facts of life without having to look them up in a book. He knew the percentage of girls who had babies out of wedlock, the number of high school fillies who were non-virgin, and all that stuff.
But Spud wasn't too interested in statistics right now. He wanted to find Coach and ask about his chances of playing ball Friday night.
He found Coach in his office, leaning over his desk, absorbed in reading something. His blond head was down between his massive shoulders. He'd just dismissed a gym class and still wore his sweat shirt. A whistle dangled from his neck. He hadn't heard Spud come in.
Spud studied him in silence for a moment, remembering what Donna had said about his having a sort of pseudo-masculinity about him. Spud had never noticed it before, but now he saw the possibilities. He had some of that intellectuality Miss Parks always harped about, and something kind of childish, too. He worked pretty hard at being the hairy-chested, he-man type, Spud decided.
Spud coughed and cleared his throat.
Coach glanced up and gave him a quick smile.
"So it's you," he said, welcoming Spud, as he closed his book. "Pull up a chair. I was wanting to see you."
Spud pulled a chair up close to Coach. He sat down and started going straight to what he'd come for. But, for some reason, his tongue grew thick in his mouth.
Maybe it was because Coach's broad face was expressionless. It made Spud jumpy when he kept wetting his lips with his tongue as he stared at Spud. It was the first time he had ever been inarticulate around Coach. It was the first time, too, that Coach had made him feel nervous and uncomfortable. He squirmed under Coach's gaze, and when Coach placed his hand on his knee, Spud winced.
Christ, he'd ask Coach about the game! He wanted a direct answer, and then he'd beat it out of there like a bat from hell!
"Coach, will I play in the game tomorrow night?" he got out.
Slowly, Coach untangled his long legs, and, holy Jesus, he had a hard-on! He got up and went over to the record player the kids used for school dances, his goddamned dick trying to push out of his pants. He put on a platter of some kind of long-haired music which began to blare out, and which Spud disliked immensely at first. Then it struck him with a driving power, and he felt excitement course through his entire body. It was almost like the excitement of anticipating a piece of pussy, and it made the blood rush to his cock.
"What's that?" he asked, feeling the music vibrate from his fingertips, clear down to his toes, making his balls move under his semi-hard cock.
Coach smiled and said mysteriously, "It's something which reminds me of you, Spud. Because it has both ruthlessness and charm."
Spud's muscles tightened. He'd never heard Coach talk like that before, and he didn't make sense. He made Spud feel pretty funny.
"Goddamn it, Coach," he swore, "just tell me if I can play tomorrow night!"
Coach held his lips tight. He swayed forward, his body weaving in rhythm to the music. When he stopped swaying and looked down at Spud, there was an odd twist to his mouth.
Spud didn't know what to make of his strange actions. He saw Coach's hard cock throbbing underneath his pants.
Instead of answering Spud, Coach asked, "Spud, do you ever confide in your old man?"
"Hell, no!" Spud said gruffly. "You know I don't! He'd split a gut if I ever told him anything!"
Coach looked pensive as Spud wondered what had brought that inquiry on. He watched Coach go over and shut off the music, his mouth still twisted. He came back and scooted so close to Spud their faces almost touched. His leg raked Spud's, and that hard cock against Spud's flesh for an instant made his breath come too sharply.
Spud shoved back. "I'd better go now," he said hurriedly, getting up to leave.
Coach also got to his feet, and his big frame blocked Spud's exit. Everything became a jumble of discordant impressions before Spud's eyes.
"You upset about something?" Coach pried. "Hell, no!" Spud lied. "Should I be?" "Sit down, then!"
As Spud sat down, Coach's hand carelessly, but calculatingly, smoothed over Spud's semi-hard cock. Then he grabbed the flesh inside Spud's pants, and Spud's spine began to tingle as Coach stroked and pumped. Gentle, but firm. It was maddening, and made Spud's dick hard as steel.
Coach looked up. "Like it?" he asked. Spud did not answer.
Coach unzipped his fly and took Spud's hard cock out. "Let's see how much you liked it," he said, measuring Spud's cock with his hand. "You liked it!"
He hugged Spud's legs and rubbed his chin in his crotch. "That's a wonderful thing you've got between your legs, kid," he said, his voice husky.
Spud saw that Coach was hard, too. His cock seemed too small for his rugged body. He gripped Spud's thighs and spread them wide apart. Spud closed his eyes as Coach's hungry mouth came on target and his lips looped around Spud's hardened flesh.
Spud dug his nails into Coach's neck. He writhed and pulsated and moaned with the pleasure of it all. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to enjoy every moment of this powerful, invigorating bliss.
Coach's lips left Spud's dick and went up under his shirt, seeking his chest. He sucked Spud's nipples, each in turn, for a long time, then his head slipped down to Spud's tilted cock again. He gobbled like a hungry animal, while Spud writhed. It wasn't long until he shot his wad.
Exhausted, he leaned back after it was over, and relaxed silently. Coach went to the lavatory and rinsed his mouth and washed his hands.
Spud had his eyes closed when Coach said, "You know, Miss Parks is trying to keep you out of the game -" "I told you, I expect you to take care of that."
"I'm trying," Coach said.
"Why don't you go and give her a good fucking? That might soften her up!" Spud pushed past Coach and started to leave.
Coach put his hand on Spud's shoulder and pleaded, "I'm sorry, Spud, for what just happened. Don't be too hard on me. A man gets pretty anxious when his wife's having a baby and he's denied -" "That's your problem," Spud gritted, shaking Coach's hand away.
He got outside.
All the rest of the day, he nursed a hurting disappointment in Coach and wondered how he'd ever thought so much of him, the big, cocksucking sonofabitch!
Just before school was dismissed that afternoon, old Rankin called Spud to his office.
"You're failing in three subjects, Gilbert," Rankin informed him, looking pleased. "That puts you out of tomorrow night's conference game."
Spud snorted.
He didn't care.
He didn't want to play football for Coach anymore, anyway! He started to leave the office, but suddenly, Coach filled the door. He was smiling broadly.
Ignoring old Rankin, he said directly to Spud, "Somebody made a mistake. I've just checked, and you're not failing in anything but Miss Parks' history class. That makes you eligible for the game!"
Spud knew that Coach had done some arm-twisting.
But he hadn't been able to bully Miss Parks, and right then, Spud thought a hell of a lot more of the old heifer than he did of Coach.
"Suit up early tomorrow night," Coach ordered.
Spud just grunted. He didn't say he would or he wouldn't. He didn't know if he'd play in the old game, or not.
When he went outside, Donna Overstreet was waiting for him. "Spud," she began, "I've been thinking -" "Did it hurt?" Spud growled, butting in.
Donna ignored that. "I'd like to do something different at the 'F' Club tomorrow night."
"Hell, there are only so many ways to do it!" Spud shot back. He took out a penknife and started paring his nails.
"What do you think about a lottery, Spud? You know, the lucky number wins the prize."
"Depends on the prize."
"What if the prize were me?"
Spud gave her the once-over. He let out his breath, thinking she might not be a bad prize, at that. A hell of a lot better than Coach's blow job!
She had made his senses tingle, and he was about to proposition her for a piece of ass. But she walked away, and he was glad.
He went and sat on the school steps, feeling hot all over. He wished there was a breeze, but there was none. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and he heard the mutter of traffic on the highway only a few blocks away.
Then he thought: I shouldn't let Donna shake me up. I've got Hazel Rankin to supply me with pussy.
Still, any man with a single male hormone would be jolted by imagining Donna in the raw. He knew she would be juicy screwing, maybe even as good as Hazel. He tried to tell himself that Coach's horning in on Hazel didn't bother him. Hazel was woman enough for half a dozen men!
But, shit, could you count Coach as a man? How could he pretend quiet contentment and satisfaction in his married life, and then do blow jobs and cheat on his pregnant wife? Coach had joked fondly about the coming baby and had talked to Spud of his wife in a way which hinted of deep affection.
But he'd fucked Donna - Thoughts of Donna brought on hot thoughts of Frani. Her body was as lovely as Donna's, slim and boyish around the hips, but aU female in the legs and tits.
Spud felt completely frustrated, so he got up and went home.
He went to bed early. Naked, he punched the pillow into the shape he wanted it, then lit a cigarette. He was smoking entirely too much. But what the hell! He was trying to push away thoughts of women - Hazel, Frani, Donna. He should be concentrating on more practical affairs, like the coming football game.
But Hazel took over in his thoughts, and he felt sad. As he slipped under the sheets, the bedsprings sighed, and it was like Hazel's begging him to fuck her. He finished his cigarette, leaned on one elbow, and rubbed it out in the ashtray beside his bed.
He must get up early in the morning.
He reached for his clock and set the alarm.
He dreamed about Hazel Rankin that night. As he lay beside her in his dream, she was breathing hard. Her body, pressed into his, was soft and curvy, and her soft curves fitted comfortably into place.
His palm slid down, caressed her snatch, and she moaned, "Oh, wait, Spud!"
She clamped her legs about him, and a tremor shook his body as his nails dug into her shoulders. In a blurred moment of exquisite culmination, he saw her face, glistening and sweat-beaded, as she rose with him to the heights.
Then he woke up, and his cock was spurting all over the bedsheets.