- Gay Male
- Coaching Change
- Page 2
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"Bojan can coach me, Dad. He says he's ready to retire into coaching. And he's already helped me so much—"
"We'll talk about it in the morning, Zach."
"But it's the perfect solution. All around."
"Yes, I hear you. We'll talk about it in the morning. I can't think now. I've got to have time to regroup."
In the morning, Zach waited out on the court for a half hour past the usual time for Bojan to appear. But he didn't. And when Zach went to Bojan's apartment above the garage, he wasn't there either. If Zach had taken a good look, he would have seen that Bogan's stuff was all gone too. But Zach didn't do that. He assumed that Bojan had gone to the tennis center to catch the quarterfinal matches—although he gave no thought to how Bojan would make it there.
Zach was almost as confused still this morning as his father had been last night. He couldn't get out of his mind the working of Stan's monster cock in his channel. He had a new appreciation for why his father had been so captivated by the coach.
He half thought that maybe he just hadn't remembered correctly that Bojan wasn't going to hit with him at home today. The more he thought, the more he seemed to remember that Bojan had said he wanted to go to the Fitzgerald center and that they could use the practice courts there as well as the one here.
So, Zach dressed in tennis togs and gathered his rackets and other gear in his duffel and drove off for the Carter Baron center in northwest Washington, where the Legg-Mason tournament was ending its first week.
The practice courts at the Fitzgerald center were rimmed with trees, so Zach was all the way up to the fence of the one that he heard Bojan's voice emanating from before he saw who was on the court. Bojan at one end, of course, but at the other end . . . Stanislav Federov. They were hitting balls, and Stanislav was giving instruction in the booming, demanding voice of his.
Zach just stood there at the fence, his legs going numb and his heart rising in this throat.
Seeing him standing there, both Bojan and Stanislav walked over to him.
"I don't understand," Zach managed to mutter. "Bojan . . . you are going to coach me."
"Coach you?" Bojan said, leveling that "no cares in the world" smile at him. "Why would I do that? Stanislav is free now and has agreed to coach me. I know I've got a couple of more good years of tennis in me. All I need is a winning coach to help give me a boost back up."
"So . . . so, all of that . . . was just . . ."
Stanislav was standing close to Zach now and had placed one hand on his arm and another on his waist. He leaned down and murmured softly in Zach's ear, "You were great last night. We didn't get to finish. I have keys to a trainer's room. We could . . . I know you want it."
"Sure, why not?" Zach answered, turning a steely glance at Bojan. A plan was quickly forming in his mind—he was learning the ins and outs of the business by leaps and bounds. But even if he hadn't any notion of a plan, he wanted Federov's cock inside him again. And he had gathered some sexual tricks from Bojan that just might impress Federov. "And then perhaps we could talk about coaching changes."
Bojan suddenly didn't look quite so sure of himself.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousalmost 3 years agoYikes, typo in my comment above.
Ofc, the partly in awe/partly envious appellation given was "bairn's ARM holding an apple" - not hand! :-) :-)
KeithDalmost 3 years agoAuthorNo, I don't remember what--or who--specifically inspired this story. It was written quite a few years ago. I remember that it was written during the second week of what was then the Legg-Mason Washington, D.C., hardcourt tennis tournament that fed into the U.S. Open. For years, I took in that tournament, having been a tennis player myself. Most likely I saw two of the pro tennis players reacting to each other in a way that got my creative juices going. Some of the best tennis-related gay sex I ever got into was Saturday morning impromptu pickup tennis at the Royal Military Academy courts in Bangkok, Thailand, on Wireless Road, where Thai colonels and generals hosted men of a certain persuasion from the diplomatic community, with the tennis leading to lunches and more. I attended. As much intell work as tennis transpired there with men seeking men. One of the hunks I connected with there was an intell officer from an East European embassy. He may have been in mind when I wrote Bojan Nikolic in this story.
Anonymousalmost 3 years agoWas quite hot! :-) As a very avid tennis fan and a decent club level player, the fact that it tied up with a sport I'm passionate about, spiked my interest too. I did somehow suspect some of the twists and turns in this sexually charged manipulation, but man didn't suspect everyone was literally- and metaphorically- out to fuck the other!!
Out of curiosity, did you have any specific real life tennis star on whom you modeled the hunky Serb tennis player in your story- Bojan Nikolic? Just asking, because the character reminded me (superb looks and attractiveness wise, NOT orientation wise) - of the sexy player Slobodan "Bobo" Zivojinovic.
We lived in Belgrade for little over 5 years in the mid to late 90s, my Dad had been posted there on work at that time. I was in my teens then, and as a very keen tennis player, I regularly visited the main sports club in the city several days a week to practice. Bobo used to come there frequently too, both to hit the courts and the gym/pool. In his early/mid 30's at the time, he was the epitome of heady, macho sex appeal. I had the great pleasure of seeing Bobo in the flesh- in all his naked glory- in the club locker room, literally hundreds of times through those years! He was always unabashedly comfortable in his own skin, nonchalantly strolling around the locker room, displaying his hot and virile body and massive, thick pecker. At a guess, he would have been WELL OVER 6 inches, even at just half mast. I credit this hot, hot man with enabling me to finally come to terms with my sexuality. I'd been hazily aware for a year or so at the time, of my inadvertent arousal when catching sight of hot, muscular men in briefs/trunks in the pool or beach; but coming from a rather conservative country , my understanding of sexuality was still rather limited.
Well, Bobo certainly electrified my imagination all those times in the club locker room! He was at a guess, 5 or 6 kilos heavier at the time than he'd been when he was a pro, but man, was he hot! His body was at an interesting phase - thickening from his athletic peak, but definitely more taut and firm than a typical DILF (he was already a father of 2 at the time). He still had a powerfully built physique sprinkled with a nice thatch of body fuzz, sexy, rugged good looks, his superbly toned posterior and *extremely* well endowed family jewels (length and girth both!). Despite his fame, he was also genuinely nice and approachable, he even gave me tips on my game! I couldn't help but be in awe of him, he was so charismatic, with heady blast of rugged machismo.
Frankly, I went through a period of denial at first, accepting my desires even to myself took time, LOL. But it wasn't long before I was timing my visits to the club, to ensure I was in the locker room the same time he was! Soon enough, he became the object of my jerk off fantasies - I used to literally take mental photos of his broad, muscular shoulders and chest tapering down to a still-trim-but slightly-thickening waist; and of course those AMAZINGLY sculpted arms and taut leg muscles. He also had unforgettably large, coin shaped pinkish-brown nips nestling in the crisp thatch of his chest fuzz. :-)
Apart from his chiseled features, still-boyish grin and clean-cut good looks, Bobo's sex appeal was just off the charts! He was tall and strapping, a commanding height of 6' 6" with an imposing physique to match. I used to almost get a nose bleed, ;-) ogling his solid, bulging biceps and horseshoe triceps, his hefty, tree trunk thighs, his wonderfully tight butt and HUGE, veiny cock. Literally made my mouth run dry! :-) I still have wonderful recollections of '93--98, of my half-lingering, half furtive; half-lustful, half hero-worshiping glances at him in the club locker room/ sauna. He was my first man-crush, the hot, hot man who (oblivious to him, ofc!) made me realize and accept my gayness.....And gosh, if only he hadn't been straight, I would have LOVED to have my way with him, and let him have his way with me, in every single position and then some!
Anonymousabout 7 years agoYou roped me in with your knowledge of the game, then you went sick. Yuch!
