The Warped & Wicked Gym Coach Ch. 03

Things were different after that day in the showers. For starters, Jacob never did bother to get the new swimsuit, figuring that everyone had already seen him in it. A few people made some hoots and hollers, but he ignored them. He was the fastest swimmer in the pool, and that was enough for him. He even was getting cocky about it. After that the teasing stopped. He noticed that some of the girls started being friendly with him again. Holly Morgan, in particular, was suddenly very chatty with him. He didn't blush; he just smiled.

With Ms. Bandy, it was more complicated. At first, he couldn't look her in the eye; but after a week of winning all the swimming events, and a week of her lavishing him with praise, he was able to relax around her. She had done something unimaginable to him, he knew; but for some reason, he wasn't angry, not any more. He thought about what she had said, and it made a lot of sense. He had lusted after her; he had violated her with his eyes. It was only fair that she do the same to him. It was weird; it was inappropriate; heck, it was probably illegal. But he understood what she was trying to do. She was a good person, and a good teacher. She was helping him be a better man.

Several weeks went by. Jacob was excelling in his basketball club, and the coach was inviting scouts to watch. The high school season would be starting soon, and he felt that he was in top form, the best shape of his life. His grades were stellar; he had even managed to get his history grade up to an A. Jacob prayed that morning for humility, but he was feeling proud of himself. Everything was going well.

Things were even progressing with Holly Morgan. He started giving her rides to TeenLife, and they got along. She was a practicing Methodist as well, a truly good person who volunteered every day at an old person's home as well as the church group. Holly was a bright, lively girl, with white-blond hair and a pretty smile. She was a tennis player and also a D-I prospect, and she had a golden tan, sturdy legs, and braces, which he thought was cute. Her parents even invited him and his parents over one night for pizza.

Having a steady girlfriend was something he had always wanted; however rules were rules, and neither of them was allowed to date. Their interactions were innocent and stunted. Light arm touches, masquerading as punches or nudges, or awkwardly long handshakes following unnecessary high-fives were normally the extent of their physical contact. He longed to embrace her, to run his hands over her legs, up her shirt and down the back her boy shorts . . .

Stop, he told himself, whenever thoughts like these bubbled up. There would be time enough for all that, as his father would say. But thoughts like these were a common occurrence, especially since the shower episode. Never in his life had he dreamed of such a nightmarish scenario of humiliation and degradation; yet in its aftermath, he looked upon it as the clearest and most seductive memory of his life. It was . . . erotic. That was a word he never had really understood before. It was sinful, yes; it had been an aggressive violation of his rights as a student, as a Christian young man, and as a human being. But it may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Masturbation too was a sin; had he not committed it freely? And had it not been wonderful? His world was in chaos, and he no longer knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. He knew what his parents said, what his uncle and aunt would say, what his whole community thought and reinforced upon them every week. He repeated the whole incident in his mind, again and again, trying to mark every last detail. Where she had touched him, how she had spoken, how her skin shimmered and her eyes gleamed, how it felt to let go of all he held in.

"Jake? Did you hear me?" Holly asked.

"Hm? What? Sorry, no," he got out sheepishly. "I was looking at something out the window."

"Dork," she slapped his arm with the back of her hand. "Do you wanna come with me to the mall after school or not? I need the wheels!" she joked.

"I guess, if I have to," he grinned. She blinked, smiled, and looked down momentarily, before lifting her eyes up to his. "High-five," she said, and they touched palms, then grasped, swaying their arms back and forth together. They had walked to class together, the last few minutes spent joking, laughing, teasing each other. Such a great girl, Jake thought. She's exactly what I always wanted. At this, he felt a pang of something in his gut, not quite guilt and not quite regret. He wasn't sure why this was.

"No flirting in class!" a voice blurt out. Ms. Bandy - beautiful, innocently coquettish, white teeth exposed - strode into the gym. The rest of the class hooted and whistled. She winked at Jake, who bristled. "Alright, y'all! In honor of the season starting next week, we're gonna play some 2-on-2 basketball today! Let me go lower the baskets. Crowley, Simmons, go grab the basketball cage in the storage room and wheel it out here! Russo, get everyone warmed up with some calisthenics!"

Jake's breath began to speed up. Ever since the shower, his demeanor instantly changed whenever Ms. Bandy was near, which was every school day morning. She, on the other hand, acted as if nothing at all had transpired. She treated him the same as everyone else, and she was unceasingly upbeat and encouraging. It made him feel insane - he wasn't sure if he was a neurotic child or if she were an evil sociopath. But he also felt magnetically drawn to her, as if they shared a mysterious connection that he couldn't explain. Even without special treatment during class, he thought he could feel her watching him as he did his exercises, just as he watched her doing hers. As she jogged in place, he imagined her in her one-piece bathing suit, then slowly stepping out of it; in his mind's eye he could see the water beading on her naked breasts, rivulets running down her chest and stomach, between her legs and the mysteries that were there. He was delirious in her presence, obsessed, her essence intoxicating him past all reason. During the rest of the day, Holly distracted him with her sweet demeanor; but in morning practice she was invisible to him, even as she and her ample bosom bounced at his side.

Ms. Bandy assigned two-person teams, one male and one female. Holly and he were made teammates; Holly gave him another high-five. Ms. Bandy then assigned match-ups, with each team playing on the short courts made by the practice hoops lowered along the width of the normal court.

"Last group: Morgan and Packert, Court Four! Against Wilson and Bandy!" Bandy? wondered Jake. Holly asked before he could: "We're playing against you?"

"We got an odd number today - I'm filling in!" she informed them. Her teammate, Will Wilson, was Jacob's teammate as well, on the varsity squad. Will was one of the best players on the team, possibly the best. She's doing this on purpose, he knew. This is one of her sick head games; but it won't matter . . . I'm better, he thought. I will beat her again.

"Since I'm the teacher, I say we bring the ball out first," she laughed, as Holly mock-protested and Will applauded. Jake remained emotionless. He wasn't going to give her any satisfaction. He was just going to whip the heck out of them. She took off her sweatshirt, revealing a sleeveless white tank top; she then pulled off her sweatpants, wearing navy blue gym shorts that ended above the knee, exposing her smooth, well-built legs he thought about so often. He gulped. "Let's go!"

Holly checked the ball to Ms. Bandy, while Will floated just outside the paint. Bandy crossed over the dribble, tripping up Holly, and blew by her for an easy layup. "One up," she said, and went back to the top of the key.

Shoot, he thought. He remembered that she used to play point guard in high school — her team went to the state championships. She was going to destroy Holly. The next possession he let her try to drive; he waited till the last second and stepped into a double team, easily swatting away her shot, chasing it down, and taking it out to reset possession. Bandy just smiled at him and stood behind Holly.

"You gonna bring that shit to me, Pack?" Wilson said as he picked him up. Wilson had an inch on him, and he was playing him loose, daring him to take a shot. He did. One-one. Next possession, Wilson stepped up, closing the space. Jake dribbled, back toward Will, looking for an open teammate. But Holly couldn't shake Ms. Bandy. He realized she didn't know how, and she didn't know how to set a pick. He lost sight of them as he decided to make a push toward the basket. Suddenly, he felt the ball stripped away from him. Ms. Bandy had come from his blind side, and she had a free lane to the basket as Wilson blocked his path.

"Two-one, us!" She winked at him again. His obsession had soured to rage. He wanted to take her by the shoulders in front of everyone and shake the smile off her face. He wanted to pull her pants down and spank her over his knee, as she cried out in pain and in shame.

The game was very tight - they went back and forth, tying up five times on their way to eleven points, which meant the game. It was now tied at ten all, after he ably threw the ball to a wide-open Holly in motion, who was able to make the short bucket. He ran to the top of the key. "I got it," he waved to Holly, who passed it to him.

"Switch man!" yelled out Ms. Bandy. Wilson hung back; Ms. Bandy stepped up to him. "Let's go, Packert! Let's see whatcha got."

He grinned. "Check," he said, as he bounce-passed her the ball. She returned it, and ran up to close the gap, guarding him tight. He wasn't expecting that. He turned to post her up, backing up. She played him like a blanket, pressing herself against him. He could feel her breasts on his back, her hands lightly touching his hips. He put his head down, and pushed back.

"C'mon, baby, give it to me, lemme have it," she grunted breathlessly. It made him even hotter. Her hands were all over him; he could feel her sweating through her clothes and his, the heat from her crotch on his rear. His mind went back to that place where she ran her soapy hands all over his back and his buttocks, and his jock strap began to twitch.

He motioned to Holly to come up, and he passed the ball to her, immediately sprinting toward the hoop; Ms. Bandy stayed by his side. Wilson enveloped Holly on defense with his long arms. Dumb move, he thought. Jake ran back, but Holly had already passed to where she thought he was. Ms. Bandy caught it, turned to the basket, and popped an easy two-footer.

"Woo-hoo! Still got it!" she flexed her naked arms. Wilson ran up to her and gave her double hive-fives.

"Dang it!" erupted Jake. He slammed the ball on the court, bouncing in about fifteen feet in the air. He stood there, arms akimbo, feeling low and stupid.

"Yo, chill, dude," admonished Will. "Y'all got beat, that's all," he chuckled. "Hey, good game, Holly," he said as he leaned down to hug her. He hugged her! Jake never had. He felt even angrier.

Holly ran over to him. "Hey, my bad," she said sympathetically. Jake shook his head. He thought about hugging her too, but he didn't.

"It's . . . my fault. I shouldn't've passed it then," he mumbled. Rookie mistake, he thought. I blew it. He looked up to Ms. Bandy. She blew him a kiss.

***

Later that week on Thursday, the basketball team ran their first twenty-four minute game in preparation for the home opener. The game was limited to the coaching staff and players, but Jake noticed a light on in Ms. Bandy's second floor office. He wondered if she would be watching. He thought about her still - that indescribable moment in the shower, haunted by how much of his body she had seen, her coy manners, her familiar caresses; he thought about how much he wanted to beat her, and how easily she had distracted him, solely through her touch and her words. She knew what she had over him. He was thinking about her, even now, when he should have been focused on his game plan.

It showed. Jake had a sloppy game, turning the ball over five times, going five for sixteen, and missing two free throws, which was a strong part of his game. Coach chewed him out, and benched him most of the fourth quarter. His practice squad, which he captained, had lost the biggest test of the young season to Wilson and his crew, who danced after.

Glum, Jacob took his time getting ready in the locker room. Some of the other players gave him words of encouragement; others didn't have much to say to him. He didn't feel like talking at all. He wanted to eat soup and go to bed early. He wanted to disappear.

Friday, after class had ended, Jacob went straight to the gym, to get changed and practice before the six o'clock tipoff. As he made his way to the locker room, he noticed Ms. Bandy standing by the stairs, arms folded, smiling at him. She was out of her uniform, dressed casually in a loose pink tank top and white capri pants, with brown sandals and a thin brown belt. Her dark brown hair hung down, and she sported a new style, with straight bangs across her forehead. "Rough game last night?" she smirked.

"I stank," he spat. He was not in the mood to deal with anyone, least of all her.

"Aw, come on, it was just a bad practice. You'll be ready for the big game," she said. "You know how I know? 'Cuz I'm gonna help get you ready," she beamed.

"How's that?" he responded blankly.

"Follow me!" she replied, jerking her head toward the exit.

They walked outside, down the concrete stairs to the quad, and around the back of the school grounds, to one of the older and infrequently used buildings on campus. "What's here?" he asked.

"This is like my . . . unofficial break room," she said. "I do a lot of R and D, and the school lets me have the space." He grunted in mild interest. They entered the building, into one of the rooms in the back. It was spacious, without much furniture; an old wrestling mat took about half of the room, with some weights and elliptical machines scattered throughout. Near the entrance was a black massage table with wooden legs, with an oval pillow at one end of it and a folded white towel resting on the other.

"So . . . what are we doing here?" Jake asked apprehensively. He wasn't sure what she could have in mind. There was nothing remotely basketball-related that could be accomplished in this setting.

"Well, I watched y'all's game, and I think I isolated your main problem. You looked trapped in your head out there, like you were thinking about what you were gonna do, instead of just doing it. Like you weren't mentally there." He had to admit she was right, but he didn't. He said nothing.

"The difference between a good athlete and a great one," she continued, "is the ability to be able to enter at will, and maintain, a relaxed state of mind."

"So, what, like more yoga?" he asked.

"Yoga is a great way to get there long-term, but frankly, you don't have that kinda time," she chuckled. "We need to get you mentally there, like now." She walked over to the folded towel and tossed it at him. "What you need is a massage."

"A massage?"

"A full body massage," she replied.

"Ms. Bandy," Jake said with more confidence than he was used to having around her. "That's not going to happen."

"Oh, really?" she retorted, mock-surprised. "And why is that?"

"We - I - it's not right . . ." was all he could get out. She violated his privacy and his modesty once before, but he would not voluntarily allow that to happen again.

Ms. Bandy took a step toward him. "Jake, part of physical education is learning how to relax the body. Locked up inside your muscles are toxins; massage therapy loosens muscles and releases toxins. These actions release endorphins in your brain, relaxing your mind and your body. Professional athletes of all areas depend on regular massages to finish a long season. When was the last time you had one?"

In the shower, he thought. With you. And he never felt better in his life.

"I feel like it's wrong," he said in a low voice, and with shame.

She gave him the kindest look. "I need you to trust me," she reassured. "This is what I do, Jake. This is what I know. I know how to unlock the potential of the human body. Do you believe me?" He nodded, but he looked lost and uncertain.

"Aw, it's gonna be okay. I promise you'll feel like new when this is over. Let me help you, yeah?" she came in closer, and untucked his polo shirt. "Arms up," she said. He lifted his arms; she pulled it up as high as it could go, until he had to bend down so that she could pull it off him. She then neatly folded his shirt and set it aside next to the massage table. Her hands next went to his belt. He flinched; his hands caught hers. He stood there for a few seconds, holding her hands, looking into her eyes with a scared look.

"What are you afraid of?" she smiled.

Disrespecting you again, he thought. "Nothing. I . . . I got the rest," he said. He lowered his pants to his ankles, kicking off his canvas shoes first before taking his pants off. His loose boxers did very little to obscure his partially erect cock, so he quickly wrapped the small white towel around him as best as possible.

"You need to take off everything, okay?" she said, doe-eyed. He slid the boxers down under the towel. She folded them as well, and placed them with the rest of his clothes. "Lay down flat on the table, please," she gently directed. He did as she asked; she opened up the towel, draping it over his buttocks. "Place your arms to your side, and your face right in the middle of the pillow there."

He heard the squeezing of a liquid from a bottle and the rubbing of her hands together; she touched his back, her hands covered in a warm, viscous oil that she proceeded to spread all over. She began gently, then kneaded with more force, more pressure, around his neck and shoulders. She began to drag her slippery forearms across his back muscles, stopping at points to work her elbow into particularly hard knots. His mouth opened from the sudden pain, which quickly dissolved into lasting relief. He started to drool.

Ms. Bandy walked to the end of the table, and began to work on his legs. Her strong thumbs pushed deep into his hamstrings. She picked his legs up, spread them slightly, and bent them one at a time. Her hands squeezed from the inside of his upper thigh, and then the other, grazing his groin. He could feel the towel ending just below where his buttocks began.

He felt excited again. She's right, he told himself. it's no big deal . . . she's my physical instructor . . . she understands how to maximize the human body . . . I'm in a safe place . . . she doing this to help me succeed, and there's absolutely nothing sexual about this. His cock was as hard as granite.

"Okay, flip over," she casually remarked, as she lifted up the towel. His eyes opened, but the rest of him froze. He could feel the cool air on his butt and in between his legs.

He sighed. "I . . . can't."

"Why not?"

"I . . . have an erection."

There was silence. "I'm so sorry," he begged. "I do respect you . . . It's just . . . I have so many emotions right now, and I don't have clothes on, and I'm trying to relax, but I'm tenser than ever, and . . ."

"Shhh... just breathe. I won't be offended. Turn over, Jake," he said, reassuringly.

He rolled toward her, hoping to conceal his shame, and she draped the towel over his waist. "Oh," she giggled. He looked down; his hard cock was horrifyingly conspicuous, and she was staring right at the bulge rising from under his towel.

"Oh, God, Ms. Bandy," his voice broke. The weight of all his stress came crashing down upon him. "I can't help it. I can't! I respect you, but . . . I can't . . . " His voice began to crack. He shook like a small boy.