The Warped & Wicked Gym Coach Ch. 05

The temperature on first day back to school was twenty-four degrees, with a wind that cut through all layers of clothing. Jake's morning jog was barely tolerable, but he refused to skip it — his next game after Christmas break was in two days, and he needed to be in top form. Each exhale produced a cloud of steam, and each inhale burned his throat. His nose lost all feeling and his feet slapped the ground numbly as he rounded the final lap at the neighborhood cul-de-sac. It took five minutes in the scalding shower before any sensation returned to his limbs.

On his way to school, he stopped at 7204 East Lansing Drive and beeped his horn. Holly Morgan came barreling out of her front gate, bundled up to the eyes, books in hand like she was carrying a football. She threw them on the floor of the truck and leaped into the seat, only removing the scarf from her face once the door shut behind her.

"Brrrr! Holy cow, it's cold today!" she exclaimed while rubbing her nose with her glove.

"Coldest day of the year," Jake responded.

"The year is only eleven days old, doofus," she joked and stuck out her tongue. He chuckled. "What, no kiss?"

He leaned to her and kissed her cold lips with his. Jake and Holly had seen quite a lot of each other over the break, spending almost all their free time together. Their families got along, and while the rule that neither could date was never officially reversed in either household, both sets of parents seemed to turn a blind eye to it. It was obvious to all how well they complemented each other, how perfectly they fit as a couple. They played, smiled, laughed, and conversed with total harmony.

It was only in the nights when they were alone when Jake felt out of sync with his young girlfriend. Their make-out sessions were sloppy, inexpert, and above all short-lived. The kissing only gave him desire for more than she was willing to do. They were frustrating and bittersweet episodes that transpired in the discomfort of his truck's cramped cabin.

Jake parked in the senior parking lot, located on the other side of the football field. They walked across the field, which had frosted over, crunching the ice with their boots as they did, on their way to the gymnasium in time for first period. They entered the gym, and a blast of heated air surrounded them.

"Ahh," exhaled Holly. "That is much better." She put her arm around his waist. "Gonna get changed, okay?"

"Yeah, me too," he replied. She waved at him like a little girl and left toward the girls' room. He looked up, to Ms. Bandy's second floor office. The light was on.

Jake had not seen Ms. Bandy since their last private lesson, since his first kiss. A day had not passed when he didn't play it over and over again in his mind — the fear, the pain, the excitement. He dreamed of her often; sometimes as a queen or a princess in distress, and sometimes as a monster or a witch. The dreams changed but they always left him with the same pit in his gut of guilt, depression, and longing. He walked into the boys' room to change.

When Jake had returned to the hardwood, he noticed that the basketball hoops had all been cranked back up to the ceiling, and rubber bases had been placed on the floor to create a makeshift baseball diamond. Ms. Bandy stood to the side, chatting with a few of the other students.

"Mornin', Jake! How was Christmas?" she said as she waved.

"Good morning," he replied. "It was great, thanks. You?"

"Fantastic! Spent the whole time with Mom and Dad," she chipperly responded. It's all an act, he thought. She's not really like this. He didn't know whether to be repulsed or attracted more.

"Are we playing baseball today?" he asked.

"We are playing softball," she said. "You and Wilson are gonna be our umpires."

"Oh?"

"Your coach's orders," she answered. "Nothing too strenuous or dangerous until the season is over." He guessed that made sense. But softball? What was so dangerous about softball?

She divided all of the students into even teams of eight, with herself as all-time pitcher — Holly's team started on defense, and she opted to be the team's catcher. Ms. Bandy passed out gloves to Holly's team and hard rubber bats to the others before jogging up to the rubber pitching mound. Meagan Forster took the bat to lead off; Holly crouched down behind her with the glove. Jake stood behind Holly and patted her on the shoulder.

"Alright, y'all ready?" Ms. Bandy called out. Holly nodded. Jake, feeling good, yelled out in a deep baritone: "Play ball!" Ms. Bandy wound up like a windmill, and launched the rubber ball at Holly.

Jake felt rocked, as if by an explosion. He crumbled to the ground, and heard himself screaming in pain. "Oh shit!" someone yelled, as he tried in vain to gasp for air. He opened his eyes, and saw Holly standing over him. "Jake! Jake! Are you okay!"

Ms. Bandy was running toward him. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh, Jake, honey, are you okay?" She fell beside him, and put her hands on his arm and his leg. "Oh jeez, I can't believe this. Say something, please," she begged.

"I can't breathe," he tried to say. His hands were at his groin. The pain started as an acute one in the testicles, but it climbed up to his stomach as a dull sickness. He rolled over and wretched.

"Oh no!" Ms. Bandy cried out. Holly sat at his other side. Ms. Bandy turned to her. "Holly, what happened?"

"It was an accident! The ball, like, went right through my glove! I don't know . . . I'm not used to catching fast pitch. Why did you throw it so hard?"

"Oh, shoot!" exclaimed Ms. Bandy. "Just hang on, okay, dude? You're gonna be just fine," she assured him.

Jacob was doubled over, rolling around in agony. As he flailed about the floor, he saw different reactions from his classmates - horror, shock, morbid amusement, outright laughter - each one making the pain worse. He finally caught a breath, and it made him cry out. Holly guided him slowly away from his vomit, wiped his mouth with her hand, and slowly hugged him, swaying him gently, stroking his hair. He didn't know he could hurt so badly and feel so happy at the same time. He loved her at that moment.

"Morgan, give him some air! Get over here! Patterson, give me a hand with this thing," barked Ms. Bandy. She had a roll stretcher with her, which she lowered to the ground. Carefully, she and Mark Patterson rolled him atop of it, then they and two other boys raised it back up. "Try to lay out flat, 'kay?" He was still doubled over; it hurt to lie straight. "Oh my gosh, I am . . . so . . . sorry," she said, and she placed an itchy gray blanket over him to keep him warm.

"Okay, class, carry on with the game. Morgan, you're in charge, got it?" She looked down at Jake. "I'm gonna take Packert to the school nurse." She pushed him out the door, and down the ramp, toward the quad, where the school offices were.

"Where are we going?" he asked, feeling cold, nauseous, and disoriented.

"You really don't listen, do you?" Ms. Bandy muttered under her breath. Jake was unsure what she meant. "Just shut up until we get there." He was in too much pain to accurately register the venom in her tone of voice.

She pushed him a bit too fast, and turned the corner sharply to the building where the school nurse, Mrs. Villanueva, had an office. Ms. Bandy backed up and pushed into the infirmary door.

"Hi, Anita!" waved Ms. Bandy with one hand.

"Hey, Trish," she replied. "You beating up the boys in your class again?"

Jake always liked Mrs. Villanueva. She was an attentive caregiver, but she had a rough, blue-collar streak that wasn't often to be found among the school staff. Despite her age — thirty-five? forty? — he found her mildly attractive, mostly her eyes, which looked kind. She kept her light brown hair short, right below the ears, and wore a blue nurse's scrubs every day.

Ms. Bandy put her hands over her mouth and pleaded forgiveness with her eyebrows. "Oh my gosh, it was a total accident! My pitch was too fast for the catcher, I think."

"Oh, wow, I was just kidding," she responded seriously. "Where are you hurt, Jake?" Jake only had to look up at her, hands still clutching his crotch. "Oh . . . I see."

She walked over to a box and took out two blue rubber gloves and put them on. "I'm really sorry, there, buddy. But I'm gonna have to check out the damage, okay?" He closed his eyes and nodded.

Mrs. Villanueva adjusted the stretcher so that he sat up at an incline and looked over her shoulder at Ms. Bandy: "Trish, I gotta check this out . . ."

"Oh, do you need a hand?" Ms. Bandy returned. "I studied physical therapy in college."

Mrs. Villanueva laughed; Ms. Bandy did not. "No, thank you, it's just that . . . he's gonna want some privacy."

"Oh, is that so? Jake, do you want some privacy?" she glared at him over Mrs. Villanueva.

Jake shook his head. "It's okay — Ms. Bandy is my . . . personal trainer." Ms. Bandy winked at him.

Mrs. Villanueva frowned, then shrugged. "Doesn't bother me," she spoke out. "In that case, yeah, I could use a hand getting these shorts off." The mention of this made Jake's heart race, but there was too much pain for him to get physically excited. He only felt sicker.

"Of course," answered Ms. Bandy. She moved over to his left side, while Mrs. Villanueva stood on his right.

"Okay, Jake, lift up your hips." He did so; the two women slid his gym shorts off of his legs, leaving him in his jock strap. He thought of that first time with Ms. Bandy, how nervous he was. Now, he wanted them to look on, to examine him, to give approval. "Okay, and these too." They pulled down his jock strap, unveiling his soft penis. He watched Mrs. Villanueva's face, searching for any kind of reaction; the nurse's demeanor gave no sign of anything but professionalism, as she gingerly shifted his penis over the right side. She didn't have to touch it, he thought. She wanted to . . . they all want to. He imagined her taking it in her gloved hand, massaging it with oil, sucking on it, sitting on it . . .

Mrs. Villanueva's eyes widened, more from concern than from arousal, awakening him from his deviant daydream. Ms. Bandy grimaced, baring her teeth. "Ooh, that's . . ." He looked down. His left testicle had swollen to twice the size, and was turning a dark shade of purple.

"Oh you poor dear!" Ms. Bandy let out.

"So, it looks like mild testicular trauma," explained Villanueva without emotion. Jake tried to remember where he had heard that phrase before. "You're gonna want to ice it regularly and rest for as long as possible. No strenuous activity for a week. And wear tight underwear for a while."

"A week? My next game is in two days!" said Jake, now with a sense of worry.

"At least a week. You're gonna have to sit this one out," she responded, still gingerly holding him by his genitals.

"That's not possible," he said. "I've got to play on Wednesday."

"You do that and you'll be risking further injury," she told him, as she took his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other, shifting them in her palm. "I'm telling your coach you're not fit to play." Jake was completely crestfallen. "I'm really sorry, kid. It'll only be one week," she said sympathetically, as she slowly lowered his dick and slid her hand out from under his balls. "I'm gonna go run and get some ice for you. Trish, can you help him get dressed?"

"Sure thing!" Ms. Bandy said as she smiled. Mrs. Villanueva made as if to speak, then suddenly paused as she did a double take at Ms. Bandy, eyeing her strangely; then she looked at Jake in the eyes, then for the briefest of moments at his penis, then back to Ms. Bandy. She hinted at a smile, just barely, and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"What the hell was that about?" Ms. Bandy said derisively. "Was she checking you out? Maybe it's been awhile since she's seen one this big, huh? Poor Mr. Villanueva . . ." She flicked his penis; he jumped.

"It's not funny," Jake said, nervously. "I think you weirded her out. Maybe, maybe she knows . . .?"

Her face was inches from his. Her eyes looked different, scary. "She doesn't know shit. And no, it's not fucking funny," she said through her teeth. "So don't play this game with me."

"What?" She had turned on him so completely he felt goosebumps on his neck.

"Jake, what did I tell you the first time we started working together?"

"What?" he cried out again in confusion.

"No outside distractions. No attachments. That's what I said, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"What are you talking -"

"And so what do you do, after getting a taste, a tiny morsel, of local fame? You picked up a little girlfriend, didn't you?" Her eyes had gone aflame.

He felt blindsided. "Holly?"

"Holly," she repeated acidly. She jerked her head around, as if she had heard a noise. "We'll finish this later. Let's get your pants on before that perverted old cow comes back."

She dressed him in time. Mrs. Villanueva gave him the ice pack and some ibuprofen, and wished him luck as Ms. Bandy helped him out of the office. Instead of returning to the gym, she took him to the break room, walking with him in silence the whole time.

What was this all about? Why was she so angry about Holly? How did she even know they had been dating? And why would she get so angry all of a sudden, almost a violent rage . . . He stopped cold at this idea. Could she have hit me intentionally? he asked himself. It was something he didn't want to believe but now could not shake out of his mind. She couldn't have. She wouldn't have.

Ms. Bandy unlocked the door to her break room, propping Jake up against the wall. "Get in, and sit down. We have some important things to discuss." She began pacing as Jake hobbled over to the desk in the far corner, on the other site of the wrestling mat. He crumpled into the nearest chair; she turned around to face him, anger such as he had never seen distorting her soft and beautiful features. "You are wasting your precious energy on that girl, do you understand me? She is a — a leech, yes, a leech, sucking off your positive life essence and your newfound popularity, riding around in your truck, just for a thrill. Because that's what gets teenage girls off."

Her face softened. She knelt by his side. "My plan for you — and I have thought of everything, Jake — my plan will only work if you stay focused. My god, do you even know how many girls will be after you in college, or if one day you go pro? You won't even remember Holly Morgan."

"But Holly and I . . ."

"Oh, Jake, think about it. You know who gets married to their high school sweetheart? Losers, that's who. Guys who don't leave their hometown and end up managing the grocery store. You made it three and a half years as a chaste warrior, following your dream, and right when it's in your grasp, you're going to throw that all away for some blonde groupie?"

"She's not a groupie," shot back Jake. "She's an athlete, too."

Ms. Bandy scoffed. "Tennis?"

"She's your sister in Christ!"

Ms. Bandy rolled her eyes. "Oh, Jesus. You will not fuck this up, do you hear me? You have Division I schools knocking on your door, Jake. You want to jeopardize that with a young wife?"

He chortled. "Why do you keep saying . . . We are not getting married -"

"Oh no? Let me guess: she won't let you get past first base, am I right?" He didn't respond. "Thought so. How long do you think that's gonna work for you, Jake? Then one of two things is gonna happen: she'll either never let you touch her until you marry her; or she'll let you knock her up so you'll have to marry her." He was shocked. "First year of college. Second year tops. I know the type - believe me, I know." He shook at hearing this.

"You - you don't know her at all!" he yelled at her. "I - I can't believe you! Who are you to judge? The way you have - all your hands and - what we've done!"

She actually looked hurt. "Oh my gosh, Jake," she said in a soft voice, the one she used in class. "That is completely different. I have been trying to divert your sexual energy into a positive place, as your mentor. I'm trying to free you of the need for a sexual partner, for a stupid little high school girl cockteasing you, messing with your head before a game, so you can concentrate on excelling. And every game is the most important game of your life! I'm doing this for your own good! Or are you forgetting the last ten wins?" She was breathing heavily through her nose, and her eyes were flickering.

Jake didn't know what to think. Everything she said made a kind of sense, twisted and tenuous but somehow convincing.

There was still something he had to know; he found the nerve to ask her: "Did you . . . did you hit me on purpose? As a warning? Is that what this was?"

She looked to the sky, palms upward. "How could you ask me that? After all I've done for you?"

"Did you?" He was glaring at her. "You bean me in the jewels on the same day you yell at me for dating Holly? Isn't that a little convenient?"

She paused, then regrouped, taking off her jacket. "I totally don't think so," she replied. "It was like, fate manifested my desire?"

"What the - what does that even mean?" He sat up. He was sad, confused, and the pain hurt worse than ever. "Are you even a Christian? Do you even believe in Jesus Christ?"

"Yeah! Absolutely! Not like literally, of course . . ." she trailed off.

"Y-you're a demon!" he yelled.

She grabbed him by the face before he could utter another word. "Jake, you may not believe me right now — you may hate me right now — but I am doing what am I doing for you." His eyes welled up.

"I do hate you right now," he said.

"You what?" She was speaking right into his mouth. He could feel her breath on his tongue.

"I . . . hate you."

"You do, huh?" She climbed onto his lap. "Not very Christian of you, Jake."

"I don't care." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and began to nibble on his ear.

"Maybe, maybe if fate did manifest my desire, it was because I was jealous? I'll admit it: I don't like knowing you're with that . . . girl, all blonde and big-boobed. I'm not made of wood, Jake. I have feelings for you. I do," she whispered, grinding on his leg. "But I'm trying to get my feelings out of the way of your future. That's what's important, right? That's what my job is all about, right?" Jealous? Feelings? His head fell back, his testicles aching, his cock struggling to get hard. She stood over him and pressed her mouth to his, soulfully kissing him. The heat that she caused in him was what he had been missing all winter break. Holly's kisses seemed like artless pecks and licks in comparison. I never want this to end, he thought, forgetting about the pain she had caused him not thirty minutes ago. "What's more Christian than personal sacrifice?" She was right, as always.

"I want you to do two things for me, Jake. Will you do them for me?" she panted into his ear.

"Tell me," he sighed.

"One: I want you to touch my pussy for me," she said, as she took his right hand and guided it into her sweatpants. His eyes grew big as he felt the alien skin between her legs - smooth, sticky, warm, wet. He had no frame of reference with which to describe it to himself. She moaned as she used him, supporting herself with her hands upon his wide shoulders. "Oh, fuck, Jake, your hand is so . . ." She involuntarily opened her mouth, her head rolling about on her neck. He looked down her t-shirt as she bounced, her lovely bosom jiggling as she writhed.

"Take your cock out . . . I wanna see it." He struggled to take down his gym shorts and his jockstrap with only his left hand, carefully removing the pouch so as not to aggravate his wounded gonad. He watched her eyes as they studied his penis, that gaze of both hunger and satisfaction that kindled his desire so potently. "I like it when it's soft . . . so pretty . . . " She kissed her fingers and touched it. He groaned as the pain grew in proportion to his arousal.