THE CREW - Chapter 19
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Coach "Back"
Passage was a happy man.
In fact he was a very happy man.
For the first time in weeks, he felt there was something positive going on in his life.
And it had all started just a few days earlier with that kid Zak - the one who'd unexpectedly wanted to get onto the team.
The coach was hardly a man who could be called reticent - and certainly not inexperienced - when it came to exploring boys' physical sides (and, more especially, their physical fronts and rears too).
There wasn't much that "Back" Passage didn't know when it came to young athletes…
…and that included their dicks, their foreskins (or, this being the good ol' US of A, their lack of 'em), their balls, their scrotums, their butts and, best of all in his own particular view - which, if truth be told, he liked to be as close up as possible - their assholes.
As it might well have been said, the coach's whole career was, in reality, best described as a hole career.
And with this new kid Zak he seemed to have found the boy of his dreams.
Because, right from that very first evening in his office when "Back" had suggested that the kid would benefit from some immediate therapy on his groin, Zak had been a model patient.
Whereas most boys at least pretended a little modesty - or even reluctance - before submitting to Coach Passage's "magic touch", Zak had positively revelled in the examinations, tests, probes, routines and "treatments" to which he was subjected.
His cock - which, "Back" had observed, was pretty impressive even in repose, positively tripled in size as soon as the coach's fingers merely hovered above it.
His balls too seemed to grow out of all proportion as "Back" kneaded and gently squeezed them this way and that, playing them one after with obvious relish and delight the other through his knobbly fingers.
Neither did Zak appear to share other kids' reluctance to let the coach rub his special "muscle relaxing cream" into the area between their balls and their asses - and then to spend even more time rubbing the gooey, slimy stuff into their ass cheeks, gradually prising them apart as he did so and opening them up to his intense inspection.
Best of all, the kid's asshole itself wasn't just a real neat one, it positively seemed to open up and welcome Coach's attention whenever his fingers touched - "accidentally", of course - its soft and oh-so-silky rim.
But what had amazed "Back" most of all was the alacrity with which Zak had taken to the most "advanced" of his therapeutic techniques.
After all, most boys had only to catch the briefest glimpse of Coach Passage's special "tool kit" - which appeared, even on a quick inspection, to be less suited to a sports therapist's consulting room than a veterinarian's - before making a speedy dash for the nearest available exit.
But Zak seemed to positively relish the touch of the cold, stainless steel implements - even in his most secret places.
Overall then, "Back" decided, this boy Zak had to be the most co-operative kid he'd got onto his massage table for quite some time.
And he intended to make the very most of him while he could - which, he suspected all too sadly, might well be for not much longer at all as, even in the last few days, his wrists, hands and fingers had been getting stiffer and even less under his control than they had been before.
It looked like another visit to Doc Lewis was in order.
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At the same time that those very thoughts were passing through Coach Passage's head, Zak too was considering whether a trip to the doctor might not be a good idea.
In his case, though, it wasn't just one ailment that needed attention.
It was several.
After almost a week of being pulled, pushed, stretched, dilated, prodded, poked and intruded upon, his whole body - but particularly those areas below his stomach and above his thighs - was feeling more hard done by than ever before.
At least five layers of skin had, he reckoned, been rubbed off his dick which was now virtually red raw as a result.
His scrotum seemed to have expanded to twice its normal size by all the constant stretching to which the coach's fingers had mercilessly subjected it.
And as for his butt - well, where could he begin?
It wasn't as though Zak hated playing with his ass… No, whenever he had sex with other guys he just loved it when they rimmed him and tried to stick their little pink tongues right into him… And for years, whenever his folks were out of the house and he was left alone with an opportunity to get his porno collection out from behind his bedroom bookcase, he'd also pop down the hall to his mom's closet and get out her vibrator too.
Mom might well think that, on the occasion she'd left it out and Zak had first found it, she'd convinced him that it was a device to soothe away the pain in her back.
But Zak knew better.
During his formative years - when he'd spent many happy hours stretched out on his bed with his eyes glued to a somewhat worn and torn copy of Hot Jocks of 1991 (See them smash the all-cummers record!) and his mom's lurid pink vibrator glued to his asshole - Zak had developed a warm appreciation of the joys of anal foreplay.
But what Coach had got up to with him in the past few days had been less foreplay than major invasive surgery.
Zak was, quite honestly, amazed that he still had any sense of feeling left in that area of his body at all.
The climax - at any rate for the coach, whose breathing at that point had become notably shallower and quicker - had been when he'd produced a particularly terrifying looking piece of cold steel.
Having looked it up later at home in his dad's medical dictionary (the one with a marked emphasis on "women's problems" which he'd bought back from a business trip to Amsterdam), Zak now knew that he'd come face to face - though certainly not literally in this instance - with a rectal speculum.
As Zak had been face down on Coach Passage's massage table at the time, with his eyes tightly screwed up and his teeth biting the small white pillow as hard as he could, he could only imagine the scene…
How Coach had slowly greased up his hole, slowly slid the speculum's two arms into it and then, slowly tightening its little screw, inexorably widened its arms so they opened Zak's poor butthole as wide as it would go.
If this was what doctors really did, thought Zak to himself, then he'd steer well clear of them in the future.
But, in spite of all the pain and humiliation, the truth was - exactly as "Back" had suspected - that, much to his own surprise, Zak had actually quite enjoyed some of Coach Passage's more specialised techniques.
Even the insertion and vigorous manipulation of the vicious-looking rectal speculum, painful though it was when extended to its maximum setting, sent exquisite tingles of pure pleasure through Zak's whole body as the cold steel met the warm, moist muscles inside his ass.
Suddenly, in fact, a whole new world had opened up before Zak's eyes… one where there was going to be a special place - and a large one at that - for those solid steel dildos advertised in his porno mags which he'd hitherto regarded with a mixture of puzzlement and trepidation.
And, in any case, what really mattered to him above all else was not any temporary pain but the permanent glory of emerging as the winner of the Inter-Crew Cock Contest.
And he was pretty confident of that.
So far his plan had been going according to plan.
And now he needed to embark on its next stage.
From underneath his bed, Zak pulled out a case.
It contained his most treasured possessions.
The pair of underpants which, as a mere nine years old kid, he'd stolen from Mrs Johansson's washing line (he'd had a crush on Mr J at the time)…
His own first pubic hair…
A photograph of himself at Boy scouts' camp - with the gorgeous Hal Matthews only three places away in the group shot.
And his favorite videos - all disguised in case he ever inadvertently left them out.
What appeared to be Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was actually Mean Marine Ass-fuckers vol. 2.
Lost in Space was, in reality, a well-worn copy of Brazilian Bad Boys' Beach Balls (which, needless to say, weren't being used in soccer tournaments).
And the tape labelled Free Willy actually was a video genuinely called that - though it turned out to be less about a killer whale than a sperm whale of the homo sapiens variety (with the emphasis squarely on the homo element).
But, underneath all the videos, photographs, porno mags and odds and ends that collectively identified him as a gay man in the making, Zak found what he was looking for.
In his hands he held a very small package.
Slowly, he took off the wrapping to reveal a piece of metal tubing about four or five inches long.
Unbuckling his belt and pushing down his pants, Zak carefully took the hollow, stainless steel tube firmly between his fingers and gently but steadily shoved it up his own ass.
A smile crossed his face.
But for once it wasn't related to the physical pleasure he got from his own rear end.
He was, quite simply, about to put the next stage of his plan into operation.
© Rob Maynard /HMBoys.com 2006