COACH

Chapter 1: I Came for the First Time

My mother and her boyfriend, Albert, were going at it in the backyard by my old swing set. I watched them from my bedroom window, jacking off while I watched.

She unzipped his pants, then went down on him, taking his dick into her mouth. Albert was about as dumb as a fucking rock, but I would have sucked his dick. It wouldn't have been the first one I'd sucked.

I came -- really came -- for the first time that night. I'd been masturbating for years, but that night was the first time jizz ever squirted out of my dick. I couldn't wait to tell Coach. He'd be proud.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe I should start from the first.

There was just my mom and me. She'd never been married. My father had been one of her boyfriends. He'd disappeared as soon as he'd learned she was pregnant. I've never even met him.

I'm queer. I think I've always been. I drew beards and moustaches on the girls in Playboy magazines other boys brought to school, but never on the guys in my mom's Playgirl magazines. I'd leaf through those magazines for hours, rubbing my dick while I did, long before I was able to squirt.

When I'd watched my mom suck some guy's dick -- or watched one of them fuck her -- I'd wondered what it would be like to have someone suck mine -- or what it would be like to suck some guy's.

My mom drinks. When she's drunk, she sometimes forgets that I'm around. This wasn't the first time I'd watched -- or heard -- her have sex with one of her boyfriends. By the time I met Coach, I already knew what sex was about.

Mom loved me. It's just that the other things in her life, boyfriends, work, and booze, came first. She usually didn't have much time left over for me. I spent much of my time by myself, riding my bike or watching TV.

In June, she signed me up for Little League. It was been Albert's idea -- probably so he could fuck my mother without having me around or paying for a babysitter. I wasn't too keen on playing Little League -- at least not until I saw Coach.

He was straight out of one of my mom's Playgirl magazines. I got hard looking at him. When he came over to us, I lowered my eyes, afraid that he'd see my desire for him in them. I had wanted some of my mother's boyfriends before, but none like I wanted Coach.

I turned out to be the best baseball player on the team. That wasn't saying a lot. The rest of the boys on the team were awful. Anyway, Coach liked me, always telling me how good I was. I ate it up. Although I liked hearing the crowd cheer for me, I mostly wanted to make Coach proud.

We won our first game. I even hit a triple. The next day, Coach called my mom, telling her he was taking the team out for pizza and a movie to celebrate. I was eating breakfast when she told me. He was coming over about 1:00 PM. I was excited. None of Mom's boyfriends ever took me anywhere. No one paid me much attention, and Coach -- my ideal stud -- wanted to take me to a movie.

I ran to answer the door when I heard the doorbell. It was Coach. "Hey, big guy," he said. "Want to go to a movie?"

"Sure," I said.

After we'd driven for a while without picking up anyone, I asked, "Coach -- where's everybody else?"

"It's just you and me today. All right, big guy?"

"Really?"

"Yep," said Coach.

"Cool," I said.

He let me choose a movie. I picked "Blood Prom," a R-rated slasher flick with lots of blood and gore, murders, and shit like that. When this one annoying blond chick got her head cut off, I cheered.

After the movie, Coach picked up a pizza and took me to his home to eat it.

Coach's place was awesome. He had a big screen TV, a pool table, a pinball machine, and an Atari videogame console with Ms Packman, Donkey Kong, Frogger, and all my favorite video games. I've seen arcades that didn't have so much cool stuff. "Cool," I said when I saw his den.

We ate pizza, played a game of pool, then played video games. He didn't care that I said "shit" or even "fuck," when I got pissed at the game. Coach wasn't uptight like other adults.

Afterward, he picked up a Polaroid camera. "I need to take a picture of you," he said. "I want a picture of each member of the team, especially one of the good players like you."

Instead of one picture, he took a bunch, using up several packs of film. I posed making all kinds of faces.

Later, he took me home. It had been the best day of my life. Mom wasn't home when I got there. She was still out with Albert.

Chapter 2: Coach and Me

I was becoming a pretty good baseball player, by far the best on our team. I don't think I would have, if I hadn't wanted to please Coach. We had a 7:30 game against the Taco Hut team. Coach was picking me up to take me to the game. Mom was getting ready for a date with Albert, "You'll get a ride home with Coach -- OK?" she said. It was Friday night. She probably wouldn't be home until 2:00 AM or 3:00 AM, if she made it home at all.

We won the game. I hit a homer. Coach took me home with him after the game. I'd told him my mom wouldn't be home until late. "You were on fire," he said, when we walked into the house. I've never seen you play so good."

"I'm hungry," I said, "Can we have something to eat?"

He opened up a cabinet. It had all sorts of stuff in it, things that a kid would like, including some of those little individual boxes of cereal. My mom never bought those. She said they were a waste of money.

We took down the cereal, then sat down at the table, each taking a box. He opened his, but when I tried to open mine, I spilt it all over the table and the floor. "Sorry," I said, afraid that he'd be mad.

Instead, he placed his finger on my lips, "Shh..." he said.

He picked up his box of cereal, throwing the cereal in it into the air. It fell on the table and floor. He opened another box, throwing the cereal in it up, too. "Your turn," he said. I opened one, throwing it into the air. We opened every one of the boxes, throwing up the contents of each. Cereal covered the table and the floor.

I looked at the mess we'd made on the floor, then at him. He was staring at me, a strange look on his face.

Coach laid me on the floor, in the middle of all the spilt cereal. "You're special, Neil," he said. "I like you. I want to show you how much." He laid his head down on my chest.

He kissed me, running his tongue into my mouth. "Don't let anyone tell you that kissing like this is wrong," he said. Then he pulled down my pants, including my underwear. My dick was hard. "This is how I show special boys that I like them." Coach wrapped his mouth around my dick, giving me my first blow job.

I had a climax of sorts. I didn't shoot, but it felt good.

Then taking my hand, he wrapped my fingers around his dick. With his hand hand over mine, he moved my hand back and forth on his dick until he came, shooting his come all over my t-shirt.

I felt weird about it afterward. I liked Coach, but I hadn't expected him to do that. I didn't know what to think about it.

"You liked it, didn't you, Neil?" I nodded. I had liked it. I knew what he'd done was supposed to be wrong, but I had liked it. I'd liked what he had done to me, and I had liked making him come. Although I'd heard Albert moan when came, I'd never been close enough to see jizz squirt from his dick. It fascinated me. I put the palm of my hand over Coach's jizz that had pooled on my chest, surprised at how sticky it felt.

"It's OK that you liked it," said Coach. "It's just my way of showing you that I love you."

That was all I needed to hear -- that he loved me. It wouldn't have mattered that I had like it,but I had. If felt better than masturbating. I wanted him to do it again, but he didn't. He took me home.

Chapter 3: Sex Games

Coach and I became lovers, like Mom and Albert. He told me he loved me. I went home with him almost every night night after practice. At first he sucked me or rubbed on my dick while I jacked him off. Then one night, he had me suck him.

I gagged when he shoved his dick too far into my mouth. Then he came -- into my mouth. I hadn't expected him to do that. I'll never forget that first taste of his spunk. I almost threw up, but when I tried to spit it out, he held his hand over my mouth. "Swallow it," he said. I did. I didn't think I'd ever like the taste of come, but I do. It turned me on to have him shoot into my mouth, knowing that I pleased him.

I didn't fuck him then. I still had a little boy's dick. It wouldn't have done much for him, so he had me fist him instead, shoving my arm into his ass, half way up to the elbow. Coach liked all kinds of weird sex games, the weirder the better.

I remember the first time he mentioned cutting off my balls. They were still small then. "We ought to cut these babies off," he said. "They aren't doing much for you, anyway." He squeezed them -- not that hard that time, but it hurt. Still squeezing them, he kissed me. "I love you, Neil," he whispered.

If he loved me, it didn't matter that he was hurting my balls.

Sometimes, he'd hold a knife to my balls. "Do you want me to cut them off?" he'd ask.

I learned to say, "Go ahead. Cut them off."

Whenever I did, he'd say, "I love you, Neil." I think that's when I started wanting him to cut them off.

Once I was able to shoot and had begun growing some hair around my dick, he had me bring other boys over to his house.

Hector Rodriguez, a boy from my school, was the first one I brought over. I chose him because, a couple of years older than I was, he had gone through puberty. He even had a little moustache -- well, not a moustache actually, but the hair on his upper lip was dark, making him look like he had one.

Hector didn't have a lot of money. I knew he'd like Coach's house, with all the games and shit Coach had. Too, Hector talked about sex all the time. If anyone told a dirty joke, he was all ears.

Coach picked us up after school, stopped off to pick up a pizza, then took us to his house. We ate the pizza and played some games. "I have to run some errands," Coach said, leaving us alone in his house. I knew he'd sneak back into the house after a few minutes.

After Coach was gone, I walked over to a shelf of VCR tapes. "Want to watch a porn flick?" I asked.

"Hell yes," said Hector.

The flick I picked started out with a girl and a guy fucking. Right after the movie started, I pulled out my dick and began jerking off. It didn't take much encouragement to get Hector to do the same.

In the movie, the doorbell rang. The couple fucking must have expected it, because they both went to the door naked. It was another guy. He stripped, and he and the first guy started going at it, doing a 69. When they did, I leaned over, taking Hector's dick into my mouth.

It surprised him, I guess, but didn't tell me to stop. I could tell he liked it. Within a minute or two, he began thrusting his hips, shooting his spunk into my mouth.

Once wasn't enough for Hector, of course. I knew it wouldn't be. Once was never enough for me, and Hector was further along into puberty than I was. "That was cool, man," he said afterward. "Do it again?"

"I will, if you'll suck mine," I said.

He watched the two guys on the TV screen going at it for a moment, then said, "OK."

We took off our clothes, laying down on the floor, my head at his cock and his head at mine. We were sucking each other's cock when Coach walked into the room.

Hector jumped up, reaching for his clothes. "That's Ok, boys," Coach said. "That's only natural. All boys play around with each other." He unzipped his pants, letting them slid to the floor. He, too, had a boner.

I could tell Hector was still a little flustered, so I grabbed his cock and began pumping it. That's all it took. Hector and I sank back down to the floor, only this time Coach joined us. He sucked Hector's cock while I sucked his. No one sucked mine, but I knew we had a long night of sex yet.

Hector came twice before Coach filled my mouth with his spunk. Hector made a funny little grunting sound when he came.

Coach whipped out his Polaroid, taking pictures of me and Hector doing about everything possible, pictures of us doing a 69, pictures of Hector fucking me, and of me fucking him. He even had a picture of me with Hector's spunk dribbling down my face from the corner of my mouth.

Once we had Hector warmed up, he was game for anything. He must have come about ten times that night.

We had Hector back over several times, but Coach soon became bored with him. I was afraid he'd become bored with me, but he never did. He said I was his special boy. I was the only one he took into his bed. The rest, he did in the den.

One difference between me and the other boys, Coach knew he could play ball torture games with me. If I'd brought a boy over, he couldn't very well hold a knife to his balls without freaking him out. He would have probably thought Coach was a serial killer or something.

I was into it, though. I didn't like it first when Coach squeezed my balls -- it hurt like Hell -- but I'd learned to like it, maybe because it pleased Coach, and I wanted him to love me.

I liked having my balls tortured. I know that sounds funny. Why should anyone like pain? But -- somehow -- I came to like the pain.

Because Coach squeezed my balls so much, they hurt all the time, even the next day while I was at school. Still, I wanted him to squeeze them when we made love.

He always threatened to cut them off. At first, I just taken it as part of the game. I didn't think he was serious about actually castrating me. But, it soon became my jack off fantasy. In them, he cut my balls off while I jacked off. I even dreamed about it. Most of those dreams were wet.

Sometimes at home -- when I jacked off -- I held a knife to my balls, imagining that Coach was about to cut them off.

When I told Coach about how my balls hurt all the time, he said, "Maybe, we should just cut them off."

I thought about it for a couple of days. I was over at his house. We were in bed. He'd been torturing my balls, squeezing them again. They hurt. He picked up a knife, holding it to them. "Do you want me to cut them off?" he asked, playing the game he always played.

"Yes," I said, but not in the tone I normally used when we played the game. I said it quietly and sincerely.

It stopped him. He looked at me. "Do you mean it? Do you really want me to cut them off?"

"Yes," I said. "If you want them, I want you to have them. If you want my balls, they're yours."

"You'd really do that for me?" he asked.

"Yes." I raised my head to kiss him.

He held the knife to my balls. I scrunched up my eyes, shutting them tight, girding myself against the pain I thought was about to come. I really thought he'd cut them off -- then and there -- but he didn't.

"I can't cut them off now," he said. "Your mother would find out, and we'd both be in trouble. We have to plan this."

"Are you really going to do it?"

He looked at me -- kissed me, cupping my balls in his hand, holding them gently, not squeezing them, as he usually did. "Yes," he said.

"You promise?" I asked.

"I promise," he said.

Chapter 4: I Lose My Balls

Coach spent the next month planning my castration. There was more involved than just cutting off my balls.

We still had sex, but he didn't torture my balls like before. I guess -- if he was going to actually cut them off -- he didn't need to torture them. I missed the ball torture, but knowing he was going to cut them off was enough to get off. I had some of my best orgasms during that month.

He rented a house out in the country. "You'll have to run away from home," he said. "I'll hide you out in the house I rented. Once your mom realizes that you're not here with me, and the cops stop looking for you, we'll do it."

He spent that month reading about how to perform the operation. He even had me catch some cats for him to practice on. He had some ether he used to knock them out, then he castrated them. But he didn't just cut off their balls. He tied off the cords to their balls first with some thread. He said he'd use sutures on me.

The cats' balls were too small for him to do much with, so I brought over a dog. It had good size balls. He used sutures that time. He must have done a good job, because the dog didn't bleed much when he cut off his balls.

"I think we're ready," said Coach.

"Cool," I said. I couldn't believe it was actually about to happen. I wanted him to do it then, but he couldn't. I'd have to run away first.

I left a note for my mom, "Me and some other boys are going to California. Don't worry about me. I'll be OK." I was eleven years-old by then.

Coach took me to the house in the country. I had the Atari, a TV, and some of the toys from Coach's house.

The cops came to Coach's house, but he told them he hadn't seen me. He invited them in to look around, but they didn't bother. Cops have better things to do, than look for runaway kids.

Coach came to the house often as he could, bringing me food and shit. "When are you going to do it?" I asked.

"We don't want to rush it," he said. "Once it's done, it's done. I want to savor the idea for a while first."

I guess I wanted to savor it, too -- once he explained to me what savor meant -- but I also wanted it done. I will say that my balls didn't hurt much anymore, now that he no longer squeezed them. He treated them tenderly when we had sex, cupping them gently in his hand, sometimes staring at them for a long time.

I wanted him to do it, partly because the idea of having him cut them off excited me, but mostly to show him how much I loved him. He might be able to have sex with any boy, but would any other boy give him his balls? Once he had my balls, I'd have him forever.

Finally, the day came. I'd been at the house for almost a month. I was bored with the Atari, having played each game a jillion times; and there wasn't much on TV. It was a weekend. Coach had taken vacation time, so he would have plenty of time to care for me while I recovered.

He had his surgical shit with him. First, he shaved me, removing my pubic hair and the hair on my upper thighs. I was hard the whole time, anticipating losing my balls. He gave me a bath, leaning over to kiss me, while he scrubbed my back. I jacked off while he did, shooting into the bathtub. My spunk clumped up, once it hit the water, tendrils of it sinking to the bottom of the tub.

He had made a special table. It had straps on it. "That's to keep you from moving," he said. "It's going to hurt."

He wouldn't use any anesthetic. I'd come to like pain. At least, I liked for him to hurt me -- to hurt my balls in particular. If it wasn't going to hurt, why do it? I didn't want to go to sleep, to wake up without balls. I wanted to see and feel him cut them off.

I lay down on the table. He strapped me down, propping my head up with some pillows so I could watch.

I couldn't move anything other than my head. My hands and feet were strapped down, a strap was across my chest, my hips, and my thighs.

He jacked me off one last time, while I was lying on the table, before he started cutting. I wanted to come while he cut off my balls, but he said that he would be too busy to whack me off then.

Once I shot my spunk onto my stomach, he taped my dick down -- then cut, splitting my ball sack up the middle. God Damn -- it hurt; but not as much as what was to come.

I could see my balls. They were bloody, but I could see them. He had pulled aside the split halves of my ball sack. I hurt, but not much more than when we play ball torture. Then, he picked up one of my balls. Fuck -- that hurt. My ball was sensitive to his touch. I thought about how much it might hurt when he cut it off. "Don't," I said, "I've changed my mind." I still wanted him to cut them off, but I was afraid it would hurt too much.

Coach didn't pay me any attention. I don't think anything would have made him stop by then. It seemed to take him forever to tie off the cords to my right ball. I screamed the whole time. It's a good thing there were no other houses nearby.

Finally, he was ready. He picked a little pair of surgical scissors up off the table, holding them to the cords to my ball -- but stopped. I guess he wanted to savor it a little longer.

He snipped through the cords to my ball. SHIT -- SHIT -- SHIT -- SHIT. It hurt. I didn't know anything could hurt so much. He'd punched me in the balls before. He squeezed them all the time. That hurt, but nothing like this.

He held up my ball, showing it to me. I really didn't give a shit. I hurt too much; and he was about to cut off the other one.

Once he determined that the cords to my right ball weren't bleeding much, he started on the second one, tying it off the cords to it. He didn't take as long this time. I no longer screamed. All I could do was whimper.

Coach held the small scissors next to the cords on my last ball. "This is it," he said. "Do you want me to cut it off?"

By that time, I was saturated with pain, and I knew he was going to cut it off no matter what I said. I still wanted him to. I wanted him to have my balls. It's just that it had hurt so much when he'd cut off the first one. Anyway, I nodded. Coach snipped through the cords to my other ball.

It hurt -- not as much as the first time, but it hurt. I screamed again.

He put my balls in a little jar full of alcohol or something. "We'll save these," he said. Next, he sewed up my sack.

After he was finished, he gave me some pills that pretty well knocked me out. I stayed that way for a couple of days. I remember waking from time to time, feeling a dull ache in my groin, but nothing like I'd felt when he'd cut off my balls.

By the time I was fully conscious, I was sore, but didn't really hurt much. My sack still looked like it was full of balls. I wondered if I'd just dreamed he'd cut them off, but I was sore and could see the stitches down the center of my scrotum. I guess that was proof enough that he'd cut them off.

If I needed more proof, there was the little bottle with my balls in it. Coach spent a lot of time looking at that little bottle -- and at my ball sack. My balls in a bottle were certainly proof enough that I'd been castrated, even though my sack was full.

"That's just swelling," he said. "It'll go down."

It did. Before the month was out, my sack was slack and empty, just a flap of skin below my cock.

I didn't care that I no longer had balls. I had given them to Coach, earning his love forever.

It didn't work out that way, however.

I spent the next six months at the house. I rarely woke up hard anymore, and although I jacked off during the first month, I soon lost interest in it. There just didn't seem to be any point to jerking off. I never felt the need for it, as I had before -- when I had balls.

Each month, Coach came to the house less. We never made love any more. He couldn't play ball torture games with me, since I had no balls.

When he didn't come for a week, I hitchhiked into town. I knocked on his door. A boy answered. It was Eric Harris, a boy I'd initiated into our sex games. Eric was one of the few that liked ball torture games. "Coach isn't here," he said.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, walking into the house.

"Coach loves me, now," Eric said, a smug look on his face.

"But, I gave him my balls."

"Go on," he said, "you never."

I dropped my pants, showing him my empty sack. He didn't have to look twice to see I had no balls in it.

"Cool," he said, examining my sack. "Coach wants me to let him cut mine off. Is it cool not having them?"

"Yeah, it's cool," I said.

It wasn't, but I didn't want to talk Eric out of letting Coach cut off his balls. If Eric no longer had balls, maybe Coach wouldn't want him any longer either. I had suddenly realized that it wasn't a ball-less boy Coach wanted, but a boy whose balls he could cut off.

That's what got him off. Once he'd cut off my balls, he no longer wanted me. Cutting off my balls was what had turned him on, not that I no longer had them, or that I'd given them to him.

While we waited for Coach, Eric asked me if I wanted to have sex. I didn't. My cock hadn't stirred for weeks, but I said, "Sure." I had a plan. Eric was part of it.

I sucked him off.

He came into my mouth. I swallowed his spunk, surprised that I still liked sucking cock, even though my dick hadn't stirred. I liked the taste of come; and I needed to pleasure someone, even if it were just Eric.

"Do you want me to do you?" he asked.

"No," I said, "I rather just do you."

Next, I let him fuck me. It felt good -- not as good as it had when I had balls, but it felt good. I guess I liked having a dick up my ass; and Eric had a nice one for a boy no older than he was, a good seven inches, even longer than Coach's. I didn't come or nothing. My dick didn't even get hard, but I liked it.

Eric kept touching my empty scrotum. "Cool," he said, over and over. "I think I'll let Coach do me."

"You should," I said. "You'll like it."

We were sitting, naked on the floor, Eric playing with my empty scrotum, when Coach walked in. I could tell he was shocked to see me. Before he could say anything, I said, "I've been telling Eric how cool it is to have your balls cut off. I think I've about talked him into it."

Coach didn't say anything for a moment. Then looking at Eric, he said, "Is that true, Eric? Do you want me to cut yours off?"

Eric still held my empty scrotum between his thumb and fingers. He was hard. Grabbing hold of his cock, I began pumping it, while he fingered my ball sack. "Yes," he said, after he came. "I want you to cut them off."

I knew I had Coach then. I might no longer have balls for him to cut off, but I could get boys for him that did. I could talk them into letting him do it. He needed me.

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