Story: Andy and Mr. Brody

Comments (15)

Waterpolo (0 bronze) 9/15/2018 1:36 AM

Hi! Have you got links to your stories?

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Mark uk (264 platinum) 3/26/2018 8:55 AM

Awesome story Billy. Reminds me of our match lol

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skinheel (0 bronze) 3/18/2018 1:59 AM

mmmmmvery nice x

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WildcatLes (31 platinum) 3/06/2018 4:58 PM

WOW!!! This is a great story. You make me wonder if more happened between Andy and Mr. Brody. The description of the action was great, although one sided domination.

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billy (21 gold) 4/14/2013 8:57 PM

Thanks, everybody, for your feedback. I'm glad that you enjoyed the story. I have edited and improved the story quite a bit. (The main character's name changed from Andy to Danny.) I posted the final draft of the story in my blog: "Danny the Wrestler". Please take a look at the improved story there.

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Waterpolo (0 bronze) 3/28/2018 7:12 PM

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I was a swimmer after High school & Jr College & participated in many Master's swim races + a few Ocean mile swims. My coach in college after that wasn't that good looking but the teammates were! lol

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canwrestle (22 bronze) 3/06/2018 3:56 AM

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Great story.. I hope you write more.

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renguin (26 gold) 6/19/2016 6:21 PM

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Well-written, sexy story. It builds up very naturally, conjures up some hot fantasies, and delivers on all counts. I look forward to any of your future stories.

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bigchicago (55 bronze) 4/14/2013 4:36 PM

Wow that was amazing, please please please write more. I loved the attention to the story instead of just sex. Maybe more of Andy wrestling after this? Brody wrestling him or introducing him to new guys?

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billy (21 gold) 4/16/2013 7:18 AM

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I think that either Andy or Mr. Brody will make an appearance in a future story. I'm glad that you liked it.

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SeattleFight (319 platinum) 3/28/2018 5:00 PM

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Beautifully written and so hot!

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Belgianjudoka (73 gold) 4/09/2013 9:31 PM

Very hot story. You are a purre story teller

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Jedi (27 bronze) 4/09/2013 7:21 AM

Great job, I enjoyed reading the story!

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billy (21 gold) 4/07/2013 9:02 PM

This is my first attempt at wrestling fiction. This story is about a twenty-three-year-old man named Andy who visits his former high school and wrestles his old swim team coach. I appreciate your honest, polite feedback. –Billy



Andy clenched his fists as hard as he could manage. It was all that he could do to keep his hands from shaking and from falling right off of his wrists. He had never been so nervous in all of his twenty-three years. He couldn't believe it. A bead of sweat from his forehead rolled down his nose and plunged to the red mat below, where it landed with a slight plop. Andy was on pins and needles, feeling sick with anticipation. He felt like he was going to throw up. But how could he? He had dreamed of this fantasy since he first stepped onto the mat in this wrestling room at his former high school five years ago. Now he found himself standing on the same mat, opposite Mr. Brody, in that same wrestling room, under the vicious spotlight that glared down at him, taunting him, demanding a winner.

Mr. Brody adjusted his short, red swimsuit and shot Andy a mischievous smile, his sinister eyes glowing with hunger. Andy adjusted his own. Mr. Brody asked Andy if he was ready. But was Andy ready? Was he really going to do this? He was apprehensive, nervous, excited and curious. His mind was racing. Did he pay his cell phone bill yet? And what time did he have to be at work tonight? Focus, Andy! Focus, he told himself. He realized that he had begun to sweat even more. Nothing had even happened yet. He was still just standing and waiting, nervous and exhilarated, sweating and shaking. He thought about how he found himself here, in the wrestling room of his former high school, wearing only a Speedo, about to wrestle his former high school swim coach, his mentor, his role model, his everything.


It was normal, cloudy Saturday. Andy woke up at eleven o'clock, still tired from a long night of waiting tables at the restaurant. He didn't like his job, but he had to work. He had just graduated from college a year earlier, and nobody was hiring Psychology majors. You should have studied Engineering or Business, his part-time father sometimes said. Yeah, screw you, Dad. The restaurant wasn't ideal, but it worked. Andy lived at his father's house in rural Wisconsin. The winter season didn't lend itself much to outdoor activities, so Andy went down to the indoor pool at his old high school, which was frequently open to the public for lap swimming. On this dreary day, he left home shortly after noon.

Andy loved swimming. He had started swimming when he was just four years old. He was recruited for the high school swim team when he was still in junior high. The swim team's coach, Mr. Brody, had seen Andy swimming at the high school pool and had immediately seen the talent that the then-thirteen-year-old Andy possessed. Andy had gone on to become his high school's star swimmer. Now, five years after graduation, Andy still had the skills, and he still had the body-to-die-for that was a natural result of countless hours of swimming. He was very popular with the girls in high school, but he never had a girlfriend. Of course, he told himself, he was way too busy with swim team to ever consider a girlfriend. After all, it wasn't easy maintaining the number one position on the team. He practiced two hours a day, seven days a week on his own, not to mention all of the time spent in team practices. He basically lived at the pool, which was fine with him, as his home life was nonexistent.

Mr. Brody had been the strongest role model in Andy's life. Andy's mother had died shortly after Andy was born, and Andy's father wasn't accessible in the physical or emotional sense. Andy the psychologist had decided that his father suffered from adjustment disorder, although he had not been able to make this diagnosis until he was almost done with college. His father never adjusted to the loss of his wife and to parenthood; he used his career as an excuse to avoid his responsibilities. The result was that Andy had spent far too many nights at home alone before he joined the swim team. Andy's involvement with the swim team, however, had helped Andy to cope with his difficult home life. Being that the high school was rather small, Mr. Brody, the youngest member of the high school staff, wore many hats. He was the gym teacher, the swimming coach, and the wrestling coach.

Mr. Brody had asked Andy to join the wrestling team numerous times. The team was always in need of members, and Andy, being tall and lean, but also a bit muscular – the standard swimmer build – would have fit in perfectly. Andy had always declined the offer, though, citing his need to practice his swimming. He also had a peculiar fantasy that was set in the high school's wrestling room.

Andy's education in psychology had led him to decide that his fantasy was the result of growing up with essentially no father figure and no brothers at home. In high school, Andy had always looked up to Mr. Brody. Being just ten years older, Mr. Brody had been like the big brother that Andy had always wanted – at least, that's the way that Andy had seen him. Andy had been far too reserved, however, to share this feeling with Mr. Brody. Mr. Brody had always been very friendly with Andy. He had known of Andy's difficult home life, and he had done everything possible in his professional capacity to help Andy through his important developmental years in high school. He had taken Andy to a couple of college swim meets and had introduced him to the coaches of some of the college teams. He had opened the pool before school for Andy and had observed him while he had swum. Over the years, Andy had grown close to Mr. Brody.

Andy, the constant self-psychoanalyst, figured that he had resented his friends who had had more stable and supportive families. Specifically, he had been jealous of his friend Dan, who had always been so close to younger brother. Andy had been full of contempt for Dan and his brother, although he never had showed it. He had wanted a brother for himself. He had longed for a companion at home. He had wanted a brother to play video games with, to get into trouble with, to wrestle around with. Unfortunately for Andy, he had had only had his father, and since his father was hardly in the picture at all, he really had only had himself.

One time, when Andy was a senior in high school, he received a note that instructed him to see Mr. Brody after school. Coincidentally, he had been thinking about Mr. Brody at the time that the note arrived. It was a strange coincidence – or perhaps not. As soon as school was finished for the day, he went down to the gym to find Mr. Brody.

“Have you ever considered joining the wrestling team?” Mr. Brody asked. “You're exactly the weight that we need, and you have the physical ability.”

Andy sighed. At that time, he just was not interested in wrestling. “I really appreciate you thinking about me, but I really just don't have the time for the wrestling team. I need to work on swimming – even during the off season. I'm sorry,” was Andy's answer.

“Let me show you the basics,” Mr. Brody replied. “After that, I promise I'll never, ever mention wrestling ever again. Besides, this is your senior year, and this is the last chance that you'll have.”

Andy was apprehensive, but he didn't want to disappoint Mr. Brody, whose approval meant so much to him. He forced a half-smile. “All right. Let's do this.”

“Go to the locker room and change into your gym clothes. I'll meet you in the wrestling room.”

“Okay, see you there,” Andy said, as he made his way to his gym locker. He considered leaving, but again, he refused let Mr. Brody down.

Andy changed into his clothes that were normally reserved for gym class and walked over to the wrestling room, where he found Mr. Brody.

“Stand here,” said Mr. Brody. Andy did as he was instructed. He saw a flash of movement, and the next thing he knew, Mr. Brody was diving straight toward his legs. It all happened too quickly. Mr. Brody brought Andy down to the mat with a double leg take-down. Andy began to struggle to gain control. Mr. Brody was too powerful and too skilled. He slipped one arm around Andy's head, and the other arm around his legs, then rolled him onto his back for a cradle pin. Andy was trapped. He looked at Mr. Brody with wide eyes. Mr. Brody looked back with a sinister smile on his face – a sinister, but loving smile – a smile all too much like that wretched smirk that Andy's friend Dan had so frequently exhibited when he had tortured his younger brother, whom he loved so much and to whom he was so close, of course. Damn you, Dan and your brother.

Andy's eyes started to well up with tears. Mr. Brody noticed immediately and released the hold. Andy scrambled to his feet and began to run away.

Mr. Brody was surprised. He called to Andy, “Andy! What's wrong? Are you okay?” Andy stopped, turned to Mr. Brody and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He paused for a moment – long enough for Mr. Brody to see the lights from the ceiling reflected in Andy's big, gray, wet eyes – then he spun back around and resumed running. He left the wrestling room, burst out of the school, past all of the smiling houses full of brothers and happy fathers and stumbled into his dark house, where he threw himself onto the sagging couch and cried, and cried, and cried.

Andy often thought about that encounter in the wrestling room with Mr. Brody. He wished that he had handled the situation differently. He wished that he hadn't run away crying like a little kid. The embarrassment and the shame that he had felt for his behavior that day in the wrestling room five years ago pinned him down, much like Mr. Brody had done. He should have fought harder to get himself out of that pin. No, he should have asked one of the guys on the wrestling team to show him some moves before he had met with Mr. Brody in the wrestling room in the first place. But that wouldn't have worked. He didn't even know what Mr. Brody had wanted until he had spoken to him.

The car behind him blared its horn. Andy looked up. The stoplight was now a dull green against a lead-colored sky. Here he had been sulking in his memories at the intersection, reliving that confusing day – that wonderful, awful day with Mr. Brody in the wrestling room – the brief moment when he had had both everything and nothing. He waived to the driver of the car behind him and drove through the intersection.

The rest of his senior year had been awkward. Mr. Brody had never mentioned wrestling to Andy again, just as he had promised. Nor had he ever mentioned that strange encounter in the wrestling room. In fact, after that pitiful day, he had never said much of anything at all to Andy. Andy had finished his last year of school quietly, and shortly after participating in the graduation ceremony with no family or Mr. Brody in attendance, he had driven himself to Madison and had waited for his first year of college to begin, eager to start the next chapter of his life. His four years at the university had been a blast. He hadn't wanted to move back to his father's house after graduation, but, again, the economy was bad, and nobody was hiring Psychology majors, it seemed.

Andy parked his car in the high school parking lot. He had been swimming at the high school regularly for the last year since he had moved back to his father's house. Each time that he went to the high school to swim, he feared and hoped that he would run into Mr. Brody, although he knew that Mr. Brody wouldn't be there in the evenings or on the weekends. The swim team practiced in the late afternoon. The last time that he had seen Mr. Brody was a few days just before high school graduation. Andy had gone down to the pool after school, well after the swimming season had finished, to take one last look at where he had spent so much of his life. It was there that Mr. Brody had seen him and had wished him good luck and had told him to stay in touch. Andy had muttered an awkward reply, and had left as quickly as he could. He later had felt stupid for his behavior during that interaction, too.

Andy grabbed his gym bag and ran into the high school. He made his way down to the deserted locker room and changed into his lucky black Speedo – the same black Speedo that he had used at so many of his victorious swim meets, the same black Speedo that he had secretly worn under his gym shorts the day that he wrestled with Mr. Brody, and the same Speedo that he liked to put on when he masturbated. After changing, he grabbed his towel and walked into the common area and toward the door that led to the pool.

Closed for maintenance, the sign read. That explained why he hadn't seen anybody else in the locker room. He stared at the sign, then through the glass door and into the empty, lonely swimming pool. He looked up at the bleachers, where all of his teammates' brothers, fathers, mothers and sisters had sat at swim meets, cheering and clapping. Andy looked at a vacant section of the empty bleachers, where, at present, nobody was sitting and nobody was cheering for him. God, it was just like high school all over again, in, of all places, his old high school. An unexpected voice suddenly snatched him from the drab recesses of his imagination.

“Andy,” said the voice. Andy whirled like a tornado to face Mr. Brody. “Hi, how are you? Did you come here to swim?” asked Mr. Brody.

“I... I was... I....” Andy was completely shocked. He tried to speak, but failed. It was like his mouth had been packed with wet cotton balls.

“The pool is closed,” continued Mr. Brody, “but I suppose you know that already. Come to my office. Let's talk and catch up.”

Mr. Brody led a silent Andy down the hallway of the common area to his office, located between the pool and the gym. Andy felt like he was in a dream. Or was it more like talking to a ghost? Mr. Brody hadn't died, so it couldn't be like talking to a ghost. He couldn't decide what the feeling was. He wondered what that meant. Everything meant something to a psychology student. He took a seat in the visitor's chair at Mr. Brody's desk after being instructed to sit.

“You're so quiet today, Andy.” There was no response. Andy was paralyzed with anxiety. “I suppose you're surprised to see me here on a Saturday. I'm working on the pool remodeling project. It has so many problems. Did you know that it's over eighty years old?”

Andy stared at Mr. Brody, but he kept his mouth shut. He had to at least acknowledge Mr. Brody. He nodded. His heart was fluttering. Was that the best response that he could manage? A swarm of butterflies ravaged his stomach. He was breathing heavily. He still didn't know what to say.

Mr. Brody looked pensively at Andy. “Is there something that you want to tell me, Andy?” inquired Mr. Brody. Five seconds passed, then five more, and five more. The tension hung in the air.

“I... I want to wrestle,” Andy said. Mr. Brody grinned, and Andy continued. “Like that time fi– ….”

“Five years ago.” Mr. Brody had completed Andy's sentence. “I'd be glad to show you. We could go to the wrestling room right now, considering the pool is closed. I've got time. I'm assuming that you do, too.”

Andy had felt a twinge in his groin when Mr. Brody had said “wrestling room”. He realized, though, that he didn't have the right clothes for wrestling. That morning he had dressed himself in a dirty t-shirt and jeans that he had pulled from the bedroom floor. He would have to go back home and change. Would Mr. Brody wait for him? He felt sheepish, and he looked away. It seemed as if Mr. Brody had read Andy's mind.

“Just wear what you have on now. It will be easier to move around in that” said Mr. Brody, with the same evil grin that he had exhibited in the wrestling room five years before.

Andy looked down at his naked torso and remembered that he had already put on his black Speedo to go swimming. Really! Had he been taken so off guard by the appearance of Mr. Brody's that he forgot that he was wearing hardly anything at all? Why didn't Mr. Brody say anything? And why was he smiling like that? Andy raised his head, slowly, completely stunned. His wide, surprised eyes locked their gaze on Mr. Brody and his devil smile. Andy was silent again. Mr. Brody raised himself from his seat.

“What do you think, Andy? Are you ready to wrestle?”

Andy found himself in disbelief, desperately grasping for reality. He had to answer, so he nodded his head.

“Meet me in the wrestling room. I'll lock the outside doors so that we can have some privacy,” and with that, Mr. Brody took his keys and exited the office, leaving behind an astonished and amazed Andy. Was Mr. Brody serious or was he kidding? Four years of college psychology classes told Andy that it was no joke.


Andy entered the wrestling room, took a few steps forward, and froze in his tracks. There was Mr. Brody, standing on the mat, wearing only a red Speedo. Seriously? Was this okay? What was going to happen? Wrestlers wore singlets, not Speedos, Andy reminded himself. Well, pro wrestlers on TV wore Speedos, right? But that was all just for entertainment. What if somebody saw the two of them? That was unlikely, considering that Mr. Brody had locked all the doors. Was this safe? What did Mr. Brody have in mind? Andy shivered as he looked at Mr. Brody in his red Speedo and recalled Mr. Brody's signature smile. All of these thoughts were racing through Andy's mind, furiously, simultaneously, making him more and more anxious.

“Relax,” said Mr. Brody to the frightened young man. “This is how wrestlers in Europe do it all the time. Real wrestlers. Submission wrestlers. They wrestle for submissions from their opponents. That's what we're going to do.” Andy took one step forward, and paused again. “The school doesn't need to know,” Mr. Brody continued. Again, the sinister smile. “Close the door and come over here.”

Andy took a few more surreal steps. It was like a dream. There he was, anxious and confused, in that same wrestling room, with the same Mr. Brody who, Andy noticed, was an incredible specimen of a man. Andy admired his impossibly broad shoulders and muscular chest. His abdomen tapered in as Andy's followed it down to his flat stomach and impressive package. Had Andy never seen Mr. Brody with his shirt off before? It had been at least five years. Come to think of it, he probably had not. There had been a couple times that Mr. Brody had changed his clothes in the locker room before swim meets, but Andy had never seen anything – wait – except for his back. Yes, now that Andy thought of it, one time he had been standing across the locker room from Mr. Brody while Mr. Brody had changed his shirt, and Andy had seen Mr. Brody's tight, well-developed back. He had forced himself to look away. Wait again, was he staring at Mr. Brody's amazing body right now? Today? In the wrestling room? Oh great, he was – and probably drooling, too.

Andy felt another shiver and quickly looked upward, returning his gaze to Mr. Brody's deep, brown eyes. There was that smile again. Always with that smile. Andy was even more nervous. Now he tried to avoid eye contact, focusing instead on Mr. Brody's jet black hair, then his chiseled jaw, then … Andy didn't even realize that he was getting an erection. Mr. Brody definitely noticed, though, but when Andy's eyes once again followed the path down Mr. Brody's delicious torso, he saw that Mr. Brody was also rather excited.

At the same time, Mr. Brody was sizing up his opponent. He had seen Andy a million times in a Speedo when he was on the swim team, but the last time was five years ago. Andy had continued to grow and to mature. Now, at twenty-three years old, Andy was almost exactly the same height as Mr. Brody: about six feet. He had put on some more muscle, too. His boyish face and smooth chest reminded Mr. Brody that Andy was ten years younger than himself. Ten years. This beautiful boy – who was now a man – who used to be his student was born ten years after he, himself, was born. Where had the time gone? Andy had the perfect build of a swimmer: lean, with muscle. His icy gray eyes and light brown hair with his cute baby-face were impossible to resist.

“The point of submission wrestling,” said Mr. Brody, “is to get your opponent to give, or to submit to you, by using submission holds. If you find yourself in a painful hold, or if you're unable to escape, you submit to me by tapping your hand twice against the mat or against me, or by saying, 'I give.' How much do you weigh now, Andy?”

Andy hesitated, then responded, “One-sixty-five.”

“Okay. I'm one-eighty, so I'll have the advantage in size. Maybe I'll go easy on you.” That wicked smile must had been tattooed onto his face. “But maybe not. Stand right there,” said Mr. Brody, pointing to a spot on the mat, “and when you're ready, come at me with all you've got. Try to take me down to the mat. Remember, to earn a point, you have to get me to submit.”

Andy clenched his fists as hard as he could manage. His whole body was quivering. He had to act, while he still had the opportunity. He took a deep breath and threw himself at Mr. Brody.

Twenty-three years of pain and 165 pounds of Andy slammed into Mr. Brody. The cacophony of Andy's battle cry, the skin-on-skin collision, and the rush of air from Mr. Brody's lungs echoed throughout the wrestling room. Mr. Brody held his position and locked arms with Andy. With one clean sweep, he brought Andy down on the mat. While Andy scrambled, Mr. Brody positioned himself behind Andy and flipped Andy over onto his stomach. He slipped his hands under Andy's arms and up to the back of his head, where he held Andy in a full nelson. He put the rest of his body directly on top of Andy, pinning him to the mat, and buried his face in Andy's hair. He held Andy there for a moment while Andy writhed, attempting in vain to break free of Mr. Brody's hold. The feeling of Mr. Brody's broad, moderately-hairy chest against Andy's smooth, muscled back was thrilling for both men. Mr. Brody's cock grew harder and harder as he placed it against Andy's firm ass. His cock grew so large that the Speedo could no longer contain it, and the throbbing, pink head peaked out from the top of suit. He exhaled a bit of hot air onto Andy's left ear and quickly caressed the ear lobe with his tongue. Andy was rock hard.

Mr. Brody, holding Andy tightly in the full nelson, rolled onto his back and applied a scissor hold to increase his punishment of the younger man's beautiful body. He pressed the nelson hold harder and harder, and he squeezed Andy tighter and tighter with the vice grip of his legs. Andy groaned in pain and pleasure.

“Do you give?” asked Mr. Brody. Andy emitted another groan and continued to squirm. The friction of Andy's sweaty body against Mr. Brody's – against the exposed head of Mr. Brody's steel python – was pure ecstasy. “Submit!” he demanded.

Andy tried and tried to escape from Mr. Brody's torturous hold, which was rapidly becoming more excruciating and more arousing. Finally, he gave. “I... I submit.”

“What was that? I don't think that I heard you!” taunted Mr. Brody, applying more and more pressure, as Andy let out another groan – or was it a moan?

“I give! I submit!” cried a desperate Andy. Mr. Brody released the hold. Andy rolled onto the mat, breathing heavily. He looked up in disbelief at the smile, at Mr. Brody, at the fire that burned in his eyes.

“That's one point for me,” proclaimed Mr. Brody. Without warning, he pounced on Andy.

“Hey!” Andy protested. Mr. Brody ignored him and rolled him onto his stomach again.

“Let's see how much you can take, tough guy,” Mr. Brody sneered. He held Andy's wrists down with his powerful arms and knelt with one leg on either side of his smooth, toned opponent. He wedged his knees under Andy's armpits, and quickly moved his arms to clasp his hands together under Andy's chin. Before Andy could counter, Mr. Brody rocked back onto his feet, raising Andy's shoulders and head to the air, and squatted, so that Andy's lower back, pelvis and legs remained on the floor. Mr. Brody had just executed the perfect camel clutch, and Andy was powerless to stop him.

“Ahhhh!” Andy cried. He felt his back burning – the same fire that he had seen in Mr. Brody's eyes. He struggled to free his arms, but they were trapped. There was nowhere to go.

“There's no escape from the camel clutch,” laughed Mr. Brody.

Andy felt the pain and the pleasure pulsing and radiating through his entire body, all the way to his fingertips and to his toes. He was about to shoot his load. “I submit,” he conceded to Mr. Brody. Mr. Brody didn't let go. Andy tapped Mr. Brody's leg twice with his right hand. “I submit!” he repeated.

“No, you don't. You don't submit until I say that you submit,” Mr. Brody replied as he leaned further back, pushing Andy to his limits. Andy cried out. It was unbearably painful and wonderful. Mr. Brody began to rock back and forth ever so slightly, causing Andy's erection to rub against his Speedo and against the wrestling mat. Andy couldn't hold it any longer, and with another anguished yell, he shot the world record for the biggest load.

Mr. Brody released Andy, who fell to the ground, panting, defeated and completed.

“Don't think you're done just yet, Andy.” Mr. Brody rolled Andy onto his back, exposing his cum-soaked black Speedo to the lights above. He climbed on top of Andy in a schoolboy pin, pressing his knees against Andy's arms, keeping Andy firmly in place with his body weight. With his left hand, he pulled the front of his red Speedo out from his pelvis, and, with his right hand, he extracted his raging hard-on.

Andy watched with wide eyes, unable to move from his submissive position, as Mr. Brody began to stroke his fat cock right in front of Andy's pure face. Andy turned his head one way, then the other, but realized that there was no way to escape his christening. Mr. Brody moaned once, then twice, and, looking deep into Andy's gray eyes, came on Andy's face in one huge squirt, followed by two smaller globs. Andy felt the hot cum on his face and tasted the salty, bitter flavor of both defeat and success in his mouth, as it oozed between his supple, pink lips. He looked up at Mr. Brody, who was still in the same position, now flexing his killer biceps simultaneously on either side of his perfectly V-shaped torso. On this Saturday, Andy had gotten everything that he had ever wanted.


That night, after another long shift at the restaurant, Andy crawled into bed, exhausted. He dreamed that Mr. Brody was coaching him on a swim team. They were standing on a dock on Lake Michigan under a sunny sky.

“Okay, Andy,” Mr. Brody said in the dream. “You can do this. You need to dive in and swim as fast as you can to Milwaukee.” Andy nodded. He positioned himself at the end of the dock and looked back briefly at Mr. Brody. Mr. Brody blew the whistle, and Andy dived into the impossibly blue water and began to swim.

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Waterpolo (0 bronze) 3/04/2018 3:27 AM

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Great story!
Good buildup from swimming to wrestling his former coach.

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