The end of my last football season, then later graduation. I told myself if I was imagining a strong dude like him fucking some bimbo cheerleader at our school, it was because I wanted to be John Myers, not be with him. He’d been a tight end in his college days and still had that frame and build. I told myself I was just admiring a grown, masculine man. I didn’t even fully admit I was gay, not even when I got home to the privacy of my bedroom each day and jerked out a thick load fantasizing about Coach Myers. I still hadn’t come to terms with being gay. But mostly it was him and me, sitting in his office and talking sports, and life, and my college plans. He’d have me do a few tasks, maybe put up some equipment. But Coach M always treated me like a buddy, keeping me at arm’s length during practice but chatting with me all during the third period “teacher’s aide” assignment I had with Coach. I wasn’t even the star player, since Jason Edwards, a junior, was a better quarterback than me and usually our starter. I just knew I looked up to Coach Myers and followed him around like a puppy dog.
