Michael Kirwan












     I don’t know what was wrong with me. For the last three games I had sucked big time, and this game was proving to be the worst yet. Twice I’d missed easy baskets, my passes had all been intercepted and I’d fucked up badly on the foul throw. The coach pulled me off the court and sent in one of the new junior varsity rookies, a guy named Karl or Carlos, whom the rest of the team mistrusted. Coach Barretti looked like he wanted to punch me in the face, the other guys on the team looked like they wanted to kick my ass, even the fucking cheerleaders were snarling at me. The only one who looked happy was that shit-head Karl or whatever his name was. The crowd had been expecting a championship season, we were the school heroes, and we even got some good write-ups in the city paper until two weeks ago when my game just fell apart. I sat there on the bench, breathing hard and sweating, feeling the disappointment and confusion in the gym that my lousy playing had generated. When the buzzer went off we were six points behind and my teammates glared in my direction as they loped off the court.

   The Coach screamed in my face back in the locker room and told the entire first string that their Saturday morning was fucked because he decided we had to have an emergency practice session at eight in the morning to get my game back on track. Everybody groaned and bitched except me, I was trying to do the ‘Invisible Man’ routine. Reggie, the forward guard, was fuming. He was a quiet person who only talked basketball, but I knew he had a job at the mall and was going to have to miss out on working tomorrow because I was a fuck-up. I didn’t even shower that night, just changed and beat it for home, the idea of getting into that white and blue tiled room with four murderously angry guys was not my idea of playing it safe.

   By quarter to eight the next day we were all standing in the yard outside of the gymnasium waiting for the Coach to open up. Bobby and Winston tried talking to me about whatever it was that had caused me to screw up so much, Vinnie whined about not getting enough sleep and not having breakfast, and Reggie just scowled in my general direction. For the next four hours the coach worked us like fucking animals. The whole practice was a loud roar of the thunderous echo of dribbling, the screech of rubber sneakers against the polished floor and Coach Barretti yelling at us until his voice quit on him. We were all soaking wet when the coach blew his whistle, we gasped in huge breaths of sweat stench-filled air and limped off towards the locker room. Our practice uniforms had to be peeled off of us like a snakeskin before we could hit the showers, the shirts and socks and jockstraps looking like they had been yanked out of the washer mid-cycle and reeking of our body odor.

   We each claimed our particular favorite showerhead in the murky tiled bathroom and started rinsing off the pain and frustration. Coach Barretti stood in the doorway watching us while making cryptic notes on his clipboard. He cleared his throat a couple of times until he was sure he had all of our attention and in a hoarse voice told us that he’d cranked up the steamroom and that we should all use it after we finished washing. He was the one who had convinced the school board that a steamroom was necessary if you wanted a professional-looking team and encouraged us to use it often. He said it was therapeutic but really he just didn’t want the principal and the district supervisor thinking that he’d conned them into sinking a pile of school money into a white elephant. Mr. Baretti told us to get a move on as he normally took his shower after we’d all finished and he that had some family function to attend that evening. The barrel-chested Italian coughed and put a stack of towels on the bench by the doorway before heading towards his trophy-laden office. 

    I hadn’t done too badly during practice and was feeling a little less hostility from most of the team. I was glad for the low lights and cloudy wet atmosphere of the steamroom because it made it easier to pretend that Reggie wasn’t still glaring at me like I’d run over his dog or something. He was one of those guys that you naturally just respected even if you didn’t really know him well enough to call him a friend, and knowing how betrayed he felt by my recent performances made me feel really guilty and useless.

   Gradually the dim foggy room enveloped us five in like a cocoon of solitude and solidarity, the heat and the dampness, the hissing and the dripping, all worked to relax us and make us feel like we were in our own private world. We leaned back into the three-tiered tiles, our muscles loosening up, the towels we habitually tied so tightly around our waists coming undone as we swiped our faces with the damp white terrycloth. Vinnie was the first one to bring up my problem.

   “Hey, O’Conner. You’re really screwing it up for all of us. If you keep on bein’ a dick the coach is gonna replace you with that jerk Claude.” he confided through the mist.

   “Is that his name? I thought it was Karl.” I said in a pretty lame attempt at humor.  

   “It doesn’t matter what his fuckin’ name is. He isn’t any good and we’re not even gonna get to the playoffs with him on the team. You playin’ like shit is gonna ruin my chances to get a scholarship and get the fuck out of this town. Because you’re having some stupid personal crisis I’m gonna end up in the factory like my old man.” Reggie said.

   He was on the other side of the sweatbox and I couldn’t see more than a vague outline of his muscular frame, but the venomous tone of his voice told me how really steamed he was at me. This was maybe the longest speech any of us had ever heard from him in the four years we’d been in school together and we were all kinda stunned that he was mad enough to actually open up to us. “Just because you decide mid-season that the game’s no longer important enough for you to play right, my whole fuckin’ life is gonna go down the toilet.” He added. I felt like shit. The magnitude of my mistakes was beaten home with each word of his bitter indictment. I tried to think of something to say, something that would make him and the others understand but all I could utter was a very unconvincing,

   “I’m sorry, I just keep choking.” I offered timidly.

   Reggie let out a low growl and I dimly saw him spring from his seat and head towards me. He had maybe twenty pounds on me and could easily have knocked the shit out of me but instead he just stood right in front of me. The rage in his eyes scared me more than his clenched meaty fists. He was so close to me that I could see his glistening body tremble with pent-up fury. I was shocked when he stepped onto the long tiled bench I was sitting on, his knees on either side of my thighs. Reggie hovered over me and then slowly and deliberately pulled the towel from around his waist and put it around his neck. My mind couldn’t accept the fact that he had exposed himself to me. That his cock and balls were sticking out like four inches from my face.

The other guys had all moved in closer to watch this unique confrontation and the smell from our bodies began to change as different hormones kicked in. I tried looking past Reggie’s prick jutting out from his tangled wet bush and into his face to show him that I wasn’t intimidated, but I’d never seen another guy’s genitals up close and found being in this position strangely fascinating.

   “Choke on this, O’Conner.” Reggie rasped.

   “What?” I said, horrified that he’d suggest such a thing.

   “I said to put it in your mouth and choke on my dick.” he said.

   “You gotta be kiddin’…” I laughed weakly.

   “Do you think I’m fucking kidding? OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” 

   There was so much going on in my head in those couple of seconds, the disappointment and anger from the team, the Coach and the entire school, him sayin’ he’d have to work his life in the factory, my unexplainably lousy game. All of it just crowded in on me at once. Maybe it was the heat and fog and dampness. Maybe it was the feeling of general worthlessness that had come when my game went. Whatever the case, I found myself leaning forward in the gloomy mist of the steamroom with my mouth wide open until I could feel the soft spongy tip of Reggie’s dick resting on my tongue. Sweat poured into my eyes so I closed them tightly while Reggie pushed the rubbery shaft of his cock deeper into my mouth.                            

   “Oh, shit.” whispered Winston.

   Reggie rocked his prick into my swallowing throat and I began choking.                           

   “That’s it,” Reggie murmured nastily, “choke just like you did during last night’s game. Choke, motherfucker. And just so’s you don’t get the idea that this is a joke...”

   My eyes widened as he flooded my mouth with hot piss. I coughed and sputtered, Reggie’s urine spilling over my lip and down my heaving chest. He grabbed the base of his cock and cut off the flow after spraying my face and neck. “Open your fucking mouth, Mark, I’m not finished and you are going to drink the rest of it.” Reggie said as he inserted his semi-hardon back into my mouth and started peeing again. “Fuckin’ choke on my piss, O’Conner.”

    I began drinking the nasty fluid as it splashed into my mouth. My eyes teared up from the strong ammonia taste and the horrible humiliation I felt gulping down some guy’s piss in front of my closest friends. I felt his burning liquid start to taper off and finally he dribbled the last few drops into my sucking mouth. He pulled back and hopped off the slippery banquet and I figured that the whole thing was over. I barely got my breath before Bobby took his place, a big grin on his face as he eagerly shoved his thick cock past my piss-numbed lips.

   “I don’t hafta pee yet, Mark.” Bobby whispered excitedly, “But right after I cum I always gotta take a real long leak. You know?”

   My mind simply shut down. I sat there and sucked Bobby off, choking and coughing when he got rambunctious with his thrusting. He bucked his tool down my throat until I finally had to grip his butt and balls to establish a rhythm that let me breathe. He moaned and humped right before he shot his sticky load into my twitching throat.

  “Okay now, just hold it a minute. Keep sucking it like you’re doing and it’ll come out.” Bobby rasped. His erection began to go down in length a little. “Okay, Mark. I’m ready. It’s on the way.” A splurt of bitter piss jetted against my tongue and then he let loose a stream of yellow acrid pee down my gullet.

  I spilled just as much down my front as I drank and the whole foggy room was beginning to stink pretty badly. Bobby pulled his cock from my mouth and sprayed the remains of his bladder across my face with a laugh.                             

    “Vinnie, I think it’s your turn now.” Bobby said in a relaxed, coaxing tone.                                   

    As Vinnie stepped up and wagged his uncut meat at me I noticed that there was someone else in the room cloaked by the moist heavy air besides the team. It was Coach Barretti, watching us the way he always did when we took our showers. I wondered how long he’d been there but didn’t really have time to consider it because Bobby had just pointed out to the rest of the guys that I had a boner of my own jutting from my urine-saturated pubes.

   “Suck me, O’Conner.” Vinnie hissed. “Suck the scum from my hard dick. Unfortunately I pissed before we came in here but Winston and I figured out a way to give it to you good.”

   Vinnie grabbed my ears and pumped his cock deep into my throat.

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed Winston jockeying into a position right up against where Vinnie was fucking my face. Winston grunted and then began urinating on my sucking lips and Vinnie’s pistoning hard-on. I clenched my eyes shut and stretched my jaw to avoid getting the splattering piss in my eyes but trying at the same time to taste it as well as the juicy prick plowing into my throat.

    “Watch it, fucker!” Vinnie said, “You’re getting more on me than him with that big black cock of yours spraying every which way. Aim right at his face. That’s better.” Vinne coated my tonsils with his milky goo and shifted sideways, guiding Winston’s thick pissing black cock right into my gasping pummeled lips. My heart sank as I realized that I was ejaculating without even having touched my violently twitching organ. Bobby spotted the thick gobs of sperm erupting from my tool and informed the room of that fact as it dripped down my urine-drenched abdomen. 

    I was beginning to feel sick, like I was gonna vomit or faint so I spit out Winston’s cock and tried to stabilize myself. I felt really dizzy and sick and then all my muscles just baled out on me and I slid awkwardly to the floor, my face chilled by the puddle of urine I was laying in. The guys were all saying things but it was sounding like Chinese to me as I shivered and retched on the floor.

   “Okay boys. You’ve had your little fun.” I heard the Coach say. “Reggie, help me get him outside. The rest of you clowns get some soap and the hose and get this goddamned place cleaned up. You know how expensive this steamroom was to build? When I get back here I don’t want this steamroom stinking like a goddamned public urinal. This is school property. Get moving, ladies.”

   Reggie and the Coach dragged me by my armpits out into what seemed like incredibly fresh air for a overused lockerroom and laid me out on one of the narrow benches between the rows of lockers. The stench of pee burned my nostrils and my mouth felt bruised and constricted. I tried to raise my head and get up and fucking completely passed out.

   I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I finally was able to sit upright, my head ached and the room spun around me. I was lying on top of three or four towels spread across the battered leather couch in the Coach’s office. My limbs felt like jelly and it took me a few minutes to register the clammy tangy quality of my skin and understand what it meant. What the fuck had happened back there in the steamroom? As the memories came flooding back I felt a wave of fear and guilt wash over my shaking piss-scented body. Jesus fucking Christ! I felt weak and nauseous remembering the series of humiliating and degrading acts I’d performed on my teammates. I swayed when I tried to stand and fell back into the couch. I was filled with hatred for the team and the world in general for letting this unbelievable thing happen to me. I mentally kicked myself in the ass over and over. Why had I opened my mouth?  Why didn’t I fight or bolt or fucking do anything other than open wide and enjoy the feel of cocks in my mouth and warm pee shooting past my tonsils? What kind of perverted sick bastard was I for going along with that whole sick program? Tears welled up in my eyes and snots leaked from my nose. I felt like fucking shit!

   Coach Barretti strolled into the office wearing just his oversized blue towel and shower flip-flops, he tossed his huge key ring on the desk and regarded me with a annoyed scowl. Heaving a loud sigh, he came and sat next to me, putting his big beefy arm around my shoulder in an awkward attempt at being consoling. “Hey. Take it easy. Sniveling isn’t going to help anything.” I could feel the rumbling inside the hairy slab of chest I had my ear pressed up against as he talked. He stank of sweat and old ‘Right Guard’ so I knew he hadn’t gotten around to showering and that made me suddenly very self-conscious of the distinct odor of urine and cum wafting from my own trembling frame. I almost pulled away but it actually felt somewhat comforting, although weird, to be held by this big barrel-chested Italian and listen to his rasped-out voice drone on. “The other guys just left. I had a good talk with them and you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He said.     

   “Nothing to worry about? Coach, you were there, you saw what happened. I could see you near the doorway when I had…cock in my… How can I ever face those guys again?” I whined.  

   “I didn’t see nothin’. I don’t want to know the details.  We don’t talk about this event ever, you understand? If this thing, this little incident, becomes public knowledge, we’re all gonna be up shit’s creek. I’ve been in the school game long enough to know that the less I know about anything the better off I am, and the less we talk about this thing the sooner it’ll all be forgotten. I’ve told those boys that this thing ends here, today, and they understood. We can all put this behind us and concentrate on basketball. You know what I’m saying?” Coach said as he shifted back a little to rest his back against the frayed taped leather of his couch. As a result of his leaning back my tear-soaked face slid over his greasy skin until my head was resting on his beer gut. My tears and snot trailed down his stomach and I wasn’t surprised when he unhitched his towel and roughly wiped my face and the wet area on his stomach. I was surprised that he didn’t refasten it around his thick waist, instead leaving the towel wide open, showing me his nakedness. My head had slipped further down his belly and I could easily see his thick uncut prick nestled in a scraggly graying bush and resting on his brown hairy nut sac. I felt a buzzing in my head as the intense smell of his crotch assailed my nostrils, but I didn’t make an effort to move.                                      

   “My position is this,” he said as my face glided another half inch down his stretched-out gut under the gentle but real pressure of his heavy arm, “You boys spent a little too much time in the steamroom and things got a little out of hand. The guys were pissed at you and they got a bit carried away, that’s all.”               

   “But, Coach,” I said, trying hard not to cry again, “I can’t ever play basketball with those guys again, I don’t even know if I have the guts to show up for school on Monday.”

   “What the hell are you talking about? Of course you’ll be in school on Monday! What are you talking about? I know you, O’Conner. I’ve watched you play for the past four years. You’ve got guts enough. You’re gonna let some little stupid prank ruin your whole fucking life? Excuse my French. So your teammates were a little rough on you, your game’s been lousy and they got a bit stupid on you. Big fucking deal! Listen, I’m your Coach and as such I’m telling you to take this... horseplay and see it as a unifying gesture. Yeah. This thing stays among us and it’s going to make us a stronger team. This little ceremony the boys put on re-initiates you into the team. You’re gonna show them the player I know you can be, not worm away and try to disappear. That’s real faggot behavior.” Mr. Barretti intoned as he fingered an itch in his balls and lightly yanked on his wrinkled fleshy foreskin.                        

   “Coach, I just don’t know...” I whispered, watching his beer-can sized meat twitch and loll against his thick thigh, darkening with color as it swelled.                     

   “Don’t wimp out now, O’Conner. This is your chance to show the others that you’ve still got what it takes. Show met that you’re a man and can do the right thing. I’ve told you boys over and over, ‘No more than twenty minutes in the steamroom at a time.’ You guys just stayed in there way too long and zoned out or something. I’ve told them that this isn’t to be talked about or even thought about from now on. These things happen. They happen all the time and don’t mean anything. It was just a way, although a little harsh by most standards, for the guys to try to get you back on the team. You’ve got to make up your mind that you are going to play the best basketball you can, not just for you, but also for them and me and the school. The game is what’s important here, O’Conner, not whether or not you’ve ever had a dick in your mouth.”                                         

    When he said those words his cock rolled up higher on his leg and grew longer. He reclined further back, his arm still holding my shoulder and weighing me down, until my face was within six inches from his expanding tool. “What you’ve got to understand is that what happened has nothing to do with your masculinity. It has to do with team cohesion. What happened in the steamroom wasn’t an attack on you as a man. It was a ritual to reincorporate you into the team. It was sharing school spirit. If you wuss out now, you’re throwing away the last chance to be an integral part of this team. The boys got a little whacked out about losing last night and I think this was their way of daring you to get back with the program. We have a real shot at the championships this year if you play right and stop choking. Do you understand me, Mark?”                              

    I nodded, my pissed-on face slipping lower down. I murmured softly, “Okay, Coach. I’ll do it your way. You’ll see. They’ll see. I’m gonna play the best I can from now on. I want all of you guys to be happy.”

   He sighed contentedly and slowly reached for his prick, grasping it by the wide base and pointing it towards my open lips. The buzzing in my head was really loud now. Somehow I imagined that it would diminish if I could give my senses something else to deal with, so I bent closer and took the heavy tube of meat in passed my lips and began mouthing Mr. Barretti’s fat cock. I felt him pull the thick skin down from the base, retracting his thick foreskin, until the slippery exposed knob of his cockhead touched the roof of my mouth. There was a greasy crumbly substance under the ring of his helmet that shocked me at first. It was really strong tasting and I gagged when some of it went down my throat but I kept on licking and sucking him until I’d ingested all of that stuff. The Coach’s bloated prick filled my mouth and I couldn’t even take the whole thing. I thought that it was just too wide and fat to fit down my throat so I tried to do as much with my lips and tongue as I could. I could feel the hand that had been holding me gently and guiding me to his prick now exploring the hairy crack of my ass, casually searching for the tiny opening. He sighed again when he found it and began to probe the ringed muscle of my sphincter with the tip of one of his sausage-like fingers. He took his hand away only momentarily to spit on his fingers and then transfer the spittle to my crack.

   “It’s all about team cohesion, Mark. We can all share this special bond and it will make us stronger, more effective as a team. From now on we are gonna be a tighter unit, a closer squad. I can almost feel that championship trophy in my hands...” the Coach droned on while I slobbered over his fat meat and his finger shoved in and out of my clenching asshole. “The guys are with you now. I’m here with you now because we’re a team. The business in the steamroom was just about them reconnecting with you as a member of the team.”

   I lapped and sucked in silence for a few minutes. I had repositioned myself so I could get a hand to the lower part of his prick, the two or three inches of root that couldn’t fit in my mouth while I sucked. I fondled his huge balls and spread my legs so that he could have better access to my ass. Occasionally he’d apply more spit and I felt his finger slide inside me. It hurt but I didn’t care. It was a few minutes after I’d found a rhythm and a pace that I heard the coach groan and say, ”Mark, I’m getting ready.”   

    When he came he grunted and panted, dribbling globs of salty spunk into my sucking mouth. I kissed off the gobs of pearly cream that clung to the vein-laced skin of his cock for a long while after he shot and suddenly his finger deserted my loosened asshole. The Coach stood up and motioned for me to put my mouth around his big prick. He stroked my hair. That was the only movement in that cluttered office besides our breathing. For a long time I just sat there with my eyes closed, his cock shrinking almost imperceptibly but still filling my mouth with his flesh. There was something about being in that intimate posture, something almost religious about us being there alone in a silent, empty school and being joined that way. About fifteen minutes passed with us connected that way, him stroking my head and his cock just resting inside my mouth. When he was totally soft he slowly took his cock away from my numbed lips. I looked up and into his face. His eyes were so loving and strong when he regarded me from above, that I thanked him for what he’d just given me.       

    We eventually made our way to the shower room and stood under adjoining waterspouts. Coach didn’t bother to turn the lights on although it was getting dark outside. My hard-on stuck up against my stomach as I soaped myself up. The Coach watched me for a minute while he smeared a soaped washcloth across his massive belly. As he washed up, the man was looking at my erection with what looked like pride. I turned towards him so he could admire it better. He still had that half-smile expression he’d had since he’d cradled me in the office and left his dick exposed. He came up to me and wrapped his fingers around my cock briefly before turning me around. He soaped my back vigorously before thoroughly sudsing-up the crack of my ass. I leaned back against the rounded curve of his belly and moaned as a finger slipped into my hole and his other hand held the base of my cock, squeezing it tightly. Our wet bodies slid up against each other in the darkening shower room.

    I’d never really heard the Coach’s own voice, only the game bellow that he used with us even when he was whispering. He put his mouth to my ear and said, “I’m an older guy, Mark. I can’t come back that fast.” He now had three fingers digging around in my chute. “I really want to do it too but my crank won’t be operational for a while. You took the spunk right out of me back there in the office. But I want to. We’ll save it for after our next winning game. Is that a deal?” His three fingers were fucking deep inside of me and he was still pinching my cock really tight so I couldn’t cum. “Mark, is it a deal? You play the way we both know you can and I’ll give you the real thing?” He let go of my stalk and grabbed my balls as I began splattering cum all over the tile walls and the chrome fixtures. His sawing fingers withdrew from my jelly-like butt-hole. “That’s it. Let it out.” He said encouragingly. “I won’t be able to get it hard again tonight for you, Mark. But I think that to be part of the ritual you had with the boys before in the sweatbox, that we should complete the circle. Don’t you? Don’t you want include me in the team ritual?”   

He turned me around so we were facing each other.

    “Yes.” I said.

    “Yes to playing a better game?”


    “Yes to getting the real thing after the win?”


    “Yes to this part of it?”

    “Yes.” I assured him as I sank to my knees and kissed his dick reverently before putting it in my mouth. I wanted his piss. This time I knew that I wanted the strong jet of yellow liquid pouring down my throat. There was a part of me that wished I had understood what was happening in the steamroom better so I could’ve been more responsive and appreciative that these guys would give me something from within themselves to make me better. His heavy, hairy belly pushed against my forehead blocking out any light that might be coming into the room from the locker area. Then the flow began. The first few little squirts of piss shot into my mouth, letting me know that I should get prepared. As I drank steadily I listened as Coach Barretti spoke in his usual game and practice voice. He hugged my face into his sopping groin.

  “Woo, that’s good. It’s all about wanting it, O’Conner. It’s all about wanting something bad enough and practicing until it’s perfected. It’s about team cohesion. It’s about us all looking out for each other, taking care of each other, doing what has to be done. We all need to work harder. If you really want something strong enough you can have it. This team is gonna have plenty of special practices until you get over this choking. Ya hear me, O’Conner? You ain’t choking no more.”

T H E      E N D

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