All-American Erotica: The New Coach Is Coming over & Gwen Is Wet

You know how you can feel someone staring at you?  That’s what Gwen was feeling.  It was the first day of soccer practice, and there’s someone staring at me, Gwen thought.  Then she turned around and caught him.  And he didn’t look away.  Neither did she.  Deep blue.  I’ve never seen eyes that deep and blue, Gwen thought.  She dove into them and swam around.  He was almost smiling.  Not quite.  And the way he looked at her.  Like he wanted something from her.  Something important.  And when Gwen closed her eyes to go to sleep that night she saw that look.  Hungry.  Blue.

He was the New Coach.  He was about her brother’s age.  22-ish.  He was a serious soccer guy.  Legs thick.  Brown.  Even when he was standing still, the muscles in his thighs looked alive and pumping.  Gwen found herself staring at them.  His legs.  Gwen found herself.  He wore paper thin t-shirts from Brazil, Ireland, Germany, Mozambique, and Mazatlan.  Where he’d been.  Playing soccer.  Kissing beautiful exotic women.  At least that’s what Gwen found herself imagining as she stared at his lips.  Pink.  Always just about to smile.  Gwen had only had one boyfriend, and when he kissed her, he jammed his mouth onto hers hard, and it hurt.  So she broke up with him.  But she found herself staring at New Coach’s lips and imagining putting her lips on them sweet and soft.  Hungry.  He had curly brown hair and a crooked nose from when he broken it.  A scar over one of his blue eyes.  Where did that scar come from?  Gwen wondered.

Gwen stared at her naked body in the mirror in her girly room surrounded by all her girly things, and she couldn’t quite figure it out.  Six months ago she was skinny.  Her dad called her beanpole.  It was like someone had pushed a button and her beanpole had sprouted into a woman’s body.  She couldn’t quite believe her breasts looked.  Two woman’s breasts.  Brown buttons and a round, crazy, curvy, handful.  Gwen kept looking at those breasts, trying to figure them out.  Whose breasts are those?  They looked beautiful to her, like a painting in a museum.  But they didn’t seem like hers.  Someone would be by to claim them any minute.  That strange new fullness between her legs.  What was that all about, Gwen found herself wondering.  Everything felt so full.  And so empty.  Gwen just couldn’t put it all together.  It puzzled her, and it scared her, and it made her very curious.  She felt like she had a new Christmas present, but someone had forgotten to put the batteries in. She kept staring at it all, head slightly tilted, confused, wandering aimlessly in her eyes.

He looked at her like he knew exactly what to do. The first time, before she even knew he was the New Coach.  A couple of times every practice.  That almost smile.  Those hungry blue eyes.  He knew.

And now he was coming over.  He would be there any minute.  Gwen still couldn’t believe she’d gotten up the nerve to ask him.  She hadn’t told any of her friends.  Which was very odd, because Gwen told her friends everything.  She didn’t even tell Tara.  And that made Gwen very nervous.  She had decided to wear her new jeans and her favorite Clyde Frazier t-shirt to show him how much she didn’t care that he was coming over when her parents were gone for the weekend.  Oh, yes, gone for the weekend.  Gone, gone, gone.

Gwen had waited and waited for the right moment to ask him, and finally after practice on Thursday, he had run some extra sprints, and she had run with him, straining to keep up with those thick brown legs, her muscles burning, shirt soaking, panting, burning, blood boiling in her head, wet, legs on fire, his almost translusent thin t-shirt from Italy sticking to the ripples of his skin.  When they were finally done she collapsed and he stood over her, looking down at her, almost smiling, breathing deep and blue, and she could not get her breath back.  Couldn’t catch it.  Her breath.  And those strange new breasts were heaving.  My God, thought Gwen, I have breasts, and they’re heaving.  “How ya doin’, Gwen?” he asked, and the way he said it was like he knew.  Did he know?  How could he know?  How could he not know?  And her whole inviting him over speech that she had rehearsed so meticulously had just flown out of her head like mallards flying south for the winter, and she lost the power of speach.  “Uh… well,” she sputtered like a backfiring engine, “I’m… you know… uh… good… and I was wondering…” Gwen was picking up steam now, getting her land legs under her, “Yeah, I was wondering if you’d like to come over Saturday and watch this soccer video I got for my birthday.  It’s really cool.  It’s the hundred greatest goals of ’98.”  And he had looked at her for the longest time.  Just looked at her.  My God he’s looking at me, Gwen thought.  He’s gonna tell my parents.  Or no, even worse, he’s just gonna laugh at me, I mean why the hell would the New Coach wanna come over to my dorky house.  Oh Jesus, what a moron I am, Gwen found herself thinking.  And then he said, “Sure, how about fivish?”  And then she said, “Yes”.  And her mind was screaming, “Yes, yes, yes, my God, yeeeeeeeeeeees!”

Now he was coming.  She slipped on her favorite Clyde Frazier t-shirt without a bra over her brand new breasts with the nipples that she had no idea what to do with.  And just the thought that he was on his way and she was wearing her favorite Clyde Frazier t-shirt with no bra made them come to attention.  And for some reason, she now reached not for her new jeans, but for the plaid skirt.  Not her jeans.  The plaid skirt.  And she put it on.  And she looked at herself in it.  Looked at her legs.  Tanned.  Freshly shaved.  And she slipped on her thin white underpants.  And then, as if it were perfectly choreographed, just as the white cotton nestled into place, the doorbell rang.

The New Coach was here.

Gwen opened the front door, and sure enough, there he was.  The New Coach.  Almost smiling.  At her.  Hungry.  Blue.  Just like she remembered him.  In a paper-thin faded t-shirt from Monte Carlo with red shorts over his large brown legs.  And then she was inviting him in, and getting him orange juice, and they were talking, and they were sitting on the couch.  Gwen was sure they were talking, because she could hear the words, and she recognized her voice.  Talking.  And then he asked, “So, where are your parents?” and Gwen heard herself saying, “Oh, they’re away for the weekend,” with an air of casual off-handedness that didn’t fool anyone.  The information sat there for a long time, and Gwen thought New Coach was finally going to give her that smile he had been almost smiling since the first time she caught him looking at her.  “Really…” he said, and he stared at her.  And he didn’t smile.  Almost smiled.  But didn’t.  But my God those eyes are blue, Gwen found herself thinking.  Gwen found herself.  Thinking about how blue and hungry those eyes were.

“So, where do you wanna watch the video?” Gwen asked.  “Anywhere,” said the New Coach.  “How about up in my room?” slipped out of her mouth, and once it was out there was no taking it back.  Gwen was doing everything she could not to hyperventilate and grab him and say, “Don’t you know what’s going on here?  Don’t you know I invited you over here?  Why are you just sitting there?!”  But she didn’t.  “Sure,” he almost smiled, “let’s go up to your room and watch the video.”  And something inside Gwen clenched.  She didn’t know what it was, but it stole her breath, and it brought the blood to her big new nipples under her favorite Clyde Frazier t-shirt, and they felt like a pair of electric buzzers ringing the doorbell in her furnace.

He is sitting next to me on her girly bed in her girly room, on this Saturday afternoon, with her parents gone, gone, gone.  Here we are, Gwen thought.  In my room.  On my bed.  The video is on.  Goal after goal crashing into the net.  Hugging.  Screaming.  Kissing.  Crowd going crazy.  And his thick brown leg was so close to hers she could feel the heat coming off it.  And then Gwen suddenly became aware of his hands.  My God, she thought, they’re huge.  His hands are huge.  He has huge hands.  His huge hands are so close to me, Gwen found was thinking.  And the longer Gwen sat there not watching goal after goal being rammed home, with him not touching her with those huge hands of his, the more confused Gwen became.  Why is he just sitting there?  Staring.  Like he was staring the first time she caught him staring.  Before she even knew he was the New Coach.

And the longer Gwen sat there, the more she realized that she was the one who wanted something from him.  She was the one who wanted something.  Really important.  It wasn’t him, it was me, she thought.  I’m the one that’s hungry.  Maybe he’s hungry, too.  Is he hungry?  He’s not watching the goals anymore.

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!” came erupting every thirty seconds on the soundtrack.  He’s almost smiling, Gwen thought.  He’s not going to do anything.  He can’t.  It would be creepy if he did.  It’s my move, Gwen, thought.  Oh my God, it’s my move.

“Uh, I’ve… well, the thing is, I’ve been having  some, uh… problems with my lower back, and I was wondering…” The sentence just seemed to perish there.  It just seemed so cheesy and stupid.  “What were you wondering?” he almost smiled.  And now she was sure he knew.  He had to know.  He knew.  But if he knew, why was he making her go through all this.  Asking him.  Oh, God, I am just so bad at this, Gwen thought.  And the longer he sat there not doing anything with  those huge hands and those thick brown legs and those pink lips and those blue eyes, the tighter she got.  Wanting.  Goal after goal.  The crowd going wild.  “Well, uh… I was wondering if you  could… stretch me?” she asked.

“Sure,” he almost smiled.

She was on her back.  On her puffy rug in her girly room.  And he was standing over her.  He’s standing over me, Gwen thought.  He bent down and his legs were so close.  Huge hands were touching her legs, freshly shaved, and he was staring into her so blue, his voice soft and hypnotic and hungry.

“Breathe,” he said.  And she breathed.  “Deep,” he said.  And she breathed deep.  “Let it go, Gwen.  Let it go.”  She didn’t know exactly what he meant by that.  What was she supposed  to let go?  How am I supposed to let it go, Gwen thought, when I don’t even know what it is.

On her back he pulled her right knee up into her chest, then turned her so her right knee went across her body, stretching her torso, pushing her right knee down on the rug by her left hip, his huge hand spreading strong across the outside of her thigh, the other above her right chest.

“Breathe…” he said, “Deep… let it go, Gwen.  Let it go.”  And she breathed.  Deep.  Gwen found herself letting it go.  She found herself. I’m breathing, Gwen thought, and I’m letting it go.  He stretched her, deep into the big muscles in her back all the way into the inside of her, whoosh, a deep spinal relief.  Then he stretched her left leg the other way, and the tight unloosening with every breath.  He grabbed under her calves with those huge hands, and he pushed her knees into her chest, so she rocked on her spine. Totally exposed.  Gently he pushed while she breathed, his weight pushing into her, one huge hard on her lower back just above her white underpants.  Hard.  Pressing.

“Breathe Gwen,” he said.  “Deep.”  And she breathed deep and he pushed against her a little harder.  Pushed.  Against her.  She could feel it really letting go.  Gwen felt warm.  A wet.  She wanted to give him something important.  She wanted to give it to him. And she wanted to take it.

I’m breathing.  Deep.  The breath eased out.  He lifted her lower back up ever so slightly.  She flexed, opening.  Gwen looked and she saw it outlined against his thin red shorts.  Hard.  She breathed and the breath eased out of her.  He moved his enormous thumb so that is was pressing firm gentle and hungry against her white cotton panties, fitting perfectly against her, the tip of his thumb on the tip of her and Gwen felt herself stick to her white underpants, hotly and wetly, she couldn’t help herself, didn’t want to help herself, she pressed into his thumb, and she sighed hard and she shivered and she shook, and her muscles contracted around his thumb, like she was trying to suck on it.

She smelled him.  Smelled sex.  It was filling up the room.  The smell of wanting.

And now she spread her legs apart.  Reached for his skin and felt it through his thin t-shirt.  Moved him a little so now instead of his thumb pressing against her she felt something pressing against her, sliding along her wet with the rhythm of their breath.

“Breathe Gwen,” he said, only this time it was a whisper in her ear, as he leaned onto her, laid his chest on her chest, bodies melting into each other.  Where does he end and where do I begin? Gwen found herself wondering.  And she breathed.  Deep.

His tongue landed on her lips.  It surprised her.  Took her breath.  Sucked on her lip like a hungry calf his breath warm sweet.  She pushed into him.  Wrapping around him.  Hard.  Sliding up and down.

Gwen shivered a shudder she shook.  Deep inside her belly somewhere.  His huge hands slipped under her, pulling her into him, slowly and slowly.  Then she felt his hungry.  How hard and deep it was.  She put her hands on his back, rippling with heated muscles, sweet to the touch.  And she wanted something in her mouth, so Gwen reached out with her mouth and felt his neck on her lips, slightly moist and so hot.  She sucked.  His skin.  In her mouth.  He moaned a shudder he shook.  She pushed against him.  Pushed.

Gwen wanted to be full.  Of him.  Her new body wanted.  She was hungry.  For his hunger.  That thing she saw in his blue eyes the first time she caught him staring at her.  Before she even knew he was the New Coach.  She couldn’t help herself.  Didn’t want to help herself.  She pushed into him with all her strength.

Suddenly her shirt was off and his shirt was off.  And now it was skin on skin.  She thought they might might burst into flames.  Wet now.  With sweat sweet warm.  His breath on her strange new breasts, only they don’t seem quite so strange now, they’re hot wires, wired with heat, right into her wet, in her belly somewhere, deep as he sucked on her, licked her moan to the bone.  That was me, Gwen found herself thinking.  I was moaning.  That was me.  She pushed the outside of her wet against him again, sliding up his hardness, and then slowly back down.  And he pushed against her, squeezing with his hands under her, pulling her slowly up and slowly back down, muscular, undulating with hunger.  Gwen was swept away into that blue.  She wanted to be filled with his blue.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. Gwen was never more sure of anything in her life.  She pushed against him harder, trying to will him inside.  She grabbed his, hard the soft hot rock flesh, pulling him in with a strength she didn’t know she had.  Thinking yes.  He slid off her underpants.  She lifted herself up to help him and clenched and she could feel the wet coming on, and the feel of his hands on her skin sliding down her, over her calf off the end of her big toe. And then suddenly he didn’t have any clothes on.  She didn’t know exactly how he did that, but suddenly he was so incredibly naked.

As she pushed up and sucked down, grabbing at him with her wet, she felt herself climbing waves washing over her, through her, a rope ladder that went from her wet through her belly, shooting through her heart, growling through her throat, springing from her mouth, out her eyes, his blue right at her tip, his hard, hot so big so he looked at Gwen, he’s looking at me, Gwen thought, all that blue hunger.

“Are you sure?” his pink lips asked. Gwen felt the wet welling and breathing, she let it go, the hard of him, his huge hands, her new breasts pressed to his chest, his mouth, his blue she knew the first time she caught him before she knew how much he wanted she wanted, breathing.  Mouth to mouth Gwen pushed with all her might into him with all her might, Gwen pushed into him deep as the deep blue sea and the clear blue skies, swallowed him and grabbed him and pulled him into her and squeezed him as his hard so large and hot filling her she holds him there inside her wet she squeezes shivers shakes, lava flowing through her core to the root to the stem, a melt, giving it to him, taking it from him, letting it go.  She made a sound she never heard before as she pressed him into her, a growlhowlgroanmoan to the pagan a tremble a rock steady, a rolls a thrust.  He’s trying to hold back but he can’t, she doesn’t want him to, I don’t want you to hold back, Gwen thought, I want all of you, and she’s deep, deeper, deepest, riding, and he’s trembling trying to hold back but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, and she’s sucking him into her, squeezing and riding a love goddess letting it go bathing in his blue swimming in his blue.  He tries to pull back but she grabs him and wraps her legs around his hard his thick brown legs grabbing his skin with him deep deep inside into his blue inside her hungry from the very first time when she first caught him staring before she even knew he was the New Coach wanting something very important from her, the huge of his hands the pink of his lips, the soft of his blue as he explodes shouting screaming into her letting it go, shiver shake shudder into each other into into into each other’s breath.  She understood her new body, her wet hunger.
Gwen smiled into his blue.

 

Finally he smiled.

 

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!”

About David Sterry

David Henry Sterry is the author of 16 books, a performer, muckraker, educator, book editor, activist, and book doctor. His first memoir, Chicken, was an international bestseller, and has been translated into 10 languages. “As laconic as Dashiell Hammett, as viscerally hallucinogenic as Hunter S Thompson. Sex, violence, drugs, love, hate, and great writing, what more could you ask for?” – The Irish Times.

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