Men Do It

"Why don't you grab it yourself, Sport?" I heard him say in his typical gruff manner along with that little bit of drawl to his voice that always drove me wild with lust.

I looked up, ready to chastise him for practically pushing me out of bed before wifey came back from shopping with her girlfriends but now trying to be playful with me to soften the blow. That's when I saw my button-down hanging from his revitalized dick like a rung on a coat rack.

"Jesus, Coach. You make it hard for a guy to let himself be shoved out the door after the fuck you just threw me."

He reached out for my waist and pulled me to him to claim a kiss that was almost certainly meant to be short but ended up going long. When we finally parted, he grinned at me. "And you make it hard for me to shove you out. But I gotta..."

"I know, I know," I interrupted him, not wanting to hear his regular spiel about her being home any minute.

While I ran one hand through the thick hair on his meaty chest, the other reached down to slowly pull my shirt from his hardon. I won't lie. The horny college kid in me also made sure to cop a good feel and give him a few slow, soft strokes before I stepped away and slipped the shirt on.

As I buttoned it, I looked over at him and smirked. "We're doing this again... and soon! You owe me."

He laughed. "I guess I do. Next time, we'll set something up for when she's gone for the whole weekend."

"No," I contradicted him, surprising myself at how forceful I was being. "Next time we'll do it when we find a free few minutes. You know we're too hot for each other to wait for her to take a trip." He chuckled softly and blushed because he knew I was right. "But you do owe me a slow fuck, post-coital cuddling, and a lot of making out afterwards."

He opened his mouth, possibly to object, but closed it and then looked at me sincerely. "You're right, Sport. And I promise. You'll get what you deserve soon." He crossed the room to step up to me, looked deep into my eyes, and added softly, "because I want that too."

God damn, he made me hate being his dirty little secret. But when he said things like that, I almost felt like I wasn't.

Moments later, he had jumped in the shower and I had jogged down the stairs. Before I turned the knob on the front door, I remembered something and dashed into the kitchen to grab a book from the side table. I was just re-entering the foyer when the door opened and an attractive woman in her late 40s walked in. She was clearly surprised to come face to face with me.

I'd wiggled my way out of enough of these moments in my very few years of sexual experience to not miss a beat. I put on my most winning smile. "Hi, Mrs. H!"

"Boyce... Hi..." She sounded as bewildered by my presence in her home as she looked. "What are you doing here? Joey didn't come back from his weekend trip to see his girlfriend, did he?"

My best friend of nearly 15 years had gone on a 12-hour cross-state road trip two days ago to see his girlfriend who had gone to State for college.

"No," I chirped as sweetly as I could. "He's still with Tracy."

That made her eye me suspiciously...all part of my plan. "Then why are you here?"

I held up the college textbook I'd grabbed from the kitchen moments earlier. "I left this here the other night when Joe and I were studying. I want to get in some more reading before the exam on Monday."

She grinned. "I must've told Joey a hundred times to meet up with you to give that book back to you. I'm sorry he didn't."

"It's okay," I conceded. "He's got other things - and a certain girl - on his mind."

This time she laughed. "And that's why his grades are struggling. I thought when that tart went across state to college that would put a stop to she and Joey. It's only made it worse!"

"What can I say?" I tried to sound invested in the conversation. "My best buddy's got it bad!"

Was I really standing here having a casual chat with this woman mere minutes after her husband had fucked me in their bed?

"Where's Mr. Hogan?" She asked, abruptly changing the subject. It was weird to hear her refer to her husband to me like this was 13 years ago and I was a 7-year old over at her house on a playdate. Like I didn't know his name was Sean.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I heard running water upstairs when I came in. He must be in the shower."

"Oh. Okay." And then another suspicious glance. "Wait. Then how'd you get in here?"

I'd inadvertently painted myself into a corner. I decided to take a leap of faith. "Joe told me before where you keep the spare key in that fake rock by the front stoop. I hope you don't mind."

Her face relaxed and I knew I'd guessed correctly. "Of course not! You know you're practically family, Boyce."

Now was the perfect time to make my graceful exit before Sean Hogan came downstairs, put his foot in his mouth, and blew up the good thing we had going. "Speaking of family, I'd better go. We've got a birthday dinner for my aunt that I can't be late for."

That was a lie. Both of my parents were only children. But Karen Hogan was only a casual acquaintance of my mother and only spoke to my father to say a polite hello. She'd never have occasion to learn the fabrication I'd just made.

She smiled. "Tell your parents I said hello."

"Will do!" I smiled back as I moved toward the door. "Oh, and tell Mr. H I'm sorry I missed him. I wanted to hear how the team's looking this year."

Coach Hogan had been the high school's basketball coach for over 10 years now.

A few more casual and breezy goodbyes exchanged and I was out the door and headed toward my car parked at the curb, breathing a heavy sigh of relief at how close Coach and I had come to being caught.

When I got in the car, I pulled out my phone and sent him a quick text to let him know what happened so he wouldn't get tripped up if Mrs. H mentioned me being there.

Then I sent a follow-up call back to a phrase I'd used with him earlier. "You owe me!"

A few minutes later my phone buzzed and I grabbed it to take a look. Coach had sent me a dick pic. Still hard as a rock! I momentarily lost my grip on the wheel and the car swerved. " Fuck, Coach!"

Then another text. "Hopefully this'll tide you over 'til we can do more. Thanks for the cover story with Karen."

It shouldn't have, but the acknowledgment for helping him carry on our affair in secret made my heart skip a beat.

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