Raoul's 18th Birthday Ch. 01

He's lowered his voice conspiratorially. Her eyes widen with the idea that he's about to confess his attraction to her. How delightfully forbidden!

"What?" she blinks innocently, looking up at him. Over six feet tall, she does not have to look up at very many men, and she enjoys the feminine feeling of it.

"I need you to keep a secret for me."

"Really?" she raises her eyebrows.

"As a coach at Ridgway, do you have any obligations to share any information about me with the Essex administration?"

"I don't know, Raoul," she touches her hair behind her ear. "What kind of information?"

"The thing is ...," sensing her thoughts, he teases her mischievously. Even though he's about to give her blackmail material, he can't help himself. The Iron Law of Raoul's Life: She's a beautiful woman: he has to flirt.

"It's a little awkward, but..." He draws out the pause with a quick "accidental" glance at the outline of her bra under her shirt, and then he looks questioningly in her eyes, as if testing whether he can trust her. Finally he raises his hand, showing her the weight room key. "... I'm not supposed to have this."

"Oh!" she realizes he'd been teasing her, and his cleverness impresses her. "Well," she shrugs, "I suppose that's none of my business."

"Good! Then let's work out. Did you want to run a bit first?"

She does, but she'd rather be alone with him in the privacy of the weight room.

"Nah," she waves the idea away. "Let's pump some iron!"

Inside, he turns on the lights and she locks the door behind them. Seeing that they're in the locker room has made her nervous.

"I really shouldn't be here," she worries. "If anyone else shows up, what should we do?"

"I really don't think that's going to happen."

"But we need a plan in case it does. You can't imagine what'll happen to me if I get caught here. Is there someplace I could hide until you get rid of them?"

"I don't know."

She looks around. The "lockers" are actually more like closets, without doors, but they each have a storage bench, topped by a pad that the boys can sit on.

"This is nice. We didn't have locker rooms this nice at the Olympics. I've never seen a locker room this nice."

"Essex money."

"Seriously. Which one's yours?"

"This one."

Raoul's bench, one of the big ones, is about four feet long.

"Why's yours so big?"

"Team captain."

She nods. "Do you think I can fit in that?"

He looks at her. "I guess you could try."

"You mind?"

He squats to twist the dial of his padlock, then he opens it and removes his belongings — soap, shampoo, and so on.

They stand looking down into it. "I wouldn't want to crawl in there."

"Me neither. But I can if I have to."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Let's at least put some towels in there to cushion it a bit."

"That's a great idea," she hits him. "Way to use the ol' noggin."

So he goes to the closet and gets some towels, and he lays them out for her at the bottom of his storage bench.

"Fit for a queen," she says.

He just shakes his head. "Let's work out."

Taking a notebook and pen, he leads her to the weight room, which is also very nice: a shining hardwood floor, a wide variety of machines, several sets of free weights.

She can't believe it. "Damn. The Ridgway girls would protest if they knew how you boys are living."

"What do you want to do first?"

"What's your routine? I see you've got your notebook there."

Raoul's workouts are notorious. She's heard Essex coaches debating each other about them, so she wants to know the details.

"On Tuesdays I go heavy," he explains. "I do one set of everything, just as heavy as I can, aiming for five reps."

She squints to think about that. "Aiming for five."

"If I get five, I'll increase the weight next week."

She nods thoughtfully. "So that's Tuesdays. What about the other days?"

"Thursdays, I do endurance. Three sets of at least twenty, moving fast. Light weights."

"Huh."

"Then three sets of eight on Saturdays. Kind of in the middle, trying to be explosive."

"But I heard you work out every day."

"Kind of. I swim on Fridays. On other days I do martial arts."

"Oh yeah? Where do you do that?"

"Sundays, I go out to Azteca, a boxing club. Heard of it?"

"No."

"Yeah, it's a long way out in East LA but I really like it there. Lots of Mexican guys. Really macho guys. Great boxers. I jump rope, work the bags, and keep my Spanish fresh. Spar with a couple guys now and then."

She nods, impressed. "Are you Mexican?"

"No, but my dad's mother's Cuban."

"Huh." Like most people, she has no idea what Raoul "is." "So that leaves..."

"Mondays and Wednesdays."

"How 'bout them?"

"You know the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu place in Santa Monica?"

"No."

"Well, I go there Monday mornings."

"Do you see Jean-Paul there?" she asks, sarcastic for some reason. As if she can't admit that she's impressed by Raoul's movie-star acquaintances.

"Sometimes." He just ignores her tone.

"Really?" Now she's surprised.

"I only know about it because of him. He also showed me the Thai kickboxing place I go on Wednesdays."

"Wow. Quite a schedule."

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, let's get to work."

Usually Raoul's Tuesday routine only takes about half an hour because he just pops from exercise to exercise as efficiently as he can.

But today, taking turns with Coach Roberta, everything takes more than twice as long.

Not that he minds. Holding her ankles while she does sit-ups, spotting her while she does the bench press, he smiles the entire time.

After a set of squats, she declares, "It's too hot. You mind if I take this off?" She pulls at her shirt.

"Fine with me," he laughs.

"Sports bra. You can't see anything anyway."

"Maybe I can imagine a little more clearly, though," he smirks, and she throws her shirt at him.

Meanwhile, she marvels at the weights he lifts. Hundreds of pounds, almost every exercise. He usually fails before the fifth rep, his face purple with exertion, his eyes bulging, the veins over his muscles straining against his skin. Now she understands why some coaches disagree with his routine.

One of Raoul's secrets is that he works out to hurt himself. It's a form of self harm that he can hide from his family. Behind his confident, even arrogant facade, he hates himself. We've already seen some of Shona's thoughts about his temper, but what she doesn't know is that most of the time he's actually angry at himself. He rages at himself over nothing that anyone else understands.

So, to cope, and to hide, he pushes himself to exhaustion, morning after morning, mercilessly. He knows he's crazy, and he's happy to let people think he's just vain because he doesn't want them to know the truth. And of course he is vain. Women and girls, mouths open, touch his muscles adoringly.

But when his body aches and he's so weak he can hardly pick himself up, he feels relief and pride at the pain he has inflicted on himself. For the rest of the day, maybe, he can stay calm, feeling that pain. But if he needs to — if he feels that rage and has the urge to hurt himself — he can do clapping push ups almost anywhere. And when he can't do those anymore, regular push ups. Then he can beat the floor.

So even on his birthday, he's not going to skip his workout. He'd wind up banging his head into a wall.

"I've never seen anybody put that much weight on a bar," Coach Roberta tells him after they've finished the last lift.

"What about your boyfriend? He must lift a lot. What's his name again?"

"Doesn't matter. He dumped me Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve?"

"I know. Can you believe that?"

"No. What an asshole." He seems sympathetic, but to him it's actually great news.

"Whatever. You ever do pilates?"

"No. What are pilates?"

"Like yoga. It's a great way to wind down after lifting. I'll show you."

They get mats and a few minutes later, after some innocuous stuff, she dares to show him a bridge roll, thrusting her pelvis into the air. Encouraged by his eagerness, she shows him a clam shell, a dive bomber push-up, an open leg rocker. After she does each one, he does it too, and she puts her hands all over his body, supposedly teaching him proper form... but every time her hands linger, her fingertips unable to resist the sweat glistening on his golden skin, the ridges of his hard muscles.

And his flattery thrills her too. "I like these pilates," he admits several times, fascinated by her body. "I enjoyed watching you do leg curls, but this is...," he searched for a word... "better."

To Roberta, only one week after being dumped, his words, and the eagerness in his wide eyes are like medicine.

"I know," she smiles. "Guys like this stuff. We usually don't do it when you're around. Wait till you see this one."

She lays down on her back. "It's called criss cross scissors. Great for core strength."

She lifts her legs straight up and then, while he's looking down at her, she spreads them as far apart as she can.

He swallows. "Wow."

"Keep watching, pervert," she teases. "It's not over yet." She goes through the rest of the exercise, watching his eyes.

"That's amazing."

He can barely keep his eyes away from her crotch, but she pretends not to notice.

"Do me a favor and push my legs further apart. I want to work on my flexibility."

"Sure." He kneels and she spreads her legs.

"Go ahead," she says. "Gently."

He puts his hands on her knees and pushes.

"Oh, that's good," she says. "Do it a little higher up."

He slides his hands down to her calves.

"No, the other way. Up."

He puts his hands on her thighs.

"Like this?"

"Exactly. Push gently." So he does. "Oh, good," she almost moans. "Hold it there a moment."

"Okay," she says. "The last one is called a cat-cow."

She rolls over and gets on her hands and knees. "You start like this. This is the cat." She raises her shoulders and lowers her head for a moment. "Then you do the cow, like this."

She raises her head and hips, lowering her back almost to the mat. Almost exactly as Shona had done for him a few hours earlier, when he'd pulled her hair....

"Holy shit," he says.

"What do you think?"

"Um..."

"Anyway, it's a great exercise. You try it."

He assumes the position quickly, trying to hide his boner.

"First the cat," she says, and he arches his back. "Now the cow." He raises hips to her. "Okay, the cat again, and this time, put your hips back a little more." She puts her hands on his hips, and feels her away around to his groin. "You should feel it in here. Your obliques."

He suspects that's not true at all. He feels her boobs pressed against her hips. He knows what she's doing and he is eager to let her do it.

"Good, good," she encourages. "Now roll over and do the scissors. You didn't do those."

He rolls over, pitching a tent about a mile high.

Kneeling as he had, she pretends not to notice, but he can see that she's trying not to look just as she had been a few moments ago.

"Legs together," she instructs. "Now apart."

She kneels as he had, puts her hands on his thighs and presses them further apart.

"Very impressive," she says. "You're very flexible."

She moves her hands closer to his groin, massaging now.

"Do you feel it in here?"

"Yes," he swallows.

"Feels good doesn't it?" She moves her hands still closer. Her thumbs are actually touching his scrotum.

But she loses her nerve at that point.

"Okay, we're all done," she announces, suddenly confused...

But then she thinks of one more thing. "Except that's what I want you to do for me this time."

"What?" he asks.

She lays on her back and spreads her legs in the air. "Do like I did for you."

He sits almost touching her and puts his hands on her thighs, just above her knees.

"Like this?"

"Yes. Massage a little. Good. Now move up. Good, massage there too. Oh, that feels good. Now up some more. Your hands are so big," she sighs happily. His hands are at the very top of her thighs. "And now," she says nervously, "up some more."

He looks down. His hands are already all the way to the top of her legs. He knows what she wants, and goddamn does he want it too...

"Like this?" he asks, his thumbs rubbing her labia through her spandex.

"Oh yes," she moans. "Like that. More." With one thumb he gently rubs her clit while the other slides up and down her vagina. "Oh, god, Raoul. Oh, god, please keep going. Exactly like that." She grabs his fingers to guide them. "Like that." She arches her back, "Oh, yes."

After a few moments, he stops suddenly.

"Coach Roberta?"

"Yes?" she jumps, afraid.

"Oh god," she thinks. "I'm getting fired. Or going to prison. I'm a coach. Practically a teacher."

"Should we be doing this...," he scratches the back of his neck while she panics, "... with our clothes on?"

"Oh, god, Raoul," she relaxes. But even after her moment of panic, she can't stop herself. "You're right. This is more of a clothes off activity."

That's all he needed. Almost faster than she can realize what he's doing, he pulls her spandex off and dives into her pussy with his tongue. She grabs two handfuls of his thick black hair, and in no time at all, her body is shaking.

A little self-conscious — she's been sweating, after all — she tugs on his hair to bring him up, but he pulls back.

"I like it down here," he insists. "I'll stay here for a bit."

And he does.

She's never experienced anything like this. Such an unselfish lover, so patient, slower and softer than anyone she's ever been with. She's always been with jocks, and Raoul is a jock too, in a way, but none of them have done anything like this.

She moans and sighs, his tongue softly laps every part of her pussy, up and down, back and forth, his fingers — she doesn't even know.... He gradually puts a finger deeper and deeper inside her, rubbing her clit from the inside. His other hand is squeezing one of her tits, and with one hand she presses it hard against her chest while her other hand grips his hair.

Her body quivers, her moans get louder, but he stays so gentle, so patient, and her pleasure builds, and builds, and builds...

She shouts as her orgasm hits, and he holds her hips in his hands, kissing her pelvis while her body shakes, and then, when he senses she's ready, he goes back in for more...

Soon — she has no idea how long — she's cumming again. She's never done this before.... Cries that she's never heard herself make before echo off the walls.

After that she pulls his head up forcefully. "I need your cock inside me," she begs.

"I don't have a condom."

"I'm on the pill, Raoul," she scolds, impatient. "I just got dumped a week ago. Fuck me," she commands. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

He looks at her thoughtfully and decides to trust her. Decides it's worth the risk. (We all make bad decisions at eighteen.) She pulls his shirt over his head, pushes his shorts off with her feet and locks her ankles around his waist while he grabs the front of her bra with one hand and pulls it over her head.

He sucks her beautiful brown tits and their licorice nipples while he positions his dick for entry.

Then he looks in her eyes. She nods hungrily, and he watches her gasp as he slides inside her.

Because they're both so tall, really good missionary position sex — with eye contact, passionate kissing — is a rare treat for both of them, she hits her third orgasm of the morning just about a minute in, and it's not long before he's finishing, and then they're catching their breath as he holds his body over hers, his face nestled in her soft hair.

Eventually he raises himself and looks at her with his smirk. "Pilates will be part of all my workouts from now on." But, exhausted from his orgasm and from lifting, he collapses back into her hair and whispers, "Next time, we'll do more work on that cat-cow. A lot more work."

9

A few minutes later they're in the shower, washing each other up, and she's getting ready to go down on him — she feels she owes him a huge favor — when they're interrupted.

"Raoul?"

It's Coach Dickson (no joke, that's his real name), one of the assistant coaches on the football team.

"Just stay here for a minute," Raoul whispers. "I'll get him into the weight room, and you can get out."

He turns off the water, wraps himself in a towel, and walks off while she pulls on her clothes and begins to sneak through the locker room.

"Hey, coach," she hears him say. Only one row of lockers separates her from them — and from the exit. As quietly as possible, she lifts the pad of his locker seat, and folds herself into the bench.

"Hey, buddy. Happy birthday. You get laid last night?"

She doesn't hear Raoul's response. Knowing him, she feels that he must've just shaken his head with a smirk. But what a pig Dickson is. Talking to kids like that.

On the other hand, she admits to herself, she just fucked him.

"Well, get yourself all that pussy while you still can. Wish I'd gotten more when I was your age."

Roberta can't believe she has to listen to that shit. How long is she going to have to hide in this damn stinking bench?

"What's up, Coach? You come just to see me?"

"Nah, I didn't even know you were here. I just came to get a workout in. I woulda brought you a present if I knew you were gonna be here."

"No presents necessary. Have a good workout. I'm gonna finish showering and get out of here."

"Got to get to your ladies, huh?"

"I guess so."

"Well have fun. Make 'em suck it. Don't take 'no' for an answer."

"See you later, Coach."

A moment later Raoul finds her. "You actually got in here? He's in the weight room. The coast is clear. Stay back and follow my signal."

He walks around the corner into the first aisle of the locker room. She follows a few steps behind. He gives a thumbs up and she sprints for the door. Raoul jogs along, as if he could shield her from view if Dickson reappeared.

But a moment later she's in the sunshine outside, sprinting away before anyone else shows up.

14

Raoul, dressed, leaves Dickson in the locker room and heads home. He would stop to see Coach Roberta if he knew where she lives, but he has to call her from home.

Raoul's home has four phones — almost unheard of 1987, but if living with a dozen adolescent girls was heard of more often, so would having four (or more) phones.

"Coach?" he speaks into the receiver. Four or five of the girls are eavesdropping, of course.

"Raoul!" she exclaims. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just at home here with my sisters..."

"Hi, Coach!" one of them yells toward the phone, and another chimes in, "Happy New Year's!"

"Happy New Year's to you guys too. Isn't it your birthday?"

"Sure is," Raoul says.

"Well happy birthday to you, Sam, and Reza."

"Thanks, Coach," Raoul answers, "I was just calling because I bumped into Coach Dickson today when I was working out and I happened to remember you telling me about pilates."

"Oh yeah?" She sounds a little nervous, not too bad.

"Yeah. But it turns out he doesn't know anything about them."

"Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing. No idea at all."

"Well, that's... interesting. I thought maybe he did."

"Nope. So I guess that's something you'll have to show me sometime."

"I'd love to, Raoul. Perhaps later this week, if you have time?"

"Yeah. I'll give you a call when I have some time and we'll make a plan. I'm very interested to learn all about them."

"Good."

"I'm always interested in new ways to work out."

"Yeah. I think they're good exercises for you."