The Warped & Wicked Gym Coach Ch. 01

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Ms. Bandy looks to help Jacob grow whether he likes it or not.
6k words
4.1
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Part 1 of the 7 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 10/04/2017
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The Warped and Wicked Gym Teacher of Bridgeport, West Virginia

Jacob Packert started off the morning with a prayer for the new school year. He asked for success in basketball, good grades, acceptance to a D-I university, hopefully with a scholarship, and maybe, if God was okay with it, a girlfriend to end high school with. They were all reasonable requests (the scholarship was a stretch), and he considered himself an honest, loyal, God-fearing boy of eighteen, fortunate enough to live in the United States of America, in the great town of Bridgeport, West Virginia, and to attend the privileged Franklin Academy, considered the best private school in the state and the number one basketball program in the county. He knew this would be the year that everything fell into place, and the time that his dreams would begin to come true.

He also prayed that he would not fall to wickedness, the enemy of Life, so that he might not stray from the path laid out for him by his loving family - his doting mother, who constantly taught him about right and wrong; his strong father, who did his duty every day, his uncle, the preacher, who led the church, expanding the parishioners' capacity for moral aptitude with his stirring sermons and personal example.

It wasn't easy, to avoid sin. Even here in West Virginia, his classmates weren't all a supportive community. At school there were Jews, atheists, profligates. It gave him doubts, and recently he was having troubling thoughts. Did God really love all people? If so, why did so many suffer? If not, why did others seem perfectly happy? What was truly good, and what was not? Was pleasure good, or just a tool of Satan's to lead one from the purer path? Did God . . . really exist at all? He quashed that last thought hard. Of course He did. He was just hard to see for those who are blinded by the illusion of the material world.

There were other troubling thoughts as well. Girls inhabited his daydreams more and more, when he should be more concentrated on other things - school, sports, family, and church. But he noticed all the pretty girls, and their ways. He was not allowed to date - there would be time for that later, assured his parents - but that was a strict position, even in Bridgeport, and most of his friends had had girlfriends, especially on the team. He was the only one who hadn't. As talented a player as he was, and at six-foot-four one of the tallest, he stood out as much for this social oddity. Girls didn't flirt with him any more, and guys didn't talk to him about their dating lives. He wasn't sure if he was the only virgin on the team, but he suspected he was.

But that didn't matter. It was a sin not to be. He was confident in his path. That was the function of prayer - to help him manage these disturbing distractions of the mind. He shut his eyes, and prayed.

The first class of the day was an experimental and progressive Physical Education, designed by Athletic Director Tomlinson himself, exclusively for the elite athletes on campus, in order to maximize their potential. He was excited - it was a relatively new elective, but older students lucky enough to have been selected had raved about it as by far their favorite class. It also meant first period with Ms. Bandy.

Ms. Bandy was something of a legend at the Franklin Academy. She had been a fairly recent graduate of the school, back in the class of 1993, where she excelled in three sports, but her primary talent was fast pitch for women's softball. She made the first Olympic team in 1996 and won a gold medal, making her the pride of Bridgeport. Not one to forget her roots, she returned to Bridgeport, and to Franklin, as the school's new PE instructor, replacing Mr. Farnborough, much to everyone's delight. She was an instant star, among students and faculty alike, for her cheerful personality, her infectious smile, her open Christian faith, and her healthy good looks. This was her third year on campus, but it would be the first year Jacob had a class with her.

He was, no doubt, excited about it. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen up close - she was five-foot-seven, with dark brown, almost black hair, contrasting strikingly with her ivory white skin; big, round, sparkling blue eyes, a light dusting of freckles on her thin nose and high cheeks, and soft, full lips; her body was constantly covered by an unflattering polyester sweatsuit, but photos around campus showed her to be a true athlete; she was, in a word, perfect - and she embodied so much that he personally strived for. She was kind, smart, happy, focused, gifted, and pious. She volunteered for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes on campus, a group he was a part of. She was always friendly with him, even if they hadn't really gotten to know each other, as she assisted the girls in the group, taking them to pancake breakfasts and county events. He hoped to know her better. He blushed when he thought of her. He believed she was unbelievable.

Jacob arrived to the gym early, for the first class of the first day of school. Ms. Bandy was organizing equipment in the far corner, under the basketball nets, which had been cranked up to the high ceiling. She noticed him, waved his way with a big smile, and jogged over.

"Hiya!" she greeted. "Jacob, right?" she asked, with a mock-uncertain look in her eye and pointing at him with a finger gun.

He lit up. "Yeah," he smiled.

She wrinkled her nose and flashed her teeth. It was adorable. "Well, welcome back! Looking forward to getting to know you this year. You play basketball, right? Two-guard?"

"That's right," he answered. He was melting. She knew his position! She must have watched him play.

"Y'all are gonna have a great team. Regional runner-ups, three starters returning? Y'all are gonna be a beast." He chuckled with all the humility he could muster.

"You look like you've grown, too. They're gonna have to move you to power forward!" He blushed a bit.

Thankfully, other students began to trickle in. "Okay, I've got to get the class ready. Good talking to you, Jacob!" She patted the side of his arm. He felt light as air.

Class was great. She was a knowledgeable trainer - calisthenics, followed by chest and shoulder exercises, some coordination drills, ending with a fun soccer-like game she made up. He felt good and awake, ready to start the day. He headed toward the locker room doors with the rest of the boys, looking forward to a shower.

"Hey, Jacob, would you mind staying back a minute? I need to ask you a question," she genially raised her eyebrows as she asked.

"Uh, sure, what's up?"

"Up in my office, real quick." Some of the other guys started to 'oooooh' at the comment. "Knock it off, kids," she reprimanded, hands on her hips.

Jacob was mildly confused, but not concerned. He never did anything wrong. "Yeah, sure." Her office was on the second floor of the gym, up a metal staircase. She sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, like a track star at practice. So full of energy, he thought. She was such an extraordinary woman. He walked up the stairs at normal speed.

By the time he entered, she was sitting at her desk, waiting for him, smiling as ever. She extended a hand, as if to offer him a seat in the metal folding chair on the other side of her desk, which he did.

"So, what's up?"

Her smile faded a bit, as she pursed her lips together in a show of seriousness. "Jacob, you've been an athlete for a while, right? I'm guessing, all your life?" He felt a twinge of pride; was it that obvious?

"Yeah, all my life," he said. "My parents are big believers that . . . "

"And in the last few years of engaging in athletics, has anyone taught you about proper . . . fitness wear?" she inquired. He didn't know what she meant.

"You mean like my shoes?" he asked innocently. She chuckled.

"No, not like your shoes," she laughed lightly. "I mean like sports underwear." He blinked reflexively.

"Sports underwear?"

"I don't know how to say this without embarrassing you, so I'll just say it. I can tell you're not wearing a jockstrap in class."

He looked down. "Uh..."

"When you jog. It's . . . noticeable." His face went crimson.

"What?"

She smiled matronly. "Hey, I'm here to help you with all areas of physical development, and sports safety is part of my job. I'd be remiss if I didn't notice things like that." That sounded logical, he thought. It wasn't anything . . . sinful.

"But of all my students, I was surprised that you didn't have one. I'm surprised they don't mandate them on the basketball team," she reflected. In truth, the coach had advised that they do wear them. Other players did, but not he. He found them immodest, and preferred boxers; and he had never had a 'safety issue' before.

"I just don't see the point . . ."

"Trust me," Ms. Bandy said authoritatively. "I've been in competitive sports for over a decade now. There are horror stories." She leaned in a bit. "When I was in high school, a kid on the basketball team pivoted the wrong way out of a two-man trap, and he must have gotten caught between his own legs," she spoke quietly. "You could hear the scream from the quad. The diagnosis was testicular trauma with internal scrotal bleeding."

He stared wide-eyed at her desk. "Oh," is all he could say.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," she said kindly.

"Okay," he said softly. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"You're in luck, because I've got a bunch here in my office, for varsity athletes only. So you qualify!" she added chipperly. She got up from her desk and walked over to an equipment drawer. "What's your waistline?"

"Uh, 32," he stammered.

"Hmph," she noted. "Slim." She fished around in the drawer, and pulled out a plastic packet, and tossed it at him.

"Starting tomorrow, okay?" she said, somewhat sternly.

"Ok, Ms. Bandy. Sure thing." Her face lightened.

"Okay, go on out of here," she beamed. She was so pretty, as her eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled and the light freckles on her cheeks danced.

"Okay, bye! And thanks! Thanks for helping me!" Did he say that too enthusiastically? He didn't want to make her more uncomfortable. He hoped it wasn't obvious how much he liked looking at her and being with her. It truly was inappropriate.

She smiled knowingly. "Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Jake." She called him Jake. He liked it.

***

Next morning, he was the first student at the gym once again. Ms. Bandy, however, had yet to arrive. Five minutes passed, and other students entered, then others, until all the students were there, but no Ms. Bandy, and class was about to begin.

He felt anxious and, frankly, uncomfortable. The jockstrap did not agree with either him or his package. It dug in his skin at the sides, and it irritated the area between his crotch and his bunghole. He still didn't see the point to this, but he didn't want to disappoint or disobey her. And he couldn't imagine the further embarrassment if she had to bring it up again. The whole conversation yesterday was too close for comfort, discussing such a subject with his high school crush.

"Okay, get everyone started with warm-ups!" He heard from behind. Ms. Bandy, in her unchanging blue sweatsuit, jogged up to the front of the class. "Hey everybody! Alright! Good morning, first period!" She pumped both her fists in the air. What a tornado of energy, he thought. Just amazing. She was unlike anyone he had ever known. He stared at her, perhaps too long.

"Sorry I'm running late! I had to get some special equipment for today's class from the athletic director," she explained, and then turned and looked directly at him. "Hey, Packert! Give me a hand with the boxes, will ya? We'll be right back! Krista, get 'em all started with some calisthenics! We're in for a good one today! Woo-hoo!" She took off jogging backwards, and he followed, trotting behind.

She stopped in the space between the bleachers and the supply closet and turned to him. "You got 'em on?" she asked, eyebrows raised. He felt his eyes start to burn.

"Oh. . . Uh, yeah."

"Okay, let's see 'em," she said, without blinking. She must have noticed how he felt about that.

"What?"

"I know, awkward, right? I gotta check how they fit, though. School issue, and whatnot." She looked up at him expectantly, arms folded.

His mouth opened, but he had nothing to say. Mute, he darted his eyes around, trying to think of something. This situation seemed impossible. He didn't believe it. He laughed, as if she was kidding, which she surely must have been.

"C'mon, c'mon! We got a big day today!" she smiled excitedly as she snapped her fingers.

He wasn't laughing now. "How do I - I mean, I can't - " She had to know how impossible this was for him. He was a devout Methodist, and she, a Christian Athlete!

She looked at him bemusedly, as if to say how silly he was being. "Aw, Jake, it's no big deal. I studied physical therapy in college." He didn't know what that meant. "I can't start class without making sure everything is good. If you get hurt because of a bad fit, the school is liable, and I'm in bi-i-i-g trouble." He guessed that made sense. "C'mon, off like a band aid," she joked.

He looked around him - they were alone behind the bleachers, but anyone could have walked around the corner at any time. "I - "

She began to glare impatiently. "Jacob, come on. I don't like this either. Stop making it worse for the both of us." She stared harder, then jabbed downward with her finger.

He nodded, and swallowed hard. He undid the string to his basketball shorts, and from the elastic waistband he pulled them open at the front about six inches. He wasn't shaking, but he felt as if he was.

She seemed to stand on her tiptoes and peered downward with a look of curious innocence as she examined his jock. He was about to close up when she lightly stopped his hand. "Just a sec," she said. "Are they too . . . snug?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. His tongue wouldn't work.

She gently snickered, "You don't know?"

"I think so. Yeah. I've never worn this before."

"Here, take these down a little," she said.

If they weren't snug before, they were now. This was exciting him horribly. He didn't want this, but he did, and badly.

"Jake?"

He took them down to his thighs in the front. She bowed down some, so that her face was about at eye level with his crotch, furrowing her brow. She looked up at him from there. "I think we've got to get you a bigger one," she said - with the faintest of smirks, he thought. "You think you can manage with these today?"

"Yeah," he nodded nervously. His felt that his erection was going to be visible at any second, if it wasn't already. She stood up straight and mouthed 'okay' sympathetically. "See me after class and we'll get you straightened out. And go grab those boxes for me out of the supply closet, 'kay?"

She winked at him and jogged off, blowing her whistle as she turned the corner. "Alright, first period! Get set! Jumping Jacks! Four count! Ready! And - One! Two! Three! Four! Sandra! GET SET! Two! Two! Three! Four! Hey! Where's Packert? Get yer butt over here NOW!"

He quickly pulled the shorts up. He was in a daze, and his erection was not subsiding. He stacked one of the boxes atop the other, and squatted down to pick them up. He felt a deep pinch in his perineum and winced. Lifting them up, he held them in front of him as he walked back to the group.

Jacob hurriedly set the boxes down and began his jumping jacks. His hard-on was distending the pouch of the strap, and he felt a tight pain all over his crotch. Ms. Bandy was energetically bouncing and counting the jumps. The zipper of her sweatshirt seemed lower than before, down to her sternum. Her breasts jiggled despite the constriction of her dark blue sports bra, which was partially visible under her uniform white t-shirt. He suddenly noticed that all the girls in his class also jiggled, in their short shorts and tight white tees, oozing sweat and adolescent sexuality. He was dangerously aroused; the tightness of his undergarment pinched the skin, and each jump made it chafe even more. But despite the pain, the arousal grew; as the arousal grew, the more he watched the girls. Their breasts, their rears, the spaces between their legs. Was he seeing all this for the first time? Was he under some kind of spell?

Just let me get through this, he asked his higher power. I'll forego all such wicked thoughts.

"And: spread out - hamstring stretches. Feet wide, and bend at the waist."

The line of girls in front of him bent down, their rear ends in a row. Ms. Bandy leaned low too, exposing just a bit of her cleavage. He looked away, then back, then away again. He grabbed at his ankles, and his stiff penis fought miserably with the front of the jockstrap, testing his willpower.

He looked at the clock. Forty-two more minutes.

He made it through to the end of class - the heavy exercise drained him of his some of his deviant energy, for which he was grateful. He almost felt back to normal.

"Okay, guys! Great job. See you all tomorrow!" She watched them all trot out to their locker rooms. Jacob stayed behind. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. "Okay, let's get this over with, huh?" she smiled and went over to the stairs that led to her office. He followed behind, watching her butt shift in her polyester sweatpants as she moved. The arousal quickly returned; everything had a tinge of sexual energy radiating from it. He tried to tell himself how wrong it was, but he watched her every step.

They entered the office, and she went straight to the utility drawer. She called out to Jacob, "Shut the door behind you, will ya?" He did as she asked.

"Okay," she said as she rummaged through the drawer, "I gave you a medium before, which says between 30 and 32 waistlines. So you're right on the higher end of that. You must be . . . well, disproportionately bigger in the front." He looked down at his feet. She came out of the drawer with another package. "Try this one - it's a large."

He took it from her. "Okay, thanks!" He turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" she asked.

"Is there something else?" he asked her.

It's probably best that you try it out, so we don't have to do this every day," she said, a concerned look in her face.

"Like, what do you want me to . . ."

"There's a partition over there if you want to change," she pointed behind her desk. There was a white canvas foldable divider in the corner. It stood about five feet tall, and looked to be translucent. It had legs, so one could see the feet of the person on the other side. He looked at her, and she happily nodded.

He went behind it; he towered over the divider by almost a foot and a half. She stood there, in front of him, watching him, eyebrows raised.

"Um, just like, change here?"

"Uh-huh!" She kept looking at him, smiling.

He looked away, trying to ignore her gaze as he stepped out of his shorts and took off the strap. It was definitely too tight; there were red lines on his skin from the pressure. He turned away from the divider, lest his silhouette was visible from the other side. Had he turned too late? he wondered. Had she seen?

He took the large out of its packet, and pulled it up over himself.

"How does it fit?" she asked him.

"Um, better," he mumbled.

"Hm," she said. "Lemme see. You wanna come over here, please?" She was staring right at him, waiting. He had no pants on, and there she was, this fantastic creature, this mythical icon of the Franklin Academy, beckoning him to walk over to her as he was, his head still swimming with carnal thoughts. With the kindest possible eyes, innocently arched eyebrows, shimmering lips slightly parted in a friendly half-smile, she seemed to look deep into his soul. Her smooth white skin glowed. He felt compelled to do what she asked, as unseemly and improper a request as this seemed. Yet . . . this was not normal, was it? This couldn't be considered appropriate or authoritatively sanctioned; but then again, if she, an authority, was making the request, wasn't it so by definition? He guessed so. His logical faculties were not functioning at their best at the moment. His heart was aglow and thrilled.

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