Brent Davison glanced up at the massive square scoreboard that hung above centre ice in the arena, sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. He winced slightly as the clock ticked off the final seconds of the third period and his eyes dropped to the score: 3-1. Another loss on the road. Their seventh road loss in a row. It wouldn’t have been so bad but they had also dropped the last five home games so they were cruising along on a twelve-game losing streak.  

Losing streak? What a misnomer that is. Streaks should be good things, positive things. This was like an endless fall off a cliff with no end in site. Like being Wile E. Coyote for the past four weeks and the rest of the league were Road Runners, meeping at them. Brent took this team, which had so much promise, losing in seven games last season in the semi-final and with only two players going over-age, the prospects of a better season was almost a given.  

If they were getting blown out 8-1, or 6-2 he could have gotten mad. Thrown things in the dressing room. Swore like a drill sergeant but all twelve losses were by either one goal or two and all of the two-goal losses were the result of empty-netters when Brent pulled the goalie to try for a tie and at least a point. They were losing by the slimmest of margins. Pucks would bounce off the posts or crossbar when his players had gaping open nets. Perfect two-on-ones would result in the last pass going off the stick and sliding harmlessly wide of the net.  

In their own end, the opposition was scoring goals in the most innocuous ways. In the past twelve games, no less than ten goals had gone in off a defenceman’s skate. When the opponent would shoot, the puck would hit the post and go in, unlike his own team, when it would bounce off the post and deflect into the corner. Brent could see the depression setting onto the faces of all his players. Losing is as contageous as winning and the losing flu was running rampant in Brent’s dressing room.  

The clock ticked from 0:01 to 0:00 and the buzzer went off to end the game. His players filed out both gates and slowly skated toward their number one goalie, Clint Bobchuk who was slowly skating towards the gate in the boards that led to the visitor’s dressing room. They perfunctorily tapped his pads and a couple players patted him on the back. Brent looked to his left and motioned for Jimmy Gage, one of the two assistant coaches to come over.  

Brent whispered something in his ear and got a look of surprise but Jimmy turned and spoke to one of the team’s trainers and they disappeared down the hallway that led under the stands. Brent stepped down from behind the bench and slowly walked along the side boards to the player exit and followed his team to their dressing room but he didn’t go in. He wanted to let the players do their throwing and swearing among themselves.  

About two minutes later Brent heard and then saw the result of his whispered message to his assistant coach: one of the spare hockey nets being carried down the hall by Jimmy and Marco Fratelli, the trainer. They stopped just outside the dressing room door, awaiting further instructions from Brent.  

“Slide it into the centre of the room and let it push anything in front of it out of the way,” Brent ordered.  

Brent opened the dressing room door and the two net-carriers followed, sliding the hockey net into the dressing room. The swearing and throwing stopped. The talking stopped. Every player turned and stared. When you are in the stands, a hockey net doesn’t look all that big. It’s stands four feet high and only six feet wide, It’s made of three-inch diameter steel pipe painted bright red which contrasts to the pure white netting. Place the same net in the visitor’s dressing room, which is almost always on the smallish side and it’s the elephant in the centre of the room.  

When you are a player sitting on the dressing room bench, a hockey net towers over you, the twenty-four square feet look like a garage. If you stacked pucks you could fit 1,152 in that opening. Brent silently walked over to the trainer’s table and picked up a puck. He dropped in on the floor of the dressing room and it landed perfectly flat. He took a stick at random from the stick rack and slowly pushed the puck into the net. It looked like a flyspeck.  

Brent placed the stick back in the stick rack, looked at his two assistant coaches and motioned with his head that they should leave the room. Brent followed them and then paused before the opened the door, turned to the room and said, “Think about it.”  

In the hallway outside the dressing room, Jimmy and the other assistant coach, Barry Sutcliff watched as Brent exited the room.  

“You think it will work?” Barry asked.  

“I’m not a thrower, not a swearer, maybe seeing that little puck in that big net will implant some kind of visual on them. I mean it can’t hurt, can it? Brent said.  

The three coaches walked slowly along the hallway discussing their plans for the evening, once they had checked into the hotel. The players quietly filed out of the dressing room, each one of them wearing a coat and tie. Brent insisted that his players dress like professionals even though they were only 18 and 19 years old. He knew that it would give them a sense of pride, at least looking like pro hockey players. The trainers followed with the flatbeds heaped with their equipment bags. For the trainers, their evening would be washing and drying all the uniforms and underwear in the hotel’s laundry, drying skates and gloves on the team’s portable drier and getting to bed maybe by two in the morning, if they were lucky.  

Once the bus was loaded with equipment and players, the coaches boarded and sat in the front row of seats. The driver closed the door and the bus pulled out of the arena back parking lot and made the ten-minute drive to the hotel. Ottawa tonight and Kingston tomorrow night. Playing the OHL, the Ontario Hockey League, involved bus rides, lots of bus rides. The 68-game schedule meant that 34 of those games were on the road and while some of the rides were short, or shortish, Toronto to Ottawa took almost five hours and was pretty much the longest trip of the season.  

A long road trip is great when you are winning but is a downer when you aren’t and Brent’s team was on a downer. The bus arrived at the hotel and the players trudged into the lobby. There was a ritual pecking order on a hockey team. Those with the most seniority got to select their roommates for the season and they would always be first in line for everything. Once the players had signed in and got their key cards they headed up to their rooms. Some would go out for a meal and others would order room service. Brent left that up to the players.  

The trainers headed off to the laundry and the two assistant coaches said that they wanted to work over a few things on their own before they presented their ideas to Brent tomorrow. Brent always had a room to himself, one of the perqs of being head coach, even the youngest head coach in all of junior hockey. Brent had turned 24 two days after Christmas so he was only six or seven years older than his players.  

With an ultra-youthful head coach there is usually a period at the beginning of the season where the veterans test the new guy, even if the new guy is their coach. In an early practice, they were working on angling an on-rushing forward into the boards but the defensemen just weren’t getting it. Brent took position with another defenseman and the team’s captain, Bobby Gardner broke over the centre ice line and headed straight for Brent.  

Gardner faked outside, then inside and then all the rest of the team heard was the sound of Gardner hitting the boards and a grunt.  

“If you watch his chest, you won’t get faked out. Watch the puck and he’s by you,” said Brent.  

Later that same practice, Brent sealed the deal by scoring on eight of ten shots from the right face-off dot on the team’s best goalie, Clint Bobchuk. After the practice, in the dressing room, Brent undressed with the team, instead of using the coach’s room and they all saw that their new coach was built like a truck.  

While only 5’10”, Brent weighed a very solid 205 pounds and none of it was excess baggage. His abs, his eight-pack abs were as defined as any bodybuilder and were topped by his pecs: two slabs of muscle. His traps angled from his thick neck to the tops of his massive shoulders at a 45-degree angle. Thick wrists and massive veiny forearms led up to baseball biceps and hard defined horseshoe triceps. When he slipped off his track pants, the team saw quads that were not only huge but defined and striated. His calves were almost 18”, the same size as his biceps, and heart-shaped.  

Brent walked to the showers and they also saw that their coach was hung like a horse. His soft cock must have been at least six-and-a-half inches long…and thick. Some guys are “grow-ers” with small cocks when soft and then they balloon up nicely when hard while others are ‘show-ers” with cock almost the same length soft and hard. Brent was a ‘grow-er’ but he started from a pretty big softee. When fully hard, his cock was just a shade over 9½” in length and almost 7” around with a thick mushroom head and large piss slit.  

Brent could feel almost all the eyes follow him as he headed to the showers. He grabbed a white towel off the table but instead or wrapping it around his waist, he casually slung it over his left shoulder. As he disappeared into the shower room, his team could see the two hard glutes flexing and relaxing as he walked.  

He was also the first openly gay hockey coach in North America. He never flaunted it. It was just a fact of life and if somebody didn’t like, then tough. All the players were told that their new coach was gay during the off-season and only one player asked to be traded. He was. One thing that he quietly applauded his players for was that their was no gay humour in the dressing room. If they made jokes away from the rink, well that was their business.  

Brent followed his player to the elevators and tapped one player on the shoulder. He was the right winger on the top line and one of the two alternate captains, Jason Small. His last name certainly didn’t reflect Jason’s size as he stood 6’3½” and weighed almost 220 pounds and he had just turned 18. He was strong but either didn’t know how to use his size and strength to advantage or didn’t want to. Brent knew that while he was talented, you don’t make the pros on talent alone. Desire goes a long way. So does plain hard work and while Jason worked hard some of the time, he didn’t go all out, all the time, and it bugged Brent.  

“Jase, when you are settled, come by my room, 708. We have to talk,” said Brent.  

“Yes coach,” he said quietly.  

The elevator ride was silent and when the doors opened to the seventh floor, the elevator emptied. It wasn’t more than five minutes after he opened his room that he heard a soft knock. He opened the door and Jason walked through the door.  
 

“Sit down,” said Brent as he undid his tie and slipped off his shirt laying them on the bed. He unzipped his flight bag and pulled out a burgundy golf shirt. “Jason, as you can figure out, I’m disappointed in your play recently.”  

“Sorry coach,” said Jason.  

Brent held his shirt in his hands, arms bent, his baseball biceps showing without even flexing. “It’s your effort and desire Jason. Look at you. You’re huge. You’re strong as an ox, probably the strongest player on the team but you don’t play like it. You have the strength to dominate almost everybody in this league. To be one of the best if not the best power forward here but you play like you are on a pond back home.”  

Brent knew that Jason came from farm country, just south of London, Ontario and figured that he got that body from farm work, not the gym.  

“I try coach, I really do,” said Jason.  

Brent walked over to where Jason was sitting and sat on the other side of the small wooden table. He had dropped his golf shirt on the bed as he passed. Brent put his right elbow on the table, his forearm ready for an arm wrestle. “C’mon Jason, let’s arm wrestle,” said Brent.  

“You’ll destroy me coach,” said Jason. “Look at the size of your bicep.”  

“Take off your shirt Jason,” said Brent. Jason had left his tie in his room and had unbuttoned the top button of his pale blue shirt. He stood up and unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off his massive shoulders. He sat down and placed his right elbow opposite Brent’s. They gripped each other’s hand and locked their left hands across the table.  

“One, two three, go!” said Brent and his bicep ballooned to almost 18”. It looked like someone has grafted a baseball on top of his arm. Jason’s arm got hard and was big, much bigger than most guys but lacked the hard definition that Brent had in abundance. Jason grunted and pushed but Brent just held him straight up. “C’mon kid, try!”  

Jason tried as hard as he could, or at least as hard as he was prepared to try. After about thirty seconds, Brent decided to finish it and almost casually pushed Jason’s arm down to the table. “I was trying, coach but I’m no match for you. I’m no match for anybody. That’s what my daddy says.”  

Jason began to cry softly. “You don’t know how hard it was growing up down there. You were in the big city. I was alone. I had nobody,” said Jason.  

“What do you mean, ‘you had nobody’?” asked Brent.  

“Coach, I was the only gay around. I didn’t have friends like you did. I was so far in the closet, nobody could even see me,” Jason said.  

Brent reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Jason’s head. Jason moved his right hand up and held Brent’s wrist. He looked up, tears in his eyes and kissed Brent’s hand. Jason got up from the table, still attached to Brent and that caused Brent to get up as well. Jason moved forward and wrapped his long arms around Brent and hugged him like he was the last man on earth. Brent hugged back and Jason cried. Jason moved back just a bit so that they were face to face, closed his eyes and moved gently forward towards Brent lips.  

They kissed, exploring each others tongues. Brent knew he was making a mistake, but it would have been a bigger mistake had he not comforted Jason. As they moved closer, Brent knew that his cock was getting hard and he could feel Jason’s cock growing as his left thigh rubbed against Jason’s right thigh. Jason slowly dropped his hands down and unbuckled Brent’s belt, undid his zipper and pushed his pants down over his glutes and quads and they fell in a puddle at his ankles.  

Jason then did the same to his own pants and also pulled down his briefs and his hard 8½” cock snapped up. Brent’s cock was pushed against the opening in his boxers and Jason reached down to free it. Brent’s huge cock, now fully free, began to grow to its full length and girth. Jason slowly licked down Brent’s pecs, pausing at each nipple to get them hard. He traced down the valley between Brent’s washboard abs and arrived at the monster cock.  

Jason wasted no time as his wrapped his mouth around the huge cockhead and began inhaling the entire cock until his nose was pressed again Brent’s trimmed pubes. Jason’s hands moved around behind and grabbed one glute each, which Brent flexed reflexively. Jason moaned and squeezed even harder. Jason slowly let Brent’s cock slide out of his mouth then back in. Gradually increasing in rhythm, Jason was pistoning Brent’s cock like a real pro, like it was nowhere near his first time. After about a minute, Brent said, “I’m about to shoot Jase, so back off.”  

Jason disobeyed his coach pulling him even harder towards him and Brent shuddered as spasm after spasm of hot cum flooded Jason’s mouth and down his throat. Jason gulped down every drop, letting Brent’s cock soften a bit in his mouth, all the time cleaning it, until it fell out spent and clean of cum.  

Jason stood up and Brent kissed him hard and he could still taste his own cum in Jason’s mouth. “Where did you learn to suck like that?” Brent asked.  

“About three years ago, my cousin came to live with us because his dad was going to Dubai for five years to work in construction and since his mom was dead, he moved in. He’s as gay as anything and he showed me how to suck, even the real big ones. He had a real big one, but not as big as yours. So I got good, real good.”  

“I’ll say,” said Brent and with that, Brent bent down a bit put his right arm behind Jason’s knees and his left arm under Jason’s arm and lifted him off the floor like he was a feather. Jason could feel Brent’s biceps bulging as he carried Jason towards the bed. Brent gently set Jason down and Jason scurried up to the top of the bed. Brent pulled off his own pants and boxers and then took off Jason’s as well. Brent crawled in between Jason’s legs and he saw Jase’s hard cock, not thick like his own but hard as a steel pipe.  

Brent started by licking and then sucking each of Jason’s balls and then both at the same time. Rolling each ball from one cheek to another, Brent looked up and saw Jason’s cock leaking precum like a faucet. That was Brent’s cue and he licked up that super-hard shaft and then let the hard cock slide into his mouth and down his throat. As Brent began sucking in earnest, his hands moved up to Jason’s pecs, which were big but not as defined as they could be…‘or would be’, Brent thought.  

It didn’t take very long for Jason to erupt like Vesuvius. Shooting eleven spurts of teenage cum down Brent’s throat. Brent then crawled up Jason’s body and kissed him letting Jason taste his own cum. Brent silently wondered if Jason had ever tasted his own cum. As it by telepathy, Jason said, “Sure I’ve tasted my own cum, I can suck myself off.”  

“I can get the head in, but that’s about it,” said Brent.  

“Coach?” asked Jason.  

“Yeah, what?” replied Brent.  

“Do you think that I could ever get defined like you? Flex your biceps,” said Jason.  

Brent sat up and did a front double bicep pose and two baseball appeared on top of his upper arms. Jason reached up with his hands and squeezed each bicep. He couldn’t dent them. Brent flexed harder, then alternating, he relaxed and flexed his biceps. That turned Jason on big time and Brent could feel Jason’s cock getting hard again as Brent, who was astride Jason could feel that steel pipe pressing up against his balls.  

Brent jumped off the bed and went to his flight bag and grabbed a couple condoms and a small bottle of lube, ripping open an envelope and sliding out the rubber. In one motion he rolled it flawlessly on Jason’s hard slippery cock. Brent then squirted a dollop of lube on Jason’s cock and spread it down the shaft with his hand. As he straddled Jason again, he squirted more lube up inside his asshole. In one move, he sat down on Jason’s steel pipe as it totally disappeared inside Brent.  

“Flex them again?” asked Jason and Brent set the bottle of lube aside, flexed his baseballs again which Jason was about to grab. Brent then picked up the bottle of lube again and squirted a puddle into Jason’s hands, which he rubbed together and then again went to Brent’s biceps, getting them all slippery and shiny. They looked amazing, thought Jason, but they felt a hundred times better. Brent began bucking up and down on Jason’s steel pipe as Jason squeezed and lubed Brent’s baseballs.  

Two baseballs and one pipe. Both causing the other waves of pleasure. It didn’t take long before Jason began spasming again, barely ten minutes after he last came and he filled the condom with another nine or ten spurts. Brent lost count because about halfway through, Brent began shooting again, covering Jason’s pecs and stomach with splashes of white, one spurt even reaching Jason’s left cheek.  

Both out of breath, Brent slowly leaned forward to lick off his cum from Jason’s face and felt Jason’s cock sliding out of his hole and when it finally exited, it made an audible pop. They kissed again, this time, sticking together, partially bonded by Brent’s load of cum.  

“Let’s grab a shower,” said Brent and they both stepped into the bathroom. After their shower which they took together, blowing each other yet a third time, they grabbed towels and dried each other off.  

Sitting on the side of the bed, slowly getting dressed, Brent said, “You know what you and I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. Sex with a player just shouldn’t be tolerated.”  

“It was me who started it, coach,” said Jason.  

“That doesn’t make it right for me to accept so easily but this losing streak, I really needed this!” said Brent.  

Jason had slipped on his pants but not yet his shirt. “Flex for me, Jase,” said Brent. Jason meekly flexed his right bicep. “C’mon, pump it up first.”  

“How, coach?” asked Jason.  

“OK, do what I do,” said Brent. He stood up and placed his bent left arm in front of and across his chest just under his pecs. He then placed his right elbow on top of his left wrist and began to do imaginary concentration curls. Each time, totally straightening his arm and each time flexing as hard as he could. Jason could actually see Brent’s bicep begin to get bigger. Veins began to thicken and appear as if by magic. After about twenty curls, Brent flexed his bicep and Jason felt it.

“It’s even harder than before!” said Jason. “How’d you do that?”  

“Let’s try something,” said Brent. He walked over to his flight bag, unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a cloth tape measure. He wrapped the tape around Jason’s right upper arm. “Don’t flex it, just relax.” The measurement was 15¼”. “Now flex it.” He measured the cold flexed bicep and it was 16”. Jason did twenty imaginary curls and they did the measurements again. Relaxed was 15½” and pumped and flexed was now 16½”.  

“I am going to set you up a weight programme because you have about 15 pounds of excess baggage,” Brent said, and he gently grabbed Jason’s now finally soft cock, “this guy notwithstanding. I am gonna turn you into a hard defined monster and you are going to have more confidence, right?”  

Jason got up and did an over-exaggerated ‘most muscular’ pose and growled. Brent laughed, got up and hugged Jason.  

“Is there any chance that we can do this again?” Jason asked.  

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Brent, “But you never know. Circumstances could make another session possible.”  

“You meant to say ‘cirCUMstances, didn’t you,” laughed Jason.  

Brent laughed. He had a funny feeling that this session of unbridled sex with Jason was just the thing for his right winger as well. Jason headed off to his room and to bed.  

The following night, the losing streak was broken, in a very big way, shutting out the host Kingston team 5-0 and Jason scored twice and set up each of his linemates. He also crushed the Kingston star defenseman at the opposition blue line when he momentarily looked down to find the puck in his skates. Jason was named second star, after Clint’s shutout. The bus ride back home was much happier. In fact it started a winning streak that went on for the next 16 games, including three wins in overtime and two in a shootout, with Jason scoring the winning goal in both shootout wins.  

After a month-and-a-half of working out every day in a split routine, Jason had dropped eleven pounds of what he called ‘baby fat’ and he was amazed that he could now see definition in his abs, his pecs began to harden, his biceps actually got smaller relaxed, dropping to 15” but his flexed measurement increased to 16½” and Jason’s skating improved, his shot improved but most of all, his attitude improved.  

He was now first in the corners on the forecheck, often punishing opposition defencemen with clean hard bodychecks. He began to get a reputation as being a budding power forward and his place on the universal draft listing began to climb. The rest of the team now saw that Jason was showing the way by example and it seemed that everybody upped their level of play. They finished in third place, winning the first and second rounds of the playoffs, but losing again in the semi-finals due largely because Clint Bobchuk tore his left knee while making a saving on a player sliding into his goal crease.  

Jason kept working out after the season had ended and because the billet that he was staying with during the season was only paid by the team until the end of the season, Jason moved in with Brent. They worked out together every day and Brent was amazed at the gains that Jason made by the end of the summer. He was now 230 pounds and all of it muscle. His biceps were now 17½” and while they didn’t quite have Brent’s baseball definition, they were a big change from six months earlier.  

And did they ever have sex again? Oh yeah, every day during that off-season and neither Brent nor Jason believed it but Jason’s cock actually increased in size that summer as well, topping out at 9” exactly. It even got a bit thicker. Jason was drafted at the beginning of the third round but decided to play one more season in the OHL before heading off to university for a degree in physical education. While Brent and Jason enjoyed sex every day during the summer, once training camp started, Jason moved back with a billet family. Jason was named captain by the other players, lead the team in scoring and hits, yet took few penalties.  

Brent and Jason had an agreement that if Jason ever had three or more points in a game, with at least one goal, they could have sex that night. That season, Jason had 16 three-points-or-better games. The other players never suspected because, since he was the captain, meetings in the coach’s room on the road were common. Little did they know that they weren’t talking about pucks and sticks, they were dealing with baseballs and steel pipes!