The Gofer

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

“KISTIN!””OFFICE!””NOW!”Coach Jones’ voice echoes through the locker room over the hiss of the showers and the staccato chatter.”Ah fuck, what now?” I grind out to myself as I gather up soggy towels and slap empty lockers shut, threading my way between girls in all sorts of undress, trying not to stare, but making mental notes of hickies, tats, and telling glances.I am coach’s gofer. I am allowed to skip actual participation in PE for this honor, which was bestowed on me at her request. This is because she wanted me. Not in a sexual way, that I can tell, though I know her taste is for women, but because she wanted me on her teams.I was already six feet tall by my freshman year, thin and strong, with fast, agile hands, so she hounded me. I told her I have no interest in her sort of sports. I find all of them boring, preferring to expend my energy hiking and rock climbing. I tried to explain my dislike of team competition and my need for the personal solitude of these pastimes, but she refused to accept it.So I became her dash-about, the grunt to her whim, as she tried to convert me into a player. It didn’t work, but now, in my senior etimesgut escort year, she has just become used to having me as her puppet and that, for reasons of my own, is fine with me.”There you are. Here, take this to Nurse Charles,” she says, handing me a plain envelope.”Anything else, coach?””Yeah, get me a diet coke. And don’t take all day.”As I cross the courtyard, I hold the envelope up to the sun, but all I can make out is blurry handwriting. I find Mrs. Charles sitting at her desk in the small health office where she passes out band-aids and counsels students about the evils of STDs. She is a small, pale woman with mousy brown hair screwed up in a bun that always looks like it’s about to unravel. She is married to a big-deal doctor and doesn’t need to work, but hasn’t anything else to do.”Good morning, Kistin, what brings you here? Headaches again?””No, ma’am. Coach Jones told me to give you this,” I say, passing over the letter. I turn to go, but she tells me to wait in case there’s a reply to carry back.She puts on her glasses and opens the folded sheet from the envelope. As she reads, eryaman escort she lets out a quiet “Oh!” then looks up, her cheeks flushing pink.”Wait here, dear, I’ll be right back,” she murmurs with a nervous smile and crosses to the small exam room, closing the door behind her. After a couple of minutes, she comes back in and hands me a manila interoffice envelope, taped shut.”Off you go then, dear – make sure she gets this right away.”After picking up the drink, I make my way back to the gym, now empty of students. Coach is waiting for me at her office door.”Took you long enough,” she carps, snatching the drink and envelope with one hand and thrusting a bundle of loose sheets at me with the other.”Get these stats in the database and if anybody’s looking for me I’m not here, right?””Right, coach. On it,” I answer as she goes through the office door without hearing me and kicks it closed.I go to the small desk just outside her window and boot up the old desktop I get to use. As I wait, I lean to the window and peer in where the closed blinds don’t quite reach the edge. I can see coach as she drops sincan escort the envelope on her desk, takes a long pull of soda, then sets it down, too.Her back to me, she pulls her polo top off, muscles rippling with her motion. She turns back and stares down at the envelope. She plays her fingers across her flat stomach just above her running shorts, then drags them up over her sharp abs to her breasts, small like mine, and plucks at her tight nipples, twisting and pulling.She stops abruptly and picks up the envelope, rips it open, then pauses to peer inside. Her mouth curves up in a smile, as she dips in a hand and slowly draws out a crumpled pair of lacy pale blue panties. Dropping the envelope, she brings the silks to her nose with both hands and I can see her chest swell as she inhales deeply. Still holding them to her face, she goes into her private shower room at the back of the office and elbows the door closed.I know I have twenty minutes or more to myself now. I dig into my bag and pull out the lanyard and key hidden in a small pocket. It is a master key to all the lockers. Only coach is supposed to have it, so she can check for contraband twice a month, but that would be a pain in her ass, so she leaves it to me instead. Jumping up, I cross the room to Varsity Corner, where the team stars have their own over-sized lockers and more private showers than in the big bay where the mere mortals bathe after gym.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32