Captain Zim
Copyright© 2025 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 20
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 20 - David Zimmerman is your average high school junior, a bookish sort with average everything — except athletic ability. He can't throw or hit, swims like a turtle and has wimpy muscles. He was chosen last for every sport in elementary school — when he was chosen at all. His life changed when he kicked a field goal squarely between the uprights, then it changed again the next time he was in a ball game
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Consensual Fiction
We walked down the beach together, talking about all sorts of things; none of it serious or earth-shattering. Neither CC nor Diane was there; Sean was. He came up to us, and we talked for a bit. Then I excused myself, telling them I wanted to get some sleep.
I went back to the rooms. No one seemed to be up and about, even though it was just a little before ten. No CC, no Diane. I went and sat on one of the chairs on the balcony, looking out over the ocean. The night was cool, but not anywhere close to cold or uncomfortable.
The problem, I learned, about falling asleep outside on the east coast of Florida is that the first thing that happens in the morning, just about, is that the sun comes up over the horizon and burns your eyeballs out.
I rolled off the deck chair, dragged myself into my room, and burrowed under the covers.
Later, I awoke, cracked an eye towards the clock on the dresser. A little after nine. Wonderful, just wonderful.
I jumped out of bed, hit the shower. En route to the shower, I still couldn’t detect life in my local universe ... I assumed they were all off at breakfast. When I got out of the shower, there was still no one, and it was pushing ten. It was, I thought, as good a time as there could be to have something to eat, so I went downstairs to the hotel coffee shop. No parents visible, no CC.
I finished, decided that silence wasn’t all that golden, and went out to the beach.
Stopped; there was someone else on Sean’s chair. Like, why was this a surprise? I thought to myself. It’s not like it’s really his; it belongs to the person in charge of the other lifeguards. The guy there looked stern and forbidding; it was like the chair was surrounded by serious icebergs.
I saw a bunch of people playing volleyball down the beach; I walked that way. I could see Duke, tall and strong, serve; not at all like me; he served overhand rockets that you had to dig out, each and every one. A week before, I’d have been impressed. On Monday I’d have been impressed. Yesterday I’d have been curious; today I simply made a note: a dangerous technique. Against both sides. Yep, you could probably score aces, but the other side knew what was coming and would defend accordingly. The secret, I thought, was that they should never be sure what was coming next.
I stayed a ways back, not wanting to get involved in a game; I didn’t have that long before I had to leave.
I was seriously considering jumping into the ocean and making a stab at swimming the Atlantic when Diane appeared at my side. “You stretch, Zim?”
I met her eyes. “No.” I said quietly. “No real need.”
She moved; I wasn’t sure what she did, but abruptly I was lying on my back. “Being limber isn’t a bad thing,” Diane said firmly.
So, for the next half hour, I limbered up; then my Dad showed up, and I was in the car with just him, heading back towards the mainland.
“Someone will bring me back,” I told him, after a minute.
He sniffed. “I’m afraid David, that’s old news. You’ve learned what I learned when I was your age. That when you tell your parents you can get home on your own, you’re really saying you’ll get home all by yourself in your own time. We shouldn’t concern ourselves. Worry and get a punch in the nose.” He waved ahead of us. “The coach made it clear; spectators are not welcome. So, when you get home, you can tell us how you did.”
I could tell that he didn’t want to wait that long; myself, I wasn’t sure which I was more eager for: volleyball or what might happen outside of school, so to speak.
We pulled up at the Center. Dad simply waited until I was a safe distance from the van, then pulled away and drove off. I contemplated the back end of the van, heading back towards the hotel. This was hard for him, wasn’t it? I’m growing up; one of these days, in not that far of a future, I’ll leave. I laughed to myself. Why would I ever want to leave?
I walked towards the door; I saw Tasha standing near it. She grinned, came and grabbed my hand. “Come along, Zim.”
I followed her inside the building, down halls, around two corners, then outside again, walking now on graveled paths that led to a series of volleyball courts. Some were sand, some were grass, some were asphalt. I looked at the asphalt, winced. How many times had I gone for a ball down on my knees? I’d be a real cripple if I did that on asphalt!
We stopped at a small group of people: Julie the trainer, Chris Cringle, an older man in dockers and a sport shirt, and another man in his twenties. Tasha spoke. “Everyone, this is David Zimmerman. David, you know Julie and Chris.” I nodded to them. “This is David Warren.” She nodded to the older manand James Walker. James Walker was the younger of the two of them. He was wearing plain white shorts and a plain white t-shirt.
David Warren held out his hand. “Welcome, David.” I shook his hand; his grip was firm, but he didn’t try to crush my hand. “I’m Head Coach.” I nodded.
There was a moment of silence, then Julie said. “Have you done any warmups, Zim?”
I shrugged. “About an hour ago.”
“Come.” She led the way. Everyone followed; I was second in line, Tasha and David Warren coming last. We went into one of the sand-covered venues. “Show me what you do,” she said, so I ran through the four exercises Diane had shown me, and then two that Sean had.
I hadn’t paid much attention to what everyone else was doing, just watching Julie. She’d asked once if I had a bad back. I was curious about that. Right now, she simply had no expression, even after I finished showing her what I’d done.
Chris held up what looked like a stack of paper plates. He flashed them to me. I could see the one on top had the number ‘One’ on it. “What’s this, Zim?” he asked.
“A paper plate.”
“A paper plate with a ‘one’ on it,” he corrected. He flipped the plate onto the ground on the other side of the net. “Try a guess about this,” and held up another plate.
I decided that there was a purpose to this, so I simply said, “A paper plate with a ‘two’ on it.”
He flipped it out onto the sand as well. I looked at it, back to Chris. From next to me, James Walker said, “Here.” I turned, in time to see a volleyball coming at me, just short of light speed. I got my hands on it, bobbled it, but managed not to drop the ball.
“Okay Zim, number one.” Chris said. He waved.
I looked at him. “I’m not sure what you want.” I told him.
“Serve the fuckin’ volleyball!” he said, his voice tight with anger. He pointed at the first paper plate. “There, asshole!”
I blinked. I wasn’t in the right spot to serve. We were standing more or less in the center of the side of the net we were on. Still, I thought I could do it. I set things in my mind, served it. Sure enough, the ball landed right smack dab on top of the plate.
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