The Adventures of a Rugby Coach
Copyright© 2021 by Zak
Chapter 9
True Sex Story: Chapter 9 - After several years of professional Rugby, I took up coaching and I have never had so much fun.
Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa BiSexual School Sports Workplace Black Female White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Female Analingus Facial Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Spitting Tit-Fucking BBW Big Breasts
On Friday morning, I received an email from Miss Green informing me that all the necessary new kit had been ordered and would be delivered the following week. There was also a new first-team kit being delivered, which was a bonus. Everyone loves some new bits of kit!
She sent some pictures from the supplier’s website, and it all looked good.
I also had permission to inform the lads about the upcoming home and away games against Fort William High School. So, I decided that before we started the video session that evening, I would give them the good news.
My first two sessions on Friday morning were with year threes. As it was a double session, I took them on a cross-country run, followed by a gym session and ended up with a game of dodgeball.
After lunch, I had a free period, followed by a session with some Year Ones. The Year Ones were easy to deal with; we set up some five-a-side pitches, and they got stuck into some soccer. They were enthusiastic and seemed to enjoy running around in the rain and mud.
The Friday night video session came around quickly.
The lads were buzzing when I told them about the games and even happier when I told them about the new kit. I also told them that not all of them would play in both games. There were now sixty guys in the squad, and a team is made up of fifteen starters and eight substitutes. So, even if we took two teams, only forty-six guys would get a game. I had made my mind up that everyone would get a game over the home and away legs.
The video I had set up was today, on about making the right choice at the right time. It was only meant to last an hour, but all the guys were asking good questions, so the session lasted almost two hours.
Rugby is a physical sport, but all coaches will tell you that the top two inches of the body are essential as well. Good choices win games.
I called the meeting to a close and instructed the guys to be at the gym at 9:30 the following day. They all wished me goodnight as they left, and there seemed to be a real buzz in the team.
I walked back to the staff blocks, a laptop under one arm and a head full of thoughts...
“Hello there, Zak. How are you?” a voice broke the silence. It was Marcia Armstrong.
“Hello Marcia,” I said and smiled at her. She looked stunning.
She was wearing faded jeans that showed off her strong thighs and curvy hips. Her blouse did little to hide her full and very impressive chest. It was a cold evening, and her nipples were making very obvious bumps that I wanted to reach out and tweak. She had a coat in the crook of her elbow, and she must have sensed me looking at her tits as she put the jacket on as I approached her.
“So, what have you been up to?” she asked with a smile that made my knees weaken.
“Oh, we were doing a video session,” I said.
“Oh yes, sounds interesting, “she replied. “Do you fancy telling me all about it over a pint?”
I knew that a few of the teachers liked a night out on Friday; the local village had two pubs and a hotel with a bar.
“Now that sounds like a plan,” I said. “Let me drop my laptop off, and I will meet you here.”
“Okay, but don’t be too long. I have a taxi booked,” She grinned at me and glanced at her wristwatch, “and it will be here any minute”
I was five minutes tops. I changed my shirt, grabbed my wallet, and splashed on some aftershave.
I got back to the front of the staff block just as the taxi was pulling up. We both jumped in the back. Marcia asked the driver to take us to the Coopers Inn.
Sitting in the back of the car, my nose was filled with the smell of her perfume. I tried not to look at Marcia, but it was hard, no pun intended. She looked bloody hot.
“So, tell me about the video session, “she said as the driver sped along the narrow lanes.
So, I explained how I edited together bits of games and used them to highlight issues and how to deal with them. All the pro teams have a video analysis consultant, and I had spent some time with ours. One summer, I took a course and enjoyed the task. I had always thought that if I didn’t make it as a coach, I might chance my hand as a video tech.
We pulled up outside the small pub and I paid the taxi driver.
Once inside, I looked around for the other guys, but there was not a teacher in sight.
“Are we in the right place?” I asked as Marcia led me to the bar.
“Yes, unless you want to be bored by the chatter of twenty disheartened teachers moaning about their budgets, their workload and unruly kids,” she said with a smile.
At the bar, I ordered a pint of the local bitter, and Marcia asked for a G&T with ice but no lemon. The pub was a nice, homely place. There was a fire in the corner, all nooks and crannies, that sort of place. We found a free table well away from the door and sat down.
Once we were sitting comfortably, I asked Marcia about her journey into teaching. She told me how she had moved to Scotland from London with her mother and father. Her father was in the RAF, and they had moved bases on a regular basis.
She had been ten years old when she went to a school that had an English teacher who made them read more books, and the books she gave them made Marcia aware of the rich work of the British and, actually, how good Scottish writers were.
So, she then decided to follow in her mentor’s footsteps and attended university to study Literature, and later took a teaching course. She had done five years at a private school in Edinburgh before moving to the MacLeish School for boys. Once she had told her story, she went and got another round of drinks.
Then she asked me about my road into professional rugby. I gave her the whole story, and she asked lots of questions. She obviously did not know much about rugby; that was for sure. She asked the questions everyone asks: Does it hurt? Does it pay well? That sort of stuff.
Once we had got past the rugby stuff, she asked me about teaching and why I had decided to get into it. We talked like old friends, and she was very tactile; there were lots of leg touches and hand touches.
I got another round of drinks and we talked about life, love and living at the school. She told me that man-wise, it was a bit of a wasteland. She also admitted that at least two or three of the female staff had mentioned they would like to sample my charms; she did not say if one of them was her.
She also told me that at least three of the male teachers and two of the female teachers had made advances towards her. I couldn’t blame them; to be honest, she was gorgeous, with a body to die for.
It was fun just to sit and chat and chill. Another round of drinks followed another round, followed by another round. It was not long before the barman was calling time.
I went to the bar and ordered another round of drinks, then asked them if they could order a taxi for us to take us back to school.
The taxi came just as we were asked to leave the pub. We both got in the back, and I felt Marcia slip her hand onto my thigh as the driver did a U-turn and headed off to school.
I paid the driver once he had dropped us off, and then turned to see that Marcia was more than a little bit tipsy; the fresh air had had the same effect on me, to be fair.
I walked her up to her room, and I was hoping for an invitation to go in for coffee or...
But she kissed me on the lips, a light, soft kiss and then she went into her room and left me standing in the corridor. I went back to my room and got undressed, got a bottle of water out of the fridge, and headed off to bed, too pissed and too tired to even have a wank.
I slept well that night, and I had naughty dreams about Marcia and Natalie getting it on.
Saturday morning came around far too fast. With no Jo around, I would have to take the morning’s rugby training on my own. I woke early as my bladder needed to be emptied. I took a long shower and put my training kit on. There was no way I would be running, I thought to myself. My head was too woolly.
I was the first into the dining room as they opened at six o’clock, but there were soon quite a few of the rugby squad and then a few teachers turned up. Many of them were blurry-eyed. I ate two bowls of porridge, one bowl of fruit salad, and two pints of iced water.
After breakfast, I had an hour to kill. There was still no way I was going running, so I walked down the drive and back. The fresh air did me the world of good. By the time I got back to the gym, I felt as right as rain and ready to go. I made a coffee, checked my email, and then did some of my admin work.
The lads all turned up, many of them early. We did some warmup exercises, and most of the guys looked in better condition than I did, to be fair. I finished the warmups by sending them on a run around the pitch. I would normally have led them, but this morning I left them to it while I set up the training kit.
I soon had the guys working in pods. I mixed up the fourth and fifth-year lads. I set them tasks and they worked well together. One of the things I loved when I was a pro player was SAQ training: Speed, Agility and Quickness. It was something that all pro players did a lot of work on, so that was what the lads did for a good half an hour.
Then we worked on defence, running lines and how-to from good defensive patterns. I split the lads into two teams for the last hour, and we had a game, fifteen v. fifteen, with rolling subs.
The lads got stuck in, and it was good to see the improvements they were making. As I refereed the game from the sideline, Professor McClusky came walking around.
“Good morning, Sir!” I said as he stood next to me. Natalie had told me he loved to be called Sir by both the boys and the staff. If it got me into his good books, I was happy to do so.
“Good morning, Zak,” he said and looked at the lads as they played. “They are coming on, I see!”
“Only another two weeks before the big game,” I said with a smile.
“Yes, I have laid on some refreshments and a few other bits and pieces,” he said.
“Wow, that’s great, thanks, Sir!” I replied as I watched the lads playing.
“So, do we have a chance against the Fort William lads?” he asked.
“I have no idea; they do play at a high level, but whatever the score, it will be great match practice,” I replied.
“Very true, but remember it is not about winning, it’s all about the taking part,” Professor McClusky said with a sly smile.
We both smiled at each other and knew that that statement was pure bullshit. Everyone likes a win.
I blew the whistle for halftime and ran onto the pitch with the baskets full of water bottles. Professor McClusky walked on with me. He had picked up another basket of water bottles.
I gave the lads a few words of encouragement and a few tips as they gulped on the water. I also made a couple of changes to make sure all the lads got at least half a game.
After ten minutes, the prof and I left the pitch, and I blew the whistle to start the game.
Professor McClusky bid me farewell and wander off toward the main school. The lads got stuck in, and it was good to see that stuff that we had been working on in training was being put into use in the game.
The running lines were crisper, the defence was tighter.
After ten minutes, I called the game to a halt and pulled the guys into a huddle. I made a few changes, swapping a few players, and also took off one of the first fifteen players. I explained that all pro teams sometimes play training matches with fourteen players rather than fifteen to make sure they are ready for when a player gets a yellow card in a real game.
For those that don’t know about cards, in rugby, we use yellow and red. Yellow means you leave the pitch for ten minutes, so the team has to play with fourteen men. Two yellow cards means you get a red card, and a red card means you are off for the rest of the game and you cannot be substituted. So a yellow is for a small offence, you get a straight red if you do something really mad. A red means you’re off for the rest of the game.
Losing a player means you have to reshuffle the defence, and players sometimes have to take on roles that they are not prepared for.
I walked back over to the touchline and blew the whistle to start the game. After ten minutes, I sent a player back on to make it fifteen-all.
As I watched, I felt a presence beside me. I turned to see that Marcia Armstrong was standing beside me.
“Hello, you!” she said with a smile.
“Hello, how are you?” I asked, turning back to face the pitch,” Sorry, I have to watch the game.”
“Hey, it’s cool, and yes, I am fine now, thank you,” she said with a giggle. “I must admit I was a bit delicate this morning.”
“Yes, I know the feeling, “I said and blew the whistle, “penalty, all the defence was offside”.
“It looks like they are having fun,” Marcia said as she watched the game.
“We only have two weeks until the game at Fort William High,” I told her as I watched Barnes, the first-team kicker, slide a brilliant kick between the posts from forty meters. He was a hell of a kicker and would get a place in a premiership side if that is what he chose to do.
“Yes, I know, I have put my name down for the coach trip,” she said.
“Coach trip?” I asked.
“Yes, Old McClusky and his bit on the side are doing a coach trip,” she said. “We are going down first thing so we can do some shopping and have a wander around the town before coming to watch the game.”
“Oh, sounds like a nice day out”, I replied.
“It will be. I need some new clothes, and Fort William is the nearest town with shops,” she said with a sigh.
“And a bit on the side?” I asked, looking around to make sure none of the boys were within earshot.
“Oh yes, it’s the worst-kept secret in the school. Old McClusky and that old bag Green have been doing the nasty for a few years now”, she giggled.
“Oh, I feel sick”, I giggled, and Marcia laughed with me.
I blew the whistle for another infringement; this time, the ball was kicked into touch for a lineout.
The hooker threw the ball to the first jumper. The ball went into the hands of the scrum-half, and at the same time, he sprinted down the pitch only to be hammered into the turf by one of the defending centres.
“Ouch, that looks like it might have hurt,” Marcia said. I gave the lad a few seconds, and just before I grabbed a water bottle to dash on and see how he was, he stood up, shook himself down and got stuck in.
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