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Coach Hard-Ass

By Domus Vocis

"Kevin Fleischer? Fucking hell, is that you?"

"Wow, it's been years, huh? It's good to see you again!"

"I barely recognized you since high school!"

Those were among the most common phrases my classmates told me. They couldn't believe the slender, well-built red fox used to be the same scrawny kid they picked on. To them it was inconceivable, but it happened to be the truth. As I walked through the packed gymnasium, a familiar voice broke through the crowd.

"Kevin?"

My eyes widened at seeing a short, but beautiful terrier in a red dress.

"Jackie!" I yipped happily, pulling her into a hug. "Jackie, Jackie, it's good to see you again. My God, you look the same as before! Minus the black eyeliner & goth makeup."

"Hey!" she gawked and slapped my chest. "It is great to see you though! How have you been?"

"Eh, surviving the job market mainly."

Part of me didn't want to attend my 10-Year High School Reunion. I'd moved away on my own years prior and didn't want to look back on those rough days. I was the effeminate fox, the punching bag of everyone's jokes, and the timid learner who wanted to start anew. By the time I graduated from community college four years later, I bought a bus ticket for the farthest metropolitan area I could find. I got an apartment, worked in retail to support myself, and spent half of my free time lifting weights at a fitness center.

The other half involved discovering my sexuality within the local gay scene.

On the other paw, it felt sort of liberating to see how everyone else was doing with their lives. There was Max Lieber, the lanky cheetah who threw me into a locker room, now in an unhappy marriage with three cubs and a pregnant girlfriend/mistress. Next was Alicia Duvont, a sassy queen bee now working tables at the local diner. Then came Kendall Horst, one of many wolf jocks who called me 'nerd' and 'queer', had done time after losing his football scholarship in a DUI, while his lackey Patrick De Cruz was currently sporting a beer belly. Once he was the school's champion wrestler, but now he only wrestled with Captain Morgan bottles, according to Jackie. However, the one attendee that caught my eye was by the salad bar. A buff rottweiler of forty-seven years, the greying fur on him contrasted against the black and brown under his bright football jersey. His muscled arms held a plate of queso-drenched nachos and fava beans.

Coach Hardell, or 'Coach Hard-Ass' as everyone called him. Out of all the classmates and teachers that gave me a hard time, he topped them all in his ruthlessness. He made it his only mission to torture my junior and senior years of high school. Whenever I struggled doing laps around the gym, he'd have me do five more. He'd even laugh with them whenever I missed a hoop or goal. Aside from the greys, Hard-Ass hadn't aged a day.

Walking over to the feasting dog, I sat down at his table and drank from my beer.

"Hey there!" I greeted after some silence. "Long time no see, Coach."

He lifted his muzzle to stare at me. "Do I know you, kid? You seem familiar."

At first, nothing. Moments later, Coach's eyes lit up into saucers. He did a massive double-take my appearance, then read my name tag again.

"Kevin Fleisher. Goddamn, is that you, sonny?" he laughed. "Wow, time makes fools of us all."

"Pretty much," I agreed.

"So how have you been lately?" he asked curiously. The larger canine leaned in closer to hear me over the bombarding music and senseless chatter. "The last thing I heard about you was how you and several other kids moved to the city."

"I did," I relaxed into my chair and smiled, "and yeah I'm working as a retail manager. It's good money and pays the bills."

"I assume you followed my advice and made physical fitness your top priority as well?" Coach asked me, smiling in a way that made blood rush to my crotch. I had never seen the older rottweiler smile before. "One minute you're prancing around my gym like a scrawny little twig, and the next I barely even recognize one of my old students. You've really turned into a handsome fox."

Before I could stop it, my cheeks flushed russet and my tail wagged madly against my legs. Now, I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering. His well-toned arms bulged their way through his jersey sleeves, and the grey in his fur didn't negate any of the dog's handsomer featured. In fact, age had made him even more attractive.

"Y-Y-Yeah..." I stammered sheepishly. "T-Thank you, Coach--"

"Call me Dan, boy!" the dog interrupted in another infectiously boisterous laugh. "I'm not your coach anymore, so no need to act like it, Kevin."

My heart felt like it'd been lodged in my throat. "Okay...Dan..."

The rottweiler, sighing suddenly, and stared down at his neglected food. "Listen," he told me, "I never got to tell you this, but...I wanted to...apologize for the way I treated you back then. I'm sorry about my singling you out among the rest of these brats. I'm...I'm sorry."

I blinked. "Don't worry about it, Dan. I...I forgive you."

Without a beat, he smiled, we shook paws and eagerly got to drinking again. Several bottles later, and we were absolutely hammered. The more Dan and I talked, the more attracted to him I'd become. This would go on until my boner was practically tenting through my denim jeans. He must've either noticed or smelled it through all the alcohol, because the rottweiler then suddenly pulled me close and whispered huskily, "I knew you were queer, Fleisher. If you want real experience with dick, then my office. Ten minutes."

I grinned with lust.

An hour later, and I ended up walking out his office with a sore bottom.