Journey in Love

Author's note: If you came here for a quick read then this is likely not your cup of tea. Sincere thanks to my friend and fellow author BaccusDelectous for his keen proofreading skills and valuable guidance in geographical/cultural accuracy.

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According to my parents, they met at university in San Francisco and fell in love at first sight in 1982. Feeling their oats in the cultural freedom they enjoyed here in America, as compared with their native Hong Kong, they married after a brief but traditional courtship - keeping their new status secret from my grandparents on both sides.

In 1985, shortly after commencing their graduate studies in the burgeoning field of computer science, I came along. It must have been a struggle, but they both managed to stay in school to maintain their student visas and protect their secret.

When my father graduated, he was quickly hired into an IT position at a large insurance firm in the Bay area. My mom succeeded in getting in on the ground floor of what would eventually become a well known software developer.

They were then able to convert their student visas to green cards, beginning the long process of eventually attaining the U.S. citizenship that was already mine by birthright.

Soon thereafter, they traveled back to Hong Kong with me in tow to come clean with their parents about the turn their lives had taken. I was three years old and have no memory to call my own of what transpired on my only visit to the country my parents still sometimes refer to as their homeland, but apparently things didn't go as they'd hoped.

Their young hearts broken, they brought me back to America to resume our lives - never to set foot again on their home soil until after I graduated college. In fact, I was in middle school before relations warmed enough that my grandparents allowed Mom and Dad to fly them over for occasional visits.

Those visits were somewhat stressful for me, due to the language barrier. They were no doubt stressful for my parents, too, having to constantly translate for us.

But, after that initial rejection, my parents understandably chose to fully embrace their new homeland and forsake their native language for American English, to the best of their ability. Much to my grandparents' chagrin, Mom and Dad had no qualms about me growing up as American as any Caucasian kid born into our same suburban existence.

My given name is Ching. My parents say it's Cantonese in origin and that it translates to 'journey', which was how they viewed my arrival in their lives. When I unofficially Americanized it to Ken near the end of my grade school years, they even embraced and honored that.

No boy could have been born to two more understanding and supportive parents. Yet - even as a resident of the gayest city in America - once my sexuality was jarringly awakened, I found myself unable to open up to them about it, or anyone else for that matter. But, more on that later.

I was always the smallest and frailest boy in my class. So, throughout my youth, I always chalked up my fascination with the burly brutes that caught my eye to my deep disappointment that nature had seen fit to deprive me of all hope of achieving such a commanding physical presence.

Before I was even out of elementary school, my parents enrolled me in a private gymnastics academy. I suppose they imagined I might want to take up some kind of sport when I reached high school and that I needed a head start on my physical development.

I did take to the endeavor, but not for that reason. Two days a week, we were required to practice ballet to improve balance and endurance.

I wasn't bad at gymnastics, but neither was I anything special. Dance was something else altogether, though. Soon, I began to envision myself as a dancer rather than a gymnast.

Once in high school, however, gymnastics naturally became my sport of choice. By age fourteen I had certainly acquired the body of a gymnast. At under five and a half feet in height still, I barely broke 100 pounds in body weight but had begun to sport sinews which were a great source of pride for me.

At that point, my parents withdrew me from the gymnastics academy so I could train at school and enrolled me in a dance academy to continue supplementing that. In truth, I was so enamored of dance by then that I honestly thought of gymnastics more as supplementary to my still unspoken dream of professional dance.

I worked hard, though. Gymnastics was a sport in which, as long as you were careful not to attempt anything dangerous, you could train yourself at school even outside of competition season. In my sophomore year, I decided to get an early start and train during football season. It was a decision probably based more on my attraction to one of the football coaches more than any dream of rising above my admitted mediocrity at my chosen sport.

Coach Baker was our football team's head line coach, who first came to my attention as my freshman year P.E. teacher. I ended up in another man's P.E. class my sophomore year, so I knew full well I would have to find another way to feast my eyes on Coach Baker with any kind of regularity.

By my guess, he was about fifty years of age and was the biggest, strongest looking man I had ever stood in the presence of to that point. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him at some point.

I didn't quite understand those feelings for him at that time, but I knew I loved the sense of being dwarfed by a man easily three times my size. And, I especially loved the electric, tingling sensations that shot through me when he would occasionally place his huge hands on me while correcting my form during certain exercises.

The sound of his deep voice reverberating in the gym was also a source of fascination for me. It was a perfect match for his imposing build and instantly commanded my respect.

Coach Baker took an instant liking to me and I found that tremendously comforting. I would stop him any time I saw him in the halls and try to think of anything to strike up conversation, just to thrill to his manly voice. He never once made me feel foolish for it and always seemed to engage with me sincerely.

A couple of weeks into my sophomore year, his equipment manager had to move when his dad was relocated in his job. Spying me in the gym while having his squad 'run horses', he came over and offered the position to me.

In my imagination, I leapt into his arms in acceptance. In reality, I simply told him I would ask my parents. He smiled and took my hand in his beefy paw, giving it a firm shake.

"I wouldn't expect anything less. You're a fine young man, Ken," he proudly acknowledged, "It's kind of urgent, though. Can you let me know by tomorrow?"

"I'll ask them tonight!" I assured him.

"Good man!"

"Thank you, sir!" I replied as he turned his incredibly broad back to me and sauntered off to go about his business.

My parents had no qualms about me accepting and I sought him ought first thing the next morning.

"Alright, then. Today is weight training with the guys, so let's plan on starting you tomorrow afternoon. I'd like you to find a pair of gray athletic shorts like mine...only a lot smaller, of course," he said with a laugh and a wink.

"Yes, sir! No problem, sir!"

"I'm pretty sure we've got a staff tee somewhere that'll fit you."

"Great!"

"One more thing, Ken."

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll be helping me hump some pretty heavy blocking pads and other gear to and from the practice field. You'll need a jock to pack your own equipment in. I'd hate for us to get all the team's equipment squared away only to discover you left yours on the field," he said with another wink.

I laughed, thrilled by his gesture of male bonding.

"I'll be all packed up and ready to go, sir!" I assured him with a grin, "See you Wednesday...and thanks!"

When Wednesday afternoon rolled around, I was in the locker room at 3:40 sharp with my new shorts, jock and athletic socks. Coach Baker called me into his office. He opened up a tall metal cabinet and fished around until he found a small-sized staff tee. He pitched it to me.

"Go change into your things with the guys who are already here and start getting to know them. Then, meet me outside at the storage shed behind the gym."

I did as instructed and followed his every command while we got everything set for his 4:10 start time. He barked his orders at the huge linemen and cajoled them to get the most out of them until 6:15 rolled around.

"Okay! Hit the showers, men. And remember, Phil's a custodian - not your mom! Pick up after yourself!"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" they shouted back in unison and shot off to the locker room in the full sprint Coach Baker expected of them, barking like a wolf pack at the top of their lungs the entire way.

By 6:45 we had all the equipment put away and reached the locker room just as the last of his squad was exiting.

"Same time tomorrow, men!" he bellowed at them.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" the few stragglers cheerfully shouted in unison.

Once we were alone, the huge, sweat-soaked man turned to me and said, "Excellent job, Ken. I knew I could depend on you."

"Thanks, Coach!"

"Think this is something you might like to stick with?"

"Oh! Yes, sir!"

"Great! Just might put a little more meat on those bones," he said, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder, "Go ahead and hit the shower. I don't want your ride to have to wait on you too long."

"Sir! Yes, sir!"

He chuckled.

"Relax, Ken. 'Yes, sir', or even just 'okay', will do fine between us. I make the squad do that because I don't want there to be any question who's in charge."

"Oh," I said, aware from the heat in my face that I was blushing, "Okay, sir."

He walked into his office. I quickly stripped and started my shower.

Closing my eyes, I hung my head under the spray to rinse my hair. It felt good and I let it run over me for some time. When I lifted my head and opened my eyes came the moment fate confronted me with the true nature of my sexuality.

Nonchalantly swaggering toward me was the huge bear of a man I'd admired for more than a year - completely naked! As many times as I'd tried to imagine what a man like him must look like in the buff, I was completely unprepared for what I beheld.

He was covered in a tightly napped coat of salt and pepper fur. Its coverage was so thorough that it formed a collar-like ring around his neck below his clean-shaven jowls.

His bare body was a conglomeration of inconceivably powerful looking bulges that seemed to defy gravity. Rolling against his tree trunk sized thighs was a dark colored scrotum, so plump and round that it looked like a miniature of his prodigious belly.

Peeking out above that, from the wiry bush that decorated his generous pubic pad, was a cock head that looked almost the size of my fist. I know that's an exaggeration - but it honestly was the thought I had in that moment.

When I looked down in a futile attempt at not being obvious in my fascination with him, I discovered that my cock had sprung fully erect. I was humiliated and clumsily tried to shield it from his view, finally just opting to turn my back to him.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "Didn't mean to surprise you. Nothing to be embarrassed about. You're at the age when it happens all the time...all those raging hormones! I miss that! Must be quite some little gal you were daydreaming about there."

"Oh...yes, sir...I...I guess she is," I stammered, awkwardly accepting the cover story he'd offered.

I heard his showerhead come to life. Somehow I managed to will my erection into submission long enough to turn his way again, so as not to appear uncomfortable. He was not at the station adjacent to mine, but at the next one up.

As the spray began matting his coarse body hair to his spectacular array of bulges, my eyes zeroed in on the huge, pencil eraser sized nipples jutting out through it. He slowly turned his vast torso from side to side to fully wet himself, his head comfortably resting back on his shoulders with his eyes closed.

The wetter he got, the more I could make out the dark, half dollar sized areolas that surrounded them. I wanted in the worst way to climb up into his arms and nurse one of them like a baby.

He opened his eyes and reached for his soap just as I sprang stiff again. He ran his salt and pepper crew cut under the water and then casually began soaping his expansive torso. Catching sight of my condition once more, he chuckled and shook his huge head.

"So...this little filly of yours got a name?"

I was dying of shame on the inside, but content enough he suspected nothing to make no further effort to conceal it. My mouth was dry as a desert.

"She doesn't know...how I feel, I mean. I...I don't think I should say, sir."

His thick belly shook as his jolly laughter rang out around us in the tiled shower. I tingled as it enveloped me in its hearty warmth.

"Now, that's a true gentleman! I respect that, Ken," he said in a reassuring tone.

He turned his attention to his weighty genitals and began soaping them. At one point he briefly pressed into his pad and fully exposed his flaccid penis. Rolling and bouncing atop his sizable scrotum, it unintentionally shamed my young erection by nearly matching its length and clearly exceeding its circumference.

I was awestruck! My sac drew tight around my balls and my cock lurched into an unexpected dance at my all-too-brief glimpse. I hastily turned my back to him for cover and rinsed my hair back off my forehead.

When I turned to face my spray again and steal another peek, he was soaping his meaty, fur-covered butt; those massive paws alternately almost disappearing in his deep crack as he thoroughly lathered it.

I could scarcely believe my eyes when he turned his back to the spray and leaned forward, spreading his beefy glutes with both hands to rinse out his deep furrow. For some reason, I wanted to kneel down behind him and bury my face in that mystifyingly inviting cleft.

I had no idea where such a thought came from. Never had I seen or even heard of men doing that for each other. It made my cock start dancing again, though, so I quickly turned off my showerhead and shifted my stance to conceal it from him.

"I'd better towel off, sir. See you in a bit," I told him and rushed out.

"Right behind you. I won't be a minute," he replied.

I had to think fast to be ready when the naked behemoth stepped out. I was seated on a bench with my towel across my lap to conceal my raging hard-on. Coach Baker leaned forward on one foot to grab a towel from the top row of the open-faced cabinet that contained them.

That gave me no more than two or three seconds to admire his bulky package, seductively swaying between his incredibly powerful looking thighs. It was all the time required, though, to convince me that I wanted to spend my life with a man exactly like him.

He then turned his attention to the task of drying his enormous body while engaging me in more chat. I almost fell on my face trying to yank my briefs up and slip into my jeans before he could catch yet another glimpse of my unrepentantly stubborn erection.

Cell phones were just beginning to catch on back then and I had no sooner fastened my jeans when mine went off. I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped it open.

"Hi, Mom. Yeah. Just need to slip my shirt on and I'll be right out."

I closed my phone and slipped it back into my front jeans pocket. Sneaking one last look at the coach's magnificent nakedness, I pulled on my shirt.

"Gotta run, sir."

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, still casually displaying himself and already knowing the answer I suspect.

"I'll be here!"

"Good. See you then!" he said with a satisfied smile, hoisting a huge foot up onto the bench in front of him to towel off his captivatingly handsome genitals.

I ran out and hopped in the car with my mom. She grinned at me.

"What's with you? You look like you just won the lottery!"

I'm sure I blushed, wondering if she could somehow see the visions of Coach Baker, naked, replaying over and again in my head.

"It was great, Mom! I think this is going to be a lot of fun!"

I told her everything I'd helped with on my first day and what a great guy Coach Baker was; Coach Baker this and Coach Baker that - all the way home and even over dinner.

Indeed, it turned out to be every bit as fun as I'd predicted. But, not only was it fun, I learned just as much as his football players about the importance of focus in achieving one's goals. I finished out that season and eagerly returned for the next two as well.

Showering together might not have been a daily occurrence, but it was far from uncommon. Fortunately, I was eventually able to control my Pavlovian (or maybe Freudian) response to the overwhelming stimulus of his naked presence.

To this day, I still feel a sense of gratitude when I think of Coach Baker. Without him, who knows how long it might have taken me to fully understand myself as a sexual being?

Springing hard at that first sighting of his massive, nude body left no doubt in my mind that my attraction to men of his ilk was indeed sexual. Nor did it leave any room for doubt that my role in any sexual encounter with such a man, should I ever be so lucky as to have one, would be tending to his manly needs.

By the end of my senior year in 2003 I had to say goodbye to that chapter of my life. Through my dance academy, I'd become acquainted with a visiting dance instructor who taught at the University of Michigan.

She always praised my talent in the area and assured me she would make a place for me at UM if ever I decided to venture that far from home for my continued education in it. For much of my senior year I mulled her offer over.

My parents, having ventured much farther for theirs, understood completely when I finally sought their permission to apply there and encouraged me to follow through with it. In the fall of that year I landed in Ann Arbor for my own adventure of a lifetime.

To my delight, I found many men cut from the same cloth as Coach Baker to lust after. But, during those first two years, lust was all it ever amounted to. The thought that men who interested me could also be gay never entered my mind.

In that far away setting, I quickly owned up to the sexuality I still hid from my parents and conducted myself as an out gay kid. But, my old-fashioned upbringing and devotion to my narrowly defined masculine ideal kept me from acting on it.

Several of my fellow dancers pursued me but, other than our mutual gayness, there was no foundation for anything other than social friendships as far as I was concerned. In spite of my consuming curiosity about sex, I chose to protect my virginity in hopes of someday giving it to a man I felt genuinely attracted to.

One night, early in my junior year, my dance mentor invited me to a fund raiser at her house. There would be many benefactors of her program in attendance and she wanted a few of her best students on hand to impress upon them the importance of their continued support. I was incredibly flattered she included me in that number and it turned out to be a night that changed my life.

We arrived early, already in our tights, and were kept in a back room until she brought us out to dance an excerpt from Romeo and Juliet, which she accompanied on her grand piano. It was met with thunderous applause and then we were excused to don the evening wear she'd told us to bring and join the festivities.

While we'd danced, I caught sight of a man who seemed to keep his eyes riveted to my every move. He was the most perfect specimen of a man I'd set eyes on since Coach Baker. He was every bit as burly looking and even wore his hair in the same manly crew cut, except his was a stunningly beautiful silver in color. I found it incredibly difficult to concentrate under his unerring gaze, but managed.