#Rick and Morty Rick Sanchez Coach Sanchez AU Rick RicksTexasChick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rickstexaschick · 6 years ago

Text

Random Picks, Chapter 5: Coach Sanchez, Part 1

You have to satisfy your PE credit before you can graduate. You thought this would be an easy option...

It was in the mid-90s when I went back to college to finish my degree, having taken the "long route" path through life to get there. A few years working at different fast food restaurants, then worked my way up through management at a retail clothing store at the mall... I even tried being the assistant to a family photographer -- who turned out to be less than family oriented in his handling of his employees...

"No" apparently didn't mean "no" to him; and the whole "Me Too" movement wouldn't happen for another 20 years.

Finally, even I had to agree with my patient and long-suffering parents and admit that I was getting to Nowheresville fast. So, I went back to school, taking mostly night classes wherever possible while working full time during the day, until I was down to the final semester, getting ready to register for those last few courses and then I'd be done. That's when my advisor told me that I wouldn't graduate without completing the 2 hour physical education requirement.

Christ. 28 years old and I still had to do Phys Ed?! It was so fucking stupid. I scanned the listing for the less-strenuous courses -- archery? bowling? Nothing held any appeal for me whatsoever. I still had a week or so to come to a decision and was sitting in the Commons area. I was “Slamming and Cramming,” which was basically slamming coffee and doing some last minute cramming for a final exam. I overheard 2 students talking about their racquetball class.

Ooh! Racquetball. I'd missed seeing that on the listing. I tuned out the students' remaining conversation and pulled out my worn and tattered copy of the next semester's course listings. Quickly flipping to the PE section---sure enough, there were 2 different classes offered. I had to pick the late one at 6pm, which would give me an hour break at the end of my work shift. Yuck, a PE class at 6pm. Oh well, it would have to do.

Fortunately I come from what you would call a Racquetball Fanatic Family. Other families did tennis or golf, ours was racquetball. My dad had gotten really into it, when it first became popular, and for a number of years he participated in semi-pro tournaments. Then he became a rep for one of the bigger equipment companies. My older brother did even better and started playing in junior tournaments when he was 15, then turned pro at 18 and continued doing it for years. Not that that was a lucrative thing, but still... Then he, too, took a job as a rep with the same company as my dad.

I dabbled in it, playing in junior tournaments here and there while I was in high school, but I wasn't as good as my brother or my dad, or maybe it just didn't appeal to me as much. And I didn't really want to travel around selling sporting equipment. So, that was my racquetball story. At least now it would pay off, and this would be an easy "A."

The semester ended and the new one started. I was standing in a long line at the textbook store, waiting to check out when a guy standing in the line next to me happened to see the slim, used copy of "Handbook to Racquetball" on the top of my stack of books.

"Racquetball, huh? Too bad you have to get Coach Sanchez this semester."

"Never heard of him," I said, hoping to avoid a long, drawn out conversation about some evil-tempered asshole. So often these types of stories had no basis in fact, were more Urban Legend than anything. The scary calculus professor who failed everyone, or the female English professor who would sleep with 1 or 2 of her male students and would let them miss every class and still give them A's.

"He came out of retirement to coach this semester. The regular coach was in a bad accident over Christmas."

We shuffled closer to the check-stands.

"You seem to know a lot about it," I said, finding my curiosity growing. At least, the accident story sounded interesting. I can rubberneck along with the best of them when it comes to passing a car pile-up on the road.

"I'm a Kinesiology Major — that's Phys Ed. Gonna be a professional trainer when I finish," he said proudly, swelling himself up, holding his stomach in and puffing his chest out. The guy looked the type---all bulky muscle, tanned, confident. Probably more muscle than brains, like so many jocks. He adjusted the heavy stack of books in his arms and continued.

"We heard all about Coach Radcliff's car accident -- he almost died. Anyway, the way I heard, this guy Sanchez was pro for long time. Taught here for a few years, then disappeared. That was a while back. Not the easiest guy to get along with, is what they say. Kind of an asshole."

Huh, I thought. I'd never heard of anyone with the last name of Sanchez, and the Racquetball World wasn't exactly huge... We each stood in silence after that. I paid for my books -- Holy Crap, these damn things were expensive. If only I would actually read them...maybe I'd have better grades.

The first day of class came and I was running late from work, of course. Story of my life... The course listing said that the first 3 or 4 classes would start in the classroom setting, so at least I wouldn't make myself any later by having to run into the locker room to change first. I opened the door to the classroom and was grateful when I realized that the door was in the back of the room -- so no "walk of shame" past everyone and the professor, interrupting the lecture.

I slipped into a desk at the end of a row as quietly as possible. The room was long and narrow and there was a tall guy sitting in front of me. I couldn't see the front without leaning past him and halfway out in the aisle, which I sure as hell wasn't going to do -- no need to draw anymore attention to myself.

"We-urp-ell. It l-l-looks like our star player, our celebrity has finally fuckin' arrived..." The man's voice was deep, rough. And sounded very annoyed. I looked around to see who'd come in behind me and realized to my horror that he meant me.

Oh shit. Please don't let this class, my last semester, be like this... Everyone in the room was looking at me. I felt my face burning and tried to slide down a little in my chair.

The guy in front of me had turned around sideways in his seat to look at me, giving me a clear view of the man at the front of the class. He was tall, lean, with a shock of blue-grey hair sticking out from his head in unruly waves. Like he didn't own a hairbrush. Even from the back of the classroom I could see his blue eyes piercing me. Damn! He was fucking sexy! I sucked my breath in and felt myself growing wet.

He frowned. "N-n-nice of you to join us. Y-y-you didn't feel the need to change?"

I looked around and realized, to my horror again, that everyone was in shorts and t-shirts and had their racquets.

"Um, sir," my voice croaked and I had to clear my throat and start again. "The course listing said that the first few lectures would be in the classroom. So I thought..." I trailed off lamely.

"Th-Then you thought wrong. Go change. Meet us on the courts. Everyone else, let's (urp) go."

I gathered up my things and headed for the locker room, my face still burning with embarrassment. How was it that I'd made this mistake, that everyone else knew to be in work-out clothes? Then I stopped in my tracks at the entrance to the locker room, my hand on the door. I didn't have any work-out clothes with me. I wasn't expecting to need any yet. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Now what?

I turned around and went to the racquetball courts. Coach Sanchez was trailing up the rear, the students having disappeared around a corner, and I caught up to him.

"Coach, I don't have anything with me. I wasn't expecting to play today. I'm sorry."

"Hhmmph." He refused to look down at me, barely acknowledged that I'd said anything. He continued walking, his long legs taking great strides and I struggled to keep up, taking two steps to his one. We got to the wing of the building with the courts, everyone was standing around, waiting for instructions. Coach paired everyone up and sent them off to the courts. He turned and looked down at me.

"Go wait for me -- go up on the gallery."

Some racquetball courts are designed with the rear wall made of plexiglass, so observers can watch. But being a classroom setting, this facility's courts were regular walled, with a viewing gallery on the second level so that the coach could look down on the various games and call out instructions.

I went up to the second level and set my things down in the corner. I peered down onto the first court and watched two students clumsily knock the ball around. I went from court to court and saw that this pretty much was the caliber of all the students in the class. I ended up above court #9 and watched two guys hitting the ball wildly, laughing at themselves. The tenth court was empty.

"This group f-f-fucking sucks." He was standing right next to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Can't believe they talked -- talked me into this shit." He pulled a metal flask from the hip pocket of his shorts and unscrewed the cap then took a deep pull. His long fingers were wrapped around the flask, his other hand rested on the rail, his fingers taping it lightly. I stared at them and wondered what they would feel like on my body... He offered the flask to me, nudging my arm. "Want some?"

"Uh, no thanks..." I was pretty sure it wasn't Gatorade in that flask. He stood uncomfortably close to me and I began to breathe quickly. Occasionally he'd lean into me, on the pretense of craning his head down into the court below to watch a player, but he didn't immediately move away afterwards. Soon he stayed pressed up against me. His skin was warm and I started to feel wetness and heat bloom between my legs as the skin of his arm continued to rub against mine. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and took a careful sideways step away from him. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my gaze steadfastly downward, pretending to watch the game below.

"Hhmmph," he chuckled. "All r-r-right. You can take off -- you can go. Be here, be back Thursday, fucking on time and ready to -- you're gonna play for me." He looked me up and down, smirking.

I stammered a goodbye, thanking him, then gathered my things and left. My legs were so weak I nearly tripped down the stairs.

When I got to my car and started the engine, I had to sit there for a few minutes, waiting for the throbbing in my pussy to go away. God, what was it about this man that made me so fucking horny? Everything about him screamed "drunken lech" but all I could think about was him fucking me. I wanted to reach down and rub my clit, finger fuck myself right there. I took a quick look around the parking lot and didn't see anyone. Coast clear. Being winter, it was already dark out...should be safe enough.

I reached a hand down inside my pants and leaned over the steering wheel to hide myself. Then I slowly rubbed my clit, thinking a quick orgasm would ease my tension before I drove home. Reaching further, I pressed two fingers deep inside and began to stroke, thinking about his tall body, those elegant, long fingers...I was breathing heavily and sweating, I felt myself coming close --

A hard rapping on the driver's side window brought me back to reality and I yanked my hand out of my pants but stayed bent over the steering wheel. Oh my God, here I was, caught masturbating in a school parking lot by the campus police. What the fuck had I been thinking?! I was too afraid to look up, but then the hand rapped on the window again. I turned my head and it was Coach Sanchez. He motioned for me to roll the window down.

"Y-you left without the -- without a copy of the syllabus." His eyes gleamed and his smirk was positively lecherous. He looked down at my hand where I had it down on the seat and I imagined that my fingers were dripping with my juices. I was mortified. I wanted to melt down into the floor boards of my car.

"L-L-Looks like you, uh, you could use some help there."

I cleared my throat, "Um, no. I'd dropped my ID under the seat. Was just trying to find it..." It was such a blatant lie. I couldn't look him in the face.

"Uh huh. Here." He leaned into the window and handed a copy of the syllabus in to me. I could smell the faint odor of liquor on his breath. "I let those fools out -- I let class out early. Wanna get a drink?"

Now I really was mortified. My coach had caught me masturbating in the car...Surely he knew I was thinking of him, and now he was asking me out for a drink? My mind raced. I can't say that I wasn't tempted...There was something about him. Duh. Obviously. But, no. I'd already had one affair with a professor. It ended badly. His wife had found out about us. Threatened to have me kicked out of school -- but this would have ended her husband's career, so fortunately she didn't say anything. I couldn't put myself through that again.

"Thank you, Coach Sanchez, but I worked all day and I'm really tired. I think I'll just head home."

"Tired, huh? D-d-don't let that be your -- affect your performance in the future." He straightened up and stepped away from the door, rapping on the roof twice with his knuckles. "See you -- see you on Thursday."

Grateful at finally being released, I rolled up the window and backed out and drove away. I looked in my rearview mirror. He remained in the same spot, watching my car until I turned down the row of the parking lot.

tbc

This was originally posted on Archive of Our Own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708732/chapters/36759801

#Rick and Morty Rick Sanchez Coach Sanchez AU Rick RicksTexasChick

10 notes · View notes