Chad spent the weekend worn by Coach Sinclair. He seriously was hoping that Sinclair was lying about 75 more days as a Speedo. Three was bad enough. The coach went for a morning swim before school at 5 am; then he hit the sauna. It was almost 7 am, when coach stopped in front of Chad's gym locker. Chad hoped that coach was going to take him off and turn him back, but he kept quiet, just in case.
The coach started whistling Queen's "We Are The Champions" as he used the master key to open Chad's locker and empty the contents. He carried everything into his office and sorted through it on his desk. Chad kept hoping that he would take Chad off and turn him back. He emptied the bills from Chad's wallet, and exchanged his old Timex for Chad's new Invicta dive watch.
"Okay, Chad, how about you give me the passcode to your smart phone. You can say the digits and nothing more or it gets tacked on to your sentence," Coach Sinclair said holding Chad's phone in his hands.
Chad was furious, and silent. He was angry that the coach was ransacking his stuff. But if it made him human, he would have gladly given the passcode numbers, but it wasn't numbers. He tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed a half dozen times to get the coach's attention.
Coach Sinclair sighed. "Alright, you can speak you got 60 seconds, and it won't count toward additional time."
"Cuch, not numblers."
"What do you mean not numbers? How do you unlock your phone? It's not fingerprint activated?"
Chad wished he had used fingerprints now, but he had used a pattern lock.
"Puttun luuck, pla fifffy."
"Pattern lock, play fifty?"
"Nuh, fiffyn"
"Oh, fifteen. Thanks, Chad. Now shut up. I'll try to open the phone later. I'm due in the pool in 15 minutes, and all your talking got me rock hard. Lemme squeeze out your breakfast, then I have to hit the pool."
Chad absorbed three thick loads, and was three sheets to wind before Coach hit the pool, about two minutes late. Chad had a throbbing headache when he finally woke up as the team headed off the field after practice. He recalled vaguely, the coach must've jacked off a half dozen times after the pool. Chad couldn't remember very much. His head hurt.
He did recognize the sound of his car revving up, and his m3p's blared from the stereo as the car drove. Coach was still wearing him, but he was driving Chad's car.
"This is the crap you listen to, Chad?" commented Coach Sinclair, "I'm going to need to educate you as to proper music. No more of this whiny alt rock shit, just heavy metal from now on, and rock classics." Coach turned off the mp3 and tuned in an oldies station. The Rolling Stones blared, as the coach rocked in his seat. Then came Guns N Roses, and Queen, Rage Against the Machine, and he shut it off half way through Living Color, as he announced, "We're home."
About fifteen minutes after it started up, the car was stopped, and Chad heard a garage door closing. The coach stole his car too?
"Thank you, Coach Sinclair, it was kind of you to bring Chad's car home," said Chad's mother.
"Well, the boy was too drunk to drive it Friday, I'm sorry I didn't have time to bring it to you sooner," lied Coach Sinclair.
"It was quite shocking, but the drinking does explain some things."
What things? thought Chad. I rarely drink. I never get drunk! Ooh, his head ached. Never drunk on alcohol, at least, he added.
Coach Sinclair chuckled, could he hear Chad's thoughts?
"Chad's basically a good boy. I'm glad you gave permission for him to be admitted to the Rehab Camp. After 90 days of intense therapy, I'm sure he'll be a tea-totaler. I'm glad you understand that he cannot have contact with you or anyone outside his Rehab Camp at all during that time."
"We understand, Coach Sinclair, it will be hard, but if it's what Chad needs, then we'll do it."
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