"Sanchez, you're late!" Coach Sinclair growled.
Tony Sanchez was drenched with sweat. He was training for a marathon, and had been running to work by different routes adding a mole each week since the school year began. This day he ran into a detour when the bridge was out. He had to run an extra 4 miles to get to the next nearest bridge to get to school.
He panted, "Sorry coach, the Fifth Street bridge was out, so I had to run up to-"
"I don't care. Get suited up and into the pool," Sinclair ordered .
"Yes, sir," Sanchez was only 22 fresh out of college, and coach treated him like he was one of the students. Hell, the students didn't take him seriously either. Sinclair's pet quarterback was the worst. Chad called him "Sam Cheese" and "Ham'n Cheese", and totally disrespected him. He opened his locker and cursed. Someone had stuffed moldy cheese through the vents in his locker. Since his "office" was in the boiler room, his locker was not enough to melt the cheese into his Speedo. He cursed Chad softly suspecting him of the prank. He looked at the clock, only 4 minutes until he had to be in the pool. He'd wash the suit later.
Sanchez stripped naked except for his shoes and whistle and marched over to the cage, where Ty was handing out the clean school issue swimsuits to the students. Ty was reading a book, he raised his eyes only enough to see the waist of the naked guy standing outside the cage, and reached for the appropriate size from the stacks of Speedos. As luck would have it, Chadspeedo was on top of the stack. Ty buried his nose in his book, as he slid the silenced living Speedo through the cage window to the naked guy. Ty made a point not to be caught staring at dicks, but as most guys upon receiving their Speedo would turn away from him to pull on their Speedos, and give him a nice view of their spread butt cheeks. He peered over his book. Coach Sanchez? Damn, he missed a good view of Sanchez' infamously big cock, Ty thought. Then Ty remembered that his backpack can would have captured that view. He raised his book up, just as Sanchez turned and headed to the pool.
This was Sinclair's free period for him to do paperwork, and inspect the athletic facilities. He sauntered into the boiler room expecting to catch Sanchez still changing. The "office" was empty. He opened the locker, and frowned. There was the cheese encrusted Speedo on the floor of the locker, but Sanchez' shorts, jock, and shirt were hanging there. Sanchez must've had a spare suit. Sinclair smiled, he hadn't expected the cheese to melt. He wondered what Sam Cheese was wearing. He snickered, Chad was so gullible, Sinclair had told Chad that Sanchez was a Native American, and he didn't want Chad calling Sam Cheese Coach Cheese because it sounded like Colchise, might be mistaken as a slur. So Chad had called Sanchez Coach Sam Cheese for a week before Chad realized what Sanchez's name really was. In that time the nickname Sam Cheese stuck like that melted cheese had to Sanchez' Speedo. Coach locked the locker, after dislodging Sanchez' jockstrap from its hook. It landed right in the cheesy mess of the Speedo.
Whistling, Sinclair completed his locker room inspection. He strolled over to the cage, and eyed the stack of Speedos behind Ty. Was one of them Chad? Or was someone in Sanchez' class wearing Chad? He pulled out his special glasses, and looked at the piles of Speedos. No glow. Hm, could Chad still be in the wash? He'd check the pool first.
Coach Sinclair strode into the natorium. Swimmers splashed as they did laps while Sanchez yelled at them from the bleachers. Sinclair slipped on his special glasses. He looked up and down the pool lanes, and then scanned the boys lined up along the edge of the pool waiting their turn to dive in. No glow. Chad should glow like semen under blacklight. Coach sighed, as he started to take off his eyeglasses, maybe Chad was still in the laundry or maybe Sinclair had done such a good job breaking Chad into accepting life as a Speedo that the sanitization had rendered him indistinguishable from a regular Speedo.
"Coach Sinclair? How can I help you?" Sanchez asked.
Sinclair turned to look, and saw the screaming glowing face of Chad on Sanchez' Speedo pouch. He smiled, and was glad he was wearing his cup, as the thought of Sanchez wearing Chad all day was making him hard.
"Just making the rounds, coach. How are your swimmers doing? Any potential Brunos in the bunch? I see you're wearing a school issue Speedo. It looks really good on you. Most of our Speedos don't fit that well. If I were you, I'd keep wearing it all week. You can take it home Saturday to wash it after the swim meet. Wear it all season it really suits you. Hell, since you wear it in the pool and shower maybe you won't need to even wash it."
What the hell was.Sinclair saying? Chad thought. He had given up screaming at Sanchez after 20 minutes. Now Sinclair was telling Sanchez he should wear Chad all the time? Did Sanchez know Chad was his Speedo? Did Sinclair really know? There had to be a way to communicate with Sanchez. There had to be a way to change back. There just had to be.
"You think, Coach Sinclair? If that's okay with you, I will do.just that." Sanchez glanced down at the Speedo hugging his manhood. He had thought it looked a bit small on him, but he had never worn one that was so comfortable to wear. He might never take it off. It seemed to get snugger as he thought that. Ah it felt so good.