There was a time when there were jobs for women and jobs for men. This was especially true when it came to gender specific activities, like sports.  Women weren’t allowed to be coaches, trainers or even journalists covering men’s teams – I guess to protect the modesty of the male athletes in the locker room.  But whatever, that’s history now.  Gender does not factor into hiring decisions, both by law and by our changing mores.  Thus it was that my college men’s baseball team hired its first female trainer.

Melissa was a young medical assistant, fresh from the sports medicine program at the University.  She was just twenty-five, a few years older than we were.  Pretty, red haired and petite, she had the slim, tight body of a runner, which she was. And she had the spunky attitude of a girl raised with several brothers.  She was comfortable with guys and used to testosterone-fueled behavior. 

Melissa treated our minor aches and pains.  Lots of first aid for stiff or injured muscles, bruises and cuts, cold symptoms, and dispensing medicines.  And doling out reassurance to injured players that they’d be back playing ball again soon.  A pretty smile and a pretty face go a long way.

College aged males, by definition, are a horny group.  But Melissa was careful not to flirt with the guys. No, that was dangerous considering her position. But she was different with me.  It was clear the attraction was strong, and reciprocated on my part.  But we didn’t date or discuss dating; that would have crossed a line.  So we often just sat by each other and chatted on the bench during games.  I was not a starter, so I had a lot of free time on the bench. 

I was usually put into a game in the late innings.  I was an excellent fielder and fast, but my batting was just average, so my entry was to fill a specific need.  We were playing the University of Tulsa, in a tight ballgame where we were behind by one run.  Mason, our pitcher, had bunted his way onto base, and the coach put me in as a pinch runner.  I had loosened up before the game, of course, but had been sitting for over an hour.  I trotted to first base, stretched a little and waited for the coach’s instructions.  The third base coach flashed the sign: steal second. I waited a few pitches and took off on a breaking ball away.  I beat the throw, although I felt a slight tightness in my groin when I stood up.  A few pitches later, one of the guys laced a hanging curve ball into right field.  I took off and rounded third.  Urged on by the coach, I headed home.  I slid, avoiding the catcher’s efforts to tag me. 

I trotted to the bench and knew I was going to pay a price for this:  my thigh ached.  I had pulled a groin muscle.  I accepted the congratulations of my teammates and Melissa.  But I told Melissa of my injury.  She said not to worry; she’d fix me up after the game. 

When the game ended, we all retreated to the locker room to shower and dress.  Melissa had her own dressing area in the locker room, at the end, with a small partition in front of it as a privacy screen.  In truth, the partition was more of a gesture toward privacy than a barrier, as one could see around it if you were using certain lockers on the other side of the aisle. And it was only 4 feet in height, so we could always see her shoulders and head as she dressed.  If you were tall, and I’m 6’3”, you could see a little more.  I occasionally sneaked a look, and admired her petite body and breasts. 

Melissa told me to shower but not get dressed, as she would treat the groin pull.  We waited for the room to empty out and went into the trainer’s section of the locker room. There were tables and a small hot tub, where a player could soak his injuries away.  I was wearing just a towel.  She had me lie on the table, and arranged the towel vertically on my middle, so it covered my private parts but allowed access to the thighs.  She placed a cold compress on the right groin area and pressed down on it so the cold radiated into the muscle.  She continued to apply pressure.  She smiled at me.  We chatted about the game a little as the area became numb with the cold. 

“Now we apply heat,”  she said.  “Into the hot tub.” 

“What do I do with the towel,” I asked innocently.

“You can wear it into the tub if you want.  But I won’t be shocked if you don’t.”

I hesitated.  In a locker room, there is little privacy, and even though Melissa kept her eyes averted as she walked through, I knew she had seen more than a few naked men.  Maybe even me.  But this was different.  It was just the two of us.  Were we crossing a line?

“I’m not modest,” I said, as I left the towel on the table.

I soaked in the tub while she watched and we talked.  Being naked before her was a little exciting.  I thought the situation was a tad more than player/medical professional.  It seemed sexy. 

“OK, that’s long enough.  Out of the tub and back on the table.  Let me massage the area again.”

I stretched out on the massage table, on my back.  She replaced the towel covering my genitals.  She began to knead the skin and muscles of the thigh and groin area.  There was some pain as she massaged the injured area, but the pain was mixed with pleasure.  I watched her eyes to see if I could read something in them.  I couldn’t see a reaction in her, but there began a reaction in me.  My penis stirred and moved under the towel.  I took a deep breath and wondered if she noticed.  She continued to knead the muscles without a comment.  The penis rose more and more until it became a full erection.  I was still covered by the towel, but the towel was extended upward.  The incongruity of lying there, with my penis engorged yet her acting as if nothing was happening, was both shocking and exciting.  Finally, she laughed and asked if I were trying to tell her something?  I looked at her with pleading eyes, like a puppy asking for its belly – or something -- to be rubbed. 

She resumed massaging the thigh and groin area, carefully avoiding the center.  The more she rubbed the area, ignoring the monster beneath the towel, the more I ached.  Finally, I could take no more, and I grabbed her hand and moved it to the towel. 

“Please.”

She smiled and rubbed the penis through the fabric, up and down the organ.  Then she removed the towel.  She poured massage oil onto her hand and oiled the shaft.  And resumed stroking, twisting her hand in a circular pattern.  I arched my back and thrust my center forward, desperate for a release.  It came soon and I moaned loudly.  Even as my penis was starting to collapse following the orgasm, Melissa moved to restore it.  She rubbed along the underside of the penis and with her other handle, massaged between my legs near the prostate gland.  The combination soon returned me to fighting trim.  Melissa unbuttoned her blouse, slid off her shorts, and climbed on top of me wearing just bra and panties.  Now, training tables aren’t very wide, so we had to lie still, just pressed together.  But she rubbed her pelvis over my groin area, and I began to moan again.  She pulled her panties down and moved my penis toward her vagina.  She guided me in and we rocked together, careful not to tumble off the table.    

Finally, she slid to the floor and smiled. 

“If this doesn’t ease the pain of that injury, I can’t do more.  You’ll need to see a specialist.” 

I told her she was the only medical professional I would need.

But that’s not the end of this story.  I have a confession to make.  And I feel terrible having lied to you.  What I just described did not happen.  It’s what I hoped for.  Here’s what did happen. 

I looked at her with pleading eyes, like a puppy asking for its belly to be rubbed. 

She placed her hand on the towel over my genitals.  “I have to be careful about my medical license.  You’re my patient; there are rules. I can’t help you like this while I’m the team trainer.”

I must have looked very miserable.  So she took pity on me.

“I can’t help you.  But I can watch.” 

I absolutely needed some release; if it wasn’t going to be her, I guess it would have to be me. 

She crossed to the supply cabinet and returned with a bottle of massage oil.  I held out my hand and she poured some oil onto it.  I stroked the penis with the oil, becoming more and more aroused.  Finally, I lurched, there was release and I ejaculated onto my stomach.  I lay back spent.  Melissa helpfully used the towel to clean me. 

“When the season ends, and I’m no longer your trainer, come see me.  I’ll make up for leaving you to your own devices.”  She bent down and kissed me. 

My groin injury was healed by the next day.  I can’t wait for the season to end.  She’s got great hands.

© Calem Geyser, 2020.