Sexual frustration did not become me.
After all, I was still in my prime, and 35 was hardly ancient.
Being a college baseball coach, I was surrounded by 18 to 22-year-olds all day long, and my boys were religious about their workouts. As their coach, they looked to me, for not only guidance and leadership but also to set an example. So, my ass was in the gym constantly, where I worked hard to keep my shape.
Standing at six foot five with hazel eyes and a decent mug, I had wide and powerful shoulders with deltoids that jumped up from my frame. My chest was broad and imposing, and I had veiny and bulbous arms with some cut triceps capping them off. Although I did not have a 6 pack anymore, I still maintained a decent 4-pack with a trim 32 waist. My quads and calves also bulged with muscle and were covered with the same light brown hair that was cut short on top of my head.
I had long legs with huge hands and feet. My big hoofs were sized 16, and in my case, it was true what they said about big feet and hands equaling a big cock. Between my legs, I was endowed with an 11-inch monster, which I was quite proud of.
Needless to say, I still got plenty of looks and turned some heads, so I had very few complaints with the hand that I’d been dealt.
I was also the youngest head baseball coach in Queen’s Landing University history. Of course, the only reason that I’d gone the academic route was because of all the damn politics of Major League Baseball….