Date: Sat, 20 Dec 2008 16:35:38 +0000 (GMT)
From: rugby.rigger <rugby.rigger@yahoo.com>
Subject: Rugby League Revised (Gay Male-Authoritarian)

*** RUGBY LEAGUE ***

WARNING!

( Please Read )

The following short story is not for the feint hearted.  It is intended for
adults only with an interest in gay sex and rugby league and it contains
plenty of visceral and extremely graphic male on male group sex.  The rugby
league match at the heart of the story gets pretty rough.  The sex that
follows it is even rougher.  There is a lot of strong dialogue, but all
sexual participants are adults and in a fully consensual mindset to what
occurs.  Please note that there are some urination, rimming and other
fetish scenes and similar strong elements throughout.  If this isn't of
interest, best to leave this story alone.  For those readers who give it a
look, in knowledge of the above, I hope that you enjoy it.

Please be aware that the characters' names used, except for professional
rugby league players, aren't real names.

E-mail comments and criticisms are welcome: rugby.rigger@yahoo.com

*** Warming Up ***

I never imagined my passion for rugby league would be turn out to be a
great boost for my sex life, but I don't look back with any regrets.  I
first started playing rugby league at school: My family had a fair few
players so I had plenty of encouragement and I developed a reasonable
amount of skill in the game.  This was back in the old days before the
glamour of the Super League and as a strapping broad shouldered lad for my
age at the time, though I'd admit not the brightest, performed far better
on the field than the classroom.  Being a West Yorkshire lad, born and
bred, there was no chance of playing rugby union.  League tradition goes
deep round here.  I haven't played for a few years now, but after my school
days, I kept up the sporting life with a local Amateur Rugby League
Football Club.  I never had any delusions of going professional and didn't
waste too much time fantasising about playing for the likes of Bradford
Northern or Leeds R.L.F.C., though I will admit that I did once harbour a
secret aspiration to play for Featherstone Rovers!

I was reaching my peak at 25, back in the early 90's when I was playing
second row for the amateur team of the mining village I grew up in.  As I
progressed over the years I eventually made my way onto our small club's
"Over 21's" squad.  I'm a tall lad, 6'0" in my bare feet and well built,
but I can run as well, so it wasn't surprising I had my skills developed
for the second row, a position in which I eventually made a very good name
for myself as a serious amateur player, despite originally wanting to play
fullback after my Uncle.  I wasn't quite Dennis Betts, but I put plenty of
effort in on the field, and saw a fair amount of success from it, and in
better years was close on for a four points per game average.  I kept
myself up to the standard of the sport with plenty of effort at the local
gym with the rest of the meat heads.  Many hours of grunting, sweating and
bench press calluses packed a good, solid 14 stone of hard muscle onto to
my frame to add to the teams' pack weight.

In addition to a decent body, I was lucky enough to be blessed with a face
considered appealing to some, chestnut brown hair and my best feature, deep
blue eyes, favoured by many, which usually enabled me to get plenty of
exercise for my greedy cock.  The gym owner used to keep a parrot as a pet,
and the gym hounds, me included, managed to teach that parrot an
unbelievable vocabulary.  That bird could out curse a Price of Wales pit
miner, and we once mooted adopting it as a mascot of some sort for the
rugby club.

The men on my rugby league team were a good bunch, nearly all local blokes
like me, working in a fair variety of trades round the area, which was a
great contact network for when you needed anything done. We had couple of
coppers, who kept up their commitment to the rugby despite sometimes
struggling to fit things around their shifts.  We had one lad, our nifty
right centre, Chris, who was training as an architect, and a real boffin,
Danny, who worked with computers and was always talking about something
totally fucking unintelligible named Windows 3.11.  The big nerd
predictably got nicknamed "Brains."  Nonetheless, Danny made good use of
them on the field, as a fairly sharp, fleet footed right wing.

With 18 regular players we'd a full regular squad of 13 and 4 utility
players as subs, most of whom were reasonably reliable, dependent on their
jobs, in regard to turning up for training.  Training in year and pre
season was pretty intense, but we were certainly a much better team for
it. Tuesday night's training was compulsory, with our stalwart coach, Dave
Briggs', vehement wrath to face if you didn't show.  Thursdays were
optional, and Saturday mornings set in stone, with Dave likely to skin you
alive if you missed it.  Sundays normally saw a well fought game, as part
of the local amateur league in year.

I was actually one of the younger players on the squad: Most of the men
were in their thirties with a fair few over 40, like Andy, our eccentric
loose forward.  The daft bugger used to tuck a rabbit's foot down his sock
for a bit of extra luck before any really challenging games.  Truth be
told, we weren't the most competitive team around.  There had been quite a
few players come and go, and this was only the second year we'd been
playing together as much the same squad and were only just starting to gel
and come together as one with the newer men.

Up until then we were eternally languishing at a pretty low division in the
Pennine League, perpetually around the lower middle of the table, though we
did made a semi final once.  We had the occasional promotion up the
divisions, but we were never a much more than year or two away from being
relegated back down.  Our main shortcoming was likely the fact our play was
based on brawn rather than brain, not an uncommon fault: strong forwards
like me to open up the field, but without the sharpest or fastest backs to
score the tries from the opportunities we opened, and we often lacked the
strategic team thinking for a good cohesive defence.  Still, we always put
up a fair fight: we played with a passion that sometimes compensated for
our shortcomings of skill, and for a few of the lads, if you couldn't win,
there was always the satisfaction of trying to bite your opponents fucking
ears off in the tackles.

The club itself was opposite a grimy, run down industrial estate where,
conveniently, I'd found employment as an overworked and underpaid HGV
fitter.  That was after my mechanical apprenticeship, which had started,
predictably, with British Coal and ended up with working on buses for the
local council.  I was dealing mainly with ERF's, Leyland DAF's, and the
odd, forever overheating, Series 3 Scania for various local hauliers. I was
also half heartedly attending a technical college in town for an
engineering qualification, which was boring, but at least I got some of my
taxes back through the educational grant I was given towards it.  I was
grateful for the job, as all the financial news at the time was focussed on
the recession, the last one before the credit crunch chaos of current
times.

The rugby club itself had originally started in the 1950's as colliery
team, and the available facilities reflected its vintage: There wasn't much
to see; a single, rectangular, crude brick building, housing changing rooms
and shower blocks, segregated for home and away.  There was an outside
cubby hole crammed full spiders and all the usual rugby club paraphernalia;
flags, poles and assorted training equipment, a vast collection of well
chewed rugby balls, paint for the posts and a temperamental marking machine
for the pitch, that I'd had to fetch my tools from the workshop to mend on
more than on occasion.  All the cleaning stuff was in there as well, mop,
bucket and Flash liquid for cleaning the changing rooms, a pain in the arse
job that we had to do ourselves on a skilfully evaded rota system.

There was just a single playing field for matches and training, surrounded
with a perimeter wire fence and a permanent pitch drainage problem.  The
drainage troubles resulted in winter games with the field frozen rock hard,
which bruised you to fuck in the tackles and the slightest bit of rain in
the autumn was all you needed to turn it into a right fucking quagmire.  It
left you covered in mud all over after an energetic game, and I mean all
over: Up the crack of your arse, under your foreskin, in your ears, fucking
everywhere.  I used to need a bath at the club and then a shower at home
afterwards to get anywhere near clean.

Usefully, there was a pub just over the road from the rugby club grounds
where they could pull a good pint of Tetley Bitter and I'll confess to
having a taste for a fair bit of the Yorkshire nectar.  The tap room served
us well for post match piss ups, of which I can groggily recall a fair few.
The landlord had thoughtfully installed a TV hooked up to Sky in one
corner, which was saw some great booze ups watching Challenge Cup games and
I vaguely recall ending up being carried home between Stuart our squat lump
of a hooker and Steve, our lanky left wing after watching 1992's Wigan
v. Castleford final at Wembley.

I occasionally used to pull pints at the pub on an evening, when I wasn't
training, for a bit of cash in hand when I was skint, which was often on my
dire fitter's wages.  It used to take a strong arm and a modicum of skill
to pull a proper pint then, when you still had the `auto-vac' system,
before `health and safety' led to the push button pint of nowadays.  I
could put a perfect head on a pint of Tetley's, not a single large bubble
every time.  The pub also had a back room which, apart from our piss ups,
also functioned for club committee meetings, which generally involved
moaning about the waterlogged field, and a resolution to do fuck all about
it for want of any reasonable sort of funds.  The club's income was limited
to a bit of local authority funding and the generosity of a handful of
local business sponsors, procured by the earnest Dave Briggs, who also
functioned as our treasurer as well as coach.

The pub's back room also served its purpose for the initiation of new
players.  The landlord didn't object as he made plenty of brass from
selling ale to the squad, and as an ex rugby player himself, he could
sympathise with our antics.  There was a battered pool table in there and
conveniently wipe clean vinyl bench seats, which was handy when the room
functioned as a `pigs bar' for the initiations during an after hours lock
in.  Contrary to all fantasy the initiation rites at our club were pretty
mild, and didn't involve a great deal more than getting the new lad mortal
fucking drunk, maybe having him down a pint of piss, supplied warm, wet,
pungent and steaming, fresh from the prick, by us squad mates, then
stripping him off, dragging him over the road, liberally coating his balls
with Deep Heat and running him round the field bollock naked a couple of
times.  Or at least as far as his state of inebriation would allow.  They
never got anything shoved up their arses or had to do anything overtly
sexual.  It would have been a waste of time anyway, even if there was an
inclination, as the squad, especially me, would always be pissed way beyond
the ability to get a useable erection on initiation nights.

I had heard of a few clubs, probably with players of younger average age
than ours, who reportedly had more involved initiation rituals with a more
sexual element, including Mars Bars up backsides, masturbation games with a
rugby sock and the like, but there was unfortunately none of it at the club
I played for then.  I had a worse initiation during my first week at the
garage, when Smithy, the workshop foreman, had supervised the lads opening
my overalls, fetching my wanking tackle out and liberally coating my
bollocks with thick, black lithium carbide grease.  That was before bending
me over a workbench and slipping the handle of an over sized spanner,
fortunately well lubricated with WD40, right up my arse.  I forgave them
eventually, especially after the boss set on a new apprentice and I had the
malicious pleasure of helping my workmates carry out the same dubious
ritual on the new lad.

It was a real shame that the initiations at the rugby club were mild,
because some of the men on the team were horny looking lads, like Sam, the
other second row and team captain.  He was a great player, as hard working
a second row as myself, and incredibly good looking.  So much so we used
call him "Hollywood".  He had reddish blond hair, a shapely, firm, fuckable
arse and a gorgeous cheeky grin.  I spent more than a few hours consoling
myself with wanking off, guiltily thinking about one or two of my
teammates, imagining what they'd be like in the sack.

Not to say that nothing ever happened though, and all began to get very
interesting one typically miserable British winter during February at the
start of the 1992 rugby year.  We were preparing for an early year game
against another village A.R.L.F.C. team, in fact the next village up the
road, and a long standing favourite rival of ours.  Their village had a
long rugby league heritage, and had produced some seriously good players,
with more than one of them ending up as a professional.  I suppose it was
some sort of compensation for the fact the place had fuck all else going
for it beyond Rugby League, except the pubs, since British Coal shut down
the last pit that had been the main employer there.

Our upcoming game against them was an important match for us.  It would be
the first locking of horns with our traditional rivals that year, and could
easily set the pattern for who was going dominate and win the promotions in
the year's league.  Dave Briggs, the coach was determined to see a good
outcome for us from the game and gave us no shortage of advice from his
years of experience as both coach and player.  Dave was a big, hefty bloke,
pushing forty five, going grey and balding, and not entirely unattractive
in a raw testosterone, chewed about the corners way, despite his spreading
gut and cauliflower ears from twenty five years of rugby.  He'd even played
professionally once, usually as fullback, until a recurrent knee problem
that blossomed into a couple of cartilage operations ended that, though he
wasn't short of work as an electrician for a fairly well to do maintenance
contractor afterward.  He'd also played for his Royal Signals regiment in
his much younger days in the army, and we'd given him a fair bit of stick
over having thus played under Rugby Union rules but at least he'd returned
to his roots from the dark side of rugby.

Dave, in his time honoured fashion, shared his pearls of wisdom following
Thursday evening's training session, before joining us for a wash, while
standing by the bath in nothing but his socks and jockstrap, with his hairy
belly straining the waistband.

"Right then lads!"

He quickly grabbed our attention with his stern parade ground bark.

"You all know who were playing tomorrow."

That brought a lot of ribald commentary as we sat listening on the benches.

"Aye, aye, now shut up and listen girls, It's my fuckin' turn to do the
talking!"

"I want see a good result tomorrow, no stupid cock ups and some sharp play.
Tha knows who were up against and should know their strengths and
weaknesses by now.  They've been working hard, and tha'll have heard that
they absolutely fucking flattened their opposition last week."

We retorted with loud booing and more disparaging remarks.  It was all
standard pep talk stuff really, but I felt Dave was saving the real news
for last.  I was right.  He was scratching his stomach which was always a
sign he had something ominous to impart.

"If tha dunt already know, they've changed the line up a bit this year and
they'll be a tough team to beat for it.  They've taken on a new winger.
He's a young lad but he's a blinder, so tha'd better be on the look out for
him!"

There was more to come.

"Oh, aye, and they've also got a couple of new prop forwards on their squad
this year, and a right pair of bastards they are n'all.  Fancy themsens as
proper fucking hard nuts, and they've long reputations for every trick in
the book.  So take the cunts down hard in the tackles and fucking lame them
for the year if they want to play dirty!"

Saturday morning's training before the game was a hard one.  It was fucking
cold, proper brass monkey February weather, but we were warmed up
thoroughly soon enough.  Dave, like myself was determined to see us finish
the year a division higher than where we'd started, and I was well prepared
to put in the effort to get us there.  The squad had been in a pretty
jovial mood before we kitted up in our training gear, but Dave soon had us
focussed on the game we had coming on Sunday.  The moment we got onto the
field for practise, Dave worked the bollocks off us.  Passing, passing and
more passing, getting us to work as a team.  Few men, barring Pete, our
fullback, could really pass well on both sides, but Dave was there,
harrying us and pushing our skills on, never letting us rest for a minute,
keeping us moving, running, ducking and diving, building up our stamina,
making us feel for the position of every man around us, know where the ball
was and where it was going next for every minute of play.

Dave's years in the army were easy to spot, and he badgered us like a gang
of fresh squaddies, pushing us to keep our fitness up, but always advising,
trying to make us think beyond the immediate pass and charge, keeping our
focus on setting up the try scoring opportunities and getting us to work
better as a team, moving us up a level from hearty but unsophisticated one
man at a time rugby, to the sort of cohesive team rugby that won the games.
In all honesty it was a lack of team work that was my own greatest weakness
and I became a bit of a blinkered horse the moment I got my hands on the
ball, but Dave's patient effort and experience was really starting to bring
the squad together.  He was a good coach, and I oftentimes wondered why he
bothered coaching our team for fuck all, when he could easily have got paid
for it working for a professional club.  Must have been for the challenge!

The rugby training was all good stuff, but I was fucking knackered by the
time we headed back in for a shower.  I'd put in a lot of work at the gym
before the start of the season, and I was confident my strength was up, but
the training was revealing to me that I could improve my stamina.  I
mentally made a note to start doing a bit less weight training and bit more
cardiovascular, even contemplating a bit of running when I got chance, and
thought about asking one or two of the lads if they wanted to join me for a
bit of moral support!

Sensibly, I left the pub alone for once on the Saturday night before the
game and made sure my rugby gear was sorted out and packed into my kit bag
for the morning when the `phone rang.  Unfortunately it wasn't a talent
scout wanting to sign me to play for Great Britain, but Smithy, the
workshop foreman.  He wasn't a bad bloke really, bit overweight, ginger,
with a vicious ex wife and 3 horrible kids, but he was always pushing you
to do overtime for shite rates.  He gave me a long whining tale over the
`phone, wanting me down the workshops to do a couple of hours graft on the
Sunday morning at short notice.  He needed some unlucky bastard to help
sort out a fucked lorry that had apparently been recovered to the workshops
that morning, and had decided my talents were needed to help steam clean
the remains of friction material off the bell housing and refit the clutch
on an 1844 Mercedes tractor unit.  They were desperate as the wagon
belonged to a favoured client, a local haulage company with a modest fleet
that gave us a lot of business.  It would be a heavy, dirty job: The Mercs
were built like tanks compared to the Leyland DAF's I normally worked on,
but the semi auto gearbox which they had was quite a novelty compared to
the Eaton twin splitters that used to be around at the time.  The Actros
that came later was a fine wagon, but those old Merc's were real
panzerwagons.

"Go on mate, I'm fucking desperate here!" I heard Smithy whine over the
receiver.  I was making `wanker' gestures as he spoke and silently cursing.

"It wont take you long.  I wouldn't ask, only there's no bugger else what
can do it"

"For fuck's sake Smithy, tha knows I'm playing on Sunday afternoon. I don't
need this before a game!"

"Go on mate.  You'll be finished in plenty of time for it and the fucking
grounds are only round the corner!"

"I did enough overtime this week Smithy!  I'm not a mechanic every minute
of the day tha knows!"

"Look mate, I'll make sure its worth yer while.  You can do late shift
Monday."

"Fuck off.  That dunt make it `worth me while' mate."

"You'll get treble time for it..."

That was the clincher really.  I couldn't say no to that.  My rent was
overdue, my credit card statement was appalling, and my ageing and
temperamental Golf GTi's incredible insurance premium was due.  At least my
trade saved me a bit as I did all my own servicing and got parts at trade
prices through the workshop.  There wasn't much I couldn't do myself and
she only saw a garage for new tyres.  That did have some compensations
though, as I occasionally used to play about with one of the Kwik Fit lads,
who didn't mind a bit of cock once in a while.  He was a bit younger than
me, around 20, but willing enough as long as he thought no one was going to
find out about it.  He loved getting down on his knees and sucking me off,
and he'd let me fuck him up the arse once in a while.  He had a great arse
for fucking, milk bottle white, pert, smooth and tight as a Mallard duck.

Smithy was still bleating at me on the `phone:

"Go on mate, please..."

"All right then I'll do it, if it'll get thee off me back."

I told him, with exaggerated reluctance.

"I'll see that the morrow, but I wont be late for the game.  I'll be gone
by 2:00 o' clock whatever happens."

I hung up, well pissed off.  I really didn't want to do it, but I couldn't
ignore the cold, hard, bailiff evading fact that I needed the brass, and
few hours at treble time would be a big help.  I could take my rugby kit
with me and get round to the changing rooms in time, straight from the
workshops.  Unlike some employers, they weren't particularly accommodating
around my rugby.  That was probably because most of my workmates, Smithy
included, were a sad bunch football fanatics, mainly Barnsley FC supporters
and a more devout gathering of Tykes you could not imagine.

9:00 am on Sunday morning, I was parked up outside the workshop, thinking
of the money, sulking, and headed in.  I changed into my overalls, and with
a sharp tug of the pull up loops, had my grease blackened rigger boots
firmly on.  I got stuck in up to the eyeballs with Smithy, sorting out the
Merc.  It had seen a hard life, getting used for bulk aggregate tipper
runs, and some agency driver had evidently been a bit lax with his left
boot and made a good job of finishing off the clutch.  On some wagons you
could inspect the clutch for friction material life, but there was no was
you could check with those old Mercs.  You didn't know it was fucked until
it was fucked.

Keeping busy with my spanners that morning was in some ways a good thing
as, brass aside, it occupied my mind before the game, rather then spending
the morning brooding tensely and endlessly rolling rugby strategy around in
my head.  The job was as filthy and complicated as I expected it to be and
my once navy blue overalls were even blacker with grease than they usually
were, before I was half way through.  As the morning progressed, even
working wasn't taking my mind off the game, and I was constantly mentally
psyching myself up for it, not paying attention to the job and trying to
tighten up bolts the wrong way round and getting more aluminium slip on my
hands than the threads.  Smithy stopped for a quick smoke around 11:30, and
I decided I needed a break as well, so I went off to the bog for a piss,
having downed about 3 mugs of coffee already.

I've never known whether this is just me or not, but tension always makes
me feel horny and I fancied having a bit of a wank to ease some of my pre
match tension.  I went into the bleak, cold outhouse that functioned as the
workshop privy, and knowing I was alone, gave my itchy bollocks a good rub
through the coarse material of my overalls, my hand leaving a greasy smear.
I was only wearing my underpants and an old vest under my overalls, as the
weather wasn't that cold.  Still having a good feel around between my legs,
I felt the familiar, automatic increase of blood flow into my cock and the
stirring of arousal that soon started me off on a good start toward getting
a proper fucking hard on.

I watched the increasing bulge under my overalls, and slowly began popping
open the studs down the front, working slowly down to my groin.  Overalls
open, I reached in and cupped my balls, felling their weight and warmth in
my skiddies, and the thick tube of my cock.  I fished out my dick and had a
quick piss, watching my erection grow as the urine flow ended.  I had a
glance over my shoulder and a quick listen to make sure I was still alone.
Half hard already, I couldn't resist having a little rub.  Slowly, gently,
I let my fist form around my prick and started to stroke my shaft as my
erection rapidly grew.  I'm not a donkey by any means, but I'd found out
from my experiences with other blokes that I was a bit above average in the
cock department, a good 7 inches worth, pretty thick and ruler straight,
with a nicely formed, bullet shaped head, just right for slipping into a
willing bloke's holes.

I gently peeled my foreskin back, and looked down on the tip, smooth and
shiny under the bare bulb light in the bog.  I started probing the tip, my
oily finger dipping into the slit at the end, and I found the slickness of
my precum starting to ooze.  I used my finger to draw a string of it from
the end of my prick, like spun sugar, before smearing it around the glans,
and rubbing it into the rim, gently circling my finger round the firm
fleshy ridge.  I was fully erect now, my cock twitching gently in my hand
in pace with my heartbeat.  I wanted to go for it, wank off and come,
relieving my tension, but I knew I couldn't before a game, I had to keep up
my testosterone level way up for my performance on the field that
afternoon.

I reasoned there was no harm in enjoying myself a bit more though, and
suddenly worried I might be discovered by Smithy, standing there with my
cock sticking out of my greased up overalls with a full hard on, so I
stepped into the single grim cubicle.  The lock on the door was fucked, so
I sat on the bog seat, lid down, and braced the door shut with my riggers.
I could enjoy myself at my own pace now.  I lifted up my arse and shuffled
my underpants down around the tops of my thighs under my overalls and my
left hand reached inside the opened stud front, and under my vest as I
continued gently teasing my cock.  I felt around, slowly stroking my body.
All the work in the gym had done me good and I enjoyed the feeling of my
firm torso and the hard muscle of my pectorals, and I gently ruffled
through the light dusting of chestnut hair coating them.  I continued,
tweaking my nipples gently and stroking down over my flat stomach, tracing
the furry trail that thickened out toward my cock hairs.  Looking at my
prick, I saw another bead of precum was forming like a dewdrop at the tip,
which I smeared down the shaft, my left hand reaching further to cup my
hairy balls.  I delved a little further, my bicep straining to pull my arm
deeper, until I could just reach the crack of my arse.  I wanted to go
deeper, and rub my arsehole, maybe push in a finger, even see if I get a
couple up as I kept up the slow stoke of my aching shaft, but the position
I was sat in with my legs bracing the door and the restriction of my
overalls stopped me.

I concentrated on my cock instead, enjoying the comforting sexual pleasure
I was bringing to myself with my right hand.  My prick was rock hard and
twitching, and I was thinking about the feeling of burying my length into
some bloke's tight arse, or into his wet, sucking mouth.  I circled my cock
with thumb and forefinger, gently stroking up and down, trying to simulate
the feeling of a bloke's lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me off,
getting me well fucking horny and making me spunk in his gob, a thick wad
of cock snot right into the greedy fucker's mouth.

`Whoa boy! Whoa! Stop'! I told myself.  I knew if I went on any longer I'd
get too far into it, so far that I'd have to come.  `Not before a game', I
reminded myself, `not before a game'.

With a touch of amusement, I recalled Dave's strict orders, the old
tradition of no leg over before a match and his stern counsel:

`No fucking yer lass the night before the game lads, even if she looks like
Sharon Stone and she's got a cunt wetter than an otters pocket.'

Dave had also made it clear that wanking off , for the single lads, wasn't
advisable either.  With the thought of the coach having come into my head,
the reality of the difficult rugby game I would shortly be playing came
back to the front of my mind, and with a firm resolve, I let go of my cock.
The quick play about with myself had at least worked to ease my tension a
little.  I tucked my prick back into my overalls, still hard, and buttoned
them up.  I spent five minutes stamping around the cubicle, thinking about
rugby, thinking about anything but sex, until my hard on had finally faded
enough to risk going back into the workshop.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon went smoothly, and with plenty
of reference to the workshop manuals, the Merc's stubborn clutch eventually
got sorted out.  Smithy and myself stood back, pleased with a job well
done, and a customer who owed the firm a big favour.  They'd get one hefty
fucking invoice for Sunday working that was for sure, and I had the
satisfaction of knowing I'd 5 hours treble time to come in my wages on the
Friday.  It was useful that we still got paid in cash then, a little
envelope with your name on, a few coins, a wage slip and lots of notes for
the rent, petrol and the pub.

I finishing cranking the cab of the Merc back down and found a piece of rag
to start getting the muck out of my hands, thinking about the rugby ball
they would soon be holding.  I'd look a right fucking prat if I dropped it
on the field because my hands were still black with grease.  Work done and
taking it easy, Smithy was busy flicking through a grubby copy of `Razzle'
from the pile in the corner of the workshop.  I'd had a flick through
myself once or twice to see how the other half lives, and I suppose, to
keep up appearances.  Straight porn never did a thing for me though, all
smooth skin, enormous tits and little pink cunts.

I'd fucked a few lasses when I was younger, the first one when I was about
17 in the Co-op car park round about 1:00 am on the passenger seat of my
first car, which was a prison cell grey Vauxhall Nova.  The car was a dog
and so was the lass, but it wasn't the Nova's dipstick that got oily that
night.  It was alright I suppose, I got myself off up her, but it was all a
bit dull, fumbling in the dark, and a quick feel of her tits before
struggling to get a condom rolled down the length of my cock, and get it up
her cunt for a dozen shoves and a grunt.  The rubber I was wearing had
blunted the sensation, but I was glad my spunk was going to end up in a
Durex Featherlite's rubber teat, rather than materialising into one of the
pregnancies I'd seen lumbering some of my mates.  I was definitely too
young for shotgun weddings or C.S.A. attachments to my wages.  I came
pretty quickly and all said and done, it wasn't any better than a good wank
and at it made me feel dishonest.  I'd always had an interest in men's
bodies that never really occurred to me with females.  First time I got
frisky with a bloke was a totally different matter than with a bird.  It
just had the electricity that I didn't get with a lass, and playing with a
man's hard cock and hairy bollocks was far more appealing than a fanny.
Running my hand up the insides of a bloke's hairy thighs gave me a electric
tingle no woman could ever deliver.  Fucking a bloke was infinitely better;
hotter and tighter, just raw sex and good fun.  Fucking men just seemed to
be what came to me naturally, and the first time I got fucked myself, after
I'd learned to take it without out it hurting like, well, like buggery, I
found a whole new area of pleasure to enjoy and never looked back since.

Except once I suppose.  There was one time on a rugby tour after we'd been
played a friendly away game in Lancashire and we'd stopped overnight at a
Travel Lodge and went out on the piss in Warrington.  I got fairly drunk as
usual, and somehow me, Stuart the winger and Pete the fullback had ended
talking to this flirty, fairly pretty, blonde lass.  Stuart and Pete were
both practically drooling over her like a couple of bulls in heat, and she
was certainly returning their attentions.  Somehow, accepting what was
either a booze fuelled dare or invitation, the three of ended up in round
the back of the club with the accommodating blond, and we'd all taken it
turns to screw her up against the wall, behind a stack of empty bottle
crates.  She made it pretty clear she fancied the look of us and was
prepared to take us all on.  Somehow, I had to go along with the flow, not
really wanting to advertise the fact I preferred blokes.

Pete went first, and the horniest thing about it had been watching Pete
perform, with his jeans round his ankles and his arse bobbing between her
legs.  I got the odd glimpse of his cock, and though he was about average
in the erection department, he could fuck for Yorkshire.  The blonde
certainly seemed to enjoy herself.  At least watching a man in action,
fucking away, had given me a hard on.  The best thing about my own turn was
the thought that I was sliding into her fanny on Pete's spunk.  I had a
huge pair of breasts in my face and couldn't do much but drop my pants,
lift up her legs, slip in my prick and hump away, trying to get it over
with as quickly as possible and ignore all the shrill tittering and
horrible perfume she was wearing.

Even though we were fucking her bareback, with me hopefully assuming she
was on the pill, I couldn't feel that much, not even Pete's spunk on my
dick, either because or cunt was slack, or because of the alcohol, or
probably both.  Somehow I managed to shoot my bolt within a couple of
minutes, but only because I'd made myself think about fucking the big
bruiser of a bouncer I'd been surreptitiously eyeing up earlier.  Stuart
was up her straight after me, and we drunkenly cheered him on for half a
minute before he came.  The blonde was a classy lass though.  When we were
done, zipping up our jeans, she calmly put her knickers back on, carefully
smoothed down her mini skirt, put her tits away, gave each of us a dainty
kiss and sassed her way back into the club to catch up her with her mates,
with a `see you boys!' look over her artificially tanned shoulder.  I had
to admire her for knowing what she wanted and being prepared and bold
enough to get it.

We got appallingly drunk that night, and ended up drinking until about 4 am
in another dubious club.  I think it was called `The Fish Tank' or
something similar.  We were in there until 4:00 am, drinking ourselves daft
on Carlsberg, slapping each other on the back, with Pete and Stuart
gleefully recounting the experience with exaggerated finesse as to their
performances.  It took two days to recover from my hang over.  Pete and
Stuart never stopped boasting about the incident to anyone who cared to
listen for weeks afterward.  I felt uncomfortable about it, and something
about that lass's attitude and endearing, if brazen, honesty made me
reflect on myself.  She made me realise that you may as well be honest
about what you want, and that if you don't ask you don't get.  You may as
well take your chances and grasp the moment instead of building up a long
list of the ones that got away.  I was honest to myself thereafter, and
stuck happily to cocks and arseholes and made a private oath to tell the
truth if I was ever asked about my inclinations.

Unlike myself, there were no doubts which way Smithy was inclined from the
lecherous leer he was evidencing, as he held Razzle out vertically in front
of him at arms length in his oily grip to gawp at the centrefold.

"Cor!  Would you look at that!  Look at the fuckin' tits on her!  I'd give
her one all right!"

"Well I'll leave you to then mate!"  I told him.

I couldn't really have a go at him for it, after having just had a quick
tug myself that morning.  Smithy finally put miss August 1989 back away in
the corner and started tidying up the workshop.

"Thanks mate, I really needed your help today" Smithy told me, with genuine
sincerity.

"No worries brother." I replied.

"Aye, and yer done on time for the rugby.  You must be bloody mad you lot.
Can't say I fancy spending my Sundays braying lumps out of each other on
that muddy field with you all you head cases.  Any road, good luck mate, I
hope you win."

Smithy had suddenly reminded me.  I'd completely forgotten the time.  I had
a quick look at my watch.  14:04.  Shite!  I was supposed to be at the
ground already.  Dave usually insisted we got there at least an hour before
kick off and I knew he'd give me absolute hell if I was late, especially
for today's game.

I ran around like a headless chicken, all clumsy boots and panic, tripping
over my own bollocks to get scrubbed up at the sinks, getting as much black
grease off my hands and out from under my fingernails as I could, with
several hearty dollops of industrial cleanser.  I didn't have time to
change out of my work clothes, so decide to grab my kit out of my Golf, and
leg it out and round the corner to the grounds as I was.  Rummaging in the
boot, I hauled out my hefty sports holdall, crammed with my clean rugby
gear and a change for the pub afterwards.

With my kit bag straining over my shoulder, I jogged round the corner and
through the sports ground gate, still in Arco's finest.  With the name of
my employer's garage plastered all over the back of my overalls I always
felt like a walking free advert if I had to wear them outside the workshop.
It took less then ten minutes to arrive on the crumbling square of tarmac
that passed for a car park behind the club house, Mercedes Benz commercial
vehicle's clutches were nearly forgotten and my mind was clearly focussed
back on the rugby and the work that me and the team had to do that
afternoon.  I was still tense, despite my quick wank, but that wasn't a bad
thing: I knew it would keep me sharp and hungry for winning. I was looking
forward to playing this game, knowing it would be a hard fought match and a
good test of my own progress and our team's skills, aware we were going to
have to work for very hard for every point and maintain a defence stronger
than a Scania chassis.

I was inevitably a bit late, my watch showing 14:36 with kick off set for
3:00 pm.  Dave's insistence on everyone present and correct an hour before
kick off, and the lack of players hanging around the car park told me most
of our team and our opponents had already arrived, and were busy preparing
for the oncoming battle in the changing rooms.  There were a few cars in
our small car park, most of which would belonged to our opponents.  Nearly
everyone on the team was local, and to save drink driving troubles after
getting to the pub after the game, most of the men got to the ground on
foot or bus.  A bus trip with a heavy kit bag was a definitely a fair price
to pay to be able to completely fucking rat arsed after the rugby.

Dave was standing in the car park, undoubtedly waiting me for me, puffing
away on an Embassy number one, leaning against the wall in his old grey
sweatpants, rugby club sweater and a tatty fleece.  I knew he would have
been watching the opposing squad as they arrived, undoubtedly looking for
any players with signs of a limp to reveal an injury he could advise us to
exploit.  He saw me, made a mock frown at the fact I was still in my grimy
overalls and clapped a meaty hand down on my shoulder.

"'Bout fuckin' time lad! Dave bellowed over the car park, making an
exaggerated scrutiny of his stop watch.

"Thy should've been here half hour since, instead of greeding for overtime.
I thought tha weren't coming!'"

"Well I don't come here for the rugby, just thy pretty face!" I threw back
at him.

I grinned, yielding a deep chuckle from the coach.  I'd always got on well
with Dave, mainly as I was, allegedly, one of his most promising players
and probably because he'd once been a staff sergeant in the same Signals
regiment as my uncle.  I'd certainly cheered him with a good start to the
year, with a try the last weekend and two the week before, and I was I set
on maintaining my four point average as a personal goal for the year.

Dave had another look at his stopwatch and made an emphasised sigh and
looked my overalls up and down with a comical shake of his head in mock
despair, which made me smile.  You could always have a bit of a laugh and a
carry on with Dave, but when it came to the rugby, he was completely
serious, and had an admirable, determined manner of coaxing the best out of
us, developing our skills, and getting the team working together.  If he
couldn't push us to victory, he'd still make damned sure that we still made
a bloody good attempt.  There was definitely no room for slackers on his
squad.

Dave used his elbows to push himself off the wall he'd been leaning
against, the movement creating an interesting shifting of his large
bollocks in his grey sweat pants.  Dave was pretty well hung, which I knew
from subtle observations in the changing rooms and showers, and I loved
watching the way his hefty crotch shifted about at the front of his sweat
pants, the loose fit emphasising the bulge between his legs as his big pair
of balls and thick cock shifted about in the jockstrap I knew he'd be
wearing underneath.  I idly wondered what he'd look like with a hard on.

I gave Dave a grin, and took my eyes away from his crotch before he
noticed.  He fixed me with a mockingly stern stare:

"Well don't be pissin' about out here you great fuckin' grease monkey, get
thysen in, get kitted up, and we'll go over how we'll play this one.
They're still waiting for their new props to get here, so we've a bit of
time yet, mister come fuckin' lately!"

Dave seemed less full of perky enthusiasm than usual before a game, which
almost chewed at my confidence slightly.  I hoped the rest of the team
hadn't picked up on it.  I stayed where I was when I saw Dave looking funny
over to the car park entrance.

"Ay up." muttered Dave solemnly, nodding his head in a stern address to our
opponents coach, George Williams, who'd just arrived, in his flash as fuck,
white Vauxhall Carlton GSi 3000.  It was a "J" plate, brand new at the time
and I disliked him already.  Great motor.  3 litre six, and fast as fuck.
Nothing as sad as envy.  Williams climbed out.  He always looked the same,
a right little beady eyed weasel harrying his team about like a fucking
ferret on acid, and was supposedly rather matey with more than one referee,
which had seen a fair few penalties go in his team's favour in the past.

I felt a sharp nudge in my ribs from the coach, and Dave nodded causally in
the direction of one of the last of the other teams to head in to change,
who I clocked as the new winger.  I recognised him from a few match shots
in the sports pages at the back of the local paper.  John Edwards I
recalled.  First made a name for himself in our opponents under 21's squad
and by all accounts would shape up into a good adult player in his first
year with the big boys.  He'd knocked up 5 tries over their first three
games, and still only 22.  I had some serious competition to face this
year.  Fast like a fox and with unbelievable stamina and reserves he was
going to give us plenty of focus for the defensive play.

"We'll be watchin' him, the little cunt, and I hope `e fuckin' knows it."
Dave grumbled.

"He's nearly as a good as thee lad!" Dave warned me.

"Fuck off Dave!  There's no cunt as good me!" I told him, joking of course.
I'm not that immodest.

Dave paused to grind out his cigarette under his trainer, the movement of
his leg creating another set of interesting bouncing about of the bulge at
his groin.  Smoke finished, Dave gave me an open handed slap on my arse
that nearly knocked me over, followed with a firm friendly squeeze of the
right cheek of my backside.

"Right, fuck off in and I'll see you in there." Dave ordered, and stomped
off into the changing rooms to prepare his troops for battle.  I was just
about to do as told and follow him in, when the last of our opponents
finally turned up.

With a belch of smoky exhaust and the loud rattle of a poorly tuned 2.5
litre diesel engine, the clattering of which told me a tale of bad valve
clearances, a filthy, rust dappled and cement spattered flatbed Transit van
lurched into the car park.  It halted smack in the middle of the Tarmac,
with a scrape of loose shovels and unsecured masonry in the flatbed
shifting about, nearly grazing the wing of Dave's red Ford Sierra estate.
The Transit's dashboard was pretty typical for a builder's van, littered
with tatty copies of the Daily Star, a dog eared Penthouse, Lambert and
Butler cartons, Bic biros, duct tape, a couple of well battered dirty
yellow hard hats and a chipped coffee mug.  It was a miracle anyone could
see out of the windscreen.  I noticed the tax disc was out of date.  I saw
a hastily scribbled semi literate note covered in grubby fingerprints
announcing `In the Post' underneath.  I recognised the name of the general
builders & roofers on the side of the Transit's door: A small local
construction firm of the variety you need spurs on your boots to work for.

The cogs in my head had a quick when I recognised the firms' name, and I
racked my brain cells to work out why it was so familiar.  Then I groaned
inwardly when I put two and two together, from a bit of local and
historical knowledge and instantly realised that this would be our
opponents' new prop forwards.  I groaned doubly because I'd suddenly
realised exactly who they were: Darren and Trevor, otherwise known
unimaginatively as Daz and Trev, a couple of semi local general builders in
their thirties, though with mental ages still in the teens.  Daz and Trev
came with long reputations for being hot heads on the field and even longer
reputations and petty criminal records off the field.  You could always
guarantee where there was trouble in the town, they would probably be
involved, and where you found one, you would always find the other.

The two partners in crime were probably responsible for a good part of the
fly tipping in every country lane within 20 miles, and it wasn't their only
indiscrimination in tipping their loads.  A couple of weeks before, Daz had
got himself barred from yet another local pub after the landlord allegedly
found him getting a blow job off some young lass in the tap room,
presumably while Trev waited his turn.  At least it had ended without a
fight kicking off, the police getting called out and yet another assault
conviction for the motley pair.  Daz and Trev were notorious for kicking
off, on the field and off it, fist first and brain later and just about
every pub brawl locally would see one of those two involved if not directly
responsible.  If it wasn't for the amount of ale I'd seen them consume
every Friday and Saturday night, they'd be have been the bane of every land
lord within a twenty mile radius.  The last time I'd seen Trev off the
field had been on a Saturday night in Wakefield, after a few of my squad
mates had been out for a good nights drinking up Westgate and I'd seen him
around midnight, after his evening's drinking and fighting, kicking off
outside Rooftop Gardens and getting manhandled into the back of a black
maria, handcuffed and struggling.  It had taken 4 coppers to achieve it and
the police were getting a proper lamping.

Although it would be fair to say Daz and Trev were a couple of big, thick,
rough as fuck, drunken louts, they had the one redeeming feature of being
fucking good rugby league players.  They were a good 10 years older than
me, with one hell of a lot more experience on the field.  They were going
to be formidable in the opposition pack. They were both incredibly big,
strong, well built blokes, and they predictably excelled as prop forwards,
with plenty of power and weight to push into the opposition, and if they
worked as pair, had the combined size and stamina to smash a path through
just about any likely opposition for the best of the backs and try scorers
to surge through.  They'd played for a few teams, including ours, though
before my time.  Apparently, they had never been the most reliable players,
usually with one or the other of them being unable to play due to a few
weeks in prison or a hangover.  I'd noticed that both had been absent from
the rugby scene the last year, and I could imagine a fair few dubious
reasons why, but, unlucky for everyone, the two big bastards were back, and
back with a vengeance.

With their frequent on field brawling, high tackling, ear biting and sly
knees in the bollocks, they were often regarded as too much of a penalty
liability for a team, and I was a little surprised that the ultra
conservative George Williams had seen fit to try them out on his prized
squad.  Dave Briggs had always thought them talented, but I don't think
he'd regretted their defection a couple of years back, as he could never
rely on them, either to turn up, or to stay out of the sin bin for more
than twenty minutes play.  I knew them from experience, as I'd crunched
shoulders on the field with these bastards before and had once been blood
binned off due to a streaming nose as the result of one of Daz's reckless
high tackles.  They'd absolutely flattened me a fair few times.  Pair of
bastards.  Calling them dirty players didn't even begin to cover it, and
you really had to watch them in the rucks, being more than likely to give
you kick in the balls, or stamp on your face with a studded boot if the
referee or the linesmen weren't looking.

Daz was the first to noisily make his presence felt, banging open the door
of the battered Transit.  He shifted round in the driver's seat, lifted his
broad arse up, eased his muscular legs apart and farted loudly.  He had a
good sniff, wiped his nose on the back of his dirty, shovel like mitt, then
wiped his snotted hand on the sleeve of a grimy yellow, ripped hi-viz coat
hung over the back of the driver's seat of the Transit.

"All reet lads!  The fuckin' cavalry's here!" he bellowed, before squeezing
his enormous scruffy frame out of the door.  Trev eased his even bigger
body out of the passenger seat.  I was pretty fit and well built myself,
but these two gorillas were absolutely enormous, truly huge men.
Physically, they were from the same mould, both built like brick shite
houses, hairy, 6 foot plus, 16 odd stone apiece and one hell of a lot more
of it muscle than fat, thick slabs of muscle wrapping their arms and
shoulders, developed by many hard hours in the local gym and their daily
labouring lark.  Trev had a slight beer belly straining his thick leather
belt, but was even more massive in the shoulders than Daz, with thighs that
could have supported an aqueduct.  He had to be one of the biggest men in
local rugby league, a man mountain who put the likes of Brendan Hill to
mind.

Both of them had heads shaved down to the bone, Trev's a sandy brownish
dirty blond, to Daz's dark blackish brown and each boasted a fair
collection of scars from rugby and other `social' events.  Daz had a couple
of teeth missing and a deep scar through his eyebrow, and Trev a nose that
said it had been broken more than once, with a pair of nicely blooming
cauliflower ears.  It wasn't as if they had faces entirely like a welder's
bench though.  I hated to admit it, but in a rough way they certainly
weren't bad looking lads.  Trev's hazel eyes almost looked sensitive in
contrast to the bull like build of the rest of him, and Daz showed off a
gorgeous pair of brown eyes under his brow, which has always been a
weakness of mine.  Neither of them looked like they'd shaved for a about a
week, with Daz's jaw dark with a six o clock shadow and Trev was about two
days growth short of what looked like a thick, sandy, round the gob beard,
that I suppose you'd call a goatee these days.

"Wahey! You bunch of wankers! 'Ope yer ready to get proper fuckin'
slaughtered" goaded Daz, as unsportsmanlike and immature as possible and
grinning stupidly in my direction.  He vaguely recognised me from previous
encounters on the rugby field, and he'd seen me at the gym occasionally.
Fortunately, with my shifts, he was usually leaving as I arrived, but he'd
sussed me out and given me the odd nod as a fellow rugger and a player for
his old team.  He was scratching at one of his well pumped up pectorals,
the action pulling his dirty T shirt down to show a thick patch of glossy
black hair curling over his chest.  Still looking at me, his brain at last
having placed me, he decided to have a dig.

"You ready for a proper game o' rugby then grease monkey?  `Bout time I
bloodied yer nose again for ya!" Daz snickered, scratching his well packed
crotch.

I wasn't the only one who'd been working that morning by the looks of
things.  Daz and Trev looked like they had come to the game straight from
their latest building site, still in their work clothes, filthy cement
smeared jeans and brick dust powdered T shirts full of holes, showing off
their thick, muscular, liberally tattooed arms.  They'd probably spent the
morning making an overpriced bodged job of bricklaying some poor bastards
new garage.  Daz spat out a big slimy gob of saliva onto the tarmac,
landing with a splat, inches from the toe cap of his muddy size twelve
rigger boot, the toe cap worn right through to the steel under the tan
leather.  He gave his substantially bulging crotch another good scratch,
his filthy jeans tight over his thick tree trunk thighs, and farted again.
I could distinctly see the shape of his big plum sized bollocks between his
legs, the gusset of his jeans neatly separating his hefty gonads into twin
bulges.

I'd steeled myself to ignore their predictable petty jibes, but true to
their Neanderthal form, they were having none of it, and kept up with their
goading.

"Yer might as well give up now and go home lad, `cos were gonna fuckin
flatten yer!" Trev continued, followed up cheerfully with Daz:

"Aye, you'll be a right sorry lookin' bunch a cunts in a couple of hours
mate!" Daz pushed.  I rose to the bait.

"I don't need to wait a couple of hours to look at sorry cunts mate," I
responded,

"I'm looking at pair of `em now!"

Daz stopped stock still, then bristled up in hopefully feigned, exaggerated
outrage and anger.

"Whaaaat!" roared Daz in mock indignation,

"I'll fuckin' flatten thee now you little fucker!"

"Come on!  Let's have the cunt!" chipped in Trev, and both of them lurched
from the Transit toward me, thundering like a pair of stampeding bison, a
two man mountain of muscle and malevolent intent, rumbling over the car
park towards me.

Before I could even blink, Daz had shouldered me painfully, spinning me
round, and grabbed my left wrist with his large hand, and twisted it up
behind my back, as he simultaneously hooked his big, thick, hairy forearm
around my neck.  I could feel the heat of his body and the firm tense
muscle of his torso against me as I struggled and wriggled, but strong as I
was, I couldn't break out from his incredible grip, or pull his JCB piston
like arm from round my neck with my one free hand.  We stood there
struggling and grunting for a few moments as I inhaled the warm musky smell
of his sweaty, hairy body from his morning's labouring, sharpened with a
stronger, sharper odour from his damp sweaty armpits wafting up my
nostrils.  Even through my overalls, I could feel his belly and the
underlying muscle, firm against the small of my back, and the dangerous
bulge of his crotch rubbing against my arse as the coarse dark hair on his
forearms tickled my chin.

"Got you now you little fucker." he grunted, his breath warm and damp in my
left ear and his three day stubble scrubbing the side of my neck, as I
continued wrestling with him, trying to get him off my back and slip out of
the arm lock.  His arm was deliberately restricting my air supply, and I
was beginning to gasp for oxygen as he squeezed tighter, my vision
beginning to blur as I struggled to focus on the straining muscle in his
arm and the Yorkshire white rose tattooed below his elbow.  Trev had caught
us up and grabbed the front of my overalls.  His sturdy, muscular forearms
were covered in dense curly sandy hair with a thick spread of it over the
back of his dirty hands, down to his impressively scarred knuckles.  Trev
yanked the front of my overalls upward sharply, producing the intended
result of digging the gusset sharply into my testicles, which brought a
sharp grunt of pain from me.  I was absolutely fucking mental with outrage,
still struggling against Daz's grip, desperate to get out of it and give
the pair of them a good, hard, well deserved kick in the balls.

"What do we do with thee then, grease monkey?" enquired Trev, grinning
evilly, as Daz kept me pinioned.  He leaned close to share his unpleasant
thoughts.

"I reckon we should cut yer bollocks off, stuff `em in yer gob an make yer
fuckin eat `em before Daz rips yer fuckin' head off yer shoulders!"  Trev
suggested.

His hazel eyes twinkled with a spark of evil intent instead of their usual
glazed stupidity at his brilliant idea.

"Nah mate, I reckon we should string this cunt up by the balls, hang him
off his own goal posts for a couple hours an let him fuckin' squeal." Daz
offered in his deep rumble, full of evil delight at bullying someone
slightly smaller than himself.

"Great idea!  String him up slowly!  He'll be fuckin' beggin' by time we've
got `im up on his toes" Trev added, evidently relishing the thought, his
massive hairy mitts still holding me firmly by the front of my overalls.

I kept struggling, getting nowhere, still struggling to breathe in Daz's
arm lock, clamped round me like a fucking vice.

"There's some rope in't back of the wagon, that'd be perfect for stringing
the cunt up!"

I could still feel Daz's wet, slimy spit hitting the side of my neck as he
talked.  I decided I'd had enough and tried to reach back and poke the big
fucking ape in the eye.  Daz pulled back when he saw my finger going for
his eyeballs, and tripped up, pulling me down onto the tarmac with his
massive, throttling arm still round my neck, and Trev, still gripping my
overalls, ended up pulled along, falling on top of us, flattening me under
his huge bulk.  We landed in heap, a great, grunting, wrestling pile of
straining muscles, stamping rigger boots, smelly, sweaty flesh, flailing
arms, kicking feet, swearing and struggling.  Winded by the colossal weight
of Trev's huge body falling on me, I tried to wriggle out from between
them.

"What in the name of fuck's goin on `ere!!!!" bellowed Dave Briggs voice,
peaked with rage.  He'd stealthily come back outside, unobserved, to see
what was holding me up and what all the noise was about and found the three
of us in a messy heap in the middle of the car park.

"Save it for the fucking field girls!" he roared, livid with outrage and
disgust at our unsportsmanlike behaviour.

"Now sort yourselves out, you big bunch of fucking poofs, stop mucking
about and get the fuck on with yourselves!" he roared, before storming back
into the home changing rooms and slamming the door.

We untangled ourselves, me fuming with rage, humiliation and a desire for
revenge, which at least I could look forward to venting on the field, but
Trev and Daz were creased with mirth, laughing heartily which only incensed
me even more.

"See ya on the field, soft lad," Daz chuckled, as they left me alone to go
and fetch their kit bags out of Daz's works Transit.

I was in for a right fucking game.

I watched as Trev bent into the cab, his T shirt lifting up and his belly
pushing his jeans down, to show three damp inches of hairy arse crack above
the waistband as he rummaged in the cab.  Still black with rage, with the
smell of the men's' sweat up my nose, I finally stamped into the changing
rooms and tried to focus my mind back on the rugby and the game to come. I
half wondered why I'd become so wound up by a not entirely unfriendly bit
of a laugh and carry on, but I was doubly resolved to play this game hard
and see us walk all over out opponents, and two of them in particular.

Finally banging my way into the changing rooms, dragging my kitbag behind
me, I was met with a barrage of cheerful greeting from the lads.

"There you are!"

"Where the fuck's thy bin?"

"Probably havin' a wank!"

"Come on, hurry up!"

"It'll be half time afore ya make it on't field!"

"Have you got any spare studs that'll fit these boots?"

"Still in yer overalls, ya scruffy sod?"

"Your buyin' the beers then, wi' all that overtime!"

"'Ee might be fixin' Dave's car."

"Or tightenin' his nuts one way or another!"

It was great getting in there among the men in the squad, getting into a
pack with the lads, one of the team, ready to get out onto the field
together, and bray the living fuck out of the enemy and Daz and Trev in
particular.  The squad were a good group of men, and I got on pretty well
with all of them.  We had the odd bit of friction occasionally, but it was
soon forgotten.  A few I'd played rugby with since school, and I'd worked
with one of or two of them.  Pete, the fullback, was a lorry driver, so I
saw him fairly often at the workshops, usually getting his parts hungry
Volvo F12 put right, or more likely, trying to persuade me into showing him
a few, slightly illegal, tricks to inconspicuously bypass his tachograph
and speed limiter.  Amazing what a mechanic can achieve with strategically
placed ball bearings or bridging a couple of connections in a Volvo F12's
fuse box with an easily `lost' string of copper wire!

Settling in among the team, I soon managed to shift my focus into the quiet
channel of calm that comes before a game, and started to strip off, already
aching from my larking about with Dastardly and Mutley and get myself ready
for battle.  I settled down into the atmosphere of the changing rooms.
They were a simple enough, functionally affair, white tiled throughout, if
a little mildewed.  One end was the wet end, partly walled off, barring a
single large entrance, with a sunken bath in the centre and shower heads
around the wall.  There was a bog, with a chipped wall length Armitage
Shanks urinal with a trough and a couple of cubicles.  The main changing
room had a couple of rows of wooden benches with coat hook frames in the
middle of room, and more benches and coat hooks against the top and side
wall.  Lockers ringed the rest of the walls, sturdy 1950's affairs, well
dented and getting rusty, the keys long lost.  Dave had a little cubby hole
that functioned as an office and shrine for the reasonable collection of
trophy's the club had won over the years.

The away team had a similar but smaller set up, though without the bath.
Some years later, the bath was filled in and tiled over, a great loss, as
`health and safety' deemed that having a load of dirty sweating men
relaxing in the same muddy water together was a health risk.  Some of the
professional Super League clubs now have individual baths, but it was an
expense beyond the club's resources then and still is now.  It wasn't
really big enough to get the whole squad in the bath at once, it was more a
token attempt at one, but you could fit in 8 men at a squeeze.  If you
didn't get in there first, you were best just having a shower, but if you
were determined to get into the traditional baths with the lads you'd have
to wait your turn.  There were always a few men who'd lay in there for
ages, but you could always stand by the edge and piss onto the lads
outstaying their time to hurry them along though.

I've always loved rugby changing rooms, and not just for the obvious
reasons.  I loved the atmosphere, the taut concentration before a match,
and following a win, the great camaraderie, with the usual singing in the
bath, and the horseplay and carrying on afterwards.  Most of all, I used to
relish the smell.  Empty, it just smelled of disinfectant, damp and mildew,
but with the squad in, it became a heady mix of sweat, feet, underpants,
crotches, deodorant, soap, Tiger Balm, armpits and testosterone that I
would savour.  Might seem strange to some, but it was certainly better than
the industrial chemical smell of grease, diesel, brake fluid, friction
material and burred metal that I got up my nose at work.

I exchanged a few more friendly greetings with the lads, the odd new dirty
joke and listened to the usual speculative remarks about the new barmaid at
the pub's proclivities, with Pete and Stuart giving me a `remember that
night in Preston' grin.  I caught up with local tales and listened to the
boasts about the lasses the men had allegedly fucked that week before
exchanging a few comments and observations about a magnificent Salford
v. Wakefield Trinity game the prior weekend.  I had a chinwag with Sam, the
team captain, telling me to keep myself as sharp as fuck for any chances to
score.  He was a welcome sight after being manhandled by the two
testosterone overloaded apes outside, with his easy smile, gorgeous arse
and the kind of body that would have disgraced a Praxiteles marble statue.
He had absolutely perfect skin, not a sodding spot anywhere, and a six pack
like Satsuma's in a rubber bag, with a clear line of muscular definition
plunging in a perfect arc over his hip into his groin.

We talked through a few more tactics briefly, before Sam did his rounds,
having a quick individual prep talk with the men.  Sam was keeping things
serious, calm and professional as team captain, and keeping us focussed on
the main issue, a staunch defence, with an eye on the new winger, and sharp
eyes for any try opening.  Speed and ruthlessness would be the key to a
favourable outcome in this game, as well as watching out for Dastardly and
Mutley, and bringing them down fast and hard when they got possession of
the ball.

Protocol in the changing rooms never altered.  The men would get stripped
off as soon as possible, everything off and cocks to the breeze, wedding
rings included, to stop jewellery opening nasty gashes or breaking a finger
in a tackle, and then slowly stretching, limbering up and mentally
preparing for the game.  I learned the merits of a good warm up a long time
past after enough cramps and a groin strain confirmed its benefits.  Most
of us would be pretty near bollock naked until very close to heading out on
the field, lacing up boots, having a piss, taping down ears, strapping up
thighs, ankles, knees and elbows and chomping gum shields into place.
Straight blokes can do that in a group I reckon, casually get on with
preparing for a game, or showering with their nuts swinging around without
seeming to notice it.  I rarely found it a problem, I was usually too
focussed on the rugby, not the men, but I was always self conscious about
where I was looking and I was occasionally near paranoid about getting
caught looking a bit too closely at my team mates anatomy.  It wasn't easy
sometimes though, especially after a victory, with plenty of close physical
contact, a lot of back slapping, and the men's' bollocks bouncing around,
or packed into their jockstraps.  Worse than that it was the smell of warm,
sweaty, mature male bodies that I found hard to ignore, something that has
always triggered my arousal.

Visually things weren't bad either, and to look around, there was something
for everyone, with men from their early twenties, like myself at the time,
to forty plus, some smooth, some hairy, cocks and balls from the modest, to
the dangerous, especially in Dave Briggs case.  There was a fair selection
tattoos to behold, some tacky, some interesting, like John, the loose
forward who worked on the railways and had a spectacular British Rail Class
55 Deltic diesel locomotive tattooed on his back.  It was an incredible
work of art, a black and grey piece copied from a photograph, nearly a foot
across, that must have been as agonising as it was expensive to have done.
I've only the one myself, a roaring lion on the left bicep, which I had
done on that Lancashire rugby tour.  It cost me 80 quid, but it's a quality
piece that I've never regretted.

In general, I'll have to admit that my team mates were pretty enjoyable to
look at out of their clothes: The average level of fitness was high, even
exceptional in Sam's case.  Every man on the team was in pretty good shape,
plenty of bulk and muscle, some with a lesser or greater layer of fat over
it.  They were a prime collection of big, fit, hard rugby league men.  It
wasn't the collection of highly defined, toned athletes, Sam excepted, that
seem to dominate the Super League these days, but personally, I've always
found the former every bit as appealing as the latter.

Ironically to me, half the teasing, winding-up, general piss-taking and
guffawing in the changing rooms all considered of teasing each other about
sexual preferences, and loud speculation about who was a poof, who liked it
up the arse, who wanted suck a few cocks, and a near obsession with buggery
in general, with the occasional bit of arse slapping and cock twanging.
It's always the same in any male dominated environment.  If any of them had
actually worked out that I preferred blokes, they never mentioned it, and
I'd prefer to think they respected me too much for my value to the squad
and my ability on the field for it to matter.

I found myself some room on the bench opposite my locker, squeezing myself
in between the big arses of our two props, Martin, who was bollock naked
and was one of the coppers on the team and Neil, who was half kitted up
already, having just eased into his socks, shirt and jockstrap.  Both men
were busy replacing damaged studs in their rugby boots.  Martin was a
lovely bloke, just into his forties, and thankfully without all the
arrogance, know it all attitude and swagger that some coppers seem to have.
He was friendly, even tempered, utterly reliable and one of the most
likeable blokes you could meet.

I'd no doubt there'd be a totally different side to him on the job, and I'd
heard it said he wasn't above dishing out a little summary justice to some
of the local villains.  I'd known him a good long while, though not
closely, and I remember he'd given me more than one cautionary clip round
the ear in some of my wilder moments when I was younger.  He was a born
prop forward, probably about 6'3" in his bare feet and well built.  He was
a bit overweight but he carried it well.  He wasn't too bad looking either,
fresh faced, with tufty blond hair, ice blue eyes and small stick out ears
that were just asking to be nibbled on.  He was a good and reliable
forward, and I was grateful he was on this years' squad..  He'd recovered
well from a scaphoid fracture the prior year and looked like he was going
to be back at the top of his form.  I'd been helped by him smashing many an
opening for me, though he didn't quite have Neil's unrelenting stamina and
moments of psychotic brilliance.

For all his authoritarian bulk, and barging thunder on the field, he was a
real gentle giant, and had an incongruously soft, gentle voice that belied
the look of him and he was one of the most honest and trustworthy men you
could meet. He was well respected as a copper, and a good thief taker, and
I could imagine why.  With his gentle manner off the field, I could imagine
he'd be able to coax a confession out of anyone.  I knew Martin was ex
Royal Navy, and he often used to have a few private, serious looking
conversations with Dave in the pub, presumably about some of their darker
days in the forces.  I'd heard somewhere that Martin had been on HMS
Sheffield when she was sunk by an air to sea missile, but it wasn't
something I'd ever asked him about.

I'd only ever seen him on duty once, on crowd control at a Leeds
v. Wakefield Trinity game at Headingley.  He looked pretty good in uniform,
and I'll admit that he'd featured in one or two of my wanking fantasies.  I
once had a bet with him on the outcome of a Lancashire Cup final, where I'd
argued for St. Helens, and he was determined Wigan were going to clinch it.
I'd bet him, jokingly, that I'd drop my shorts and he could stick his
truncheon up my arse if they lost.  They did.  Unfortunately he didn't take
our bet seriously, but I'd have been willing to pay penalty.  I had a
recurring fantasy where Wigan won, and he had to pay the penalty, and I got
to slowly slide his truncheon up his arse, when he was in full uniform,
helmet, blue sweater, radio, the full works, with his underpants and
uniform trousers round his ankles over the top of shiny size 11 boots.  I'd
have used his handcuffs to secure his wrist behind his back, before he bent
over to take it, right up to the hilt.

I tried to get thought out of my mind.  It was arousing me, and I didn't
need that sort of distraction from focussing on the game.  Martin was still
bollock naked while he strapped up the fingers on his left hand with
surgical tape and against all better intentions, I couldn't help but watch
his cock and balls swinging about.  He had nice set of tackle, not huge,
but a smooth, nicely sized cock with a snug foreskin and a pair of the most
perfectly formed testicles I'd ever seen, with a light dusting of fine
blond fluff over his body, and slightly freckled shoulders.

Martin had the odd tattoo, presumably from his navy days, including a large
ensign over his left shoulder.  Interestingly he had a small anchor on his
left arse cheek, which I found quite amusing.  He must have been well
pissed in god knows what port when he'd got that done.  It amused me
thinking what all the villains he arrested would think if they knew what
the local copper had got hidden away under his uniform.  Most of our
spectators probably did as he'd had his shorts ripped a couple of years
back, following a grab in a tackle.  The seam of his shorts had split right
up his butt, and he'd had them ripped almost completely off.  He'd been
left in the middle of a field in not much more than his jockstrap below the
waist, with his arse out and his tattoo on display, looking rather
embarrassed until Dave, with extreme lack of haste to let the poor bugger
squirm, brought him a spare pair.  I shook the memory out of my head.  I
knew I had more pressing things to think about than Martin's arse and
settled myself down to get kitted up.

"Ready for this game then?" Martin asked me, gentle and friendly as ever.
There was something a bit Jekyll and Hyde about Martin.  For all his
loveable nature out of uniform and off the field, he became a proper tough
nut on it, from the moment the whistle blew.

"Yeah, course he is!" Neil chipped in.

"He's already trying to knock out the opposition before the game!  I take
it tha's seen them props Williams has set on!"

"Tha could say we've met." I told him, inwardly planning murder.

"Well watch out for `em.  I know those two of old, and they've been good
players for about 20 years a piece.  Not as fast as they were when they
were your age, but they'll flatten you, if you muck about with `em.  Yer
not gonna match `em for size lad, so use your speed and brains, don't let
them chew at you and dance round `em.  Williams'll have told `em to be onto
your every move, he knows your points potential.  They'll do owt to break
ya down, so watch out for `em, and keep them tries rolling in!"

"I'll be doin' me best mate!" I told Neil, and gave a him a slap of thanks
on his solid shoulder.  It felt like granite.  Neil wasn't particularly
tall for a prop, but he was about as wide as he was high with unbelievable
reserves.  Neil had a face like a socket set and a nose broken so many
times it was almost flat, but he watched out for me, he knew his game, and
I'll give him his due, when it came to rugby, he probably new my own
strengths and weaknesses better than I did myself.

"Cheers, Neil.  Don't thy be worryin' about me mate, I'm ready to walk all
over the bastards!" I told him, cracking my knuckles and imagining grinding
the studs on my boots into Daz's face.

Martin gave me a friendly smile.

"Good on you lad, we'll give them summat to remember us by.  Just watch out
for the chances, and don't be too proud to shout out and get me and Neil in
behind you if need it.  Gotta back each other up.  You'd have had about ten
tries last week if you'd waited for some support."  I knew Martin was
right.

"Use the team!" he added, while he was pulling on his jockstrap, easing the
waistband up under his stomach.  It was good advice, and I took it without
any offence.  He was spot on.  My worst fault was playing my own game of
rugby not the team's game.  Getting possession of the ball always gave me a
rush of adrenaline and a desire for the charge, to get to that try line,
and make the points, and found it hard to let the ball go and pass it to a
better placed man.  I told myself to try and keep Neil and Martin's well
meant, good advice and Dave's focus on teamwork at the front of my mind.

I snapped out of my concentration when I noticed Martin large body looming
in front of me blocking out the light.

"Sorry mate, I just need to get my spare laces out me pocket.  Just been up
the shop for `em.  I must snap a pair every game..."

I realised Martin's coat was hung on the peg behind me as I sat there.
Before I could shift out of his way, He reached over my head into his hung
up coat pocket, leaving his groin about two inches from my face.  He
reached down and had a quick jostle of his balls, settling those perfect
bollocks comfortably into his jockstrap pouch, an unconscious, instinctive
male action.

"Now where are those chuffin' laces?" I hear him announce, his pouched
gonads still wobbling an inch from my face.

"Ah! Got em!"

Thank fuck for that, I thought, as he stepped back, my face free from his
crotch and smell of freshly laundered jockstrap.

Just when I thought I was safe, Martin bent over to pick up his boots to
replace his snapped laces, and this time I had his tattooed arse in my
face, his buttocks parting as he bent over right in front of me.  I could
almost glimpse his arsehole. Space was at a bit of a premium in the
changing rooms, and with the whole squad in, you got used to things like
that.  I tried not look too closely, and thought through how I was going to
play this game.  Watch the wings for the new guy and take Dave's advise to
bring them down hard I decided.  And two cunts in particular.  I debated
about asking Martin if he'd ever nicked Dastardly and Mutley, but knew he'd
be too professional to tell me even if he had.

I pulled off my rigger boots and stuck them under the bench, then stripped
out of my overalls, vest, socks and underpants and threw them into the
bottom of my locker in one big wadded dirty ball, leaving me butt naked,
and ready to prepare for the battle to come.  I began digging my freshly
washed strip out of my kit bag.  It was always an important moment for me,
taking out my kit, with the knowledge that this was it, we shortly going to
be meeting equally determined men as our selves on the field, and we had an
80 minute chance to make all our training over the last week work.  I was
as tense as fuck, despite my quick tug earlier, my tension no doubt added
to by my encounter in the car park and Martin's big warm body inadvertently
brushing up against me as he wrestled into his socks.

We at least had a decent strip; striped royal blue and white shirts and
socks and blue shorts, not unlike a toned down Halifax strip, and the club
had, with unanimous consent, spent a good part of our subs getting our
shirts made by Ellgren.  They went the whole hog and had them embroidered
with the club shield.  I was happy that we had a decent strip: It was good
to feel the part when you headed out onto the field.  I pulled on my socks,
folded down the tops to just under my knee, then had a rummage around in my
bag and fished the cleanest looking out of a few well worn Litesome
jockstraps out of the bottom.  I slipped my legs through the waistband, and
stood up to pull it on, easing my thick cock and swinging bollocks into the
pouch as I felt the leg tapes snugly tuck up over my arse, neatly framing
my buttocks.  I got my hand down into the pouch and had a good rearrange to
make sure everything was tidy and comfortable.

Times have changed now, but back then, a good jockstrap was compulsory
equipment for rugby league.  I knew that some of the professionals wore
abominable Speedos, and those god awful compression shorts were also just
starting to appear around then, but, thank fuck, I never saw a man with
anything other than a jockstrap under his shorts in our club.  They were
highly recommended by Dave Briggs and nothing but a jockstrap was
acceptable under your shorts as far as Dave was concerned.  Our earnest
coach would have laughed a pair of compression shorts out of the changing
rooms in an instant.  A decent jockstrap always does its job: It keeps your
essential bits tidy and out of the way from swinging about all over the
place in a game, and keeps you fairly cool without your arse getting too
sweaty, with no irritating seat material to get wrinkled up and have to be
forever pulled out of your crack.

Litesome Sportswear's `standard' model was the very best jockstrap by far,
favoured by myself and most of my team mates, with a sturdy waistband with
green tracer lines at the top and bottom, robust stitching and a really
comfy and supportive soft ribbed cotton pouch.  The pouch was adequately
supportive but roomy enough for even the biggest of blokes in that
department.  Cleverly, the elastic legs tapes, or technically, the
`stirrups' or `side straps', had a cotton tube sheathing them, so they felt
really snug over your arse: An incredibly comfortable and hard wearing
product, and an entirely different kettle of fish from the totally fucking
uncomfortable elastic horrors produced overseas.  The cream and green
Litesome jockstrap was the traditional colouring, but there was a very
brief run in Royal Blue, which reputedly had some commemorative connection
to Scotland's 1984 Rugby Union Grand Slam.

I'm was proud to say that the Litesome "Athletic Supporter", as it was
grandiosely marketed, it never referred to itself as a jockstrap, was made
in West Yorkshire for 60 odd years, but sadly, Fred Hurtley & Son of
Keighley, manufacturers of the stalwart Litesome brand are no more, and
their most famous product is long gone from sports shop display racks.  It
was sold briefly under the Puma brand after the company bought up Fred
Hartley's, but even those have long since sold out now.  The "Prosport"
brand seemed to corner the quality jockstrap market since the mid nineties,
and was a reasonable successor to the Litesome, clean white with yellow and
blue waistband tracer lines, though the pouch always annoyingly looses its
shape after a few washes and the supportiveness goes.  Even Prosport sadly
only make their cricket type model now with a pocket for a box.

These days, a jockstrap seems to have become a dubious fashion statement,
but you might have gathered that I fondly recall the days when a jockstrap
was an essential piece of equipment for every serious sportsman, and
parting with £3.99 apiece for my first couple from the local sports shop
was a necessary and defining event at the start of my adult rugby career.
Some of the lads had what was virtually a `lucky' jockstrap, worn until it
frayed to threads and you usually bought your jockstrap one size larger
than was strictly necessary to massage your genital ego.  Washing your
jockstrap too often was slightly frowned upon, and some players never
washed it until it gave the rugger who owned it a fungal infection.

The style of shorts for rugby league back then, our own strip included, was
fairly tight with the cut off high up the leg, just under your backside, so
they didn't restrict your thigh movements, and usually made of shiny
finished polyester.  Not only did they keep you cool, but they showed of
players arses superbly, clinging around the contours of your buttocks and
dipping into your crack.

The short cut off always meant that the leg tapes of your jockstrap would
frequently show at the bottom of your shorts, and anything involving
bending over, especially in the scrums and tackles would always result in a
quick glimpse of one or two proudly displayed jockstrap leg tapes.  I'll
admit I've always found that quick revelation of what a player was wearing
under his shorts on the field an arousing sight.  I'll even admit that I
used to pull my shorts up just that bit higher, or tuck over the waistband,
to make sure I was showing off my jockstrap and I'm sure I wasn't the only
one who used to do it.  It wasn't overtly sexual, well, maybe a bit in my
case, but it certainly made a bold statement.  It shouted that you were a
bloke, a rugby player, you had big balls, and you meant some serious
fucking business on the field.

I doubt whether a jockstrap has been seen in rugby league for some years
since they starting loosing out to compression shorts in the mid nineties,
but watching VHS recordings of old games always brings a grin when you see
a big strong arse tautly covered with tight shiny shorts, and jockstraps'
leg tapes showing out from underneath the bottom of shorts in the rucks and
scrums.  Castleford, Bradford Northern, and Wakefield Trinity players
always used to uphold the tradition, and watching their old matches always
has plenty of jockstrap on show, though for Lancashire teams, Warrington
and Salford never did too badly.  I still wear a jockstrap for the gym but
I'm sadly only one of a couple of others.  Who knows, maybe it's time for a
revival?

Nonetheless, when I was sat with my exposed arse on the cold wooden rugby
changing room bench that afternoon, the future sales markets of what I'd
just pulled on to support and protect my bollocks was the last thing on the
mind.  I pulled on my Gilbert shoulder pads, worn by all the forwards,
which had probably spared me a snapped collar bone in more than one tackle.
I was soon into my Ellgren shirt, with my second row number 12 in giant
black ironed on numerals in a white square on the back, my blue shorts, and
my well scuffed size 10 Mitre rugby boots which I carefully laced up.  I
had a slight strain in the calf from the prior week's game which I eased
with a bit of Deep Heat.  Dave Briggs helped me finish battle preparations,
taping my ears down flat with a wad of bandage under the black tape, and
thickly smearing my brows with Vaseline to counter the friction I was
likely to get on the field in the tackles.

Chomping on my gum shield to work it back into shape, I got on with my warm
up physio: a slow stretching routine, slowly loosening my muscles,
minimising the risk of cramp.  Dave gave his prep talk which largely
mirrored Sam's advice on how we were going to handle the next 80 minutes of
mud, sweat, blood and pain.

"Right lads, we know we can have `em, so keep it sharp, keep your eyes
open, watch the right wing and don't ever stop fuckin fighting!"  Dave told
us in his sternest `Retaking of Port Stanley' tone.  I always suspected
that Dave's prep speeches were largely similar to those he must have given
to his troops in the Falklands.  As I headed out onto the field with the
pack, Dave gave me a solemn warning not to let Daz and Trev wind me up:

"Those two big fucking wankers will be out for you lad, they know they can
wind you up, and believe me, there gonna fucking try to, so don't let `em
get under yer skin!" Dave cautioned, and I nodded my agreement as he gave
me his usual friendly slap on my arse, his big hand firm through the thin
material of my shorts and warm against my bare skin underneath.

Fortunately for us, the weather had been keeping up.  It wasn't too cold
for February, just nippy, if overcast and at least the semi dry spell had
eased the field water logging problem which I hoped would give us a bit of
an advantage.  There was a small smattering of spectators, by the field
side, mainly local friends and family having a quick break from an
afternoon downing Tetley Bitter in the warmth of the pub.  I even thought I
glanced Smithy, probably round from the garage for a quick nosy.  Our
opponents were already out, limbering themselves up and looking smug and
confident.  Their distinctive strip, black shorts, and black and red
striped shirts, made them look like a pack of tigers looking for some prey
to sink their fangs into.  They were an intimidating looking team, most of
them were really big, tough, grim looking men, and probably a bit above us
in average pack weight.  They looked fit as fuck, ready for us, quietly
confident and coldly determined.

Facing away from me I saw my new nemeses, two familiar, strapping, burly
giants with thick, strong bull necks and shaved bullet heads, swaggering
about, rotating their massive shoulders, cracking their knuckles and
tensing their tree trunks thighs.  I could just make out the shape of their
shoulder pads under shirts, further emphasising their size. I didn't need
to read their numbers, 8 and 10 on the backs of their shirts to recognise
the new prop forwards, my new mortal enemies, Daz and Trev, looking even
more menacing in their strips.

I watched Daz bend over to smooth a nipping wrinkle out of strapped up left
thigh, presenting me with his broad arse, the muscular contours and deep
cleft clearly defined by his tightly fitting satiny black shorts and his
massive thighs thickly foliated with curly dark hairs.  He might be a
complete bastard, but he had a beautifully shaped arse.  His shorts rode up
presenting me with a glimpse of both of the white leg tapes of his
jockstrap over his backside standing out in sharp contrast against the
bottom of his black shorts.  He reached back to give his arsehole a
shamelessly conspicuous scratch while spitting out a big wad of phlegm onto
the field.

Trev spotted me, and nudged his burly sidekick, and they both shifted their
strapping bodies round to grin stupidly at me.  I found myself staring them
down, and looking forward to trying bang a few extra lumps out of them in
the 80 minutes to come for aggravating me in the car park.  They were soon
distracted by Neil and Martin, our stalwart props, and an intense
psychological eyeballing started between the four of them.  Some fucking
sparks were going to fly when those four huge men clashed.  I could feel
the tingle of the deep heat on my calf under my sock taking effect.  It
felt like an ominous warning omen.  The referee, appropriately a local
traffic warden, had arrived, and after conferring briefly with the two
linesmen, shoed Williams of the field, away from giving a last minute pep
talk to his new pet winger, young Edwards.  We lined up facing each other
across the halfway line, a meeting of 26 determined men, brimming with
tension, concentration and mounting aggression, ready for off, ready to be
let off our leashes and give each other a hard fucking taste of the sort of
stuff we were made of.

It started with a bit of bad luck, with our fearsome opponents winning the
toss, and at 3:00 pm sharp, the referee blew his whistle, and I felt the
mental surge of a game commenced.  The enemy's left wing started play with
a colossal fucking kick that rocketed the ball off the centre line and sent
it soaring toward our try line.  It was deftly caught Pete the fullback,
who went off up the field like a rocket, leaving us bobbying after him, but
we were starting a long way back.  I glanced over my shoulder to get myself
into position among the men spread out over the field, and I bit down
grimly on my gum shield, preparing for the path we needed to smash to the
try line 80 yards in front of me.

*** Pitched Battle ***

THUMP! The ground came up fast and hard and felt like concrete rather than
grass hitting me as I went down, smacking into the surface of the field.  I
could smell the turf and taste the mud as I wriggled like an electrified
otter out of the strong arms round my thighs that had taken me down in a
crunching third tackle with 20 yards ahead to go.  We were 35 minutes into
the first half, 10 – 4 behind with only a try to two tries and a
conversion.  Danny had only just managed to squeeze past the enemy in a
flashing streak of brilliance, quickly sneaking round the snarling mountain
of Trev to seize the chance and win us a slick try in the right corner.

They'd come back against our effrontery nearly instantly and 5 minutes
later, Daz had clocked up an early four points with an unbelievable charge,
crashing through our forwards like a Challenger tank, fending off every
challenge to slam the ball down right between our posts.  Bastard.  It made
me livid watching the effortless ability with which he did it, his team,
and Trev especially, backing him up all the way, feeding him the ball when
his size was of best advantage to the opportunity they'd seem coming,
probably from 5 passes back.  They just danced around us and briefly left
us looking like a bunch of well outclassed, hopeless ball chasers.  Then
they quickly increased their lead with another try and a stupidly conceded
penalty kick.  We were up against a commanding lead and a fucking good
squad this year, but it was all still there to play for, and by fuck, we
were still trying hard though.  I was already tiring rapidly, having taken
down man after man in tackle after tackle, but I wasn't positioning myself
to get enough support, our opponents repeatedly smashing right through our
centre.

I was desperate for us to see another try to claw things back in what was
left of the first half.  I got back on my feet like lightning and played
the ball quickly to Stuart, our squat hooker, waiting sharp and alert
behind me, getting up, off and away before you could blink.  He was off
like charging bull, stampeding toward the enemy as I sucked the breath back
into my winded lungs.  I spat out a mouthful of soil, grass and spit as I
ran, seeking position again, determined to back him up as he surged for the
try, pushing my way through the scrabbling pack of players.  I could sense
the team regrouping behind me, as the shouts of the players cut across the
field.

"Fuck orffff...",

"Gerrup you cunt!"

"Take the bastard DOWN!"

"Referee, REFEREE!!  That's a fucking knock on!"

"This way, over here, over here, right pass RIGHT PASS!"

Stuart passed the ball, swerving around the momentarily bewildered enemy
centre, nicely received by Neil, but our position was wrong, still
reforming, with men thundering up the field behind me.  Neil was blocked by
a grim wall of red and black shirted enemy forwards with no one near enough
behind him to safely take the pass, and with no option but to hang on the
ball, went down in a bone crunching tackle launched by Trev and Mike Jones,
their dauntless fullback, who was still on the wary of me after one of my
earlier tackles had taken in him down hard and ended a dangerously fine run
from him 20 yards from our line.

The referees hand flew up on the touch line: Fifth tackle.  Shite.  And we
had only 10 yards to go.  We were wedged over to the right wing, and there
was no chance or need to attempt to ground the ball between the posts.
Only the try, however or wherever we got it mattered from this one last
push.  Stuart untangled himself from the ruck, ready to play the ball.  I
was the only one near enough and big enough to take it and have a chance,
and I ran to a lumbering halt behind Stuart, ready to receive.  Stuart
played the ball the moment a glance confirmed I had my bulk securely behind
him, determined to keep up the drive and pace we'd set.  I heard the men
shout their encouragement behind me, sense the anticipation and thudding
heartbeats.

"Go on lad!..."

"Fuckin' smash `em!..."

"Go ONNN!"

The ball flipped back from Stuart's boot, and I was onto it, gripping
tightly on the mud slicked leather.  I set my shoulders and pushed forward
like a class 46 locomotive, every muscle of my arse and thighs pushing me
toward that try line, tantalisingly near behind the black and red Hadrian
's Wall of defenders.

The air rushed past my ears as I ran and I glimpsed a towering bulk
challenging me from the left, surging forward as Daz and Trev barrelled in,
growling and snarling, to block my valiant attempt and the laws of physics
displayed themselves in a rending impact of 50 combined stone of heavy
muscle and bone.

"Fuckkkk!"

THUMP!

Stars.  Blue Sky. Smell of grass. Pain.

I vaguely heard men shouting.

"Linesman!"

"Foul!"

"OBSTRUCTION!"

"Referee! REFEREE!"

"Did ya see that!"

"PENALTY!!!!"

"Blind cunt!"

My eyes focussed on the goal post high above me.  I was dazed, bruised and
sprawled out on my back staring upwards.  My senses and memory came
spilling back.  I didn't know who I was for a moment.  Had I made the line?
I knew in my heart I hadn't, I probably hadn't managed to get 5 yards.  I
remembered the flashing instant of the tackle, Trev smashing into me,
knocking me back of his solid barrel chest, then going down under his
weight as Daz launched in with a flying leap to finish the job off properly
with an earth shaking gang tackle.

I also remembered Trev's knee coming up sharply and squarely toward me
making a shattering connection with my right eye.  For a moment all I could
see was red and black as my face slid down his sock and scraped off his
boot.  Deliberate action or did I just fall onto it?  I had a good guess,
and with my senses returning, blood rushing to my head, pure searing fury
gripped me.  I focussed on Trev looming above me, legs apart astride my
head, like a vanquishing barbarian over a fallen enemy.  I could see up his
densely hairy thighs and up the leg of his black shorts just enough to
focus on the white pouch of his jockstrap bulging at the front.  I felt
like reaching up, grabbing hold and tearing his fucking balls off.  White
hot fury seared through me in an instant and I was on my feet, still
slightly dizzy from the blow to the head, but rage and indignation quickly
blossomed into an overwhelming red cloud.  Trev stepped back, with a
triumphant leer on his face, goading me on, a mocking twinkle and a final
challenge in his hazel eyes.

I was just reaching for his throat intent on nothing less than murder, sick
of his usual dirty play, and blatant fucking recklessness that could well
have had me badly injured and out for the year.  Probably exactly what he
wanted.  I was going knock that fucking smirk right of the fucking cunt's
face there and then, no matter how bloody big he was.  Luckily, my
teammates were there quickly and Neil and Martin wisely stopped trouble
before it could begin, standing in front of me, and pre-emptively blocking
my antagonist from view and reach.  Martin ruffled my hair.

"Nice attempt lad, nearly there.  Just keep it coming, we can still have
this!  You wanna get that seen to though," he added looking at a cut that
Trev's knee or boot had opened just under my left eye, and had just started
dripping blood.  I could feel its sticky progress down my face.  At least
Martin's calm steady voice and tact had drawn a lot of the anger out of me.
I could hear a lot of incensed shouting from the touchlines as our handful
of spectators shouted their opinion.  The pain was beginning to filter
through my rage, and it caught me suddenly, nearly taking my breath away.
I winced as a dull throbbing ache took hold through my eye socket.

The referee's whistle abruptly cut through the noise and milling players.
Through my bleary eye I saw his hand fly up to award us the penalty, but in
a wise move to calm me down off the field and avoid any brawling or serious
injury, the referee sent me off to the blood bin to get cleaned up and let
someone check me over for concussion.

"Off you go lad, get that cleaned up."

"What!  I'm fine, I don't need it!"

There was no way I wanted to be out of the game with 10 yards to go.  I was
going to finish what I started, and show the enemy who they were dealing
with.  Two of them in particular.

"Come on lad, don't argue!  Get it seen to!"

I knew he wouldn't be swayed and in my frame of my mind, with a scrum on
the 10 yard line to fire me up even more, it was a sensible decision to
have me off the field until I'd calmed down.  Angry, and with black
thoughts of murdering Trevor in a thousand painful, humiliating and
inventive ways, I stomped off the field sulking like a big kid in a man's
body.

Dave was waiting for me by the touch line after sending out Andy, one of
our best reserves, an ex infantryman and the local butcher, to take my
place in the scrum.  Dave was waiting for me on the touchline with his
`First Aid' bag looking like a concerned parent for one of his brood.  I
let my tension rip as soon as he was in earshot.

"D'ya fuckin see that!!" I shouted

"Ee' fuckin kneed us! That fat fuckin twat did it deliberately! Coulda
fuckin killed me!"

"And that blind cunt of a referee ponces about like ee's hardly seen nowt!"

"A penalty! A fuckin' penalty!"

"He wants fuckin' sendin' off!  Bent biased bastard! Pair of fuckin'
bastard cunts!"

Dave gave me a humorous `are you done yet?' look at my tirade, letting me
stamp it out of my system, spitting my venom,.  He knew that I was more
angry at not having made the try than any minor injury.  For all my anger
and frustration, he was well aware I wasn't directing it at him, just
getting the angst out of my system.  I managed to calm a little before
continuing.

"T'aint fuckin' right Dave!" I blustered on.

"Daz and fuckin' Trev have been windin; me up from before we even got on
the field, and those two fuckin' animals are throwin' every dirty trick at
me to injure me off .  Them linesman and that ref must be fuckin' blind if
they cant see what they're up to.  They want sendin' off, the bastard pair
of em!"

 Dave gave me a look of mock surprise.

"Oh really?  Its not a game of fuckin' rounders lad!"

Dave chuckled and leant close, risking a `didn't I tell you so before the
game' look at me, before continuing gently,

"You know what those lads are like, they'll keep trying to wind you up and
they'll keep tryin' to fuckin' hurt you, that's how they play.  It's how
they've allus played.  They'll wind you up, and then take the advantage
`cos they've put you off beam.  They're not as thick as they look. Not when
it comes to rugby. So just be quicker, play smart and watch out for moves
like that.  Don't let `em wear you down."

I nodded in resignation that he was right of course, as he mopped off my
face with a wet flannel, and applied Deep Freeze spray and a smear of
Vaseline to my cut, which was starting to smart like buggery.  Dave looked
back at his handiwork on my eye like a proud nurse.

"There you go lad, you'll be all right.  Tha's not feelin' dizzy or owt is
tha?  Tha'll probably have a nice shiner to show of come tomorrow, mind!"

I had worse to look at than my face in the mirror though.  Standing with
Dave on the touchline, I watched the 10 yard line scrum forming.  Unlike
Rugby Union, League scrums aren't contested anymore, they're just an
exercise really, to keep up the pace of the game, and take the forwards out
of the action to let the backs loose.  This was an opportunity we needed,
and with luck, Paul, our scrum half, a fast dart of a man when he needed to
be, would slip straight through to score.

It didn't happen.  Dave and myself watched with disbelief as it turned it a
load of old shite in an instant.  Paul had the ball out the back of the
scrum and was simply bounced backward off a solid red and black wall of
defending forwards.  Our stand off, Jimmy, had quickly taken the ball from
Paul, and made a brave, tough push, but was met hard by Daz and Trev, and
lost his feet to disappear under the crunching pile of their bulk.  There
was a pause and a shout:

"KNOCK ON!!!"

It was Daz, screaming triumphantly, his huge frame bouncing with evil
relish, as the linesman nodded his accord to the ref.  I couldn't fucking
believe it.  My heart sank so low it nearly fell out of my arse.

"Fuck!!!  I don't believe he's dropped it!" I heard Dave, utterly horrified
beside me.  I doubted Jimmy would have dropped it.  More likely had it
stamped out of his hand with Daz's studded boot I thought.  I felt the
anger bubbling up in me again.  There would hell to pay when I got back out
onto that field.

With only several minutes of the first half to go, Dave kept me off,
probably still sensing my mood, wanting my focus on what we were there to
achieve to settle back into my mind, leaving me to start remembering the
team and the rugby, not my personal grudges.  As possession changed over,
and I could see Daz and Trev in action, still making the hard yards, still
smashing the openings, still going for the points with only minutes left.
They were seriously determined rugby league players.  John, their new
winger was like a darting like a winged sandaled Olympian, one try behind
him already, still ducking and streaking to take the ball and run for
another.

They were a fucking good squad this year, I had to admit it, good strategy,
good defence, good attack.  I could see this squad easily sailing their way
to the top of the league in couple of years.  They certainly wouldn't be
playing in this division for long I thought.  It was first class rugby I
was watching, easily a couple of divisions higher than the level we were
playing at.  We were getting a proper mauling out there.  Those big fuckers
Daz and Trev, I had to admit, extremely reluctantly, were just as Dave had
told me, more than the thick brutes on field that they appeared off it.
They worked together, full of fire and determination, using their combined
strength to make the openings, backing each other up to create a near
impenetrable wall of muscle.  They were as smooth and powerful as a 16
litre Scania V8 diesel engine at 2000 rpm.  They were in fast to tackle the
bigger men, hard and heavy, killing off a threat instantly and making you
work for every inch of territory you could get.  They were smart as a pair,
always looking to provoke and break you down, get you to loose your calm,
lose your focus, and make mistakes that gave their team the chances to
score.  They'd certainly done it to me.

Unbelievably, our opponent's last push in the final minutes of the first
half yielded devastating results.  I watched with utter disbelief at our
failing luck, when John slipped passed Pete's last defence, his clawing
fingers just missing grabbing the scruff of the little bastard's neck, to
watch him ground the ball right between our fucking posts, cocksure,
flaunting his style and almost making it look simple.  He played rugby
league with all the speed, style and elegance of a Vickers Super VC10 at
40,000 feet: `Swift, Silent and Serene.'  Young bastard.

With an easy conversion to follow the try, sailing between our posts in a
perfect arc from their kickers boot, we ended the first half 16 – 4
down, but the faces of the men as we grouped for half time showed no waning
of their determination.  Sam, now looking like a Praxiteles after 3000
years in the Aegean sea, did his captain's bit, sorting out quick
refreshments, and gave out some good individual advice on technique and
watch points.  Among about a thousand things we were doing wrong out on the
field, there were a few of us, me included, who particularly needed to
avoid any sloppy offside's before the linesmen started picking up on them.
We really, desperately, me included, needed to start co-ordinating and team
thinking to come back with a cohesive attack in the second half as well as
beefing up our defence, without over focussing on it and missing the
scoring opportunities.

Dave huddled us together, muddy, battered, grim, but still focussed and
rallied us up with one of his memorable `Battle of Goose Green' speeches.

"Keep it together men, we can turn this around, just keep using yer heads,
and don't give them one fucking inch.  We've kept as much possession of the
ball as they `ave, but we've got to start using it when we've got it!  Now
get back out there and screw the bastards and screw `em hard!."

With his usual slap on my arse and a stern look to silently tell me to keep
my cool, we jogged back onto the field for another 40 minutes of war.

CRUNCH!  15 minutes into the second half and we had another fucking try!
And it was mine! I was down over their try line! Diving with the ball, mud
splashing, blades of grass torn up, knees braking my slide and my
exhilaration soaring.  I had the ball grasped tight to my chest, sliding on
the field, mud and water spraying into my face, my elbows gouging through
the muck.  But I was down, all the way through their defensive line, with
the ball grounded, and a fucking try scored!  Sam's weaving and chip kick
had seen him past Daz, who'd been guarding the try line like Cerberus at
the gates of Hades.  For once I'd used my head, I'd played a part of a
team, not a man alone, used the support I was given, taken a phenomenally
accurate long pass from Sam and made a lovely break from it.  With a clear
field in front of me I ran like the devil was behind me, trying to stick
his pitchfork up my arse.  I was a big man, but I could run when I needed
to, and I'd taken the gap to land in a pile of thick mud, sweat and glory
over the enemy try line.  The lads were all over me, like a pack of
enthusiastic puppies, Martin gripping me in a hot sweaty bear hug, and Pete
slapping me on the back, muddy and panting.

"Fuckin' nice one our lad, well fuckin' done!"

"Brilliant mate, nicely done!"

"Fuckin' magic!"

I didn't revel too long.  Our opponents gathered under their goalposts, but
I groaned with disappointment when the conversion attempt sailed just a
couple of feet wide of the posts, but at least my try might make it a
dignified defeat if we lost.  I kicked myself for even allowing such a
bleak thought into my head.  We could still win it if we kept up the
pressure.

It didn't take long for everything to turn back into a pile of old shite
again though.  Pushing into the second half as we played on under the
sports field flood lights as it began getting dark, our strength and
stamina was starting to wane, but our opponents showed little sign of
tiring.  They were still strong and still fighting, with Daz and Trev the
backbone of that undiminished stamina.  They had formed together into a
seriously good team this year, and it was clear Williams had been training
them hard, training them up physically and training them up to the sort of
thinking man's rugby league we were clearly lacking and with serious
results.

Their class of rugby was a huge step on from their last year, fast and
focussed, and they just never for one minute gave us a chance.  They had us
under pressure for every fucking minute of the game, forcing us into a lot
of loose scrambling and untidy play, that left us wide open for them to
barge right through us.  Another try and a conversion from their flawlessly
accurate stand off and kicker left us lagging 22 – 8 having taken a
thorough mauling with only ten minutes left, but I think every man on the
team had resolved to still give it everything.

I was really working hard in the second half, really taking the knocks,
backing up Neil and Martin, and just tackling, tackling, and tackling
again, the game keeping me grafting with the team constantly defending.
Our opponents completely dominated possession in the second half, and all I
could do was try and keep up my strength and keep on with the tackles,
where I had the chance, but they just kept springing back up, indomitable.
At least I'd managed the satisfaction of ending a good run by Daz, barely
able to get my hands round his colossal flared thighs, I had the vindictive
pleasure of tripping the bastard, and ending a good run from him.

I wasn't so lucky trying to take on Trev a few minutes after, smashing his
way through the centre, the big bastard fended me off with a semi clenched
fist in the face that nearly bust my nose.  The hard yards made, he threw a
long pass to John to let him run with it, knowing the time to sacrifice his
strength for John's speed, and let him whistle up the wing, with a perfect
line of backs ready behind him, feeding the ball to him.  Their pace was
just beautiful, and they were beginning to run rings around us.  I wasn't
ready to give up yet, and I knew every man on the team would feel the same.
We weren't going to stop fighting, we had to make them work for every point
and keep watching for our few chances to change the flow.

Fate helped us when a risky attempt at a grubber kick lead them to an
untidy knock on, ending the oppositions assault at the 20 yard line and the
referee called for a scrum.  We hunkered down into position, ready to ride
out this chance and I wedged myself in between Martin and Stuarts' sweating
arses, their shoulders locked into to Daz and Trev's.  I could feel my
shorts riding up the sweaty crack of my arse showing off my jockstrap as I
hunkered down into the scrum and grabbed a firm hold on Sam. steaming away
at the side of me.  I could almost sense Daz and Trev's malevolent intent
through the weight and heat of Martin and Neil separating me from them.  I
took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the scrum, nearly a tonne of
sweating, grunting men locked together, an intense, stimulating cocktail of
armpits, adrenaline, mud, testosterone, sweaty bollocks, stamped grass, and
hairy arses.  Paul, the scrum half rolled the ball, and I saw the dirty
white Gilbert leather rugby ball tumble under my legs and we shuffled round
in the scrum, sweating and grunting, until Paul dipped in, and taking
possession, he was fast up and away.

The scrum quickly broke, and our backs were flashing down the field like
white and royal blue arrows, a good line forming to pass the ball.  It was
a team effort for once, we were thinking as a team and coming back against
out of our flagging physical and mental strength.  It was all looking good,
and we were there, weaving out of the enemy's titan grasp, run, pass, run,
pass, run, pass, run, pass, penetrating with one hard thrust deep into the
enemy half.  I was running up the wing, keeping position, looking out for
Daz and Trev, ready to take the ball when I saw the two giant prop forwards
bearing down on us like a red and black avalanche.  Our left centre,
`Superfly' Mike, had the ball, and seeing the mountain of the two props
looming up in front of him, passed to me hoping I could sneak quickly round
them before returning possession.  But there just wasn't enough time.  I
thought about trying to kick the ball into touch, as I caught the pass and
lurched, but before I could even think, Daz dived for my legs and I felt
the colossal grip of his piston arms locking around them, his massive
biceps grabbing hold like two pneumatic rams.

Trev launched himself into the gang tackle and shouldered into my back as
his hairy mitts grabbed around my waist, nearly tearing off my shirt and
their immense combined weight of the two huge prop forwards left me
sprawling once again.  We splattered down into the mud and turf with my
head ending up wedged between Daz's huge thighs, the muscles rippling under
the skin, the thick dark hair brushing my ears and the large, damp, black
polyester clad bulge in the front of his shorts rubbing all over my face,
leaving me breathing in the smell of his balls as they pressed up close
under my nose.

I thrashed, and wriggled, slipping on the mud, getting Daz's smelly crotch
off my face and worming my way out of their crushing grip once again to
lay, face down and exhausted, but still clinging to the ball.  With no one
able to see in the tangle of the ruck, as I was trying to push myself back
up, I felt Daz's knee in the small of my back, pinning me down with spine
snapping pressure before I felt the back of his giant hand grab the back of
my head and he slowly pushed my face deep into the slimy mud, rubbing it
in, mud filling my mouth around my gum shield.

"Got you again, you useless fuckwitt"

Daz was growling deeply into my ear, drops of saline liquid from his sweaty
brow dripping onto my skin.  He hocked and slowly spat a slimy gob of spit,
glittering under the field floodlights, letting it fall with a sticky splat
to drip nauseatingly, wet, sludgy and gritty down the side of my face.

And then I lost it.

It was nothing I should have let myself blow up over, but he'd finally
pushed my nerves as far as they could go.  Since the car park and through
to every single tackle of the game, I felt like they'd been targeting me
and the combination of their arrogance, smugness and continual digs, and
the utterly disgusting feeling of his slimy spit dribbling down my face
mingling with the mud he'd just rubbed it into it, finally unleashed some
inner beast.  It had been the final straw in their campaign to wind me up.

I went completely and absolutely fucking mental, outrage, humiliation,
indignation and disgust boiling up into one almighty red mist and
overwhelming urge to kill him, to tear out his fucking throat, rip out his
eyeballs beat him to a bloody quivering pulp.  I was up onto my feet like
an angry bear, growling, spitting, purple faced, veins pulsing out in my
neck, all reason vanishing, grabbing his shirt as Daz growled back,
violence glowing in his deep brown eyes, brow furrowed, his huge frame
tensing to strike, but I was in first, fist pulled back, I let loose with a
fast instinctive right hook.

SMACK!

"Fuck off!"

"Twat!"

"Bastard!"

"Cunt!

"FUCK OFF!"

My fist had slammed into his jaw, my knuckles feeling the blow as my fist
hit flesh and bone with a reassuring thud.  Daz immediately belted me back,
square in the mouth, only my gum shield saving me from loosing teeth, his
sledgehammer punch cutting my lip and all but knocking me out cold.  The
bastard certainly knew how to hit hard.  Trev, backing up his mate, managed
to get in a sound jab that caught me in the ear, sending my sinuses
ringing, but I managed to land a quick return hook to his chin to give him
something to remember me by.  Daz had a firm hold of me, his left hand
still holding the front of my shirt tightly, his enormous right fist raised
back past his lethal gap toothed snarl, ready to land the crunching fist
that would likely knock me out cold.

His punch never came.  Just about every man left on the field had got
there, and with some considerable shoving and scuffling among themselves,
they tore us apart, before Daz could hit me again and really do some
damage.  The men piled between us, getting us as far away from each other
as possible before any real harm was done, while we strained against our
team mates, struggling to get past and keep fighting.

"FUCK OFF!!!"

"GEROFFFF!"

"Fuckin' kill him!"

"I'll fuckin' murder thee, tha little cunt!"

"Gerrofff! Let me at him!"

"Go on! Fuckin' bray him!"

"Cunt!"

"Fuckin' twat!"

"Bastard!"

Martin was the first on the scene of the emergency, fitting enough for the
policeman I suppose, his big body pushing me back, firm and gentle, letting
me calm down.  He was soon joined by Neil to keep hold of me, leaving me
straining over their shoulders to try and get back in there and give Daz
and Trev a bit more.  Martin was used to breaking up Friday night fights in
town, and soon had me under control, stopping me from squirming round him
to get back into the fight until the blind aggression began to drain out of
me, and left me standing there, exhausted, shattered, bloody and bruised,
with my well belted jaw aching like fuckery.  I could still hear Daz and
Trev shouting for more, their team pinning them in like a pair of baited
bears.  Neil and Martin were still holding me back, but I was coming back
into my senses, and very slowly, I was calming.

The referee and the linesmen had bravely arrived after all the fighting was
over and they were safe.  The referee was a lot less sympathetic than
Martin.  The blind bastard was quite convinced I'd started it, which I
suppose I had, and produced the red card which he held two inches from my
nose.

"OFF!!!"

He accompanied his judgement with a finger pointed sharply away from the
field. Martin took a genltle hole of my shoulder, just in case I did
something stupid.

"WHAT!!!" I shouted.  I just couldn't fucking believe it What the fuck was
he sending me off for?  It was those two bastards who'd started it really,
with that cunt Daz fucking phleging all over me.  I just couldn't believe
the man.  My aggression rose again, and I was just on the edge of punching
the referee, until I felt Martins friendly hand on my arm.

"Steady mate, steady down."

"Come on now lad, just let it go."

"Let it go."

Steady as always, Martin's gentle tone cut through the red mist in my
brain, his words were finally sinking in, and I was starting to feel like
more than a bit of prat.  Inwardly taking his advice, I felt the flow of my
violent emotions easing, and as he was still gently telling me, I let it
go.

Absolutely knackered, I found myself leaning on Martin, with my face buried
in his shoulder, light headed and drained, I didn't know whether I wanted
to laugh or just start bawling.  Martin gently rubbed the back of my head.

"Fuckin `ell lad!" he spoke softly, gentle and reassuring, with more than a
little understanding.

"Blew a fuse there didn't ya?"  He pulled my head out of his shoulder and
patted the back of my neck.

"Go on mate, get yersen in, and I'll see you when we've finished with these
buggers!"

Martin made me smile, and that finally took what was left of the fighting
out of me.  Bristling up with as much dignity as I could muster, trying to
remain at least a little bit professional, I conceded to the wanker of a
referee's doubtful authority, and with a slap on the arse from Neil, I
walked of the field, holding my head as high as I could.  I trudged off for
my unexpectedly early bath, hearing the referee muttering behind me.

"Bloody animal...absolute disgrace..."

I couldn't credit the fact he was referring to me, and I was hardly able to
believe that I'd managed to get sent off five minutes before the end of a
game.

I was even more disgusted that at the end of it all I'd ended up looking
just as much of a unsportsmanlike thug as Daz and Trev, and had started the
year with a reputation just as dubious as theirs.  I also felt this
wouldn't just be a game we'd lose, but a personal defeat as well.  I sourly
knew that I'd let those two bastard props do exactly what they set out to
do, to wind me up and make me fuck up and I'd made it easy for them.  I
might as well have given them my bollocks on a plate, with a cherry on top.
Pair of fucking bastards.

`Well done lad.' I though to myself sarcastically, `Well fucking done...'

*** Strategic Withdrawal ***

Still angry, and feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself I trudged back to
changing room.  I didn't look back, knowing if I caught Daz and Trev's
undoubtedly gloating glares, I would end doing something that would get me
a Pennine League disciplinary and see me barred for a year.  I walked
miserably round to the changing room door and slowly brushed the clods of
mud off my boots outside and went in for a piss.  It was generally against
rules to wear your muddy boots in the changing rooms, but in the
circumstances, I really didn't give a fuck.  I couldn't be arsed unlacing
them and pulling them off.  It seemed strangely cold and empty in there on
my own, the studs on my boots clacking noisily in the silence, almost
unwelcoming without the bustle of the team around me.  I drank about a
litre of much needed cold water straight out of the tap, sloshing the taste
of soil out of my mouth, and spat my gum shield into the sink. I went for a
piss, pulled my shorts down, fished my cock out of my sweaty jockstrap and
let it hang free as I drained my bladder into the urinal, pressing my head
to the cold tiles, smearing them with mud and Vaseline, letting the
coolness soak into my head and soothe my brain.  What a fucking game.

I looked down, watching my cock empty its pungent yellow stream down the
porcelain, then tucked my prick back into my jockstrap.  Shorts pulled up,
I ran the taps and stuck my head under the cold stream, and let the water
rinse the mud, grit and spit out of my hair and half heartedly rubbed the
worse of it off my face.  I sat myself down on the bench, mud soaked,
sweaty, angry and bruised.  I sucked gingerly on the cut on my lip.  It was
nothing really, hardly any blood, but I knew I'd soon have a good bruise on
my jaw to match the shiner.  I was going to look like fucking Frankenrugger
in the morning.  The cut under my eye was stinging sharply, and the socket
was still throbbing from it's encounter with Trev's knees and boots.  Cunt.
Deciding to make myself useful, instead of wallowing in self induced self
pity, I let the taps open for the bath to fill up.  I was looking forward
to a soak.  I wondered what the lads would make of my little indiscretion
when they got back after the game.  I knew they'd probably cheer me up with
a lot of ribbing.  I certainly wasn't the only man on the squad to lose his
temper on the field once in a while.

I heard the final whistle blow outside, as I was peeling the tape off my
ears and felt my heart fall into the pit of my stomach.  A 22-8 defeat, and
a player: me, sent off.  What a fucking way to open a year.  Still, it was
only one game, there was a lot of opportunity yet to come..  Some you win
and some you lose, you just have to keep learning from you mistakes and try
harder the next time.  I heard the noises of the team outside, and the men
trooped in, as dirty, sore and knackered as I was, stretching out, warming
down, feeling around tentatively for injuries.

The atmosphere was fucking awful.  We'd been walked over out there, and the
men filtered in, quiet and brooding, with the odd `well done for trying'
slap and rub between themselves.  As my teammates filed in, my nose
announced their presence.  The air was thick with the smell of the rugby
squad, a deep intermingling sweaty musk, simultaneously repellent and
intoxicating.  Neil threw himself down on the bench beside me with a muddy
slap, his 17 stone sending a shudder through the wooden bench.

"All right there scrapper?" he asked, throwing a mock punch in my
direction, which got a smile out of me.

"What a fuckin' balls up we made out there today eh lad? 22 – 8!  Warra
load o' fuckin' shite!" added Pete.

"I don't know about you mate, but I could use a fuckin' pint!"

That had hit a chord, and I saw 13 beer hungry faces lighting up, the
thought of a good consolation piss up was about the only thing likely to a
bit of perk back into the pack after what had just happened to us out
there.

As the men quickly began stripping off their mud saturated, battered
strips, we soon quietened down, the atmosphere remained one of quiet
misery, each man searching himself to se where he'd gone wrong, and what he
could do better to guarantee a win next Sunday.  It was a complete
antithesis of the noise and boisterousness that would have followed a
victory and a step closer to a league promotion at the end of the year.
The focus now was only on a quick shower and getting to the pub as soon as
possible for an evening of well deserved alcoholic amnesia.

Dave was slowly doing his post game rounds,.

"Well that were tough out there lads, but you gave `em fucking good game.
Nice work on the wing there Mike, and that were a fuckin' beautiful try
from thee, young Danny."  I noticed Dave didn't refer to mine.  He
continued his rounds, doing his damndest to cheer us up, and put it behind
us.  One lost game is just a battle, not the whole fucking war.

"Just got a bit a sharpening up to do, plenty of work for thy fuckers to do
next weeks training though, if we're gonna do better next time..."

Dave went on, rallying his troops, keeping our spirits up.  I knew he'd go
easy on us know, but come Tuesday's training we'd get a right fucking
bollock and the arses worked of us to do better.  I got plenty of slaps on
the back and cheers for that corking try I'd scored in the second half
which started me off toward a better frame of mind.  I was just about to
pull my boots off and head for the bath when Dave shouted me.

"So there you are, ya great lump of second row trouble.  Thought it were
rugby league we played round `ere, not fuckin' heavyweight boxing.  Get thy
fat fuckin' arse outside young un, I want a word."

The lads chuckled, and with a bit of tongue-in-cheek, `Yer in for it now'
digs at me, and `have mercy on the poor bugger' digs at Dave, I followed
him round the back of the clubhouse for a good bollocking.

Dave always used to give his bollockings outside, one on one, out of
earshot of the rest of the team, and I respected him for that.  Dave spread
his legs, and I couldn't help noticing his usual bulge in his sweatpants,
as he crossed his arms looking stern.  I stood by the clubhouse door,
resigned, just wanting to get my ticking off done with and for us all to
get down the pub and drink until the afternoon's defeat was a dim memory.
I stood there, staring at my boots like an extremely overgrown schoolboy.

"What were all that about then?" Dave enquired firmly.

"I'm sorry boss, I just lost it for moment.  It were them two windin' me
up.  You saw `em.  They were on me case even in't fuckin' park before the
game." I whinged.

"Aye lad, but like I said, you've got to expect it.  Tha put in a great
game there, till tha started thumping `em and that try had the hallmarks of
a professional.  I need thee this year lad.  In fact tha's one of the best
players on't squad, but I don't want see you fuck up yer game `cos you
can't control your temper.  I need you with a clear head all ninety
minutes, and I want to see thee playing as part of the team, not a one man
war zone!"

"Aye, I know boss.  It wunt `appen again." I promised.

"Good lad." He gave my muddy hair a friendly ruffle, and I turned to go and
join the men in the bath.

I didn't get far.  Dave had other ideas.

"Ay up lad, where do you think your going?" I stopped in my tracks.

"It so `appens that I've a punishment in mind for thee to cool that temper
of thine."

This was getting me worried.

"Tha didn't think I'd let thee off the hook that easily, did thee?"

Dave gave his balls a good scratch.  I sniffed dubiously, my mind trying to
grasp what it could be.  This was something new and suspicious.  He fished
in his pocket and handed me a Yale key with a small enamel rugby ball key
ring.

"There's a load of fuckin' litter on that field round the touchlines, and
I'm getting earache off the local residents to see that it's all cleared up
by the end of this week."

I had an idea where this was going, and I found myself correct.

"It `appens that thee, Mr. Frank fuckin' Bruno, have just volunteered to
help me out, so tha can get out there and clean it all up before yer bath.
There's plenty of black bags in't cupboard waitin' for thee." `Bollocks', I
thought.

"Oh aye, and I've decided that thy's volunteered to take first turning
mopping up the changing rooms. Tha should know where to find t' mop n'
bucket by now.  That lot should cool thee down lad!"

"Lock up for us when you've done, and I'll see you in the pub!"

Dave grinned.  I winced. A fair cop, I supposed, and it wouldn't take up
more than half an hour of my vital drinking time.  The pitch had needed a
tidy and as usual there had been no volunteers until my fuck up today had
given Dave the excuse to land me with it.  I supposed I didn't mind.  Dave
headed back to the changing rooms, but paused for a parting shot while I
tucked the key into my sock for safekeeping.

"Oh aye, I nearly forgot lad.  If its any consolation to thee, Daz got
sin-binned for the rest of the game after thy'd been sent off. I've had a
quick word with Williams about your them two fine `mates' of yours, and he
reckons they could do with a bit of cooling down as well.  So he's
volunteered Daz and Trev to help thee clear all that shite off the field.
Thy three big girls' blouses can make thysen's useful.  Tha might even kiss
an make up while yer at it!"

He dived back in through the door, chuckling away merrily to himself,
before I could object or call him a cunt to his face.  The bastard.  I was
not fucking amused at all.  The man had a diabolical sense of humour.  This
was well and truly out of order.  It might seem like a punishment to fit
the crime, but I wasn't sure if I could put up with that.  It was only my
general respect for Dave that made even think about accepting my punishment
chore under such intolerable circumstances.  Still fuming, I stormed off
round the back of the clubhouse and braved the spiders in the outside
cupboard.  I grabbed a few black bags for the litter, and sulking like a
big girl, I kicked the old metal mop bucket I'd be using later for mopping
up.  It gave a satisfactory clang as I hoofed it with my rugby boot.  I
gave it another boot, imaging I was kicking somebody in the bollocks, but
couldn't really decide whether it would be Dave, Daz or Trev I wanted to
hoof first.

Clutching my bin liners like a dustman, and still cursing Dave under my
breath for making go within two miles of Daz and fucking Trev when he knew
how angry I was with them, I just resolved to do what I had to do, get it
over and done with as quickly as possible with as much grace as I could
muster, then get up the pub.  Dave better buy me pint for going through
with it I thought to myself.  It was going to be a proper fucking
punishment having to clear the field with those two bastards lurking near
me.  I was fairly sure I was going to end up thumping them again, and
probably get the shite kicked out of me in return.

Round the back of the clubhouse, I watched the steam from the showers and
baths swirling out of the high slit window from the away team showers.
Someone had drawn a large cock with a pair of hairy balls on the pane in
the steam with their finger.  As if my mood wasn't already bad enough, I
could here all the hearty laughter, revelry, singing and victory
celebrations coming from the away changing rooms.  It sounded like they
were well into an enthusiastic rendition of `Yogi Bear'.  Bunch of cunts.

It wasn't all cheer though, as I soon heard Williams shouting and bawling,
presumably at his two prize bulls.  I wondered if Williams had thought
about entering them for the Great Yorkshire Show.  Trev at least deserved a
rosette for prime livestock.  I did a bit of ear wigging underneath the
window and I could hear Daz and Trev whining and moaning back pathetically
at their token punishment, like a pair of big kids:

"You must be jokin, you cant tellus to do that"

"It ain't even our field..."

 "S'not – fuckin right, ee' started it"

"I want me fuckin' bath now!"

"Bollocks! It nowt to fuckin' do with being sportsmanlike!"

"I'm norra a fuckin kid, you can't fuckin' make me!"

"I'll fuckin kill him if he starts owt again!"

"I'm too old for this sort o' shite!"

"I'll not fuckin play for this team no more if `av gorra do it!"

"I don't see why you've gotta keep Briggs happy!"

"It'll cost me drinking time..."

For the big strong ruggers they were, I had to laugh to myself at the
absurdity of their whinging like a pair of lasses, which made me feel a lot
better and softened my anger toward them at a little I supposed they felt
about as enthusiastic about clearing up the litter as I did after our
earlier brawl, and if Dave had given me the chance, I would probably have
been whining just as much as the two oafs I was ear wigging in on.  I got
stuck into clearing up the mess of Mars Bar wrappers and empty fag packets
some scruffy cunts had left around the touchline, hurrying along, just
looking forward to me bath and my pint.

Five minutes later I was almost half done with a token tidy up when Daz and
Trev emerged, both of the giant men as sweaty and scruffy looking as me,
liberally streaked with mud.  Trev had a big muddy streak down his face,
and his thighs were plastered with brown streaks, clumps of drying mud
clinging in amongst the thick hair on his enormous thighs.  I noticed their
rucked up strips, sweat sodden and clinging to the slabs of muscle packing
their huge, thickly powerful bodies, heaving and straining after the work
out they'd had from flattening us on the field.  Daz gave me his usual
malevolent, gap toothed grin, and Trev did likewise, both of them bristling
with dubious intent.

For a moment, the atmosphere was as thick as clotted cream, as I stood my
ground, stock still, waiting for a challenge from them, a jibe, a smart
comment, anything.  One fucking push, I thought, and however big they were,
I was prepared to pick up again where we'd left off.  I'd end up in
hospital, but I wasn't going back down.  I'd fucking have them.  My fists
were balled up again at my sides, and I was tense, ready to go, ready to
get in a few good punches before I got murdered.

I stood there for a moment, waiting, the blood buzzing in my ears.  Daz
sensed my tension.  I watched as he seemed to think about something for a
moment.  He chuckled gently, and shook his head lightly.  His brown eyes
twinkled with mirth and his sides suddenly heaved with a good hearty
bellowing laugh, breaking the atmosphere and signalling he was ready to let
things drop between us.  The silence broken, the palpable tension eased a
fraction and with his easy smile, I let my defences drop a little

"Come on then mate, lets do as told, pick up all this bleedin' litter and
fuck off up the pub!" Daz's deep voiced rumbled.

It was a strange moment.  10 minutes earlier I had genuinely wanted to kill
him and Trev into the bargain and was trying my best do it.  Daz seemed to
just want to get this over it, and make things as easy as possible all
round.  At least he was being fairly mature about things, trying to put our
disagreements behind us.  What happens on the field should stay on the
field I supposed, and it would be easier all round if we were civil off it.
Life's too short for grudges.  I was still wary though, and still angry,
but I let myself relax, and get on with it.

I had to admit to myself that I was beginning to feel like a bit of an
idiot about the earlier scrap, and Daz's easy manner now, after I'd thumped
him, I really just wanted to forget about the whole thing.  I still
wouldn't piss on either of them if they were on fire though, and I was
still ready for a rematch, if they decided to start winding me up again.
I've always been prepared to finish what I've started.  I handed him a
couple of bin liners at arms length and nodded my assent, not trusting
myself to talk to them and got on with the litter.  That was it, no
fighting, no digging, a tense moment fortunately passed without further
incident, trouble over and almost forgotten and a post game piss up to look
forward to.

Still opting for caution, I kept away from them, stamping down the divots
and tidying up by the top end of the field while they pretended to do the
same at the bottom end.  Over the next five minutes, Daz and Trev picked up
three bits of litter between them, Trev guffawing loudly when he found a
used Durex wrapper, and Trev acted the goat with a phallic shaped stick,
holding it in front of his shorts and pretending to wank it off, as if it
were his cock, which Daz found hilarious.  They paid no attention to me,
for which I was thankful, and I watched them as they continued mucking
about, having a right laugh and carry on, mock tackling each other, and
rolling around, wrestling like a couple of Rottweiler puppies, trying to
bite each other's ears.  Daz reached under the back of Trev's tight shorts
at one point, and just managed to squeeze his hand in, rummaging around
until he grabbed and tugged on the leg tape of Trev's jockstrap, while Trev
made a few grabs for Daz's crotch, laughing his head off, both of them
rolling around like a pair of bison, getting themselves even more covered
with mud.  They were having a great time.  Eventually Daz managed to pull
Trev down, and wrestle himself on to the of him and sit on his belly.  Daz
actually started tickling him.  Trev was absolutely loving it, laughing his
boots off .

"Gerrofff!

"Gerofff, ya bastard!""

"Fuck off!"

" Gerroff us ya poof!"

I heard Trev pleading as Daz tickled him, and they continued mucking about
like a right pair of enormously overgrown teenagers.  I watched them
surreptitiously from the far side of the field, surprised by the closeness
of their camaderie.  They'd obviously been mates for a long while, working
together and playing rugby league together and I admitted to myself that I
was finding it very horny watching them, two big, fit, powerful men, over
30 stone combined, wrestling and having a bit of harmless fun.  You don't
have to be serious all the time to be taken seriously I supposed, and in a
strange way I was quite enjoying watching them having a bit of a laugh and
a way of them to wind down after the rugby.  I got up to enough similar
horseplay with my own teammates often enough I supposed.  I could help but
notice the bulge in Daz's shorts again as they wrestled.  Hating myself for
it I wondered what he looked like naked, or naked except for his jockstrap
with the crack of his arse showing.  I tried not to think the thought, but
I knew he'd probably look pretty goods in his jockstrap, sneering and
horny, the pouch well packed and the straps showing off his arse.  Bastard.

Eventually they began to behave themselves and resumed pretending to pick
up litter from the touchlines when they weren't mock strangling each other
with the bin liners.  Trev stopped to fetch out his dick and pissed
conspicuously against the goal posts, in a last gesture of defiance,
marking the territory of his teams' victory like a territorial wolf.  He
was facing away from me and I found myself annoyed with myself for looking
to catch a glimpse of his dick.  I nonetheless saw the copious yellow
stream between his hairy spread legs from behind, steaming in the chilly
air and pattering into the mud.  He soon finished, and I saw him have a
quick shake before he stuck his arse out to shuck his prick back into his
shorts.  The two gorillas got back to work and hurriedly chucked a few
squashed pop bottles into their bags.  Like myself I supposed they just
wanted to get done, grab their shower and head off back to their squad
mates in their local, undoubtedly to get up to a bit more brawling in
between chasing everything female under 30 they could came into contact
with.  They'd most likely leave their local landlord quid's in and someone
either pregnant or in hospital before morning.

The two big props settled down, and inevitably they began getting nearer as
I worked my way down the touchline.  I was amassing a fair collection of
Coke and Dandelion and Burdock cans some scruffy cunts had dumped while we
were working towards each other, quickly getting the daft chore done.  I
couldn't believe what lazy bastards spectators were, with the amount of
litter they chucked on the field.  We'd put a bin in the corner near the
road, but still, no fucker could be bothered to use it. Daz had at least
started picking up the odd bit of rubbish for his bag, while Trev, still
largely useless, was contenting himself with idly kicking at anything that
wasn't grass as we ambled toward each other.  I felt increasingly awkward
as we got nearer and tried to ignore them.

"You want a hand with that mate?" I heard Daz ask, his voice surprisingly
tentative, as we got within a couple of yards of each other.

"Only we'll get it done a lot faster of you hold t'bag, an I chuck some o'
this shite in." he added.

He seemed genuine but my instinct was to tell him to fuck off.  Not wanting
to appear like a bad loser and a big kid, I attempted to be more
sportsmanlike.  He was probably only attempting to be civil to me because
Williams had told him to.  It took every ounce of self control that I had
to respond to him politely, through gritted teeth, in a carefully measured
tone.

"Aye, yep.  Suppose that makes sense.  May as well get done and get up the
pub."

Daz smiled.

"Too right mate!" grinned Daz, continuing, with an obvious light
heartedness to ease the tension that still remained between us.

"I'm lookin' forward to a good piss up.  I don't think laughing boy ere's
too pleased about being kept from his ale either" He indicated Trev, with a
nod over his shoulder, who was standing around like a redundant mountain
and idly having a good scratch at his protruding bollocks.

"Too right mate!" chipped in Trev, before spitting a thick wad of phlegm
onto the pitch, the light of lager glowing in his hazel eyes.

Daz continued, his tone still friendly.  He genuinely seemed to want to
ease up the remaining tension between us.

"Were a good game that." he volunteered, trying to get me to stop sulking
and at least attempt a bit of conversation.

"Tha's right there mate, Tha walked all over us.  Thy two are unstoppable."
I found myself telling him, and half regretted having been duped into
giving him an implied compliment.

"Nah, not really, I'm no Cliff Watson.  I don't know about Trev though!"
Trev was too busy attending to his itching testicles and kicking things to
hear any longer.  I held the bag open while Daz started dropping in
squashed cans.  I'd heard of Watson, but he was a little before my time.
Daz seemed to be racking his brains.

"What was Cliff said about playing the Aussies?  Oh aye, that's it, he said
tha's gorra get in there and thump them, or they'll annihilate ya.  If tha
belts em they dunt like it." Daz laughed good naturedly.

"That must have been it!  Were you trying that strategy out on us then?"
He gave me a soft punch on the shoulder and rubbed his jaw where I'd
smacked him.  I caught his brown eyes reading me to measure my reaction.
They were twinkling and full of good humour, no bitterness or offence.  I
should have been pissed off at that, and as much as I did not want to find
it funny, my body betrayed me with a smile.  I had to admit that Daz's
openness and what seemed to be a genuine attempt to use humour to patch
things up was welcome, and made me feel rather embarrassed at myself.

"No mate, but I suppose it must have looked like it!" I chuckled.  Daz's
good humour was definitely infectious, and I couldn't help but let my smile
grow into a broad grin.  Daz noticed my response and seemed pleased I'd
taken his approach well.

"It did look it it!" chipped in Trev, listening in again, smiling cheekily
and scratching his cauliflower ear.  He gave me a knowing grin.

"You've gorra a great left hook, but you wanna develop a better jab mate!"
he told me with frightening sincerity.

"Oh aye, well it seemed to work when I hit you!" I added, instantly hoping
I'd not overstepped a mark.  Trev smiled.

"Bollocks!  I hardly felt owt mate!  It were a kitten soft tap!" he
volunteered, before leaving his ear alone to get on with scratching his
balls.  They'd made the first move to ease things, so I decided to try and
be a man about things and respond to sportsmanship in kind.  But not too
much.  I was still pissed off.

"Look, I'm sorry about thumping ya.  I just lost it for a moment.  You'd
been winding up since the car park, and you've gotta admit you played some
pretty fuckin' dirty tackles on me."  I gave Trev a filthy look.  My cut
eye was still throbbing and I remembered seeing the eyelets on his boots
before my face slapped it.  He looked at me sheepishly, which was almost a
comical demeanour for a man of his size.

"How's the eye mate?" Trev asked, embarrassed, with a `didn't mean it
really' look on his face.  I'll bet you fucking didn't I thought.

"Nothing a few pints wont cure.  I've had worse." I told Trev.

"Good on ya mate!" Daz added before continuing.

"Any road, let's forget about it eh?  No hard feelings mate?  Fuck knows,
I've lost me temper on the field me sen a fair few times.  As I suppose
you'll have seen and heard."  I laughed.  Daz knew full fucking well that I
had.

"Don't think this means were gonna ease up on you though, We'll be watchin'
out for ya next time we play.  Yer shaping up well.  I've been watchin'
thee play since the under 21's.  Tha's bloody good lad.  That try of thine
was absolutely fucking beautiful.  No chance of stopping you.  Tha's got
Williams worried.  He's told us all to watch out for thee this year.  I
reckon he's right.  I allus thought you'd a thy'd a lot of potential, and I
saw it happen today.  Well, up until you get sent off for thumping me!"

I was surprised at his revelation, and I felt my head swell a little bit.
No praise comes higher than that which you earn from your enemy.

"You reckon?  It weren't so slick as thine in't first half.  That were pure
fuckin' skill mate."  I told him honestly, if still a bit reluctantly.  I
was genuinely interested in his opinion on my game though.  Reputations and
recent bit of aggro aside, Daz and Trev were well respected rugby players,
if as hot headed as I was turning out to be.  They had a good 10 or so
years experience in excess of mine, and anything I could do to improve my
game and keep up with my self imposed 4 point average was welcome advice,
however unlikely the source.  Trev was the one to answer me.

"Aye, you don't half remind me of mesen ten year ago lad." he volunteered.

"Tha's like I was then son, just a team on me own.  Your playin' your own
game on that field, and yer good at it, but you've gorra use yer team to
back you up, and get `em there behind you.  S'why I like playing with Daz.
We can work together, look out for each other, take all the dangerous cunts
like thee down fast and make `em think twice afore having another go."
Trev was right and I nodded him my grudging thanks, before he ambled down
the field, kicking away at a perished tennis ball, leaving me and Daz to
get on with the work.

"'Ee's talkin' sense there mate." continued Daz.

"Ten years time, we'll be too old for it and thy'll be walkin' all over us.
Tha'd make a good prop too, if you wanna change from second row.  Get a
prop who can run and you'd be fuckin' incredible."  I'd occasionally played
prop, but didn't really feel I had the size to stand against the real big
men like Daz and Trev.

"Doubt I'm big enough for it yet." I told him.  I'm not a fuckin' mountain
like thy two!" I confessed.

"Yer not far off.  Bit more in the gym, eat plenty of carbs and you could
train up for it in 6 month.  I see thee down gym often enough.  Shift your
routine, and do a bit of heavy lifting and a bit more free weights and
thy'll be right set for it.  I can give thee a hand if tha wants.  I don't
mind spottin' for ya if I see thee when I'm trainin."

I was surprised by his offer, but took it as one of those offers only half
meant in the circumstances.  I couldn't see it happening.

"Cheers mate." I told him anyway.

"Aye Daz'll set ya up lad!" called Trev, half listening to us again, while
shifting his scratching from his balls to his hefty backside.  Broad in the
stern, his arse packed his shorts nicely, the clinging satiny material
stretched tightly over his muscular buttocks, clearly defining the shapes
of the twin hairy globes.  His hairy thighs were so thick they completely
filled out the leg openings of his shorts, two flared columns leading up to
that big arse.  I couldn't help but find his rear interesting. Trev really
did have a nice arse.  The big forward bent over to pick up the tennis ball
he'd found, the shape of his jockstrap over his buttocks clearly visible
under his shiny black shorts with the shadows of the pitch lighting.  I
caught a quick flash of the leg tapes as he finished bending over, a couple
of white lines cutting a path over the crease of his colossal thighs and
through his thick body hair.  He really was a furry bastard.  Must admit
I've always liked that on a man.

The V neck of his rugby shirt also showed a triangle of sandy brownish
blond curls, thick and dense, curling over the neckline and his legs and
forearms were just as thickly covered.  His shaved head had a pronounced
widows peak, and he was rapidly balding at the crown, which even the number
one cut wasn't hiding.  With his short clipped beard, It was almost as if
his body was making up for what he was losing above the eyebrows with what
covered him underneath it.  There was something inviting about the all the
body hair I could see.  I knew it probably spread all over him underneath
his rugby strip and I wondered what he looked like in the showers, that
huge muscle packed body, bollock naked.  It was the same with his tattoos,
just a glimpse of them at the sleeve, with the rest of his inking
disappearing up under his strip, making me wonder what other ink he had
hidden away under there.

Fortunately, Daz distracted me from thinking about Trev's body, still
chatty and keen to capitalise on the positive developments after we'd
broken the ice.

"Just keep up with yer training mate.  Tha's in safe hands with Dave, he's
a good coach.  I used to watch him play when I were a kid, when he were pro
like.  He were a great prop in his day.  I'm surprised he hasn't played
thee as prop more often."

"Nah, ee's happy with me as second row.  He is good mind, I've improved me
game a lot with him."

"I'll bet.  Done any extra training with him yet have you?"  Daz was giving
me a strange look, watching me carefully for my response.  I wasn't sure
what he meant.

"Just the squad stuff mate, Dunno what you mean really."  Daz shook his
shaved bullet head, as if he'd been on the wrong lines with something,
having a private gap toothed smile to himself.

"Forget it mate.  I just remember when we were on your team.  Dave used to
give me and Trev a bit of extra working out."

"Paid off." I told him, grudgingly admiring the size of him, and reminding
me of their abilities on the field.

He dropped another can and a Twix wrapper into the bag I was holding and
wiped his muddy hand on his equally filthy shirt.  His bending over and the
clinging shiny material of his shorts emphasised the bulge between his
legs, jutting proudly at the front of his tight shorts.  The tie strings
had come loose and were hanging down at the front, swinging as he moved and
brushing against the large bulge.  I idly wondered what he looked like
naked, what was lurking under that bulge.  I tried to shake the unworthy
though out of my head, and glanced over at Trev, still loafing around
looking bored.  It didn't work.  Trev had a huge fucking crotch bulge as
well, and I found myself, against all better intentions, wondering what he
looked like naked again too.  With a hard on.  Dripping at the cock.  In
bed with some bird, fucking her like a bull, his big hairy arse bobbing
away between her thighs, panting underneath him as he performed, with her
tits and nipples rubbing on his huge hairy barrel chest.

`Whoa Boy!' I told myself, `Just fucking stop it' I reaffirmed in my head.
I was surprised and angry at myself at thinking about them like that after
the two hours of grief they'd just given me and the lumps we'd been braying
out of each other.  I got back to my litter.  I could feel my cock getting
a bit tight in my jockstrap, and surreptitiously had a rummage to make
things more comfortable while Daz was distracted looking for more litter.
I couldn't believe what I was letting into my head.  I distracted myself by
trying to continue a civilised conversation with Daz.

"So why did tha leave the team them? I'd have been a lot happier with thy
two playing for us than against us."

"Just work pressures really.  The firm had us doing a lot of work round
Leeds a coupla years back, loads of flat conversions and that sort of shit.
Were hard to make training a lot of the time, getting back from over there
with all the overtime I was doing and you know how Dave loves ya being
late!"  I chuckled at that.  I knew full well.

Daz continued.

"Dave's right thought, no point playing this game unless you can give it
commitment.  Besides, it wunt really fair on the rest of the team, so I had
to skip the rugby for a year.  Fuckin' killed me though, but us firms got a
lot of local contracts now, so we can make training.  Just happened to be
in the pub when I heard Williams were looking for some new forwards this
year, so he gave us a chance.  Its been great getting back into it.  Gives
me a chance to knock a few lumps out of all the cocky young lads like thee!
I really missed me game when I wont playin'."

I could imagine how it would have been for him.  I would miss it myself,
and I knew that there was a time coming in the not too distant future when
I was going to have to sacrifice my rugby for a couple of years to get on
with my engineering course.  I didn't fancy spending the rest of my life on
my dire fitter's wages, but I knew I would miss the game and my squad mates
until I was back on a field again.  I pushed my brooding aside.  Worries
for another day and all that.

Daz continued helping me out, chucking in the litter, as we worked back
towards the try line, the job nearly done and a shower and a pint getting
ever delightfully closer.  Trev had finally left off scratching his arse,
and actually managed to chuck a couple of bits of paper into the bag.  I
found myself wanting to keep up the conversation, the developing sense of
ease between the three of us a welcome contrast to the moments of red mist
on the pitch.

"So how come Trev sat last year out?" I asked Daz.

"Same as thee? Stuck on the same jobs?"  I still wouldn't have been
surprised to learn it was because Trev was banged up in Armley on a
G.B.H. conviction.

"Well, aye and nay.  Ee'd have been shagged same as me with the jobs we
were on, but `ee were gonna play for a team over Leeds way, but ended up
missing the year with an injury."

"Easy done in this game.  What happened?"  I asked.  A taste of his
medicine would have been good for him.

Daz shook his head.

"No mate, it weren't a rugby injury.  Site we were on had some well fuckin'
dodgy scaffolding.  Load came down on top of the bastard, and `e got his
hand crushed.  Had his hand in a cast for months.  Had about 3 operations
putting all fuckin' bones and tendons and that back right."

"Brave man" I told him, and realised that explained all the heavy scarring
over his knuckles.  I'd always assumed he got them from knocking out teeth
in their pub brawls.  Daz continued:

"Probably why `ee wont leave that tennis ball alone.  He had to squeeze one
of them for physio for months before his doctor said he were OK to play
again.  Soon as his hand were right `ee were straight up his gym in Horbury
and he's been hittin' it hard ready to get back into his rugby this year.
Some right fuckin' big cunts in there like. At least he got a few grand
compo from through that solicitor on the high street mind.  I fink he's
drunk up most of it up by now though!  I'm lookin' forward to helpin' `im
finish it off tonight like!"

Trev, litter duty again abandoned, was busy tossing the referred to ball
back in forth between his big scarred hands.  He was getting impatient.

"Come on! Hurry up.  Let's fuck off and get up town.  I'm missin' on me
drinking time here.  All the lads'll be there long before us.  They'll be
well pissed up with us still poncin' about out here, getting tret like we
was kids or summat.  It just aint right.  I'm gonna have right fuckin' go
wi that cunt Williams about this."  He glowered at me.

"S'all right for thee, young `un, but this int even our fuckin' pitch no
more!  I wunt be doin' this if we didn't use to play for you lot."  He
stamped around, irritated before he continued trying to prompt us on.

"Come onnn!  What you doin?  Readin' fookin' ingredients on every chuffin'
chocolate wrapper you pack up?"

Daz grinned at Trev's impatience.

"Well at least I can fuckin' read Trev!" jibed Daz.

"FUCK OFF!" growled Trev, shirty as hell all of a sudden.

He booted his tennis ball over the field and chased after it, diving after
it in a flying tackle, covering himself in a load of fresh mud on the 10
yard line.  Daz wiped the sweat off his hairy forearms and chuckled at Trev
before he dipped his head close to toward me to explain Trev's reaction
with a look of conspiracy.

"Couldn't resist that mate.  Dunt half wind him up.  The thick bugger can
hardly read a word.  He's gorra niece who's 12 and she can read better n'
`im.  I had to wait for `im for about three hours once before he turned up
on a job, because he couldn't read the address the boss had given `im.  He
thought Beeston was Boston and the stupid bastard was half way to
Lincolnshire in a works van before he twigged summat weren't right!"

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at that.  I could easily imagine it.
I'd done something similar myself once on a recovery job.  Trev turned his
colossal frame around and gave us an `I know your talking about me'
glare. Daz grinned back at him.  I had to admit he was good looking bloke,
especially when he was smiling his gap toothed grin.  He stopped to slowly
rotate his shoulder, easing a strain.  I could see his motion shifting the
thick muscle of his torso, his muddy shirt tautening over his powerful
body.

"He's not a bad bloke really.  Daz intimated.

"I like playing rugby with him, and he's great to work with.  He'll never
be lecturing Shakespeare, but he's a fuckin' good bricklayer.  He must keep
Hanson and Ibstock running single handed.  I'm all right all round, and
roofin's best part of me trade, but Trev's a fuckin' demon with a trowel.
Tha should see `im.  He can throw up a wall in no time, every fuckin' brick
in the right place, dead level.  He can do it by eye and you don't see many
like that."

"We did a renovation on this old Georgian place for this poncy couple near
Wakey, all special designs for the brickwork, fuckin' plinths, bullnoses,
angles and cants, pineapple chimneys, you name it.  He took one look at the
plans and did the fuckin' lot inside of a week!  It were fuckin' beautiful
when he'd done.  Last forever."

"Bit of a dark horse then?" I offered.  Daz smiled to himself lost in some
private thought.

"Aye, he is at that mate." Daz sniffed and wiped the dirt off his hands
onto his shorts, looking around for any big bits of litter we'd missed.
We'd done just about enough to constitute a reasonable fulfilment of our
punishment.

"What's the building trade like for you at the moment then?  Must be quiet
with all this negative equity shite there allus on about?"  I asked.

"Wish it fuckin' was mate.  We're workin' most weekends now.  It's local
like I said, so we can get back into us rugby and I'm not saying I don't
need the overtime, but it's a pain in the arse on match days when yer
graftin' beforehand."

"Aye, I know what you mean.  Least today were a one off for me.  Recovery
job."

"Aye of course.  I though you'd been workin' when I saw you in your
overalls, when we were havin' a laugh in the car park."

"You should have seen thy face.  It were well funny when we grabbed thee!"

"Aye it were hilarious mate." I chipped in sarcastically.

"Yer nearly throttled the fuckin' life out of me!"

"Nah, I wouldn't have done that.  I wunt have hurt you.  Not too much
anyway.  And I wouldn't have done owt real nasty.  I was saving all of that
for the game!"  He had that brown eyed twinkle again, teasing me, goading
for a reaction.

"Tha's fuckin' mental pal, mad as box of frogs." I told him, chuckling.

"Yeah, I know mate.  Tha's workin' with Smithy aincha?  Fixin' t'wagons?"

"Yep.  T'aint bad I suppose.  Pays the rent."

"Shift work?"

"Yeah, but it's flexible enough to keep up with me training.  They're all
soccer lads mainly, but they normally let me have me Sundays..  Just had a
major customer needing a favour we had to sort out today."

Daz gave me a knowing look.  He picked up one last can with exaggerated
ceremony and chucked it in the bag with a `that's me done' brushing of his
hands on his shirt.  It was more an even brown colour with soaked in mud
than the red and black it had been a couple of hours ago.

"Yeah lad, work can be a pain when you take yer rugby seriously.  What
about yer girlfriend?  Dunt she mind all the time yer off playing rugby
with the lads?"

An awkward question.  I swallowed and responded honestly if evasively.

"Nay, I'm young free and single at the moment mate," I told him.

"Oh aye? Way to be mate.  Must be a fuckin' wet trail round town then with
all the cunt you'll be fuckin'.  Yer a good looking lad.  I bet yer
fightin' the fanny off with yer fuckin' spanners!"

"I wish!" I replied, eager to end this particular subject.

Trev rescued me.

"Come Onnnn! You daft bastards.  We've done now!"

"LETS GO AND GET PISSED!" Trev insisted, his patience finally expired.

"All right mate, all right, I'm coming." Daz called over his shoulder.  He
gave me an evil grin.

"And I'll see thee next we play against ya!"

I could sense something was about to happen, but as usual he was too fast
for me.  He pretended to lean down to take the rubbish off me, when he
whipped his big hand out and grabbed me just above the knee, flexing his
strong grip and tickling.  I've got quite a few highly sensitive spots on
my body and that's one of the worst of them.  Every nerve snapped to
attention., and he had me as helpless as he'd rendered Trev larking about
before.

"Arghhh!

Gerrofff!

GEROFFFF!

Mad Bastard,

GEROFFFFF!!!"

I found myself shouting like a nutter, caught totally unawares, trying to
get his tickling hand off me.

Trev had seen us, and with a wild look of delight, I could see he wasn't
going to miss out on the fun.  Tucking his perished tennis ball under his
arm like a match ball, he lowered his brow and charged in on us.  For the
umpteenth time that day I saw the giant prop forward stampeding towards me,
a fucking hill of hefty muscle and bulk barrelling down on me.

"TACKLE!!!!!!" he bellowed, launching into a flying leap, knocking us both
flat, painstakingly collected coke cans flying everwhere.

"Owww!

"Fuck!"

"Stoppit!

"GEROFFF!!!"

We were thrashing and laughing our socks of in a tangled stinking, muddy
pile once again, but it was genuinely and unexpectedly friendly this time
around.  Daz was still tickling me, sprawled out on my back.  I felt a
colossal weight on top of me, and I felt as if I was being buried a few
inches into the turf on the field.  Trev had landed on top of me, and sat
on me, pining me down.  His huge hairy thighs were straddling my waist,
furry quadriceps straining, and he dug into my ribs with his thick fingers,
tickling me like fuck.  Daz released his grip on my legs and climbed over
me, extracting himself from the impromptu ruck.  He knelt down at the side
of us, leaving me thrashing to escape from beneath Trev's mighty weight,
before Daz stuck his fingers into my sweaty armpits and got stuck into
tickling me properly.

It was unbelievable.  I was absolutely helpless.  14 stone of quivering
jelly under their merciless dual assault.  It was actually an exquisite
feeling, and it was worse than torture, their wriggling fingers sending
tingling nerve signals bouncing all over me, and I just couldn't escape
from it.  I was laughing myself hoarse.

"Stop it!"

"Fuckin' Stop!"

"STOP!!!""

"Shurrup son, we've got you now!"

"Go on Trev, tickle him harder!"

"You aint gone get away from us this time."

"You won't fuckin' mess with us again ya little bugger!"

"No more! I give in ! Stop it, STOP IT!!!"

I was crushed under the weight of Trev, and as we struggled I caught the
strong smell of the men, the hot male odour of post rugby game sweat
evaporating on their bodies, rioting up my nose.  I could feel the heat of
them as we pressed and struggled together.  I felt the soft give in Trev's
big arse as he sat on me, and the bulge of my crotch between his buttocks,
our satiny shorts sliding against each other, the material gliding as I
wriggled between his legs.  I'm only human and it had an effect on me, and
deep in my incapacitated tickled ecstasy I could feel I was beginning to
get a hard on.  The wank I'd started before the match, the tension of the
game, and the two big, dirty, sweaty, smelly and horny looking blokes I was
suddenly finding myself in close and intimate contact with, was more than
the basic urges of my body could stand.  I could feel it, the blood
pumping, my cock filling, and a strong erection beginning to stir in my
jockstrap.

I desperately needed to get them off me before they noticed, and I was
hoping in my tickle induced hysterical mirth that Trev, sitting on my cock,
couldn't feel what he was doing to me.

"Enough lads!"

"Please, enough, ENOUGH"

"STOP!"

"No way son, I've got you now!"

"You'll think twice afore you thump me after this son!"

"Go onnn Trev, tickle the young bugger harder!"

I was desperate.  I was about to either wet my fucking shorts, get a raging
hard on, right there on the field, with Trev sitting on me, or probably
both.  I managed to wrestle Daz's fingers out of my pits, and Trev,
laughing so loudly it set his slight belly rippling with mirth, finally had
mercy, and they let me go.  He climbed off me, and we got to our feet,
sweating, still laughing, and throwing a few mock punches at each other,
our fists, bouncing harmlessly against the under armour beneath our shirts.

"Watch out Daz, he's startin' on ya again!" warned Trev, still rolling with
mirth, his booming laugh echoing round the field.  I was still laughing,
tears of amusement rolling down my face, the salt water stinging in my cut
under the eye.  It was a good moment.

"Fuckin hell! What's this then!" I heard Daz announce.

"We've gorra live one here, mate!" chuckled Trev.  I suddenly remembered.
I'm not a small lad in the cock department, and with my shorts, even a
slight semi would be patently obvious.  I turned to the side to hide my
groin from view.  For one breathless moment, I was expecting a comment, but
nothing was said.  I was relieved, they probably hadn't noticed, or just
ignored it as a natural response.  At least I was hoping so.  Looking at
Trev, I wondered for a moment if I wasn't the only one who'd enjoyed our
matey wrestle a bit more than I should have.  I knew I was mistaken, but
for a moment I was sure I could see a change in the bulge at Trev's crotch
as well.  His cock looked more defined against the shiny black material,
the ridge of his dick clearly visible under the taut polyester.  Wishful
thinking and trick of the pitch floodlighting I assumed.  My own
embarrassing and hopefully unnoticed semi hard on was no trick of the light
though.

"Come on.  Lets get off.  Whole fuckin' team's gone now Daz.  I want my
pint."  Trev whinged and Daz winked at me.

"Right then, I'd best go and get laughing boy here over to the pub before
he fuckin' hits me harder than you did.  I don't want get thumped twice.
Well at least not until after I've started drinking!" he announced
cheerfully.

"Come on.  PINT!" insisted Trev.

"Showers'll be empty now.  There only be us two." added Trev, digging Daz
in the ribs.

"Best get you cleaned up then mate" he told Trev, and gave his cauliflower
ear a quick tug.

"Go on fella's, fuck off." I told them, still calming down from both the
tickling, and with great relief, felt the blood draining from my prick, my
potential embarrassment ebbing away nicely.

"See you next time.  D'you know when we're next up against each other then?
I aint had a good look at this year's fixtures yet."

"Dunno meself mate.  April I think." I told him.

"See ya then, and wi' a bit a luck we wont have to start cracking each
other again!  I'll Probably see thee down the gym afore like? Like I said,
I don't mind spottin' for ya if ya wanna bulk up.  Not that you need much,
yer pretty fit as you are mate."

"Cheers.  And aye.  Yep, I'll take you up on that sometime."  Trev gave me
a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Aye, and remember what I said about yer game.  Use yer teammates to help
ya n' you'll go a long way."

"Aye thanks, I'll do that."

"Later pal."

Daz finished his farewell by giving a good firm open handed slap on my
arse, followed with a good squeeze, his big mitt warm through the satin
polyester, firm and friendly on my buttocks.  Christ all fucking mighty.
And I'd just shaken off my hard on.  If only he knew what effect that had
just had on me.  It was worse than when Dave did it to me.  They stamped
off to the changing rooms like a couple of bulls, still chuckling, and Daz
still trying to tickle Trev again, clumsily stamping off the pitch, larking
about like a couple of big kids.  It was actually quite endearing to watch.

With the big prop forwards gone, I felt suddenly very alone, missing the
strange acquaintance I'd just made.  Still, I'd made some goods mates in
stranger ways in the past.  I felt guilty in a way, forced to rethink my
subscription to popular opinion and my own prejudgements.  Daz and Trev
weren't bad men really, and not just the big, thick rugger oafs that they
were taken for.  It made me realise many people probably summed me up in
that way, especially my workmates, and probably most of the spectators
who'd seen me on the pitch today.  I felt daft about the attitude I'd had
towards them earlier, but I was glad that tt turned out all right in the
end.  Never judge by its cover and all that.

Despite having patched things up with my protagonists, I could guarantee
that my brawling in the game would be all around the village before
morning, and there wouldn't be a single person on my street or in my family
who hadn't heard by sunrise.  I'd get a good weeks worth of ribbing over
it.  At least my try would make up for it.  Which made me think about Daz
and Trev's advice.  I knew I could learn a lot from them if I could see
beyond our earlier differences.  They were skilled and experienced
sportsmen when they weren't playing dirty and trying to break your legs.
And especially when they controlled their tempers, at which point something
about stones and glass houses seemed to come into my mind.  I made a mental
note to catch Daz at the gym, and take what advice he had to offer.  It was
generous of him, even if he had played for out team once, we were supposed
to be traditional rivals now.

*** Rugby Physio ***

I spent another five minutes finishing up litter duty with the evening
rapidly getting dark, and picking up the cans Trev's last flying tackle had
knocked all over the place.  I was looking forward to getting cleaned up,
the sweat on my body rapidly cooling, leaving me feeling chilly, sticky and
filthy.  The field seeming incredibly quiet with Daz and Trev gone, the
game itself seeming as if it was hours ago rather than minutes, and I felt
even more alone.  I was keen to get back in among my team mates, settle
down in the warmth of the pub amongst my squad mates and get well and truly
drunk, forget about today's defeat and look forward to thrashing the
unlucky team who'd be facing us next Sunday.  I definitely felt better for
having made things up, in a fashion, with Daz and Trev.

I headed back, confident I'd done just about enough of my litter
punishment, with Dastardly and Mutley's marginal help.  I grabbed the mop
and bucket from the storeroom to hurry through Dave's cleaning rota coup de
grace, and threw the switch in there to kill the pitch floodlights.  I was
looking forward to getting everything done, getting out of my stinking
strip, and then getting to the pub and getting completely and utterly
rat-arsed.  I could almost taste Tetley Bitter already.  I wasn't the only
one with the thought of beer on my, mind, and found the last of the team
leaving the changing rooms, in their civvies, looking clean and bit more
fresh, lugging kit bags full of damp towels and dirty kit.  Martin was last
to leave as I tried to squeeze in.

"Done your chores then?" he teased softly.

"Aye mate, I've done me crime, and I've done me time.  Now fuck off out of
it so I can get cleaned up." My retort brought a warm laugh from Martin.

"Well fucking hurry up then missus mop, and we'll see you up the pub mate.
I'll have a pint waiting for you."

"Cheers mate, make it two will ya?" I ventured, leaving him to head off up
the road for the evening's drinking.

The changing rooms weren't in too bad a state, just a few clumps of mud to
brush off the floor and a good going over with the mop got it looking
reasonably clean.  The smell of the men had left with them, replaced with a
less interesting chemical cocktail of 13 different brands of deodorant
instead.  I let the bath drain as it had been left an unwelcoming tepid
pool of soapy, muddy brown water, which had probably been pissed in at
least 13 times.  I reckoned on a quick shower instead, mildly angry at
missing out on a soothing muddy soak with the men.

I grinned to myself briefly as I recalled when we'd been celebrating after
the semi final we'd won a couple of years back.  Dave had raided the local
off licence and lugged in a load of beer and a bottle of Moet, and we all
got half pissed in the bath before we even made the pub.  Pete had given us
his rather amusing `greyhound' impression involving the wire net from
champagne cork and his cock.  I tried to get that thought out of my head.
It was starting trouble in my shorts again.  I was sure I could still smell
Daz and Trev's sweat on me from all the wrestling we'd got up to when they
held me down for the tickling.

Cleaning done, I went back outside to empty the dirty sudsy water from the
mop bucket down the outside drain and I walked round the club building to
clean up in the away teams changing rooms, glad there was no one left
around to see me looking a right fucking prat, still in my rugby kit, while
carry a mop and bucket.  I'd expected to find the away team changing rooms
empty by now, but I was surprised when I heard what I thought were low
muffled noises, and I noticed that the lights had been left on.  I quickly
scanned the car park for any vehicles left to give me a clue.  Only one
suspicious looking vehicle remained: Daz's grimy flatbed Transit works'
van.  If it hadn't been for making it up between ourselves after the game
just now, I would probably have considered lobbing a brick through the
windscreen, and wondered whether it would be worth a magistrates' court
appearance and fine before opting against it.  At least I didn't feel the
need to do something like that now.  I heard another noise from the
changing room, something that sounded like a bench scraping on the floor,
and I tried to work out what was going on.

Daz had given Trev a lift in his van, which meant the two of them were
probably still lurking.  Knowing those two, I wouldn't have been surprised
if they weren't ripping the fittings out of the changing rooms, chipping
half the tiles of the wall to sell on, or use themselves and charge their
customer for new ceramics on some dodgy bathroom fitting contract.  They
even had the van to hand to make a quick get away with the merchandise.  It
would be just their style.

I stealthily tried the away changing room door, not having sensibly thought
through what I might actually do if I caught them ripping the place off.
It would be shame to get back to blows again and wing up flattened.  I
found the door had been latched from the inside, further confirming to me
something dodgy was afoot.  Nevertheless, I'd played for the club long
enough, taking my turn to do the cleaning and locking up to know a trick or
two.  Propping the mop and bucket against the wall, I soon found what I was
looking, for, a thick stiff piece of wire from a rip in the sport ground
fencing that I quickly twisted off.  As I slipped it between the door frame
and the old wooden door, gently feeling upward to flip up the latch, I
could hear the activity inside more clearly.  I didn't really know what I
was expecting to hear, but the noises surprised and confused me.  It
sounded like muffled, pained grunting interspersed with a few deep groans.
The noises sounded enthusiastic, and strangely enough, distinctively
sexual.  Determined to find out what the fuck my former nemeses where up
to, I slipped in through the door as quietly possible, treading lightly to
minimise the sound of my studded rugby boots, and stuck my head around the
lockers near the entrance to have a good bold look at whatever was going on

I didn't know what I was going to discover, but it certainly wasn't the
scene that I found confronting me.  Daz and Trev had evidently decide to
make the most of having the away team changing rooms to themselves.  The
two men were still in their full strip, except for their shorts, lying in a
dirty pile on the floor and Daz was enthusiastically fucking Trev,

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  The two burly prop forwards were
right in front of me, fucking.

Daz screwing Trev right up the arse, well stuck into him and buggering him
senseless.  A pump action bottle of Liquid Silk lube was on the tiled floor
beside their discarded nylon shorts. Trev was bending over one of the
benches in the middle of the away team changing rooms, his legs spread wide
apart, resting his elbows on the seat of the bench, and grasping onto the
metal frame with his big hairy arse raised high in the air to take a good
shagging.  He still had his jockstrap on, the creamy white straps framing
his muscular, hairy backside, thickly furred with damp curls of sandy hair,
spreading down to cover his powerful, mud streaked thighs.  Daz was
standing up close, right behind him, pumping away, gripping the back of
Trev's shirt, balled up tightly in his huge fists.  Daz's dirty jockstrap
was round his knees, stretched between the tops of his muddy red and black
socks, with his face bright red and sweaty, set in an expression of pure
ecstasy, as he thrust, slipping his cock in and out of Trev's accommodating
arse, raised up eagerly in front of him to take his prick deep inside him.

From my viewpoint, I was 90 degrees on, with an unobstructed view of the
two big men pleasuring each other.  I watched Daz's arse jutting out from
beneath his muddy rugby shirt, as white and nearly as furry as Trev's,
though the hairs were darker, thicker, and more dense in the crack, the odd
pimple on his cheeks, slamming his weight back and forth, driving his cock
deep into his mate's body.  As he pulled out before thrusting deeply back
in, I saw his cock, exceptionally thick and dangerous looking, veins
faintly visible beneath the taut skin of his cock shaft, the surface glossy
with lube, disappearing and reappearing as it rammed in and out of Trev's
huge body.  With the length of his stokes, and the amount of dick that
appeared as he pulled back, I realised his cock was pretty long as well as
incredibly thick.  I stood dumbfounded, watching Daz's erect cock sliding
in and out between Trev's hairy buttocks, listening to the wet slapping
rhythm of his hips and belly against Trev's backside as he thrust, their
sweaty, grimy flesh un-sticking with a faint slurp before the next wet slap
of impact as they screwed, setting Daz's balls, big, hairy and swollen,
bouncing between his legs like a pair of pink tomatoes.

Trev was evidently loving every minute of what he was enthusiastically
taking, keeping his arse up and pushing back to meet Daz's brutal thrusts,
his teeth biting down hard onto his gum shield as he was fucked.  His
expression was one of a man set and steeled against the pain of penetration
by a big cock, but simultaneously relishing the pleasure of having his arse
filled and deeply invaded with a large prick.

"Oooffff!"

"Go on mate!,

"Go ONNN!, fuck me!

"Harder!, HARDER!"

"Fuckin' give it me you cunt!"

Trev grunted his encouragements, goading his mate on, panting, his heavy
breathing timed for the lull between Daz's thrusts.  Although he still had
his jockstrap on, cupping his hefty genitals, the strained elastic of the
bulging pouch swinging between his legs indicated how aroused he was, with
what looked like a massive semi erection straining the pouch outward so far
it was pulling the elastic far away from his body, his balls still inside,
clearly bouncing, set swinging in rhythm with Daz's thrusts.

"Fuckin bloody Hell!." Trev moaned, responding to a really hard kidney
prodding thrust Daz had just hammered into his rear end.  Daz continued
shafting him, grunting deeply, gasping, the muscles in his thighs tensing
and the shapes of the tendons defining themselves clearly under the skin.

Abruptly, Daz's thrusting stopped, and he stood motionless, mid-fuck, his
large cock still deeply inserted into Trev's rectum.  Shifting out of my
shock and transfixed fascination I understood.  He'd seen me standing there
dumbfounded.  I was motionless, frozen still, mouth hanging open like a
gormless goldfish.  My pulse was throbbing in my forehead, and time seemed
distorted.  I was completely and utterly flabbergasted.  I looked up from
Daz's cock, still up Trev's hairy arse, and met the stare of his deep brown
eyes, his and Trev's panting from sexual exertion the only sound in the
silence.  Trev, wondering what had caused the pause in getting fucked,
looked over his shoulder, still bent over the bench.  He nearly jumped out
of his skin when he saw me, his face flushed with sexual exertion and
comically enable to move, held firmly in place by Daz's strong grip on his
shirt and his meaty prick up his arse, well and truly caught in the act.

Still staring gormlessly, and caught in the gaze of Daz's oak bark brown
eyes, he looked back at me, quizzically, slowly thinking, the cogs in the
dense brain under his thick skull slowly moving.  He let go of Trev's
shirt, wiped the beaded sweat off his brow above his glowering red cheeks
and wiped it on his collar, before breaking into a big, broad, dirty grin
and chuckling loudly to himself. in a dirty, gravelly laugh.  Feigning a
convincing expression of mock saintly innocence and virginal purity, his
eyes still twinkling, he took a deep husky breath and told me:

"Well, it's like this mate.  Trev `ere lost `is contact lens an `ee were
just bending over to pick it up like.  `Ee only goes and starts chokin'
summat rotten on this fly ee's swallowed, then dunt he?  So I've had to
give him this `ere hemlock manoeuvre, or whatever you call `em, and us
shorts must have just fallen down, accidental like, at the same time..."

I had to admire his audacity, and his comically guileless face seemed
pricelessly funny in the situation I'd discovered.  I had to laugh, it was
the only way I could respond, or cope, and I roared nearly as loud as Daz.
Trev, still bent over, and tightly, thoroughly impaled, started laughing
too, until Daz looked down and gave him sharp thrust to shut him up,
bringing a pained grunt of "Ouch!" from the burly, sweating forward.

Daz fixed me again, my earlier punch showing as a slight purple mark on his
dark stubbly jaw, his erection still firmly embedded inside his mate.  His
chuckling calmed down, and a darker look of serious intent creased his
brow.  He seemed to be weighing his words carefully.

"So what you gonna do about this then mate?"

I hadn't the foggiest, idea, but before I could reply he laid out the
options for me.

"Thy can go off blabberin' about it to everyone if tha wants, but I'll tell
thee now, no cunt's gonna believe ya.  Or thy can just keep quiet about
it."

His expression turned nasty.

"Cos if you don't, me and Trev here will find you and you wont be in a fit
state to say owt when were done.  Nasty accidents can happen on a field `n
all if tha knows what I mean."

I felt the usual anger in me starting again, disappointed after discovering
him in a refreshing new light, the familiar thug I disliked oozing back to
the surface like bitter slime.  His expression changed again, this time
unreadable, and he fixed me with the hardest coldest stare he'd managed
yet.

"Or I've one last option for thee."

Daz looked me up and down, appraising, curious, making me feel distinctly
uncomfortable, his eyes seeming to linger over my legs and at my crotch.
He gave me the final option:

"Tha' can put that fuckin' latch back on the door and join in with us."

 I could feel my ears turn crimson, nervous and uncomfortable about what I
was hearing yet, and there was no way I could pretend to myself otherwise,
wildly excited by it.  It wasn't as if I didn't like what I was seeing.

"It's better `n' standin' there watchin' mate."

Daz rotated his hips, stirring his cock around in Trev's rectum like a
spoon in a vat of hot porridge.  Trev wriggled his hefty arse
appreciatively at the rubbing in his sphincter, his hazel eyes searching me
in curious anticipation.

" Besides," he added,

"Looks like you enjoy what you see."

Daz nodded at my crotch.  I looked down.  I hadn't realised it, but there
was a very obvious bulge, considerably larger than normal in the front of
my shorts, the thin shiny material clearly defining the shape of my growing
cock, the beginnings of another strong erection plainly obvious.  The pouch
of my jockstrap suddenly felt very hot, tight and uncomfortable, my cock
rapidly rising, wanting to be let out, needing something wet tight and
slick around it, a mouth an arse, a wet fist, anything.  Daz knew full
fucking well I was up for it.

"Go on mate.  Tha cant beat a good fuck to wind down after a game!"

I couldn't disagree with him really.  All the tension of the game, brawling
with them, making it up afterward, and that close contact of wrestling
together, tickling each other, had got me well fucking horny.

Knowing that I was doing something incredibly stupid, something that I
really, absolutely, should not be doing, that I would probably regret, but
absolutely powerless to stop myself, I stepped backwards, never taking my
eyes of the two of them and slowly, with firm resignation, lifted the latch
back into place.  I knew I wanted it.

I took a deep breath, smelling the sweat of the men, and the deeper, more
subtle odour of men in heat.  It wasn't the acridity of labouring sweat,
but the earthy, musky smell of sexual perspiration.  The odour was
different on every bloke, but tangible, and one I loved.  My foreboding
faded, replaced with a cocky lust, knowledge I was up for up for this.  I
played against them, they wound me up, I'd just been brawling with them,
and yet here I was, wanting to fuck them at the same time.  I respected
them as rugby players, their ability, size, strength, skill and began at
last to understand why they wound me up so much, why I though I disliked
them.  It was because I fancied them both absolutely fucking rotten.  They
were big, hairy, good looking blokes, and their cocky arrogance just
attracted me more.  The scuffle in the car, park, my head stuck between
Daz's legs in the tackle, wrestling with them in the tackles, getting matey
with them and fooling about with them had subconsciously worked on me and
had aroused me more than I'd admitted, against all my contrary intentions.
I'd wondered what they'd be like in the sack, and I decided I was going to
take my chance and find out.

"Sounds good to me mate, I'm up for it." I told him, as bravely as I could
manage.

Daz and Trev were ecstatic.

"Wahey, nice one my son! " cheered Trev, with a lusty grin, still impaled
and I stepped toward them, bold as brazen fucking brass, sharing the mutual
dirty grin.  Trev spat out his gum shield while Daz smiled from ear to ear,
his eyes glinting with triumph, releasing his grip on the back of Trev's
shirt.

"Good man!" beamed Daz, like a proud father watching his son score his
first try.

"You can start by havin' a good suck on this mate."  Daz offered, leaning
back, very slowly pulling the thick girth of his cock out of Trev's arse
with a wet slurp.  Trev groaned with equal relief and disappointment as the
thick penile intrusion slid clear of his arse.  I watched a slimy,
glistening string of precum left quivering in the air, bridging the gap
between the moist tip of Daz's cock and Trev's arsehole, swinging for a
moment, before it broke, the remains of the sticky, clear string of viscous
fluid dripping back to cling to the underside of Daz's cock and the dark
hair on his balls.  Daz tugged his jockstrap off from its tangle around his
knees, and chucked it to the floor with a squelch, a damp sweaty tangle of
cotton, viscose and elastic.

I got down on my grass stained, scuffed knees, the tiles cold on my skin.
The lust was fast replacing my anger, and I knew was ready for this.  I
wanted it badly.  Daz turned toward me, parting his sturdy legs wider to
give me better access to his tasty looking cock.  Trev had sat himself down
on the bench after giving his well used arse a good rub, probing his moist
hole and sniffing his fingers, before settling back to watch.  Up close and
rather personal, I had a good look at Daz's erection.  It wasn't the
longest I'd ever seen, but still more than most, and bigger than my own,
probably a good 8 and half juicy inches, maybe a little more, wet and
glistening, slimy with lube and Trev's arse juices.

The thickness of it was impressive, cucumber like, with a perfectly shaped
glans, and a thick foreskin. I was looking forward to sucking it.  His
bollocks were huge, a real pair of chin bashers, big pink juicy spunk laden
plums, covered in dark wiry hair, matching the thick dark tufts all around
his crotch, and the dense patch of pubic fur over his cock, matted and
stuck to his skin with sweat.  The piss hole at the tip was a deep pink
slot, a glistening drop of fresh precum slowly beginning to form as he
stood still, his cock gently twitching in time with his heart beat.  He
looked absolutely rock hard, the powerful erection jutting up proudly from
beneath his shirt, pumped full of high pressure blood, eagerly anticipating
the feel of my mouth on the tight skin.  On my knees, with my head inches
from his crotch, the smell of him was overpowering.

I sniffed at him with relish, the musky body odour of his smelly crotch,
overlaid with a sharp tang of stale piss and the pungent heady waft of
copious sweat from the rugby and the sex, strong in my nostrils.  I could
smell cock strongly, that unmistakable musky genital odour of a man's
prick.  It was a proper blokes' smell, mixed with the chemical odour of the
lube and, smeared the full length of his prick, the deeper, richer smell of
Trev's arse.  It wasn't a smell of shite, just a salty hint of rectum, and
anal juices, rich and earthy.  Eager to taste it, I nevertheless held back
and started my blow job off by quickly licking up the insides of his hairy
thighs.  The first touch was electric, the start of sexual contact, taboos
broken, and the pleasure about to begin.  I felt the fur on his thighs
cling to my tongue as I tasted the flavour of soil from the streaks of mud
from the field mingled with the fresh sweat.

I started in earnest on his outsized bollocks, sucking on one heavy plum,
slurping my tongue round, it feeling the nut rolling around inside his
wrinkled scrotum, and repeated the process with the other, lower hanging
ball.  I passed on the idea of getting them both into my mouth at once,
they were just too fucking big, so I licked at them both together, eagerly,
my tongue rummaging through his hairy scrotum, chasing his large testicles
in their wrinkled sack.  Daz groaned steadily, but I could tell he was
needing more as I continued to lick, my face sliding on the sweat on his
thighs.

"Go on mate, gerrit in your gob." he encouraged.

"I wanna watch you suckin' on me big fuckin' cock."

His shovel hand was tugging on my hair pulling my mouth toward his thick,
wet pole.

"Patience mate!" I told him.

"I wanna take me time!  I'm gonna fuckin' enjoy this!"

His precum has started to flow more copiously, and dribbled in thick
glutinous drops on a sticky thread like oozing glycerine from the tip of
his mighty cock.  I stuck out my tongue and caught the string, collecting
the liquid on my tongue, before flicking the tip into his piss slit and
licking out the last droplets.  I spread the slime round my mouth with my
tongue, savouring the faintly sweet, alkaline taste.  I hooked my hands
around the back of his thick, muscular calves to keep him where I wanted
him, and pulled him closer.  I began exploring the head of his cock with my
lapping tongue, circling the rim, rummaging through the rubbery folds of
his pulled back foreskin, and brushing the fraenulum.  Unable to resist any
longer, I opened my mouth wide and swallowed as much of his length as I
could.

"Urrfffff! Fuckin hell!, that's fuckin' nice mate!" Daz moaned as he felt
my wet mouth engulf him.  I tried to get him in deeper, quickly swallowing
the fat pole of flesh filling my mouth, wedging the tip against the back of
my throat, and ignoring my instinct to gag, tried to swallow more.  I
couldn't see anything except the damp glossy curls of Daz's dark pubic
forest.  I draw back slowly, sucking and licking, tasting prick, lube, and
the salty anal tang of Trev's arse on his dick.  I didn't find it off
putting, instead, sucking on his cock, knowing it had just been up Trev's
arse, letting me taste and smell where it just been, was well seriously
arousing.

"Yer a dirty bastard, aintcha?" Daz muttered, impressed with my lack of
hesitation at getting stuck into his slimy, smelly dick, shuddering with
tingling pleasure as I heartily sucked the tip, and keeping my lips tight
around the shaft, I started to slide him in and out of my mouth, rubbing my
tongue around him, slowly sucking him off.  His hands found their way round
the back of my head, rubbing my hair, and pushing my head onto him, as he
started to gently thrust forward into my mouth, carelessly pressing into
the back of my throat, filling my gob with fat stinking cock, oblivious to
my gagging when he pushed too deep.  He kept up his appreciative
commentary.

"Go on you cunt, that's it!"

"Go on, fuckin' suck it"

"Fuck! That's it lad!"

"Go on mate, suck it harder!"

"Oh aye, get it in further!"

I ran my hands further up the back of his thighs, the skin slick with
sweat, and the muscles and sinews, tensed rigid.  My finger tips brushed
through the thick hairs, until I found what I wanted to feel, his big firm
hairy arse.  Spreading my hands wide, I grabbed his buttocks, and explored.
They were damp and sweaty, and my hands encountered a layer of softer fat
over his strong gluteal muscles, a welcoming firmness underneath.  I
relished how hairy his backside felt, rubbing my palms over the skin to
feel the bristling fur, my fingertips digging deep into the damper, hairier
crack.

Holding him steady by grasping his hairy arse, I speeded up my slurping on
his dripping cock, sucking and sliding his juicy tool through the tight
ring of my lips, I ignored the stinging of my cut lip from his punch,
stirred up by my enthusiastic oral activity.  My jaw was aching, stretched
to maximum to accommodate his salty girth, as I increased the pace of my
blow job.  Daz was grunting softly, clearly enjoying my effort, and I
wondered whether he was going to spunk in my mouth.  It would be great for
my effort to be rewarded with the taste of his sperm, but I was also hoped
he might want a bit more from me, and realised I was hoping he might give
me a bit of what I'd just seen Trev enjoying.  I could use a good fuck I
thought.

I heard Trev over my shoulder, evidently enjoying watching me sucking off
his mate.

"Bloody hell!, I knew tha were a fuckin' live one son!"

"Go on ya dirty bastard, suck him!"

"That's it lad! Suck his fuckin' cock!"

Still on my knees, merrily slurping on Daz, I released my grip on his arse,
and ran my hands up the inside of his huge hairy thighs, feeling their
dampness and the rock solid muscle underneath, all the way from the top of
his rugby socks to his bollocks.  Still bobbing and sucking, I grabbed his
massive balls, a great big pair of hairy nuts.  I felt his sweaty, wrinkly
scrotum stick to my palm as had a good feel of them, but I didn't get
chance to enjoy them for long.

Either Daz was getting too close to coming, or he wanted to try something
different, as he suddenly grabbed me by the top of my head and he roughly
pushed my face off his cock.  Before I could recover, he squatted down, his
hefty body looming over me, and pulling his wet shirt away from his belly
Daz enveloped my head in the tent of material.  He had me tightly wrapped
in under his muddy shirt, completely covering my head, his spit wet cock
pressing against my chest, and my face buried into his hairy belly.  It was
fucking heaven.  I started snuffling and snorting like a truffle pig, in
the heat, stink and humidity under his shirt, wet sweaty flesh slapped onto
my face, stomach hairs tickling up my nose, and my nostrils thick with the
odour of him.  He had bit of a gut on him, but like the rest of him, the
fat was just a shallow coating over slabs of powerful muscle underneath.  I
started my tongue delving and licking into his umbilicus, licking to the
bottom of moist, hair ringed dimple, licking out the sweat and the taste of
him.

Daz pulled his shirt of from my head and peeled my face of his belly, and
let me up for air.  It was like coming back to the surface after being
underwater, suddenly released, from the hot, humid polyester envelope.  I
was panting heavily, and so aroused my head was swimming in a vat of pure
lust.  I'd hardly imagined when we were walloping each other on the pitch
I'd soon be sucking the bastards cock, but was I loving it.  I was looking
forward to getting stuck in with Trev as well, wondering how far they were
going to let things go.  I could feel my cock in my shorts, straining and
bulging.  Working on Daz had get me proper horned up, and the physical
result was getting fucking uncomfortable.  I could feel my cock clamped
tightly up in my jockstrap, my shorts straining tightly over my bulge.  I
knew I was fully erect, and rock solid.  I felt harder than I'd ever felt
before.  The tip of my constricted prick was feeling clammy from the flow
of my own precum and I could feel it oozing, soaking into my jockstrap.  I
rummaged between my legs, giving my cock a firm rub under my shorts.  It
felt as hard as a scaffolding pole.  I tried shifting it into a
fractionally more comfortable position, needing to release it from its
elastic prison, and plunge it into some willing flesh.  I wasn't the only
one in need of attention, and was desperate to get my cock out for some
real fun.

"Right mate," I announced, still on my knees,

"How's about me getting a bit then?"  It was an open invitation to either
of them, and fingers shaking, I was struggling to untie the drawstring of
my shorts.  Somehow it had got itself knotted, and I was fumbling
desperately.  What a fucking time to get your shorts stuck on.

"Cheeky bugger!" I heard Trev

"These young un's mate!" Daz replied.

"Oi. Get yer fuckin' hands off yer cock mate.  I'll see you right, but it's
our turn first."  Daz told, me light heartedly.

"Besides, I'm not `alf loookin forward to seeing what tha's got in them
shorts mate.  I dunt want to spoil me surprise yet!"

Trev had a hearty laugh at that comment, his voice echoing in the changing
rooms.  He was still sitting on the bench, his face illuminated by lust,
having enjoyed watching me sucking Daz.  His legs were spread wide, and he
had both hands on the pouch of his jockstrap, squeezing and rubbing at his
cock underneath, teasing himself, but holding back.  The size of his
erection was still pulling the pouch clear away from his groin, jutting up,
stretching it past the waistband, looking ready to rip its way through the
sweat soaked cotton, patterned with a few fresh yellow piss stains.  I was
going to have a job on getting my gob round that.

"Better not keep thee missin' out too long either, had we mate?" Daz told
Trev, and I watched him reach between Trev's legs and gave his mate's cock
a quick squeeze bringing an appreciative moan from the big man.  Daz gave
me a sly wink, then bent over the bench right in front of me, next to where
Trev was sitting.  Daz parted his legs, his buttocks spreading wide, giving
a clear view into the rank crack.  I had a tantalising glimpse of the dark
pucker of his arsehole in the depths of the crevice, while his balls swung
heavily between his legs.

"Go on mate, lick it.  Get yer fuckin' tongue up me arse!" ordered Daz, his
voice husky with his deep arousal.

I took one look at his gorgeous arse and didn't need telling twice: Still
on my knees, I shuffled round to get stuck into the rimming that he wanted.

"I hope you've fuckin' wiped properly!" I told him, leaning forward to get
stuck in to licking out the hairy arse he'd just presented me with.

I grabbed onto his hairy cheeks and spread his buttocks wide, pausing to
relish the sight, the deep hairy crack and the tight, pink starfish of his
arsehole, winking up at me from the furrow.  Relieved his arse was
reasonably clean, I eagerly buried my face in his sweaty crack, pushing my
nose in for a good sniff, savouring the smell of his arse, hotter, slightly
more rank and stale then I'd encountered on him before, with the deeper,
more intense reek of his hole.  I pulled my face out, and starting from
just behind his hairy balls, I licked all the way up the furry crack,
continuing like a calf at a milk jug, tasting his buttocks and arsehole,
sweaty and slightly metallic.  Easing his cheeks wider, I went for his
arsehole, flicking the tight knot of flesh with the tip of my tongue,
finding a richer, slightly bitter taste as I wormed my tongue into him,
teasing him open, relaxing the sphincter.  I felt the tip of my tongue,
gripped by his sphincter as I begin to penetrate him, to slip in as the
tight ring of muscle opened up, allowing me entry.  The deep, loud moan of
pure pleasure Daz released told me I was doing something right, and I
continued to dig in deeper, slurping and licking at his hole, trying to
shove and wriggle my tongue as deeply up him as I could, fighting against
the resistance of the tight anal valve.

Pausing to come up for breath before plunging back into Daz's crack to
renew my oral assault on his backside, I noticed Trev had reached between
Daz's legs to start playing with his cock, and rub his balls, leaving him
well attended to, both front and rear, and I could feel his huge body
quivering with sensory stimulation.  Daz's hole was responding to my tongue
nicely, my spit easing it open, and with his arsehole opening up nicely, I
finally managed to get my tongue right up him, wriggling it a good couple
of inches up his backside, sucking and licking, and wriggling my tongue
into his rectum as his groaning told me I was doing him proud.  All I could
see was his backside, my eyes focussing on each individual, dark arse hair.
I could happily have stayed with my face in Daz's crack for an hour, but he
suddenly pulled up and forward, his behind disappearing from my mug,
leaving my face wet and covered with my own spit, Daz's sweat and the smell
of his arse.

"Bloody hell!" he announced, gleefully.

"That were bleedin' mental mate!"

"I'm gonna start callin' thee Heineken!" he addd.

"Yeah, Yeah, I know, `cos I can reach the parts no other tongue can!"I told
him.  I'd hear that old joke before.

He caught me glancing up at him, his brown eyes telling a tale of intense
pleasure and satisfaction, as I pulled a few of his stray black, curly
pubes and arse hairs off my tongue.  I realised my willingness and
enthusiasm has surprised him.  Trev was fidgeting on the bench, looking
substantially disgruntled.

"Right then, thy two greedy cunts.  It's my fuckin' turn now."

"Come on then lad, Let's be havin' thee!" Trev told me, gesturing toward
his cock with a thick thumb.  He spread his colossal thighs a little wider
apart on the bench to give me a bit more room between his legs.

"I'm lookin' forward to seein' if yer as good as you look!"  His hazel eyes
were flickering with lust and anticipation.

"No one's been disappointed yet!" I retorted, squeezing myself in between
his thighs.  I was really looking forward to pleasuring the big man, and I
was anxious to see if that straining bulge in jockstrap hid the large cock
I was expecting to find.  Daz had been no disappointment, but this big
bastard looking even more dangerously well hung.

I got myself in place between his legs, feeling hemmed in by his colossal
hairy thighs as he sat on the bench, the studs on his black and yellow,
size 13, Mizuno rugby boots scraping on the floor as shifted his meaty arse
forwards to make more room for me.  Immediately, impatiently, he grabbed my
ears and pulled me forward, then locked his hairy, scarred, shovel mitts
round the back of my head.  He pulled my face straight onto his crotch,
burying it into the invitingly damp, sweaty, stinking pouch of his
jockstrap.  A matted forest of thick, sandy, curly pubic fur curled round
the sides of the pouch, coarse and tickling on my face.  I felt his hard
cock under the damp, pungent material, firm against my face, and the balls
underneath the wet, dirty cotton rubbing against my mouth and chin.  He was
stinking, a stronger smell than Daz, staler, more unwashed and faintly
fishy.  It was a strong mixed odour of ripe cock, damp bollocks,
bricklaying sweat and rugby game perspiration.  My nostrils were full of
it, cloying and inescapable as he wriggled on the bench, grinding his
genitals into my face, rubbing his stinking, bulging, jockstrap pouch all
over me.

Trev let go, and I took a breath of fresher air, running my hands up the
insides of his strapping thighs.  They were even hairier than Daz's, matted
with sandy hair, with a reddish tinge, thickly coating every square inch of
him that I could see, curling everywhere from the exposed flesh from above
his turned over socks and up beneath his rugby shirt.  My eyes focussed on
the bulging lump in front of me, underneath his belly, a bit fatter and
meatier than Daz's, the flesh slightly overhanging the waistband of his
sweat soaked jockstrap, the green tracer lines at the top and bottom,
seeming darker with the dampness.  His belly had slightly folded over the
waistband at the front, and plenty of wear on the field had made it a
permanent crease.  I focussed on the familiar green and black legend on the
nylon label on the waistband above the pouch of his jockstrap, and read the
familiar text slowly:

LITESOME

ATHLETIC SUPPORTER

FIBRE CONTENT 63% COTTON 30% RUBBER 7% POLYESTER

MACHINE WASH WITH ARIEL AUTOMATIC

SIZE: LARGE

MADE IN THE UK.

Trev's thick hairy fingers reached down and dug under the elastic at the
side, pulling the pouch up and away to release his straining cock.  His
rubbing against my face had got him fully erect, and he was eager to encage
the beast.  The immense prick that emerged from his dirty, smelly
jockstrap, inches from my face had my mouth watering and gave off an
overpowering smell of male crotch and unwashed cock.  His densely hairy
balls slapped onto the wooden surface of the bench, almost as hefty as
Daz's, but looser in their scrotal sack and lower hanging.  His cock was
spectacular: He was a big man in every way, not quite as thick as Daz, but
about an inch longer, an impressive eight to nine inches of penile glory.
His shaft had a slight banana like curve to the right, but it maintained a
steady even thickness down its spectacular length.  Released at last, I
watched for a moment as it seemed to grow even larger, reaching its full
erection and throbbing hardness.  He was so hard, I could distinguish the
distinct columns of erectile tissue that formed his long shaft under the
skin and the feint pulsing veins along his shaft.

Despite being fully erect and twitching, the head was still nearly
completely hooded with his thick, rubbery looking foreskin.  Just the
slightest glimpse of purple glans was visible at the puckered skin at the
polo neck.  The folds were glistening with precum, moist and sticky
looking, copious enough to be just about to begin dripping.  Trev, reached
down, and pinching the skin of his cock behind the head, slowly pulling
back his foreskin inches from my face, peeling it smoothly back, naturally
lubricated by his precum, slowly revealing the blunt tip as the skin slid
away, his prepuce bunching in a tight snug wrinkle tucked under the rim of
his prick.

The strong fishy smell of unwashed cock got a lot stronger as his foreskin
retracted, and as the wet head was slowly revealed, I could see it was well
covered with small grainy lumps of smegma.  The smelly head under the thick
foreskin was really thickly covered with cheesy white clumps all over the
purple tip of his massive dick, and even more thickly encrusted around the
rim.  From the look and smell of his cock I doubted if the lazy bastard had
washed under his lid for a few days.  I was looking forward to doing it for
him.  I began to lick at the tip gingerly, slowly licking off all his
smelly knob cheese, and flickering into his deep, oozing piss slit, tasting
his cock.  Trev wasn't in no mood for a slow teasing though.  He got a firm
grip in my hair, and, holding his long, dirty, stinking, cock steady,
pulled my open mouth straight onto his unhygienic tool to get on with the
job.

I got to work cleaning him up, sucking hard on the bell end, trying not to
flinch at the cheesy taste of his huge ripe cock, sucking and swallowing,
running my tongue under his thick foreskin and licking around the rim,
chasing out all the accumulated gunge.  He was fairly clogged up and cheesy
under his foreskin, and I stuck my tongue right under, scraping the tip of
my tongue through the rubbery folds, chasing all of it out, rolling my
tongue around and behind the tip, circling it.  Finally satisfied that I'd
licked it all out, I held my breath before smearing the cheese over the
roof of my mouth and swallowing it down.  My attentions had released a
fresh spurt of precum from the tip of his dirty cock, and I felt it
spilling off the tip and smearing down my tongue.

Trev was grunting and snorting loudly as I finished my thorough job of
sucking his dirty prick clean, then, with my lips tight round the shaft of
his prick, I started sucking him off properly, quickly getting a rhythm
going, struggling to accommodate half of his length in his mouth, before
the grubby dick dug into my tonsils.  I explored his balls with my hand as
I slurped at him, the scrotum sticky and clinging, gently rolling the nuts
around inside the hairy sack while Trev kept up with his grunts of
satisfaction and added a string of endearments to encourage my continued
effort while I bobbed my head steadily in his crotch, sliding my mouth up
and down over his enormous dripping pole.

"That's it boy, oh fuck, that's it!"

"Go on, boy keep goin!"

"Come, on, deeper... "

"Go on suck it,"

"Suck it you cunt, suck it hard"

"Go on, that's it me old son! Suck me fuckin' cock!"

"Oh fuck, that's it...  take it deep... keep it going boy..."

He kept his commentary up as I sucked on, my mouth and jaw aching hard.  It
only took a couple of dozen more slurps before the tension and trembling of
his strapping body told me he was getting near his climax.  Daz must have
known his mate well enough to recognise the signs.

"Steady on Trev," coached Daz, "Save it for now.

"Tha dunt wanna shoot tha load till we've tried the other end of him."

Great! I thought.  It looked like I was going to get fucked

Reluctantly, Trev released his clamping grip on my head, and let me slide
my face off his huge dirty cock.  I gave his shaft a last hard suck as I
slowly slipped my mouth off him and I smiled when I heard his forlorn sigh
as my lips released his dick.

Daz reached down behind me and gave me a firm slap on the rear, followed by
short grope of my hungry arse through my shorts, firmly rubbing my
buttocks, and pushing into the satiny cleft between them.  He was making it
pretty clear what he fancied next.

"You up for it then mate?" he asked?

"Wanna take things a step further?" Of course I did.  I'd been hoping he
was going to fuck me.  The tension of the day, and the unexpected sex that
had just started with these two unlikely candidates had got me in the mood
for it.  Trev made his point clear, urgent for a response.

"D'ya take it up the arse son?" Trev finished for him, impatiently, gently
stroking his long smelly cock, maintaining his arousal.

"Go on then, I'm up for it!" I announced.

"I could use a couple of cocks up me arse tonight." I told them.  Stupid
bloody question really.  I looked at Daz.  He was spectacular.  Big,
strong, muddy and wearing nothing but his rugby shirt, socks, a hard on and
a dirty grin.  No way I could say no to that, even if he had hit me.

"Yer a fuckin' find aren't ya mate?" Daz retorted, grinning from ear to
ear.  Trev gave my hair an affectionate ruffle and looked at me proudly,
his hazel eyes lust glazed.  Looking at the size of the cock he had in has
hand, I wondered for a moment if I wasn't biting off more than I could
chew.  That monster was going to hurt.

"Good on ya, young un.  Right then son..  Lets see if your arse is as good
as yer gob." Trev announced, satisfied, and wriggling on the bench in eager
anticipation of giving me anally.

I got up off my knees, extracting myself from between Trev's hairy legs and
the smell of his cock.  Daz was quickly stripping off, his boots unlaced
and kicked off, and I watched the rest of the show.  I wanted to enjoy
every moment of seeing him stripping naked, see what he looked like under
his rugby shirt.  I drank in the sight of him stripping, my eyes roaming
all over him as he stretched his massive physique up to its full 6'2".  He
peeled off his sweaty, mud smeared rugby shirt, unstrapped his shoulder
pads, his huge biceps bulging as he crossed his arms over his body to
loosen the Velcro.  He let his pads fall to the floor, leaving him
standing, tall and proud, glowering with his usual cocky smugness and
bollock naked, expect for his stripy black and red socks.  He was fully
aroused, erect and throbbing, beaming with a blatant `guess what I'm gonna
do to you' expression.

He was a phenomenally horny sight in the buff.  I slowly studied his
strapping body, heavily muscular, the layer of fat softening the
definition, but the thick slabs of his pectorals and his deltoids bulged,
slick with sweat, matting his thick coarse chest hair close to his skin.
He'd evidently been doing a lot of arm and shoulder work at the gym and his
thick, tattooed arms had a clear indentation above his swollen biceps, the
muscle group sharply demarcated from the excellent deltoids above.  Thick
black hair covered his chest, and a line of black fur ran from the his
sternum down over his gut, spreading into the delta of the curly black
pubes, and fanning luxuriantly out over his belly.  He flexed briefly,
muscles straining, pectorals and biceps inflating like rugby balls.

I admired the inky black and grey artistry of the handful of tattoos
covering his arms, picking out a couple of intertwined panthers, a roaring
lion, a crouching leopard, a seething dragon, and a the white rose of
Yorkshire.  A twisting sea dragon curled up over his left deltoid and
undulated sensually down again, while its roaring snout stretched across
onto his left pectoral, as if it were burrowing through the black fur under
his collar bone.  Daz stepped close, enveloping me with the heat and smell
coming off his body and nodded downward with a terse, insistent command:

"Get those fuckin' shorts off mate."

Digging my nails into the knot in the fucking knot in the drawstring, I
finally picked it loose, while Daz waited, amused.  Finally loose, I
dropped my shorts, letting them fall down my legs, and I kicked them off
from the toe of my rugby boot.  I was standing there with just my jockstrap
on below the waist , same as Trev, and my arse felt rather
vulnerable. Especially knowing what I was about to get.  I felt Trev lift
up the back of my shirt, and I shivered with pleasure as I felt his
calloused hand appear on my buttocks, warm and stroking, his fingers
probing the bottom of my crack near my hole.

"Phwoar! That one fuckin' nice arse you've got there pal!" Trev told me.

"Like a fuckin' peach!  It's gonna be great getting up that mate!"

"Tha sure tha's OK with this mate?" Daz asked .

"Course I am!" I told him sincerely."

"Thy can fuck me mate.  The both of thee, can.  But we can call it even on
me belting the pair of thee after this though!"

Daz and Trev both laughed out loud.

"Fair enough lad!" Trev chuckled,

"Cant ask for more than that young un." he concluded, still stroking the
cheeks of my behind.

I felt Trev gently tugging on the stirrups of my Litesome.  I reached under
my shirt to go for the waistband, eager to slip it off, and finish stripped
down naked, desperate to let my aching cock finally free, letting my hungry
ramrod out for some action, giving them my bare hard cock to have a good
look at, to handle it, suck it, and hopefully take it up their arses. I
thought my dick was going to snap the elastic, bulging against the pouch,
still lodged in strangling discomfort.  Daz stopped me when he saw me going
for my jockstrap.

"Nay mate.  Keep it on for now.  Tha'll get thy turn later."  he told me
huskily, his eyes fixed on my bulging pouch.

"Keep yer shirt on too mate.  Looks good on ya" he added.  I figured that
was how he must like it, fucking a man when he was still in his rugby
strip.  I remembered it was how he'd been shagging Trev when I'd stumbled
through that door a few minutes before.  I reckoned it would be an added
kick for him, making me leave my shirt on, so he could enjoy reminding
himself of the fact he was fucking a player from a team he'd just beaten
when he got his cock up me.  Dirty bastard.  Can't say I held it against
him.

"Spread tha legs a bit lad" Daz told me, still admiring my bulge.  He
reached in between my legs and gave my balls a good rub in my sweaty,
bulging jockstrap.

"Fuuuuck!" I moaned, closing my eyes, enjoying his hands on me where it
mattered most.  He used his thumb to rub the sticky wet spot on the
material , rubbing it against the tip of my cock underneath where my precum
had been soaking in, then had a gentle squeeze at the shape of my cock,
sharply outlined under the stretched cream cotton, giving me a slow teasing
foretaste, rubbing up and down my dick.  The bastard had my legs trembling.
I didn't want him to stop, but knew I was probably going to come right
there, standing in front of him in my strip, before he even got his cock up
my arse.

"That's a fuckin' nice lookin' cock you've hidin' under there mate." He
told me.

"I'm lookin' forward to having a good play around with that a bit later
son." Thank fuck he'd stopped rubbing me.

Looking at him in front of me, big, hairy and hard, I wanted to get this
show on the road.

"Come on then mate, fuck me, before I shoot."  I pleaded..

"Oh aye?  Enjoyin' yersen are ya?"

"What do you fuckin' think mate?" I told him.

"This aint a flagpole I've got under here!"  Daz laughed at that.

"Tha's right there lad.  Feel's like a big fat cock to me!"

"Any road.  That's mine for later.  Lets be havin' ya now mate."

He gave me a long hard look with his brown eyes, his cock still steadily
dripping precum., looking me up and down.

"Bloody hell, I'm really wanna fuck you mate." Daz told me with unnerving
sincerity.

"I've been thinking about it ever since I saw you in't car park."

His expression darkened, the scar through his dark eyebrows constricting.

"Now bend over."

I complied immediately, turning round, bending over and leaning on the
bench.  I spread my legs in eager anticipation of a good doggy style
buggering.  I knew this was going to hurt, but I didn't half fucking want
it.  I was practically gagging to feel him up me, I wanted to get fucked by
him, wanted to feel his bare cock in me, feel him and hear him performing,
as he gave me one.  He wolf whistled softly when he saw the sight of my
arse presented for him.

"What a fuckin' sight!" he remarked, delighted.

Roughly, he reached under my shirt, and grabbing the waistband of my
jockstrap and pulled me upwards, pushing me forward.

"Get over the bench young `un!" he ordered brusquely.

"That's it mate, right over it.  I want you on all fours."

I shuffled up onto the bench, and braced myself, gripping the opposite
seat, the wood cold and hard under my knees.  For a moment I was glad I
always had a really good shit before a game, relieved that I should be
clean enough for a bit of anal.  Staring at the tiles, propped up on my
arms, I lifted my arse high up in the air, hopefully at the perfect angle
for an easy entry.  I realised he'd got me into exactly the same position
in which he been screwing Trev.  I was ready for this, counting the
seconds, waiting for the moment of penetration.  I felt Daz's rough hands
smoothing over the surface of my buttocks, sliding under the leg tapes of
my jockstrap to explore the full surfaces of my firm globes.  He started
digging into my crack, lingering over my arsehole, tickling and gently
prodding, seeking entry.

Trev handed him the bottle of Liquid Silk, and the big forward's massive
frame appeared in front of me, blocking out the light, his long hard cock
still rigid and angry looking, still wet with my spit, and a lot cleaner
looking for it, bobbing around inches from my mouth as Daz started slicking
me up.  I suddenly realised another reason for having me spread out over
the bench.  It meant that Trev could stand himself round this side of the
bench, and had a perfect line at my mouth.  `Fuckin' get in there my son!'
I thought to myself as I suddenly realised I was about to get it at both
ends.  Lovely.

I felt Daz's fingers spreading lube on my arsehole, and I shivered at his
touch and the cold sensation, before groaning loudly with intense pleasure
as Daz firmly forced his index finger through my sphincter.  It hurt to
start with, but I was aroused enough to ignore it.  I still hoped I was
clean.  With well lubed fingers he managed to slide in a second stout
digit, wriggling and stretching, gently preparing my hole for the onslaught
of his cock.  It still hurt, but gritting my teeth, my tight ring piece
soon eased, and Daz was soon able to add a third finger.  He was clearly an
old hand at this, and new exactly what he was doing, soon opening up my
tight arse, the sharp pain of intrusion quickly ebbing away to blossom into
a raw deep pleasure.  He kept probing me until he could slide three fingers
in and out up to his knuckles with ease, gently exploring the smooth lining
of my rectum, and digging downward to prod his burrowing finger tips
roughly into my prostrate,

"Oh bloody hell! Oh shit, that's the fuckin' spot mate!" I groaned, unable
to contain my delight at the place he'd found.

Daz said nothing, but just continued to wriggle his fingers up my lubed,
slackened arse, teasing his finger tips against the gland behind my dick.
He was gentle but firm, bringing a whole new tremble of pleasure from me,
reducing me to utter putty.  I don't think anyone had cracked me so quickly
or easily before.  Bastard.  Satisfied I was slackened enough for
penetration, he wiped the back of his hands on my shirt and took a firm
grip on the side of my hips.  I could hear him spit, and felt him wipe the
gob onto my arsehole for extra lube before I felt his hot, thick shaft
slipping between the cheeks of my arse, the sensation of a big hot cock
rubbing between my buttocks incredibly satisfying.  I gritted my teeth
waiting for him to enter, mixed trepidation and urgency to get him inside
me.

With a single grunt, Daz thrust, and roughly shoved the full length of his
fat cock right up my arse to the balls with one hard lunge, letting out a
loud gasp as he entered my rectum, engulfing his cock in the tight slick
pleasure of my hole.

"FUCKING HELL!!!"

That really fucking hurt.  I bellowed like a stuck pig, nearly screaming
the place down, the brutal entrance and his huge girth more than I'd been
ready for.  It hurt like hell.  I thought he'd split my arsehole with his
fat cock, and the searing penetration, was making itself known in an acute,
sharp, stabbing pain in the arse.  It brought tears to my eyes.  I was
panting, and screwing my face up snarling against the soreness. He felt
even bigger up my arse than I'd expected, and it was still hurting like
hell, but I was determined to take it.

"Ooofff!  More lube!"

 I grunted through gritted teeth, practically begging him to take it easy,
but Daz just chuckled and thrust in again sharply.  It hurt slightly less.

"Shurrup ya big wuss!" he chuckled, still thrusting,

"Take it like a man!"

I hadn't got much choice, but to take it, sweating hard, wriggling and
grunting, uncomfortable and impaled, but my arse soon slackened further as
he continued fucking me and, his cock began to slip in and out easily.  He
was fucking me hard, a proper shafting, ours thighs slapping together and
as his shafting progressed, I began to relax into it.  The initial pain was
soon fading as my arsehole relaxed, getting used to the presence of his
dick sliding in and out of it.  As he kept pistoning into me, it slowly
started to feel good.  Really fucking good. He was certainly big enough to
make me feel it, and his cock had my arsehole tingling and my rectum
getting a good deep massage as he shagged me.  As he reached the apex of
each thrust I felt full of him, my whole backside filled up with his cock,
and the deep messages of pleasure a good fuck gives my body really began to
grow, spreading through me.  This was more like it.  This was what I
wanted.  I was really beginning to enjoy the brutal buggering he was giving
me, my ring stretched tight on his ploughing cock.  I felt his thrusts
probing deeper into my rectum, the sliding sensation in and out of my
arsehole stimulating me intensely.

"Ahhh! Fuckin' hell!"

"That's fuckin lovely!  Go on mate, get stuck in!"

"Go on, get that cock up my arse, go on, harder."

"Fuckin' cunt, that's it, go on fuck me, go on, harder! HARDER!"

Trev, still looming in front of, me his cock still bobbing was ready to
join in for a bit more, finally satisfied I was no longer likely to bite of
his cock in pain.

"Shut the fuck up lad!" he told me.  Cheeky bugger. I thought. He'd been
screaming it up just as loud as me when I'd seen him on the receiving end
of what Daz's was dealing me.

"Stop squealing! I've got a better use for that mouth of yours boy."

He bent his knees slightly to get his shaft in line with my mouth, which I
opened wide, ready for another good slurp on his intimidating length.  When
it came to handing out the cocks, Trev was certainly not last in the queue.

"Right then boy, lets's be havin a bit more of that gob of yours!" Trev
warned me.

Bored of waiting, he grabbed me roughly by the scruff of my shirt and
reintroduced his long smelly cock into my mouth, leaving me to get stuck in
to sucking on him again, as he gently thrust, using my mouth as a
convenient slide for his dirty, tasty prick.

I was loving every second of it, skewered between two big prop forwards
fucking me at either end, spit roasted like a wild boar.  I loved the stink
of them in my nose, and the feeling of their rough, jabbing penetration.  I
was sucking hard on Trev, slurping the long cock into my mouth, gagging as
I let him mercilessly jam it into my throat while I was pushing my greedy
arse back to meet Daz's rough thrusts, determined to get him as far up me
as I could.  With my cock still buried in my jockstrap, unable to be
touched, and restricted, the sexual frustration was nearly intolerable, but
it focussed my attention on the parts of my body that were free and being
used, focussing me on the tastes and sensations in my mouth and up my arse.
The thickness of Daz's cock was keeping up a slight pressure on my
prostate, rubbing away at it up my butt as he thrust, and it was nearly
getting too much for me.  I was groaning as much as possible around Trev's
dick getting shoved into my mouth as the prostate banging got me
dangerously close to coming, stuffed like a goose.  Without any direct
attention to my cock I knew I was very probably going to blow my full load
right into my jockstrap before either of them had come.

Abruptly, Daz pulled out of me, leaving me to understand first hand the
combined relief and disappointment I'd seen Trev experience.  For a moment
I felt strangely empty without him up me.  Trev slipped out of my mouth and
I took a welcome breath of fresh air, blowing the stink of his fishy cock
out my nose.  I was glad I hadn't come, and I knew a few more minutes of
getting fucked would have got me pretty near to shooting me load.  I wanted
to save it for whichever tight warm bodily orifice I could coax either of
the two big props into offering me first.

"On your back mate!," Daz commanded, nearly hoarse.  Sounded to me like
he'd got pretty close to spunking as well.

I didn't mind the change of position.  My knees were sore as hell from
kneeling over the hard wood of the bench, and besides, I was reckoning that
if you're going to get fucked it might as well be every which way.  I
rolled over on the bench like an obedient puppy, shuffling my arse to the
edge, laying out on my back, with my legs pulled up high.  I was grateful
for my pads under my shirt sparing my back from the hard surface.  Daz
stared down on me like a well muscled, hairy mountain, red faced again and
gloating, fresh sweat running down his body, and beading into droplets over
the muscles of shoulders and biceps.

He eyed me with smug satisfaction,

"Warra fuckin sight!" he commented cheerfully again, with an admiring look
at my spread arse.

He bent his knees and squatted to level his groin with my arsehole, his
target perfectly framed by seam at the bottom of my jockstrap pouch, and
the leg tapes running past the side of my sloppy hole.  Daz casually spat
into his hand and smeared it onto his jutting cock, still shiny and wet
from my arse and pushing my muddy knees apart, he effortlessly lifted my
legs over his massive shoulders, and quickly slipped his cock back inside
me, watching my face for my every response as he entered.  The change in
angle put even more pressure on my prostate and I moaned aloud as he began
to thrust again, hard and deep, our gaze locked in an the intense heat of
lust, as I heard and felt his balls slapping against me, long deep thrusts,
almost out then fully back in again, letting me feel and enjoy every fat
inch of him and watch the pleasured lust on his face as fucked me.  The
different angle of penetration felt different, more churning, but still
good.  The pressure on my prostate was different, firmer and stronger, His
thrusts were as hard and deep, but with his knees bent he was rocking his
cock in out of me rather than jabbing me, sliding it smoothly over my
prostate, rubbing it cleanly as he slipped repeatedly through my ring.

My dirty rugby boots on his shoulders were spreading fresh mud all over his
bulging deltoids and my studs were scraping his ears, but he never
flinched, his strong hands gripping my knees to keep my legs up as he
continued rolling his hips, slowly and sensuously screwing my brains out,
his steady rhythm and plunging cock driving a few deep groans out of me.

"Bloody hell!"

"Oh fuck! Fuck! That's good!"

I knew I was moaning like a motorway services tart on a trucker's bunk, but
I couldn't help it.  I didn't mind taking it, but I'd never before had so
much pleasure from my arse.  Daz was still looking down on me, sweating and
grunting as he thrust, watching my responses as he pleasured me, and I
returned his gaze, my eyes struggling to focus in the heat of lust and deep
anal stimulation.

Suddenly, my view of Daz, humping away steadily between my legs was
obscured.  A massive bulk appeared over me, blocking out the light, and I
realised it was Trev rejoining the action.  Trev's thick thighs appeared in
the corner of my vision and I saw the big bloke had stepping back over me,
leaving my head stuck between his colossal limbs, the mud encrusted hair
brushing my ears.  Looking up I couldn't see anything but Trev's big fat
hairy arse, looming dangerously close just above my face.  He really was a
hairy cunt, the flesh of backside thickly covered, even more dense than
Daz's behind, and the deep dark crack full of rank sandy curls.  I looked
at the leg tapes of his large jockstrap, the cream cotton sheaths crinkling
round the elastic, wedged into the crease between his heavily furred thighs
and buttocks, and the underside of his hefty, hairy bollocks, swinging
freely just over my face like a couple of wrinkled pink kiwi fruits.  It
was a gorgeous view of the big man and I enjoyed it for a moment, while
relishing the feeling of the relentless plunging of Daz, still labouring
away up the other end of me.  A couple of drops of precum and sweat dripped
from the end of Trev's long erection, dripping onto my face.

"Right then young un!" I heard him bark form above me.

"Fuckin' lick this!"

I knew what was coming.  I'd enjoy rimming him while Daz kept screwing me,
but I briefly hoped that he kept his arse a bit cleaner than his cock.  No
way was I licking it if it was covered in shite.  Trev started to slowly
squat down onto me, like he was about to shit in my mouth.  His big hairy
buttocks parted as he squatted, descending onto me and I took a long deep
breath before my face was engulfed in the damp, sweaty heat and stink of
his crack.  I got one quick glimpse of his wet, lubed and thankfully clean
looking arsehole, before my head was wedged into his hairy crevice and his
slimy butthole pressed hard onto my mouth.  I was nearly smothered in his
meaty buttocks, the strong gluteal muscles gripping me while I had a good
sniff of him.  His familiar unwashed male stench was hot and rank, a
strong, powerful smell of bloke, a rich mingled odour of building site and
rugby pitch sweat harsh and acrid up my nose.  Thankfully there was just
the very faintest whiff of shit as his wriggled slightly and his arsehole
brushed up under my nose.  Completely smothered with hairy male flesh I
sniffed away at the rich, earthy, sweaty smell of a man's unwashed arse,
pungent and inviting.

Trev began to wriggle harder, his balls flopping over my forehead, before
he shifted his hirsute body back and forth over me, wiping my face up the
crack of his backside, the lube from his hole smearing all over my face, my
nose and chin sliding up and down the deep channel briefly, before he
pressed his hole back up to my mouth, his immense muscular weigh pressing
down heavily on me as he sat on my mug waiting for me to pleasure him.  At
least he hadn't farted yet I thought.  I decided I may as well make a good
job of it and give him a good, proper licking out.

Enjoying my opportunity, I stuck out my tongue, and began to delve deep
into the crack of the arse quivering above me.  Lapping through the fuzz, I
roamed up and down the damp channel, the taste of sweat acrid sweat sending
my taste buds buzzing, my tongue clogged up with Trev's thick anal pubes.
I didn't have to rummage through the fuzz long before I hit the goal, and I
found his hole, my tongue slowly probing and exploring around the little
elastic muscle of his ring before I stuck it out further to get it into
him.  He'd been well opened up from Daz's earlier shafting, and my tongue
slid straight into his wet, sloppy arsehole.  I had a good rummage up
there, licking at away at him, bitter and juicy, sucking on his ring,
tasting the slime, and earthy anal tang.

Trev groaned and panted, wriggling enthusiastically above me loving what I
was doing, as I industriously laboured on, smothered in his hairy arse.

 "That's it boy, lick it!"

"Go on you dirty little arse licking bastard"

"Go on you cunt, get that tongue workin', go, on, get it right up up my
arse!"

 "Ooof, go on, wipe me bum of that tongue of thine!"

"Get right up you cunt, right up me fuckin' arsehole!"

 "Aww, fuck, that's it son, get me fuckin' arse licked out!"

"Go, oh shit, that's it boy! Suck on it, suck me fuckin' hole!"

"Fuck me boy, you know how to lick an arse!"

I wanted more of him, to get deeper into him, so I reached up, and grabbed
the stirrups of Trev's jockstrap, and pulled him down further onto my face,
burying myself in his smelly, sweaty backside, sucking on his hairy
arsehole, shoving my tongue up him until I could lick the silky smooth
folds of his anal lining and taste the lube and salty mucous inside his
arse.  I had another good suck on his hole, before sliding my tongue back
in, licking him out, pulling my face as deeply into his hairy arse as I
could, sniffing him, with his furry buttocks rubbing my face.  I kept
probing his wet loosened hole, my spit slicking him further, until I could
dig deep into the core of him, wriggling around in the deep hole, his
relaxed sphincter round the base of my tongue while the tip lapped at his
rectum, the taste getting more bitter as I worked deeper, the faint taste
and smell of shite a fraction richer.  My head was swimming with the
intensity of what I was experiencing, with a prop forward sitting on my
face and another fucking me, my senses were in overload, touch, taste, and
smell all tingling with the effect of what men could to do together.  My
cock throbbed away, harder than ever but I tried to ignore it, trying to
delay the climax approaching of its own accord.

"Does tha want a go up this end Trev me old mate?"  I heard Daz ask
nonchalantly.

"Too fuckin right pal" grunted Trev, give his sweaty backside a last hard
rub onto my face.

"'Bout fuckin' time I had a good go up the business end of this little
bugger mate!"

I felt Daz slide out of me, leaving my hole gaping momentarily, before he
dropped my knees and let my feet slide of his shoulders leaving muddy
streaks down his muscled, tattooed arms.  Trev stood up, and pulling his
arse off my face, my tongue slipped free of him.  I was suddenly back in
the light from his smothering depths, leaving me gulping in fresh air,
released from the smell of him.  Trev gave my hair an almost affectionate
ruffle before pushing me over, indicating he wanted me back on all fours to
give me one.  With the smell of his arse still up my nose, I got back into
doggy position, out on all fours over the bench again, spreading my legs,
trying to make my knees comfortable while I waited for another good
fucking.

"Right boy.  Let's see how much fuckin cock you can take!" Trev leered.

"I've been looking forward to fuckin' that arse of thine boy!  Looks better
than any cunt I've fucked recently!"

"I'm gonna give you a right good shag boy!"

"Oh aye?"  I said.

"Well you've a long enough cock to try with you bastard!"

Trev grinned, knowing full well it was true.  He gave his pride and joy a
quick rub, as if he was sizing it up for my hole.  He stood where I could
see him for a moment, a big, hairy muscular mountain, his legs spread
apart, flexing his heavy muscles over his stocky, furry frame.  He let his
cock twitch, sticking out proudly from his crotch over his spunk swollen
bollocks, letting me have a good look at it, take good notice of just how
much cock he was about stick me with.

"So what's he like then Daz?" Trev asked.  Daz gave my abused buttocks a
good stroke

"Fuckin' lovely mate!  Tight as fuck, and hotter than than yer credit
card!"

Trev's hazel eyes sparkled with relish.

"Great!  Sounds like I'll enjoy this fuck better n' the cup final, lad!"

Daz patted me affectionately, almost as if he was wishing me luck for what
I was about to get.  I felt his hand quickly reached between my legs to
have a feel of my cock.

"Good on ya mate!  Tha's still kept yer hard on after getting fucked!  I'm
well impressed!"

"Might as well have a bit more of thy gob then well Trev's screwin' thee!"

Daz came round the front of me again, and I heard the slap of Trev's big
feet on the changing room floor as he went round behind me.

I knew from the start Trev was going to want to fuck me as well, and I was
looking forward to this, but as he stomped round the bench to get behind
me, I had one last look at his cock before I felt it.  He was one big lad.
I'd never seen a longer one in the flesh, outside of a porn film and
wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could chew.  I'd been fucked before,
and I'd played about with my arse, but I doubted if I'd managed to get
anything that length into it.  Daz had a bit more girth and his pounding
had stretched me open, but I knew I was in for a real gut churning fuck.  I
knelt there waiting, sweating with trepidation, wondering what taking Trev
was going to be like.  I was eager to feel how he fucked a man, and feel
what that huge, long curved cock was going to feel like up my arse.  He was
easily the longest I'd tried to take, and I didn't know if I'd manage to
take him all.  I was looking forward to trying, wondering how much it was
going to hurt.  I soon found out.  The men had swapped ends quickly, and
without any ceremony, I felt Trev's thick furry thighs appear between my
own, pushing my knees apart.  There was no turning back now.

I felt the smooth sensation as Trev smeared another dollop of lube onto me,
carefully wiping it onto my hole with his index finger.  I heard him
hocking up a good wad of phlegm behind me and glanced over my shoulder to
see him spit into his hand before he slicked it down his cock.  It was
bobbing about, impressively erect, long, curved and painful looking.  I was
eager for him to penetrate me and get the worst of it over with, holding my
arse up for him, wondering again how he was going to fuck me, if he was
different to Daz.  Trev was a bit shorter than Daz, and his shovel hands
pushed down on the small of my back to get me to lower my backside a bit
for him.  Tense and gritting my teeth ready for it, I felt him shuffle
between my legs to get himself into a comfortable position for a fuck, then
I felt the hot wet head of his prick against my willing arsehole.

He gripped me tightly by the hips, paused for a moment, then pushed
forward, hard and determined.  His blunt head popped through my ring,
bursting past the sphincter before his hard brutal shove sent the first
inches of his length curving into me.  His penetration was surprisingly
quick and smooth.  I managed not to cry out, it was uncomfortable but not
as painfully as I'd been expecting.  In fact it felt good, and I was
satisfied with the knowledge of having the big bloke inside me.  I'd never
imagined this when he was mauling me on the field.  His cock probed through
the full depth of my rectum, and I could still feel him getting deeper.  I
had a strange sensation of my guts bunched up and pushed into my diaphragm.
He hit the kink at the top of my bowel, and was dislodging me internally.

"Owww!!!"  Ooooffff!"  I snorted, wriggling forward, trying to ease it,
stop him going in too far too soon.  He was having none of it.  He grabbed
my arse firmly to stop me wriggling away from him.  I discovered the big
bastard was as skilled at buggery as he was at rugby league, and he'd
evidently found a knack for getting men to take him over the years.  He
pushed down at the small of my back, and wriggled his hips slightly, aiming
his cock into a downward angle and kept on wriggling until the head of his
cock, deep inside me found it way round bowels and slipped through into my
colon.  He gave one last shove to get himself in the last gut churning
inch.  It was pretty uncomfortable and it set my stomach rumbling, but I'd
managed to take the full length, confirmed when I felt feel his coarse
pubic fur against my buttocks and his balls pressed up firmly to my skin.
He let out a deep grunt of satisfaction, evidently satisfied, his hot
smelly body firm up against me, his thighs hard up against the back of my
own.  I felt like we were two men together, so deeply penetrated we were
almost one.

Trev pulled back, easing out a few inches, and then slid back in again.  He
began to thrust steadily, fucking me slowly, making me feel every last inch
of him, rocking his hips far back before sliding the whole eight plus
inches up me again.  I began to get used to his length, and he started to
shaft me harder, the sliding becoming hard thrusting, impaling me deeper
than I'd thought I could manage.  I was grunting and panting with the
effort of taking the big fucker, sweat dripping out of me but I was chuffed
with my accomplishment, satisfied that I'd managed all of him, I settled
down to take what was coming, making sure the bastard had a good ride out
of me and I had a good ride out of him.

His cock started to plunge hard, taking up where Daz had left off.  Trev
groaned contentedly, pausing to enjoying a couple of slow deep thrusts,
getting the full feel of my backside before starting to slide in and out of
me again, giving me a good hard fucking, rubbing his cock with my arsehole.

"You've gorra great arse mate!" he commented cheerfully, screwing me
harder, his thrusting getting rough and heavy.

"Like oiled velvet!" he enthused, as he and Daz guffawed at his wit.

Daz wasn't going to be left out, and loomed in front of me, back on all
fours over the bench.  His cock was fat and eager in front of me, still wet
with lube and my inner juices.  He grabbed me by my ears, and for a few
moments, just held his cock still under my nose, letting me have a good
smell of my arse on his dick.  I got a nostril full of my arsehole,
different from Trev's, lighter and mustier, but the fishy smell of Trev's
hole was still in there, buried among the wrinkles of his foreskin.  I
opened my mouth for him.  He shoved his thick prick straight in, glistening
with the mingled slime of my arse and Trev's, letting me enjoy the combined
taste of lube and men's arses on his cock.  I started sucking on him,
bobbing up and down his shaft as Trev's rear assault continued.

Trev's humping was getting harder than Daz's, more brutal and urgent, his
low hanging balls slapping against me, pushing for his climax.  Trev was
grunting loudly, and he began to screw me really hard, his full 18 stone
smashing into me., fucking away like a big hairy stud bull between my legs.
He was knocking me forward over the bench and making Daz's cock bang into
my throat, leaving me near to chocking on his turgid dick.  I had to hold
on tightly to the edge of the bench before Trev fucked me over it onto the
floor with Daz's cock in my mouth.  It was really getting uncomfortable and
beginning to hurt, and though the sexual pleasure was fading, I was still
determined to take him, show him I could handle him, take whatever he could
give me and relish the contentment from staying the course of a good hard
ride.  He might never make the Great Britain rugby league squad, but he
could certainly fuck for England, and his loud bellows and intensity of
what I was taking told me he was going to come soon.

Daz wasn't far off again either, his thrusts into my mouth shallow and
urgent, my jaw sore with being stretched wide and sucking enthusiastically.
His shudders in response to my continued licking, rubbing and flicking
tongue indicated the hyper sensitive cock some men get just before they
shoot their muck.

"I'm gonna blow Trev!" Daz announced, sticking his cock so hard down my
throat I was gagging and coughing on his solid pole.

"Oh fuck, I'm gonna spunk soon mate!"

He was sweating like a pig, and tensing up all over, his cock chokingly
wedged deep in my mouth, his thrusts in and out brief and urgent.

"Tha'll be wanting his arse again then, I take it?" Trev replied, evidently
used to accommodating his mates preferences.

"Yeah, go on Trev mate, let me have thy end.  I wanna spunk up his arse.
I'll owe you one pal."

"All yours brother, but I'm first to blow up his hole next time!" Trev
sounded a bit disgruntled to be interrupted in full flow The deal stuck
between them, with me feeling pissed off that I didn't have much say in the
matter, they pulled out of me leaving free at both ends, gasping, sore,
sweating, and eager for some spunk to be shed at last.  I wanted to
complete what we'd started, take their spunk and finish the act.  And then
I would be getting my own turn at dishing out a bit of what I'd been
patiently taking.

Daz patted on me on the shoulder.

"Tha's gone a bit quiet mate!  You OK there pal?" He asked, amused at the
fucked raw condition I was in, just as dirty, sweaty, stinking and muddy as
they were, a rugby fuck buddy spread out over the bench with an arsehole
that currently felt like the Channel Tunnel.

"Aye, I'm having the time of me life mate!" I told him, not entirely
sarcastically.  Truth be told I was loving it.  I felt like I wanted it to
go on forever., the two big props taking it in turns to fuck me.  I was
ready for more.

"Now get back on the job you pair of cunts and fuckin' finish what tha's
started!  Dunt forgot my fuckin' turn!  Tha's not the only cunt here with a
hard on tha knows!"

Trev roared, his cock bobbing in time with his guffaws.

"You fuckin' dirty dog!  Fuckin' cheek o' you youngsters nowadays!" Trev
scowled.

"Wont be long now boy.  Tha'll get thy turn soon enough, but it's age afore
beauty tonight son!"

"Get yer shirt off mate!" Daz told me, and before I could react he grabbed
my rugby shirt at the scruff of my neck and started to wrench the sodden,
dirty material off me.  I struggled on all fours, stepping out of as he
pulled.  He threw my Ellgren shirt on the floor, a wet blue and mud stained
white polyester clump.  Daz continued to strip me, and with a few sharp
tugs, he split the Velcro of my Gilbert pads, and with another sharp tug,
pulled them off, my ears stinging as he whipped my the neck hole off over
my head.  I was left almost naked, in just my rugby boots, socks and
jockstrap.  The chilling air of the changing rooms was welcome on my bare
skin, cooling me down from the heat of the sex.  I wanted to get my
jockstrap off, and let them fuck me naked, with my cock free at last,
instead of it remaining tight, hard and frustrated in my pouch, but Daz
made no move to strip me further.  I was going to have to suffer a bit
more.

The bastards were probably loving making me wait for it and I had to admit
the frustration was arousing in its own way.  I would just have to take my
pleasure in my mouth and up my arse a bit longer. I could feel my cock
pushed up hard, working under the waistband of my Litesome, the head
looking for an escape, almost pushing up to poke out against my stomach.
Daz ran his hands over my back, feeling the strained muscles of my flanks,
before reaching down under my sodden armpits to have a quick feel at my
chest, rubbing the firmness of my pectorals, the work in the gym and the
tension of the sex giving him a taut firm torso to grope.

"Nice!" Daz complemented me quietly.

"Wont to take much to get thee well bulked up mate!" he added, letting me
go and clamping his shovel mitts on the side of my butt, steadying me for
his final assault.

Trev came round in front of me again, his hairy crotch right in front of my
face, slowly wanking his long slick pole, keeping himself just on the brink
of coming, while he waited for Daz to slide back into me, letting me enjoy
the intimacy of watching how he pleasured himself, sliding his foreskin
back and forth over the tip, and stroking up and down the awesome length,
the rotation of his wrist enabling him to easily follow the banana curve of
his long slippery shaft.

Trev took a brief break from wanking himself and reached over my shoulders,
his wet cock head nearly close enough to my gob to suck.  He didn't shove
it in though, but reached over to grab my backside, a big hairy shovel hand
slapping firmly onto each cheek of my buttocks, grabbing on for a good firm
hold.  He pulled slightly and parted my buttocks, and held them spread and
I realised he was holding them apart for his mate.

"There yer go pal, get yersen back up him!" he told Daz.

"Cheers mate!" Daz responded cheerfully, his hot body pressing up behind
me.

Without any ceremony, Daz abruptly shoved himself back up my arse with the
donkey like sophistication I'd come to expect.  Trev let my arse go, and
Daz, deep inside me again, pulled back and started to shag me for all he
was worth, 16 odd stone of bulk piling into me, my butt feeling like a sore
mushy windsock.  I was sweating hard as I took the fucking, the insides of
my thighs damp, and beads of sweat running from my armpits and rolling down
the insides of arms, my whole torso beaded and dripping as I grunted in
time with the thrusts.  My brow was oozing, the sweat stinging in the cut
under my eye, the drops beading on the end of my nose, before being brushed
off onto Trev's pole rubbing at my lips.  My jockstrap felt like tangled
wire around my loins, the stirrups digging into my arse, as Daz gripped the
waistband and pulled it up, grabbing on tight as he increased his stroke
again, pushing for the final hurdle of his ultimate sexual release as his
thrusting peaked, his weight smacking into me with a raw wet slapping, and
massive balls banging away behind me.

I had to brace myself, pushing back hard against him to stop him driving me
into the bench, as he pushed onward with same determination he'd have with
a rugby ball in his grip and the line in front of him.  He was racing for
the try line now and he was there in less than a minute, his hard deep
thrusting bringing him to his long awaited climax, and with one last
almighty thrust I could feel the shudders of his body as he finally came,
pushing himself as deep into me as he could manage, his bare cock spurting
hard into my arse.

"Urghhhh!

"FUCK!"

"Fuck!  Fuck! Fuck!!!!"

"Ahhhhhhh!"

His stentorian bellowing as he came announced to half of Yorkshire that
he'd just blown his load.  He was panting and groaning, his sloppy wet
thrusts into my arse easing slowly. I could feel his gunge up my arse,
making his movements in my rectum feel sticky and sloppy, adding extra
lubrication to my chute.  I felt elated to have felt him climax.  He was
doing the fucking, but it felt like I'd earned that spunk, that my arse had
wrested his most intimate male juices out of him.  He fell forward onto my
back, still gasping and moaning with pure pleasure and relief, leaving my
straining under his weight, his softening cock still deep up my arse and
his huge strong arms straddling the side of mine, his sweaty brow wiping in
the back of my neck, all hot breath and spent fury.

Trev, still wanking, nearly there and ready to finish, seized his moment,
and gave his cock a quick hard rub, just bringing himself to the very edge
of ejaculating, readying his load for my mouth, before he stepped in front
of me again, and stuck his cock back into my mouth giving me a fresh taste
of my rectum.  He was rock hard and he could feel from his twitching shaft
he was just about to come in my mouth , and with a few short thrusts as I
sucked him as hard as I could manage he released a shout of pent up lust,
and at last blew his load into my sucking gob.

"Phwoooarr!!!"

"I'm comin' son, right in yer fuckin' gob!" he gasped.

"Go on lad, take it, gerrit down ya!"

He came hard, his balls swinging and throbbing under his lengthy curved
dick, twitching and pulsating in my mouth.  His stocky frame was shaking
with the force of his climax, muscular ripples rolling up his thighs, his
body hair bristling and his belly quivering.  His seminal spurts came
immediately, several thick, hot copious gushes, slopping his bollocks out
all over my tongue.  The force behind the powerful jets took by surprise
and the volume of his mess was overwhelming.  It felt like he was filling
my whole mouth with it.  With Trev still shuddering his last, and the final
drops of spunk dripping into my brimming mouth. I sucked hard, my tongue
darting into his piss slit to extract the last slimy strand.  His spent
cock slipped out of my mouth smearing a few last trickles of thick slimy,
fishy semen over my lips and chin.

"Go on young un!" Trev ordered.

"Swallow it."

"Fuckin' swallow it you cunt!"

He looked at me, big, hairy, pouring with sweat, red in the face and
freshly de-spunked.  I could tell he wanted to see me swallow, the final
important thing for him would be to see me swallowing his sperm.  I swilled
his load round my mouth.  It was thick and gloopy, almost gelatinous,
sticking to my teeth, with a taste both disgusting and fabulous, salty,
fishy and sweet all in the same big mouthful.  I swallowed hard, the
mouthful of Trev's fresh cock snot, sliding down my throat like a raw
oyster. Daz was still inside me.  He lifted himself off my back, and I
could feel his cock slowly softening up my ragged hole.  He held it an for
a moment, the two of us still locked in position before he slipped out of
my battered arsehole.  I grunted with relief as he eased himself out, and I
flexed my buttocks, half missing having him up me.

 "Phew! That was bloody amazin'!" exclaimed Trev, satisfied, especially as
he'd seen me swallow.  He stood up, his legs wide and relaxed, a dopey look
of perfect contentment illuminating his face.

"Bloody hell!" he sighed.

"You can say that again mate!" Daz managed between gasps, slowly getting
his breath back between his exhausted panting.

"I didn't `alf need that!"

"Now't like good fuck mate!" agreed Trev.  He looked at me like a concerned
uncle.

"You all right young un?" he asked me.

"Yeah, I think so!  Bleedin' Nora!  That were a buggering and a half!" I
confessed.

Daz slapped me firmly on my sore arse as I eased myself off all fours.

"We aim to please lad!" he smirked.

"Come on men, settle down.  I need a half time break!" Trev grunted.

Knackered, filthy, grungy stinking and sweating like horses, we sat down on
the benches, getting our breath back.  The men sat beside each other on the
bench we'd just christened, and I sat myself opposite them, very gingerly
lowering my abused backside onto the bench, enjoying the soothing coolness
of the cold wood, with all the caution and satisfaction of a man who'd just
had a really good buggering. Trev shuffled around, grumbling to himself
when he realised he'd just sat on a wet puddle of lube and fresh spunk that
had dripped out of my arse.  He wiped it off his butt and wiped his hand on
his hairy thigh.  Fishing in his kit back he found a litre bottle of
Lucozade and offered it to me.  I took it gratefully as I wiped some of
Trev's spilled spunk of my chin.  I could smell it strongly, the cloying
fishy sweet odour of Trev's fresh semen.  I had a good swig of Lucozade,
and a quick gargle and gulp to wash his spunk down, before handing back the
bottle.

Still panting, a loaded silence came over us.  I sat on the bench, still in
my jockstrap, my cock relaxing a little, down to half hard, but it would
soon be up at short notice as soon as we'd finished our much needed
breather.  I looked at Daz, naked and sweating, and Trev, still in his
muddy shirt, watching his long cock slowly softening back to more
manageable proportions, hanging out of his Litesome.  The head rested over
his balls, sticking to the wooden bench, the tubes freshly blown.  I didn't
think any of us could really believe what we'd just done.  I couldn't
believe it myself.  And I couldn't believe how much I'd enjoyed it.  I
wasn't feeling guilty, though some little voice in my head told me I
probably ought to have been.  Fucking the opposing team.  Not really done
is it.  I knew if went to hell, I could a ticket for that alone.  Trev and
Daz shared his bottle between them quietly getting some much needed
refreshment.

Trev was the one to break the awkward silence.

"I've got to hand to thee son." he began, giving me a friendly, incredulous
look from his hazel eyes.

"Yer a bloody good fuck!"

"Aye thanks mate, Yer not bad yersen's like!"  I told them honestly.

"Seriously lad, that were fuckin brilliant.  Not many lads round here are
up for it, and there's fewer yet who can take it like that.  Done yersen
proud there son!  Good on a rugby field and good off it.  Tha's my kind of
bloke young `un!  Nowt wrong with enjoyin' a bit of cock here n' there
lad."  I felt a bit awkward at Trev's compliment, genuinely flattered and
proud as punch.  It reminded me of my uncle giving me a new rugby ball at
Christmas.

"It's a good thing you're a good shag mind!" Trev continued, leaning
closer, with a hint of conspiracy in his expression.

"Daz would have been gutted if thy hadn't been.  He's been after thee for
fuckin' yonks lad!"

I laughed out load, quite flattered.  Daz for one unbelievable moment
actually looked quite embarrassed.  There was no way I was going to let
this chance go.  First the time I'd felt like I had one over the bastard.

"This true then mate?" I asked, having a little tease at him, well chuffed
with the proverbial rugby boot being on the other foot.

Trev, was grinning from ear to ear.  Looked like I wasn't the only one to
enjoy having one over on Daz.  I could see from his face he was bursting to
spill the beans.

"Aye, it fuckin' is lad!  Moment he knew you were on Dave's team, he's been
at me like an old hen!  He's been soft on you for the last two years.
S'why he couldn't wait to get back into his game.  Blitherin' at me every
two minutes he was, you shoulda `eard `im: `Trev, Trev' he says, `d' ya
reckon that fit second row lad'll be playin today, he says.  `Ee's well fit
`im, Cor, I'd love to give `im one, d'ya reckon he's up for it Trev, only
I've never seen him wi' a lass!"

"I fuckin' never!" complained Daz, indignant, giving me a `honest I didn't'
look.  Trev was on a roll:

"Oh yes thy fuckin' well did!  Wharra baht this morning on site then.  He
were doin my fuckin' nut lad!  Moment foreman were out of ear shot, there
`ee was, goin' on abaht thee again: `Ay ay Trev, I'm looking forward to
playin today, I can get me hands on that big young lad, I'll be tacklin'
him a load.  I'm gonna cop a feel of arse in the rucks, Cor, he aint `alf
gorra a nice arse, Trev' he says.  Like a bleedin' lass `ee was.  I nearly
dropped all me fuckin' bricks!"

"It aint true!" Daz insisted, chuckling away, amusingly embarrassed.  I
listened eagerly.  I was nearly wetting myself it was so funny.  Daz wasn't
going down without a fight.

"Anyhow, young un, dunt believe laughing boys ere's so fuckin' saintly. Daz
countered, and turned things back round on Trev.

 "Wharra baht when tha asked me `D'ya reckon ee's gorra big cock then, cos
`is shorts look well packed?'"

It was Trev's turn to look sheepish.  I was loving this.

"It's true lad.  Only thing was the foreman heard him, and he had to
pretend `ee were talkin' about a porn film what ee'd seen.  He's been
wanting a crack at thee n'all!"  Trev gave in to defeat with grace.  He
gave me a wink.

"Well, fair enough.  Gorra admit I've wondered what you were like in the
sack lad!  Daz were gutted when ya thumped him.  Dint think there was much
chance then.  Must admit it were pretty horny when I was tickling thee.  I
was well chuffed when I got sat on ya, an you were getting a hard on!"
Trev's hazel eye gave me a wink.

So he knew about that I thought.  Sly dog.  I chuckled away.  It's a small
world sometimes.  It had never really occurred to me that some rugby
players might occasionally think about me in pretty much the same way I
occasionally thought about some of them.

"Well why didn't you just fuckin ask me?" I said, exasperated.

"I might have done but I were still fucked off wi' thee for cracking me,
you cocky young bugger!" Trev growled.

"I've got to ask thee.  Did tha know?"

"Bout what?" Daz sniffed.  I spelled it out to them.

"I mean when I came in, did you think I'd join in?"

Daz smiled evilly.

"Course I fuckin' knew.  I could tell in the car park.  You were lovin' it
really!"  He might have been right.

"Still, I weren't expectin' you walk in on us.  It were too good a chance
to miss really, havin' t'changin' rooms to us sens and that.  `Ad to
squeeze in a quick celebration shag with laughing boy here before the pub!
Ee's usually up for it!"

Trev gave Daz a dirty `watch it' scowl from under his furrowed brow.

"Fair enough fellas" I chipped in.  We'd got our breath back, and I was
long past ready for my turn.

"Right then, half time's over."  I started rubbing my cock.  My erection
had waned a little, but I was still half hard.  I wouldn't be for long.  I
was rising up against quickly.

"Half times over!" I ventured,

"My turn now!" I insisted. I was eager to get stuck back into what we'd
started.  My balls felt like they were throbbing with the amount up spunk
that had built up in them, and all the prostate bashing had only made
matters worse.  I need to spunk, very soon, in any which way they were
offering.

"Tha could be right lad.  I'm lookin' forward to getting me hand on that
cock of thine son. " Daz gave Trev a slap on the shoulder.

"Thy up for it Trev?"

"Suppose so.  One good turn deserves another." he admitted, matter of fact.

I opened my mouth to comment but Daz `s purposeful glower hushed me to
silence. He stood and pulled me up in front of him with two big hands under
my armpits.  I'm a big heavy lad, but he was so strong he managed it almost
effortlessly.  Without any messing about, Daz went for my jockstrap.  He
reached over and hooking his fingers over the elasticised material took a
firm grasp on the waistband of my Litesome, pulled it down round my thighs
freeing my cock with one sharp tug.

My cock and bollocks fell free at last, and I sighed with the relief of
having my half hard prick freed from the stranglehold of my Litesome.  It
wasn't going to stay half hard for long, and I could feel it twitching
upward already as Daz locked me with a deep purposeful stare.  It was my
turn at last.  I was going to get my cock attended to, and I was more than
ready for it.  I had no idea what they going to do for me, what they wanted
me to do with them, how they were going to get me off, but that was half
the fun.  I was really hoping an arse would be involved, but didn't think
it likely.  Still, if you don't ask you don't get, and I resolved to push
my luck and come and out without it if things didn't head that way.  I
needed to get my cock up one or preferably both of them, if they'd let me.

Daz was looking down at my stiffening cock, and I could sense his
appraising eyes on me.  I wanted to finish stripping out of what was left
of my clammy rugby kit, get it all off and enjoy what was to come bollock
naked.  I shucked my jockstrap down , the filthy material rolling up and
tangling round my ankles, and I clumsily struggled and wrestled with the
fucking thing, nearly tripping myself over in the process.  I heard Daz
give a snort of amusement at my inelegant progress.  Finally wrestling my
jockstrap of, with the stirrups almost catching in the studs of my boots, I
kicked it off onto the floor.  I hopped around pulling off my rugby boots,
barely bothering to unlace them, before peeling off my socks leaving me
wearing nothing but skin, mud, my tattoos and plenty of strong sweat.

It felt great being naked in front of them, proud and cocky, only Trev
still left in his muddy shirt, socks and jockstrap, his cock softer, and
his recently emptied balls swinging free from the pouch he'd pushed to one
side.  My cock was still rising, and I could sense Daz and Trev watching,
as we waited, stock still for a moment, watching as my hard on returned.
Free and ready for attention, the blood flooded in, and I was harder than a
vanadium steel spanner in record time, my cock fully erect with my foreskin
half retracted, the shaft ruler straight and ready for them.  I stood there
with, my muscles tense waiting for them to start, to touch me, wondering
where they'd begin.  Daz seemed to appraise me with approval.  I was fit,
fairly muscular, in good shape, if not with the size and power of these
two, and Daz's roving brown eyes skirted over me, seeming to work out which
part of me he wanted to get his mitts on first.

Daz dropped to his knees, and took hold of my cock, his touch an electric
tingle on my skin.  I was rock hard now, and Daz, slapped the tip of my
cock lightly, watching it spring straight back into place, hard and ready,
grinning with approval at the strength of my erection.  I needed it badly,
needed my cock attended to.  I needed to come, needed to add my spunk the
sticky mix of the two props' smeared all over me, and oozing around up my
arse.  Daz continued to run his fingers over my prick, little jolts of
ecstatic sensation spreading through my groin from the brush of his warm
fingers.  He kept stroking my shaft and the feeling of his warm hand on my
cock was an overwhelmingly pleasurable relief.

"Nice!" he announced, before his fingers began slowly tracing the veins on
my cock shaft, flickering, and teasingly frustrating.

"You've got a good cock on you son!"

"I don't get many complaints!" I moaned, as his stroking hands continued to
pleasure me.

I felt his rough mitts cup my balls, rubbing them slowly, before grabbing
hold and squeezing, releasing and squeezing again.  My cock had begun to
dribble precum out over his teasing fingers, as he eased my foreskin
tightly back before rubbing the tip of my cock.  The prostate bashing had
really got me oozing, and the clear droplets were dripping out fast,
glazing my cock head, and running in sticky strings over Daz's hand.  Daz
collected it up then slowly licked my precum off his fingers as I stood
there, still dripping.  He pushed my legs further apart, then got down on
his knees in front of me and stuck his head between my legs.  He started
moving his head and back and forth vigorously, letting my balls rub over
the sharp coarse bristles of his shaved head.  I groaned aloud, in surprise
at the strange, but incredibly enjoyable sensation of his number one crop
brushing against the sensitive skin of my bollocks.  He continued for a
moment, letting me relish what he was doing to me, the mud on my thighs
wiping onto his cauliflower ears, before he pulled his head out.  He had
one last approving look at my cock, holding it steady by the root, then
with one forward lunge of his head, his mouth wide and inviting, swallowed
my cock in one hot, moist gulp.

I nearly shot my load straight down his throat that instant.  His mouth was
warm, wet, soft and sucking gently, skilled and confident, his tongue
flicking and delving.  He let my cock free for a moment, before using his
thick tongue to take a firm lick up my cock from the root to the tip,
before slurping it back in, and giving me another good suck.  I looked down
to see his head begin to bob between my legs, slowly sucking me off,
building a steady rhythm, his lips slipping up and down my shaft.  `This is
the fucking life' I thought, deep into the utterly blissful pleasure of
Daz's mouth on my prick.  I could feel the spunk building up in my bollocks
and I knew I wouldn't be able to stand much more.

"Ahhhh! That's fucking good mate!" I told him.

"Oh Christ, that is well nice! I can't take much more o' this mate, I'm
gonna have to blow soon!" I warned him.

Trev had stealthy positioned himself behind me, and he didn't know he was
there until I felt the heat of his stocky body and the smell of his sweat.
Before I could wonder what he was up to, he grabbed my arse, and began
kneading my buttocks.  My arse felt wet, stretched and sloppy, and I could
feel Daz's spunk escaping and slowly dripping down the insides of my
thighs.  As Daz's slurping on my shaft continued, I felt Trev's fingers
inside my thighs, tracing the oozing drops, rubbing them in like
moisturiser, before he dug into my crack and stuck his thick hairy finger
up my arse.  It didn't hurt, and he dug deeper, seeking out my prostate,
feeling his way against the wall of my rectum, until he could gently
wriggle his finger, directly stimulating the hidden gland up my rear.

It felt incredible. Between Trev's rubbing and prodding attention to my
prostate, and Daz's steady sucking on my cock, the dual stimulation had my
legs trembling in half a minute, the need to come overwhelming, my balls
brimming, desperately needing to empty, my swollen prick rock solid and
oozing in Daz's hot slurping mouth.  I was sure Daz knew I was nearly
there, but then he suddenly stopped and pulled off my dick.  I groaned in
frustration, the intense pleasure of his mouth abruptly stopping.  I hoped
this wasn't some stunt of theirs, to get me almost there, and then just
fuck off, leaving me hard and frustrated to finish myself off.  It'd be
just their style.

 I was wrong, though.  I was in luck.  Daz looked up at Trev over my
shoulder.

"You gonna let him finish off up yer arse Trev?" asked Daz.  Trev pulled
his finger out of me, and sucked it clean, unflinching at the mingled
flavours of my arse and Daz's spunk.  I hoped I'd heard right.  My cock
gave an eager twitch at the thought of fucking the big man.  `Get in
there!' I thought. My heart was thumping with wild excitement. It was
everything I'd been hoping for.  I turned round to meet the hazel eyes of
the big man standing behind me.

Trev gave me a stern look, seeming to have a quick think while he gave me a
brief appraisal.  Still looking stern, his deep voice gave me the go ahead.

"Suppose so mate!  Least I can do for t' little fucker I reckon!"

"I dont mind takin' it up the arse once in a while lad."

Trev looked at me quizzically.  I felt happier than a kid on Christmas
morning. This was going to be a great fuck.

"You up for that then mate?" Trev challenged,

 "Fancy a crack at my arse then grease monkey?"

"Too fuckin' right I do!" I replied, my cock giving another enthusiastic
twitch at the thought of having Trev's arse around it.  I couldn't wait.
Trev grinned and nodded, assumed his familiar position, bending over, near
spread-eagled, but instead of bending over one of the benches, he braced
himself against one of the lockers, his big hands gripping the top ledge,
taking the weight of his body on his elbows against the doors, the sinews
of his huge tattooed, hairy forearms standing out as they took up the
heavy, muscular weight of his powerful upper body.

Just the sight of him was nearly enough to make me come where I stood.  My
view of the big, hairy, smelly, 18 stone prop forward, in his dirty, muddy
socks and shirt, , bent over ready and waiting for a good hard fucking, was
one of the horniest sights of my life.  Trev's big fat hairy arse, still
perfectly framed with his dirty, sweat sodden jockstrap, was irresistibly
inviting me in.  I had a good contented look at the furry backside I was
about to fuck, letting my eyes wonder down from his huge broad shoulders
down to his hairy arse.  Above it, I saw his squad number 8 in black felt
letters on its white cloth square on the back of his sodden, mud smeared
stripy black and red rugby shirt.

Still taking in the sight of him, m eyes followed the lines of the mud
dappled cream stirrups of his large jockstrap, the cotton sheathing around
the elastic still rucked up slightly down the length of the straps.  The
twin white lines curved under Trev's sandy haired buttocks coming together
at the bottom, and disappeared into the dark crevice between his legs, just
beneath the spot where I knew I was about to find his arsehole.  His spread
thighs had parted his buttocks slightly, a slash of thick dank reddish hair
bristling in his crack, his arsehole just about visible, winking up at me,
moist and inviting.  With his bollocks loose from the pouch of his
Litesome, I had a great view of his large, low hanging hairy bollocks
swinging between his legs, clammy and wet with my spit and the excess lube
that had dripped down from his hole.  I was impatient to get inside him,
slide my twitching, throbbing rigid cock into his arsehole, to feel his
hot, clammy, clinging rectum on my cock.  Worried I was going to spunk
before I'd penetrated him, I hastily found Daz's lube with clumsy hands.

"You mind?"

"Nah mate, help yersen." Daz offered generously, sitting back, curious and
enthusiastic to watch me and his mate in action together.

"This should be good mate!  Be interesting to see how well you can use yer
cock.  If you give it as good as you take it, I'll enjoy watchin' this!"

I wasn't bothered about giving him a good show, I just needed to come, and
Trev's big, spotty, hairy arse looked the most welcoming hole in Yorkshire
at that moment, hot, tight and beckoning.

Taking a quick squirt of lube from Daz's Liquid Silk bottle, I smeared it
up his hairy crack, my fingers slipping into the deep dank crease of his
furred buttocks.  He gave a slight grunt at the feeling and I felt his arse
give a slight appreciative wriggle.  The crack of his broad backside was
thickly clogged with body hair, and felt hot and damp, and probing in
deeper, I encountered his slick arsehole.  Daz's shafting had opened him up
well, and his arsehole felt wide open, slimy and greasy, like Swarfega,
well ready for action.  I slid a couple of fingers in effortlessly, and had
a quick probe around up his arse, bringing a grunt from the big prop.  I
could almost imagine getting my fist into his hole, sliding it in up to the
elbow with ease: Another time maybe.  Right now, I wanted my cock in there.
I sucked my fingers clean, catching a taste of lube and Trev's anal juices.
Daz encouraged me on, not that I need it.

"Go on mate, get yersen up him!  Make the big cunt cunt squeal!  Ee loves a
good fuck!"

I wedged myself in between Trev's legs, the thick hair on his thighs
brushing coarsely against my legs, and smearing me with his mud and sweat.
Standing myself up close to his butt, hemming myself in between the twin
pistons of his thick, flared hairy thighs, naked, horny as fuck and urgent
to get up him.  I felt like I was mounting a bull.  Conversely, he smelled
like a horse, the air around thick with the stink of his big unwashed muddy
body, a powerful stink of crotch, cheesy cock, arse, fishy spunk, sweat and
dirt.  Steadying my cock with one hand, I slipped the tip in between his
furry buttocks, the thick hair in the crack, ticklish against my sensitive
glans and I pushed forward, seeking that wet slimy hole of his .  I felt
the tip of my dick against his arsehole, warm and sticky.  This was it I
thought.  The moment of penetration.  I was going to fuck him, fuck him
hard and slop my bollocks out right up his arse.  I began to push further
forward, and with hardly any resistance I felt his slick arsehole give way,
and I slid my full length effortlessly into him, my hips slapping to
against his backside, and my balls hitting the back of his big furry nuts,
bringing a deep, loud grunt of intrusion from the big man as I mounted him.

The feeling was indescribably good.  Trev was warm, moist and clinging, It
felt like sliding my cock through a rubber doughnut into a tub of warm
grease.  This had been more than worth waiting for.  His arsehole just
seemed to suck me into him, a hot wet clammy tunnel gripping my cock, like
warm butter, the skin of my shaft rubbing bare against his rectum, my whole
body tingling with pleasure as my dick felt the warm depths of his hole.  I
pulled back and thrust, another wave of sheer pleasure rippling through me
as I began to fuck him.  Looking down I had great view and briefly watched
the progress of my cock sliding inch by inch into his big, strong, hairy
arse.  On the back thrust I saw my cock coming out of him, glossy with lube
and the sandy hairs around his arsehole, clinging onto to my slick shaft as
I slid out for the next thrust in.

Trev was taking it without so much as a flinch, up his evidently well used
arse, and I wondered for a moment just how many times Daz and whoever else
had fucked him.  The big forward was loving it, grunting steadily with my
thrusts, his arsehole gripping my cock like an oiled rubber grommet.
Taking a firm grip on the flanks of his sodden rugby shirt, I started
thrusting steadily, squelching into him, and relishing the feel of his arse
on my cock.  He might not have been tight, but he really did feel great,
and my fucking was soon building in intensity, my thrusts speeding, up my
climax building as I slammed into him hard.  I felt like I owned his arse,
I wanted to take a belt to it and strap him to raw welts, I wanted to fuck
him, shove my cock so deep into him it came out of his mouth, and for a
moment I remembered the pain of his knee smacking me in the eye socket.  I
remembered his stinking arse on my face, his fishy sperm in my mouth, his
fist in my mush, and his big, long, hard cock screwing the arse off me.
The recollection urged me on to fuck him even harder, to fuck him as hard
as he'd just fucked me, buggering the cunt fucking daft. With a snarl, my
ploughing increased, and he began to respond, my thrusts forcing a few
deep, muffled grunts as I slapped against his arse and felt my balls,
knocking against his like a quad of king sized conkers.

My shoving, plunging cock started to get an aggressive, pleasured response
from him, rubbing against his prostate, and he I was chuffed to sense he
was beginning to enjoy it, he was taking me aggressively, using my cock for
his own pleasure as much as I was using his arse for mine.  I could sense
the back of his thighs tensing up as he began to wriggle his arse and let
out a few deep grunts in answer to my thrusting and eventually a gasping
moan.

"Go on, ya fucking cunt!" he huffed beneath me,

"Give it some fuckin' welly!"

I obliged him, and shagged him harder, nearly slamming his thick head into
the lockers, letting him grunt and sweat and wriggle against my cock's
assault on his backside.

"Go on boy!" he coaxed,

"Harder, I can take it harder than that",

"Go on, fuck me like you mean it lad!"

"Go on lad, you've gorra a big enough cock, now use it"

"Oh shit!, that's it son, go on, harder!"

His coaxing was quickly bringing me near to what was going to be an
incredible climax, bushing aback against me aggressively to meet my
thrusts.  My head was swimming with just how fucking good this was.  I
could feel my climax very quickly building up from deep within me as I
plunged onward. In absolute bliss between his thighs.  I grabbed onto the
stirrups of his jockstrap to keep him still, letting them dig into his fat
arse, steadying him like I was holding the reins on a shire horse.  I
continued to screw the bastard, rougher and harder, forcing the grunts from
him, trying to make the big animal moan, striving urgently for my climax.
It didn't take long.  A few more hard thrusts and I felt the spunk tingle
in my balls and the spreading glow of a climax coursing through me from the
root of cock to spread down to my toes.

Heart thumping, and my eyes closed, muscles ridged, my entire existence
focussed on my cock, and the feel of Trev's arse, I came.  At long
exquisite last, I reached the climax of my life.

"Arghhhhhhh!!!"

For a brief moment I saw stars.

I could feel my muck shooting out of my dick, flooding Trev's arse with a
few strong squirts and my climax crashed through me with violent intensity.
Floating back to earth, I snorted with the absolute ecstasy coursing
through me.  The peak of pleasure and intensity ebbed, and then I relaxed,
the complete physical release of climax accomplished.  It was one of the
most intense I'd ever experienced.  My cock was still squirting into him,
the shudders still shivering through me, up my spine and down to my toes,
the warm cosy feeling of coming spreading from my groin and tingling
through every fibre of my body.  The shudders passed, and the calm bliss of
post ejaculation came in soothing waves.  I could feel the last dregs of my
sperm running out of my prick and l let Trev's arse milk them out of me for
a few moments.

My legs were trembling and I was slightly unsteady on my feet as I
withdrew.  I looked down to watch as my cock slipped out of him, with a wet
sloppy squelch.  He'd been fairly clean, there was just the slightest
brownish tinge to the lube coating my softening dick.  I noticed Trev's
well shagged hole stayed open, gaping for a moment as he slipped free, the
forest of hair in the crack matted and slicked down with lube, and a few
milky drops of semen were already oozing from his arsehole.  I extracted
myself from between his big hairy thighs, our sweat soaked limbs sliding
against each other before the warm contact broke.  Fuck me, I'd needed
that.

I was hardly clear before Trev reared up and nearly threw me off his back
like a bucking bronco.  He turned round, his face red and sweaty, snarling
and growling.  He vigorously rubbing his arse, before leaning back on the
cold metal of the lockers, still panting and trying to cool himself down.
I noticed his enormous cock was erect again, almost fully hard.  I had a
great deal of satisfaction from realising he'd enjoyed me fucking him, that
it had aroused him and given him another hard on.  He fixed me with his
hazel stare, half angry with me and half pleased with me.  Spitting onto
the floor, still cooling off his arse on the lockers, he nodded at my
slowly softening cock.

"Well tha knows how to use that fuckin dick o' yours duntcha?" he panted.

"I've never had any complaints!" I threw back, hardly knowing what to say
in the circumstances.

"Tha's a cheeky bleeder son.  Still, tha certainly know how to fuck a
bloke."  He eased up, and broke into a grin.

"Shit, it were good was that young un.  I dunt mid takin' it here n' there
off a lad who knows what ee's doin."

"I do me best.  That were great mate, I'd been hopin' you were gonna let
me!" I told him honestly.

Trev gave a long suffering nod of agreement, and started to strip off his
sodden strip, still wincing and rubbing his sore behind.  He grimaced, and
farted loudly, a wet sloppy, spunky rasp.

"Fuckin' hell!" he commented, reached behind himself and wiping a load of
oozing spunk and slime off his arsehole with his shovel mitt, before
spreading his palm to inspect his slippery discovery with an expression of
disgust, unable to resist a quick sniff before wiping his hand on his rugby
shirt leaving a big slimy smear.

"Come on you two dirty bastards.  Let's gerra shower afore everyone wonders
where we've got to."

I heard Daz chip in over my shoulder.  He was still sitting on the bench
legs wide apart, and had obviously been enjoying watching me fucking his
mate.  His brown eyes were twinkling and his face set in a dirty `cor!'
kind of leer.  He had his cock in his hand and it was clear he'd been
wanking as he watched.  His cock was half hard, floppy but full, like a fat
pink sausage.  It still looked intimidating at half mast.

"It were great watchin you lad.  I nearly shot me fuckin' load again
watchin' the two of you at it!"  He explained with a sly dirty grin.

"By heck, mate, I wish I'd had a fuckin' camera!"  I laughed and shook my
head as I chuckled at his shamelessness.

"Aye mate" I told, him.

"Tha could send `em in to League News!"

Daz laughed heartily.

"I dunt thinks so mate!" he dropped his cock and stomped over to the
showers, digging a couple of towels and bottle of shower gel out of his kit
bag.

"Come on men, I need me a pint and a kebab!  Let's get us shower and get
fuck off out of here before some cunt starts wonderin' what were up to."

I was ready for a shower.  I felt grungy all over from sex and rugby, and
Trev was busily stripping off to get cleaned up too.  He was a flurry of
activity, ripping off his strip.  He pulled his wet smelly rugby shirt off
over his head, pulled off his pads and started to ease his Litesome down.
He staggered a little, clumsily trying to untangle his completely filthy,
sweat, lube, spunk and mud soaked jockstrap from round his ankles with
about as much finesse as I'd managed.  He eventually succeeded and I
watched his socks and rugby boots coming off.

Watching Trev peel of his filthy black and red sock, I noticed he had a
tattoo on his left calf, just below a long, nasty looking scar over his
knee.  It was a big piece, a twining oriental dragon or maybe a gryphon,
being tantalisingly revealed as he clumsily wrestled his inverted sock of
the end of his big hairy foot.  It was a quality piece, multicoloured in
blue, red and green, with perfectly detailed scales, the dragon like
rippling torso winding from his ankle to just below the knee.  It must have
cost him a fortune and been agonising to have, done, probably over a few
sessions.  It was a work of art, which he'd always have hidden away
underneath his rugby strip on the field.  Despite having just had his cock
in my mouth, up my arse, and having just fucked him, it felt like the most
intimate revelation about Trev I'd experienced.  Next time we played
against his team, I knew it would be there, under his socks, a hidden
detail of an enemy prop forward, hidden depths none of my squad mates would
know about.

I was enjoying watching Trev strip and it gave me the chance to admire him
fully naked, in all his male glory at last.  He was shorter and stockier
than Daz, thick necked and even broader in the shoulders, just as heavily
packed with muscle but a bit fatter, yet hardly overweight.  His slight
layer of blubber was spread evenly over him, the extent of musculature
still obvious, with strong definition around his pectorals, and biceps, and
massive deltoids, his shoulders square and solid looking, but with the
beginnings of a belly.  He was densely hairy, exceptionally so for his
thirties, and even hairier than Daz, with Trev displaying thick sandy tufts
all over his strapping frame.  His chest and belly were covered with it,
thickening to give a dense bristly streak down the middle of his gut and
round his stomach and thickening again underneath into a sandy reddish
forest of curly pubic bristles.  His crotch was covered, as were his legs,
thick and curly up the insides of his massive thighs, the muscles of his
hydraulic piston quadriceps standing out proudly.

His big, muscled wrapped tattooed arms were just as hirsute, and his back
and shoulders, also showed a light dusting, curling up the back of his
neck.  I was already familiar enough with his arse to know how thickly
furry his backside was, likewise his bollocks, but I enjoyed discovering
the site of a patch of fluff on the small of back, in the dip of his spine
above his arse and the sandy fuzz up the flanks of his back, thicker just
under the shoulder blades.  Even the tops of his size 13 feet and the backs
of his hands were furred.  He had a fair amount of ink on him, if not so
heavily as Daz, and other than his secret dragon, he had large, nicely done
pair of intertwined growling tigers on each bicep, teeth and claws bared.
I glimpsed another colour piece: a wind rippling union flag on his
shoulder.  His long banana cock was calming down now, after his fucking,
and it was nearly soft again, his thick foreskin back sheathing the head,
still slimy with lube and my arse, and his thick curly pubic fur matted
down and glossy with gunge.  He was an incredibly horny looking bloke
naked, and It made me feel pretty satisfied admiring him, knowing that I'd
just fucked him.

Trev had noticed my lingering appraisal of his hairy, thickset body.

"What the fuck's thy lookin' at then grease monkey?" he leered at me, and
cupped his cock and balls in his big hand, and pushed his hips in my
direction.

"Want some more o' this does tha?" he offered, but cut short the
invitation.

 "Tha could do with a coolin' down lad, and I've summat for thee that'll
help wi' that!"

He squared up to me, freshly fucked, sweaty and stinking.  He grabbed my
shoulders and guided me down on to my knees in front of him, leaving me
level with his cock.  He grabbed the fat fleshy tube and aimed it at my
face and barked a brusque order.

"Open yer fuckin' mouth."

Like a lot of men, all the prostate prodding had made him want to piss, and
I knew exactly what he was going to do.  I had no objections.  I opened my
mouth wide to take it.

Trev had to concentrate to get his flow going through his still semi erect
dick, but the pressure of urine in his bladder soon found escape.  With a
loud sigh of relief he started to piss, a hot, powerful yellow stream of
strong smelling, heavily concentrated urine, flushing out his cock, and
gushing straight into my waiting gob.  The powerful stream spread, caught
me full in the face, getting in my eyes, and ears, soaking in my hair,
pattering and splashing down my body, the reek of ammonia strong and
pungent.  I swallowed the deep yellow liquid filling my mouth, tasting it,
caught unaware at how strong and bitter it was, as the heat of the pungent
spray shifted off my face and downward.

Trev started whistling merrily to himself, pissing onto me as if he were
using a public urinal, and continuing to soak me with his stream, emptying
his full bladder onto me, washing me down and spraying onto the changing
room floor, the hot liquid splashing over my chest, wetting the slight
dusting of hair and as he pissed downwards over my stomach, soaking me
thoroughly form head to foot with his stinking piss. The pressure behind
the jet of Trev's copious urine flow was impressive, and I could feel it as
it hit my skin. He used his cock like a hose to guide the gushing stream of
fresh, warm urine over me.  He was pissing like a racehorse after the Grand
National, keeping up full flow for half a minute.

I licked the bitter drops from my lips as he concentrated his stream
further down, the jet slicing through my pubes and pattering against my
cock.  The ammonia set the cuts on my eye and lip stinging again, but I
hardly noticed.  Trev's sloshing flow kept on, and he directed it at my
balls, trying to chase them around with his flow, like blue blocks in a
urinal trough.  The strong smell of his urine and the pattering of piss on
my cock was began to have an effect on me, the blood beginning to flow back
into my prick, starting an erection as Trev's stream finally began to ebb,
and eventually, with a last few squirts, he finished.  He leaned closer,
squeezing the last wet drops of piss from out of his foreskin.

"Lick it clean."

"That's it boy.  Lap up that fuckin' piss."

`No problem mate' I thought.  I couldn't resist wrapping my hands round the
back of his thighs, stroking up to gently cup his wet buttocks, enjoying
the feel of his hairy arse, before pulling his dangling, dripping cock
closer.  Tentatively I lapped up the last drops of his piss, accumulated
like yellow dew at the puckered termination of his foreskin.  Without
objection, Trev let my licking continue, circling, teasing, starting to
stroke up the shaft of his stinking, lubed, oily cock, before gently
gripping the tip of his foreskin with my teeth, nibbling slightly, before
slipping him into my mouth for a quick slurp.  He groaned, caught unawares
by the sudden warmth of my mouth on his dirty cock.  I continued to suck,
sliding his greasy, piss wet dick deeper in, sucking gently, the slime of
his dick smearing my lips, the combined tastes lively on my tongue.  He was
just starting to react, his thick tool beginning to fatten again, when Daz
broke the moment.

"Oi! Stop pissin' about you two! "

"Stop sucking him off, and get in here!"

Daz shouted, his voice a deep echo from the showers.  He set a few of the
heads running, the hiss of the shower spray hitting the tiles noisily, and
a few wraiths of steam began clouding the air.  Reluctantly releasing my
grip around Trev's hairy legs, and letting his cock out of my mouth,
dripping with his stinking piss I got up off my knees to get into the
showers.  Looking at Trev, there was something I had, to do, before he had
his shower.  I couldn't resist it.  I took hold of his thick furry forearm,
and lifted it up.

"What's tha up to now?" he grunted.  I got his arm up further, exposing
what I wanted.  His armpit.

Trev had figured out what I was interested in.  He locked his hand behind
his head, and flexed his muscles.  I could see them straining, his triceps,
thick biceps and pectorals, triple slabs of muscle meeting at the dank
hairy pit under his arm.  The fur on his chest and shoulders thickened up
into a mass of dank curls in his pit, a finer trail spreading up the inside
of his arm.

"Go on then son." Trev told me.

"'Ave a good fuckin' sniff!"

I could smell him as his arm came up, a hot male reek of testosterone,
strong and acrid.  Wiping his piss out of my eyes, I buried my face into
his armpit, the hairs wet and sweaty.  He was sodden in there, a pungent
overpowering smelly mix of unwashed armpit and fresh new sweat.  I got my
tongue out and had a really good lick, firm and flat tongued so I didn't
tickle him.  The acridity on my tongue was indescribable, his sweat sharp
and tangy.  He brought his arm down and locked my face into his armpit.  I
could feel the solid bulging of his powerful muscle around my head., and
locked into his pit I had a really good sniff of him, absorbed into his
overpowering stink.  He gave the top of my head a friendly rub with his
knuckles before he released me.  I had a gasp of fresh air.  It didn't make
much difference, my nostrils were still full of him.

"Come on young, get in there.  Time for another shower."

Looking forward to getting clean, I headed into the wet end of the changing
rooms, drawn by the welcome, hiss of the warm water and joining Daz in the
showers. Trev stepped in last after he'd produced his soap, after clumsily
delving through his rugby kit bag.  I found another hidden depth to him
when I saw the bar.  I'd never have pegged him as an Imperial Leather type
of bloke.

Quickly ducking in under the spray, I stood still and let if pour over me,
washing off my skin, the mud of the rugby field and the sweat of the sex
sliding of me.  It was absolutely fucking wonderful, hot and soothing, the
spray needling my skin.  I filled my mouth with water, and rinsed out the
taste of piss and ran a hand through my hair, rubbing out the grit and
grunge, and relaxed in the soothing warmth and moisture, my bruises and
aches from my current exertions eased by the stream.

I saw that Daz and Trev were slowly rubbing themselves down, washing their
cocks, and I had another good look at them in the shower, beautifully
naked.  They were a spectacular sight, their wet skin more reflective,
highlighting the contours of the muscles on their powerful frames.  The
rivulets of water cascading over Daz chased patterns through his body hair,
the thick fur on his pectorals looking glossier and blacker when wet.  Trev
was busy scrubbing out the crack of his arse using both hands, his face
screwed up in concentration as he scrubbed out the gunge.  For a brief
moment I felt strangely isolated standing there, in the wrong shower block,
without my teammates, but two relative strangers from an opposing squad I'd
just been having a right old shag with.  I still couldn't quite believe
what had just happened, what I'd just got up to with them, but I certainly
wasn't feeling any remorse.

Daz squeezed a gout of shower gel into his hand and caught my attention.

"What's tha doin' standing there on your own for mate.  Come over here." he
asked me, a gentle invitation, sincere and friendly sounding, and there
seemed to be a genuine warmth in his brown eyes as looked at me, wanting me
near to him, up close to his magnificent body.

Unsure what he was up to I moved up close in front of him, joining the
hefty prop by the other shower head.  Still half in the spray, he started
to soap my chest.  His calloused hands moved over my skin very gently,
using the gel to smooth his progress as he rubbed in gentle circles, over
my chest, and stomach, up under my arms, as he gently lathered my armpits.
He never met my eyes, but just looked at my body, examining every detail,
running his fingers around my nipples, examining them gently, continuing to
stroke my skin with his hands, the warmth of his touch and the gentleness
of his stroking making my skin tingle under his caressing palms.

As Daz continued his slow stroking, I felt Trev's enormous body close
behind me, near enough for my skin to feel the brush of his body hair.  I
was sandwiched in between them, the warmth of their bodies, surrounding me
like a pair of sturdy oak trees.  The smell of them was wonderful, the
stale acrid sweat was gone, and replaced with a clean fresh odour of warm
male bodies, a hint of soap with a natural fresh male musk underneath it.
I could feel Trev rubbing his bar of soap across my shoulders, before he
silently rubbed the suds over my back, carefully cleaning off the oily
residues of sweat and mud.  His hairy mitts soaped my arse, but there was
nothing overtly sexual in the way he did it, just slowly cleaning, his
fingers soaping the crack, and gently soaping the lube and semen out from
between my buttocks, cleaning my arsehole and caressing the cheeks with
slow even circling motions of his hands.

Daz was attending to my thighs, taking his time, rubbing away every streak
of mud on my legs, avoiding pressure on my bruises from the game.
Satisfied with my legs, he very carefully, with a fresh handful of shower
gel, cupped my balls and washed them.  He soaped my cock, and scrubbed
through my pubes with his fingernails, gently eking out the mess, then,
with a delicacy that belied his size and strength, eased my foreskin back
with his fingertips and soaped underneath, letting the stream of the shower
rinse away the suds, before sliding the fleshy fold back over my glans.
Unable to prevent it, my cock had enjoyed the handling, and the hefty
bodies of the men against me.  Despite having just shot my load, I was
getting hard again, my semi erection becoming slowly more pronounced.

Trev's strong hand were still working on my back, rubbing, feeling the
shapes of my muscles, and applying gentle pressure to sooth them His shovel
mitts rose up stroking up the outside of arms, to reach my shoulders, where
he began to massage the aching muscle, gently kneading the strained
tissues, easing away knots of tension with measured gentle pressure.  I
leaned back against him for support, my eyes closed, focusing on the
pleasurable sensations they were stirring over my whole body, so relaxed I
became a malleable lump of jelly in their stroking, rubbing exploration of
every inch of my physique.

It was absolute bliss.  I couldn't help letting out a contented moan of
appreciation, before Trev started to knead the back of my neck, from the
nape to the base of my skull, still firm yet gentle, soothing away the
tensions his fingers found.  Trev moved his attention back to my shoulders,
as I felt Daz's hand slip round the back of my neck, and pull my head
toward him.  To my initial surprise, I felt his lips briefly brush against
mine, before his warm mouth pressed over me, and I instinctively opened
wide with a groan of pleasure as he slid his tongue slid deeply in.

He was gentle at first, slowly probing the inside of my mouth, our tongues
wriggling together, as he explored everywhere, licking under my tongue, the
roof of my mouth and the insides of my cheeks.  He gently probed the slight
cut his fist had opened on my lip, and when he felt that I wasn't
flinching, increased the vigour of his kiss.  His snogging increased in
tempo, faster, more urgent, his tongue wriggling insistently against mine.
I passed the snog back to him, pushing my own tongue past his to invade his
mouth, inhaling his hot breath as I kissed him back, my rubbing tongue
teasing, licking his teeth, gently probing the gaps from his two missing
teeth, knocked out either in some past rugby tackle or pub brawl.  I left
the gummy voids alone and concentrated on his tongue and wrapped my arms up
around his broad, strong back, locking myself around his broad, muscle
heavy chest, squeezing him closer, as our faces meshed together, feeling
Daz's coarse dark stubble rasping on my skin.

I felt Trev's tongue behind me as I carried on snogging Daz, slowly licking
up the back of my neck, teasing gently with long slurps, his tongue flat on
my skin.  I could feel the coarse sandy stubble of his beard bristling on
my skin, almost raising goose bumps.  It felt great.  Trev continued
teasing, running his tongue up past the side of my jaw, licking my stubble,
before his slipped the pink tip of his big tongue into my ear, slowly
licking, wiggling, sucking my earlobe, then probing his tongue back in
deeply.

He'd found a weak spot.  My ears have always been sensitive, the nerves
there somehow connected all over me, the licking sending a delighted shiver
through my whole body.  Daz's hand had found my cock again as our tongues
continued delving into each others hungry mouths.  He held my dick firmly
in his soapy grip and started rub, no longer washing, but wanking.  Still
snogging, my half erection quickly grew in his grip, inflating, again,
hardening, my balls tightening, and my cock was soon sticking up again like
a coach bolt, rock hard again in his firm rubbing grasp.  I'd only shot my
load minutes before, but what they were doing to me was so horny, I just
couldn't help it.  I wasn't the only one getting aroused again.  I could
feel Trev's cock, dangling and rubbing between my soapy buttocks, becoming
firmer between them, starting to rise, and pressing insistently into me.

Daz broke away from our snog, and our eyes met, an inch apart, the deep
brown lightly flecked with chestnut flashes up close, twinkling and
beckoning.  He pulled back, and still holding my cock, edged me to one side
as Trev shifted himself in between us, grabbed Daz's ears, and pulled him
near, their mouths meeting in a firm snog.  Daz let go of my cock, and I
squeezed out from between them, and backed up against the tiles, redundant
for the moment., but I knew I would enjoy watching them.  They wrapped
themselves together, wet body hair sticking to each other, muscles rubbing
together, and got stuck into each others faces, snogging like a couple of
teenagers on the back seat of the Saturday afternoon town bus.  I could see
their tongues delving into each others mouths, their chins bashing, and
sense the friction of beard and stubble, as they slurped and snogged,
greedily and urgently.

It was mesmerising, watching them, big heft forwards wriggling together
under the spray of the shower, wet and water beaded..  Daz reached up to
rub the back of Trev's shaved head; feeling the stubble with his hand.
Both of them were nearly erect, their cocks brushing and slapping together,
before Trev reached down between Daz's legs to grab his large balls,
rolling them in his hairy hand, before grabbing his thick cock, and rubbing
firmly with his big mitt.  Daz was soon up again, that big thick cock of
his hard and jutting in Trev's wanking grip.  I saw him reach for Trev's
massive cock, already back up to its full spectacular curved length, and
the two burly men began slowly wanking each other, sliding their foreskins
back and forth over their cock ands and rubbing their soap lubed lengths, a
few soap suds foaming around the tips.

I was already stroking my own stiff cock as I watched them, tickling under
the tip with my fingers, horny as fuck again from watching them, and adding
to my own arousal with a slow teasing of the underside of my shaft.  The
drops of shower water at the tip of Trev's dick began to look larger, and
more clinging, as a large drop formed at the tip, to trickle downward in a
glutinous string.  I realised his precum had began to flow again, dripping
steadily.  I wondered where it all came from.  My cock twitched hard at the
sight, and it triggered my own flow, nothing in comparison to Trev's
copious dribbling, but enough to bring a familiar slickness to the tip.

Slowly wanking, relishing the sight, I watched Daz and Trev continue
snogging.  They let go of each others cocks, the string of precum still
dangling from Trev's prick, and began grasping at each other, feeling each
others strong bodies, wrestling like a bears, the intensity increasing.
They were well into each other.  I saw that Daz had been oozing too, his
own fat pole beading with clear drops at the tip, a fine strand carrying a
single drop on the end slowly falling from the eye of his penis.  Hugging
onto each other, mouths still connected they kept at it, hungrily trying to
suck the faces off each other, their groins grinding together, their large
pricks, twanging against the other, brushing against their thighs.  Trev
started to grind his crotch against Daz, and the big prop forwards pressed
close up together, their cocks trapped between them, pressed flat up
against their hairy bellies.  The slurping and grunting of their snogging
increased, Daz's brawny arms hooked around Trev's hairy back.  Their groins
parted for a moment, and I saw their precum had had smeared over each
others dicks, a few strands clinging in the thick hair of Trev's bollocks.

The two men broke apart, hungry looking and greedy for more.  Their
erections were still levelled at each other, twitching, the tips twitching,
just inches apart with a long, fine glistening sting of precum hanging
between the eyes of their cocks. Momentarily like a rope bridge.  Daz
pushed Trev around by his hefty shoulder and his hands had a quick roam
over his hairy, tattooed back, then roamed down his spine, down to his arse
for a quick grope of his meaty, furry buttocks.  Trev bent over, and
squatted down, his thighs splayed, resting himself on his knees, hunkered
over into his scrum position.  Daz found the soap on the floor of the
shower, and rolled it in his hand, working some lather on to his mitt
before spreading it all over his cock.  He took hold of Trev by the
shoulders, and shuffled down behind him, in a naked imitation of my second
row's position in the scum behind the big prop.

Daz saw me, still wanking, watching them with enormous relish.  He gave me
dirty `watch this' wink, before reaching down to position his cock, wedging
it in between Trev's buttocks.  The big man was still in scrum position,
bracing himself for what he must have known was coming.

Daz thrust, and slipped easily into Trev's arse again.  Trev winced, but
held still, letting his mate fuck him, a fresh drip of precum swinging off
the end of his dick.  Daz began to shaft him steadily, sliding in and out
with ease, letting me watch his cock effortlessly gliding into and out of
the big man's arse.  Daz began thrusting harder, making Trev grunt, and his
body started slapping up against him they screwed.  Watching the two big
hairy props fucking in the showers in front of me was a great sight, one to
remember for the rest of my life, and just about the horniest thing I'd
ever witnessed.  I could easily have wanked off watching them, but I was
determined to save it.

Daz was really ploughing Trev now, slamming into him, buggering him hard
and deep, the force of his thrusts sending Trev's hairy belly quivering and
his long, hard cock swinging with the impact.  He was still hunkered over
in a scrum down position, his face screwed up in a pleasured snarl.  For a
big man, Trev really loved being fucked, eagerly pushing his arse back to
take his mate's cock, groaning with pure lust and pleasure as he took it
ever deeper.  It was mesmerising, watching the steady progress of thick
cock into hairy arse, Daz drawing back far enough to give me a good glimpse
of his dick as it penetrated anally, far into Trev's warm tight butt.  Daz
grabbed Trev by the shoulders to steady him, still in his scrum position,
keeping him still to take it harder.  Daz's thrusting changed tempo, and I
found myself wanking in pace with his change of thust, slamming in hard,
then slowly drawing back before sticking it to his mate again.  He wasn't
half giving him one, Trev's bollocks swinging between his spread thighs
like a pair of hairy clock weights.  Daz's efforts had really begun to make
Trev grunt, taking his shafting with the same relish I'd seen him show with
Daz earlier, and the same aggressive enthusiasm he'd shown when he'd let me
fuck him.

"Oh yeah, go on..."

Trev rasped, the soap they were using as lube begin to whip up a fine
frothy lather, the suds foaming up on Trev's hairy butt and Daz's large
slapping balls.  Trev was grippin his thighs hard, keeping himself hunkered
down, hard on merrily swinging, and the steam of the showers curling round
them, going at it like a pair of Staffordshire bulls in a farmyard.

"That's the ticket pal!"

"Oh go, please mate, go on, more!"

"Harder you bastard, go on, fuck me hard!"

"Go on..."

Daz was red faced again, his features contorted with the effort he was
putting into his screwing.  He was saving himself though and looking over
at me with a grin, my hand still tossing myself off, his thrusts began to
slow down.  He gave Trev another last few last hard thrusts, but slipped
out of him without coming.  Trev eased himself out of scrum formation,
raising himself up briefly on the tiptoes of his enormous haiy fett to let
his mates cock slip out off him, with `phew' of relief.  The quick shafting
had really got Trev going again, his cock as hard as before, its long
curved length taut and wet in the shower, angry looking, dripping and
definitely in need of urgent attention. Trev turned toward me, his hazel
eyes catching mine, his face set in a leer of fresh lust.  I no doubt he
was my turn to pleasure him again and he was looking at me with a glazed
look of carnal desire.  I'd no objections to that: He was a horny
sight. The shower spray had clinging in his body hair, glinting droplets of
moisture sparkling amongst the fur.

"Cor!  Tha looks good enough to eat young un!" he growled at me, horny as
hell from having taken a quick bit of cock up his bum.  He reached out for
me, like a grizzly bear in heat.

Trev found me ready for him.  I was keen to get stuck back in with them.
Watching them had and wanking had got me anxious to get back into the game
instead of standing on thetouchlines.  He let go of my cock, and grabbed a
hold of Trev, my arms struggling to reach round his massive chest and
muscled shoulders, He pulled me close in a tight bear hug, the thick wet
sandy hair coating his body sticking to me, the hard muscle of his torse
and pectorals pushing firmly into me in contrast to the warm softness of
his hairy belly pushing against my stomach.  His thick fur was arousing and
tickly, his chest hair mingling amongst my own fine dusting, sticking us
together like Velcro.  His mouth crashed against mine, slurping and eager
for a good snog.  This was more of a tongue wrestle than a snog, hard angry
and desperate, his long tongue pushing in, hungrily, nearly sticking down
my throat, our teeth clacking and our mouths slurping and biting.  His cock
had slipped between my thighs, and pressed up firmly between my legs,
splitting my bollocks, each nut hanging down to straddle the sides of
Trev's mighty shaft like pink saddlebags.  I grabbed his big firm hairy
arse with both hands, pulling his hips into mine to grind his crotch into
my own.

He pulled back, his tongue slipping from my mouth, spit clinging between
our lips, before he wedged his mitt under my jaw, crouched down and started
to lick my exposed neck.  Working down further, his tongue slavering over
my collar bone, he worked his way down to my nipples, licking and sucking
each one, before giving the nubs a gentle bite, nipping the fleshy mounds
between his canines.  Lowering to his knees, he grabbed hold of my cock and
squeezed it, using his milking grasp to force a drop of glistening precum
from my cock,

"Horny young fucker aintch?  Ready for more is tha?" he growled, examining
my cock roughly, his calloused hands pleasuring my dick, making me twitch.

Trev gave my shaft another good hard squeeze, before licking it greedily
from the tip to the root, the touch of his tongue ecstasy on my sensitive
glans, still tender from fucking him.  He gave my balls a good lick,
dealing one with one tight nut, followed by the other before lapping at
both together.  Wedging his head between my legs, his short beard and
shaved head, rasping between my thighs, he sucked my balls hard, until they
flopped into his mouth with a sucking plop.  With my cock pressed over his
face he continued sucking them, leaving me enjoying the sensation and
trepidation that he might well decide to bite them off.  He rolled my balls
around his mouth with his tongue, wresting a few involuntary pleasured
groans from me, pressing them up against the roof his mouth, with my
scrotum scraping sharply against his teeth.  Satisfied, he spat out my
bollocks, and turned his attention back to my cock, unceremoniously
swallowing it and sucking hard.  He began to bob his head, slipping my
shaft through the tight ring of his lips.  I was loving it.  I'd only shot
minutes before but these two horny bastards had me wanting more already.  I
knew it was crazy, mucking about with hem in the showers, but I certainly
didn't want it to stop.

Grasping Trev's head, I began to thrust gently into his hot greedy mouth,
looking down to see his sandy skinhead bobbing between my legs, his massive
hairy tattooed shoulders and the length of my shaft slipping repeatedly
into his mouth.  It was a fabulous sight and feeling, with the big prop on
his knees, pleasuring me just as well as Daz had done earlier.  Trev was a
skilled cock sucker, and his tight lips and busy tongue had me in groaning,
wriggling raptures.  He began to take me in deeper, leaving me moaning,
silently thanking him as I enjoyed the thrill of him pressing my cock deep
into the back of his throat.

I found out that Trev had another trick up his sleeve.  His sucking slowed
and he seemed to contort himself bending his neck, holding me still by the
hips, and he eased forward, and I felt my glans slide past the obstruction
at the back his throat and move further down into him.  Christ all fucking
mighty!  The cunt was only deep throating me!  He kept on, his lips still
moving down my shaft until they were around the root of my cock with his
nose buried in my pubes, and his beard scrubbing against my balls.
Somehow, though I could feel the constrictions of his throat as he gagged
slightly, he was still sucking.  It felt great, having my cock totally
engulfed by his body again, nearly every part of it in contact with his wet
mouth and oesophagus.  It was a completely different sensation from having
it plunged in up his arse.

With my cock down his throat, Trev began gently humming, making his larynx
tremble, the vibrations spreading through his mouth and through the head of
my dick lodged in there.  It was an indescribable sensation, like a
miniature buzzing climax in the tip of my prick.  He could only hold it for
a few moments, before he wrenched himself back, choking and coughing
loudly, sliding my uncomfortable dick out of his throat.  He gasped for
air, looking extremely proud of his achievement.

"Nice one mate!" chipped in Daz, evidently impressed, catching my eye with
a look that told me he knew exactly what it felt like to have Trev do that
to you.

"Cheers mate! That were bleedin' incredible!" I told him with sincerity,
resting my hands on his beefy shoulders.

"Yeah, well, I fort tha might like that!"

"Think tha knows it all you young un's, but I can teach thee a few new
tricks!"

I bet he could.  He was, hocking and clearing his throat, his huge cock up
at full length again, looking like a fleshy, veiny truncheon sprouting from
the thick hair in his crotch. His grin turned diabolical.

"Right than young un." he announced, deep and stern.

"Now lets see if tha likes this!"

Trev rose up off his feet, a broad, stocky looming giant in front of me
again.  He grabbed me and effortlessly pushed me round to face the mildewed
tiles of the shower wall, my cock sliding pleasurably against the smooth
ceramic surface.  Finding his soap on the floor, he rubbed the bar between
my buttocks, deep into the crack, smearing a good layer of suds onto my
arsehole.  I knew what was coming.  He wanted to fuck me again, and I knew
I wasn't going to object.  It'd be good having me up me, I was fully
aroused again, horny and willing, and ready to take another fucking off
him.

He dropped the soap, satisfied I was done, and I felt his thickly muscled,
hairy arms locking under mine pushing me into the shower wall. His cock
appeared between my cheeks, sliding up and down, as he started to thrust
gently, wanking his cock in the crack of my arse.  He started to nibble on
my ear again, chewing and exploring as his long shaft continued rubbing,
his hips pulling back, ceasing to rub and trying to push in.  I wasn't
going to stop him, and with his 18 stone on top of me, it wasn't as if I
had a choice anyway.

"Time to take a bit more son!" Trev growled into my ear, his hairy forearms
tense at the sides of my head.

"Im gonna enjoy a bit more of your arse boy!"

Resigning myself to another fucking, I tied to relax my hole against the
onslaught I knew was about to begin.  I was left waiting for it as Trev
couldn't quite get his angle right, despite me pushing my arse out to help
him, and my soapy crack sending his long cock slipping between my legs or
up my back with his prodding thrusts.  Saving Trev from the inconvenience
of untangling himself from me, Daz stepped in to offer a helping hand.  He
swatted Trev lightly on the back of the head.

"Useless pair of cunts the both of you."  he commented, amused at our
unsuccessful attempt at buggery.

"Here. I'll get that mate."

Daz reached between us, and taking hold of Trev's cock, he carefully guided
his long prick into my arse.

"That better then?  I could feel Trev glans firm against my hole, perfectly
aligned in Daz's hand.

"Thy in yet mate?"  I felt my sphincter open as my ring stretched taut on
his blunt head.

"Aye, that's it Trev, thy's in him now..."

 Trev thrust firmly and I felt my arsehole open, as the head of his cock
slipped in.

"Phowarrr! That it! I'm in!"

"Cheers pal!" snorted Trev.  I grunted noisily with feeling of him
penetrating me again,, sliding in, pushing forward, easing in the first few
inches.  I was opened up well from the early fucking, but it still hurt,
sharp and digging into my sore, ragged arsehole, the soap thankfully
providing adequate lube with me well opened up, but it was slightly
irritating, against the sensitive lining of my arse.  Not that Trev was
bothered.  He continued to ease in slowly, taking his time, less brutally
than when he'd shafted me before.  Gritting my teeth, I tried to relax my
arse, and enjoy it, waiting for the initial sharp sting of penetration to
pass as Trev's stroke increased.  He was slower in his thrusting this time,
more even in his thrusts, pulling himself out, until just the strawberry
head was left in, then up again, until his pubes pressed up to my arse and
his heavy balls squashed up behind mine, with the warm shower water running
over us.  He continued taking long deep slow thrusts, letting me feel his
full length, every inch of it, in and out.  I could even feel the veins on
his cock and the shape of his head rubbing through my sensitive hole.  I
could make out the curve of his shaft in my arse, the arc sliding the head
against the wall of my gut.

"Fuckin lovely!" Trev told me as I stuck out my arse for his thrusts.

"Worra a fuckin' nice backside you've got boy!"

"I could fuck you for days son!"

His deep invasion of my rectum was the same as last time, his cock long
enough to uncomfortably prod into my guts, the long pole sliding through
the full depth of my rectum and working into my colon.  At least I was more
used to it by now.  The standing position increased the pressure of the
long shaft impaling me against my prostate, which started rewarding my body
with a bowel deep pleasurable warmth.  The thrusting behind me got harder
and deeper, Trev's aggression mounting as his second climax got nearer.  He
kept at it, beginning to hammer away, thrusting contentedly into me for a
couple of minutes, maintaining a steady rhythm, wresting a few deep moans
of appreciation from me, my stiff, throbbing cock sliding against the tiles
as he fucked me, up against the shower wall, wedged in between his weight
and the wet mildewed tiles.

"Go on you cunt, I can take it!" I told him, getting a few double hard
thrusts in response.

"Oooof!  Fucker!  Go on then, give me one, fuck me harder!" I grunted,
feeling the pace of his screwing increase and the force of his lunges up my
arse growing.

Trev was really humping away at me, another proper shafting, buggering me
hard and I took it with gritted teeth, his long cock wresting a lot of more
groans and grunts from me, and keeping me wriggling from the invaded
feeling in my guts.  Continuing to shaft me, his thrusts were getting
shallower and faster, with his arms keeping me tightly pinioned in his
strong bear hug.  I could feel his hairy belly pressing into the small of
my back, and his hairy thighs wetly rubbing against the back of mine as he
kept on screwing.

I soon heard his breathing growing heavier, his wet breath blowing into my
ear, and impaled and uncomfortable I was hoping he wouldn't last too long..
He unhooked one of his arms and his big hand grabbed the back of my hand
and pushed my face roughly into the tiled wall as he started growling into
my ear.

"Feel that can ya?  Like it does tha? Like my cock up thy arse?"

"Course tha does tha young cunt!"

"Like takin' a man's cock up ya dunt ya?"  His spit was dribbling into my
ear, and his thrusting was getting very hard now, sore and rough, paying me
back for the through dicking I'd given him.  I saw Daz standing at the side
of us, grinning like an idiot, legs spread and slowly wanking his fat cock,
loving every minute of it, watching me getting fucked by Trev.

"Go on mate, give him one!" he coaxed

"Blow yer fuckin' load up the cunt!"  From Trev's urgency up me, and
mounting tension of his burly physique pressing into me, I suspected I
hadn't much more to endure.  It was uncomfortable, but my cock was still
rock hard, and in my own way, I was loving getting it off him again.  Daz
kept up his coaxing, and he seemed keen for Trev to finish, probably so he
could have his own turn. I wouldn't say no to that.  I was already looking
forward to having Daz fuck me again before Trev had even finished.

"Go on Trev, fuck him, shoot thy fuckin' bolt!"

Daz's subtle endearments had taken their toll on the big man, and he I
could feel the shuddering in his body that told me he was about to come.
There he went.  Another couple of rough pokes, and he was coming again,
thrusting hard, pushing me up onto my tip toes and flattening me against
the shower wall with the strength of his final lunges.  With his last sharp
deep thrusts, I could feel cock digging so far into my gets I was sure I'd
up internally injured.

"Hurghhh!!! Fuck!, fuck, fuck..."  Trev groaned, gasping and grunting as he
filled my arse with more spunk.  I couldn't feel him squirting, but had a
feeling, despite it being his second load, my bowels would be awash with
his sloppy, fishy juices.  He finished with a few final, gentler thrust,
then pulled out, wresting an involuntary yelp from me, as his prick slid
clear.  Panting behind me, he released me from his bear hug, and before I
could recover slapped my arse hard, and gave my bruised buttocks an
appreciative grope.

"That is one nice arse lad!" he told me, with warm appreciation.

 "I could get used to that son!"

"Oh aye?  Well I don't fancy what be left of my arsehole if you did!" I
threw back at him, sore yet satisfied.  I'd enjoyed getting fucked by him
again, and after the great time he'd just let me have up his arse, it was
only fair.  I was still hoping I might get my chance at fucking Daz if we
were having a second round.  I was more than interested to see what he'd be
like to fuck, how he took it.  I gave me sore backside a soothing rub and
gingerly probed me arsehole.  I had a quick look at my fingers.  At least I
wasn't bleeding, but I felt like I ought to be.  Bloody hell, Trev hadn't
half ragged my hole.  My ring piece felt a bit swollen and it was rather
sore with heavy use.  I resolved to buy some ultra soft bog paper on
Monday.  I'd be needing it for a week.

"I'll have an arse like a bucket by tomorrow morning'" I told Trev, seeing
him relaxing under the shower with the smug look of his second round of
post orgasmic satisfaction.

The men gave their usually guffaw in response, deeply amused by my honesty.
I've never had much in the way of airs and graces, always having a mouth
faster than my brain, and this wasn't the sort of situation for false
manners.

"You're a cheeky cunt lad!" sniggered Daz.

"Aye but he's is a great fuck Daz!" Trev added, looking at me with a `see
how I stuck up for ya' twinkle in his hazel eyes.

"So he is mate!" agreed Daz.  Trev gave me a fatherly nod of approval.

 "I didn't half enjoy that boy.  Not many I wanna do twice in a row son."

Trev relaxed back under the shower head, still looking rather smug and
satisfied, and began sluicing himself off again, relaxing under the spray
which was damping down his thick sandy body fur, the saturation emphasising
its reddish tinge.  He was a great looking bloke.  If you're going get
fucked, Trev was a prime specimen to get fucked by.

And while I was thinking about prime specimens, I found myself with another
one staring at me with his brown eyes.

"Suppose tha'll be wanting another go n' all then?" I asked him.

"Yes please mate!!" he responded, delighted with me.

"By fuck, but yer a randy cunt lad!  I were hopin' you'd be up for o' bit
o' this sort o' thing sometime son, but yer a fuckin dream.  Can't believe
me luck mate!  Yer fuckin' good to look at too mate.  Nice fuckin body on
thee.  Nice cock n' all."

Daz was watching me intently, and I started wanking my dick, its throbbing
insistently reminding me of its need to be handled again.  I enjoyed the
fact Daz was looking on.  I started wanking in earnest, keeping it steel
hard, hopefully reminding Daz I wouldn't mind a second shot at one of their
mouths or arses, if they were having another go themselves.  Having already
had that great fuck with Trev, I was still hoping Daz would be willing to
let me have a crack at his backside.  Thinking about it was getting me even
harder than I was already, rubbing my perky cock, idly imagining I might
soon be feeling Daz's tight arse around my shaft instead of my fist.

I spat into my hand, and smeared the glob onto the shaft of my dick,
enjoying Daz watching me.  There was something strangely fulfilling and
intimate about wanking under the gaze of a relative stranger, normally the
most private of acts, and it felt good standing their, showing him how I
did it, what turned me, where my cock was the most sensitive.  The fact I
was doing it standing in the away team showers with the prop forwards from
another team who'd just beaten us on the field and buggered me senseless
afterward only added to the intensity.  Daz was as hard as I was, his thick
cock dangerous and ready for action, and I watched his hand closing around
his colossal rod, and he began wanking himself, slowly stroking his dick as
he watched me working on mine.

Daz moved closer, our cocks inches apart, and we continued wanking
together, Daz pulling purposefully on his fat shaft, our gaze locked on
each others bulging dicks, with the warmth of the shower spray wetting our
legs.  Daz's cock was certainly a beauty, and I had the chance to admire it
again, its incredible thickness, like a squat fleshy cucumber.  Watching
his thick foreskin rolling back and forth, the pucker at the tip peeling
back to show the smooth round tip and winking eye as he stoked his shaft
was mesmerising.  Daz reached toward me, pushing my hand off my cock, and
took hold.  It was a corking feeling having his hands back on me again.

He'd been watching my technique and wanked me the way he'd seen me doing it
myself.  He knew what he was doing, short hard strokes that rubbed my
foreskin over my glans and pulled it tight back, keeping a tight grip,
quickly pushing me toward my second climax.  Returning the favour, I took
hold of his cock, wet and warm, barely able to fully encircle its thickness
with my hand.  I stroked him firmly, enjoying having my hands on him,
trying to imitate his own technique, brushing my thumb against the tip of
his glans as my stroking exposed it from his foreskin.

Daz let go of my cock for a moment, pausing to spit in his hand for a bit
more lubrication on my cock, before he resumed his grip on my shaft, and I
felt it become more slippery in his pleasuring grip.  Daz's rubbing on my
cock was amazing, fast and firm.  The movements of his arm as he tossed me
off mad the muscles of his upper body flex, his big pectorals and biceps,
inflating and relaxing with the rhythm of his wanking.

"Fuckin' hell mate, that's bloody good!" I told him, rubbing him harder in
return.

"Tha's gonna have us cumin' again mate!" I warned him.

Daz said nothing, just grinned and started to rotate his hand around my
length, twisting as he took the stroke, setting a batch of new nerve ends
tingling. wresting a groan from me at the change in sensation.

"Fuck, that's doing it for me mate!"  I responded, unable to stop myself
beginning to gently thrust my hips forward, pushing into his tight grip.
The pleasure that his hand was bringing to my cock, began to spread, my
whole groin tingled with erotic sensation as Daz continued to stroke me.
We started wanking each other off faster, cocks sliding in each others
hands.  Still intently focussed on his prick, I noticed the wetness at the
end, and the clear drip that told me his precum had started flowing again.
It began to ooze as we were tossing each other, the stroking of my hand
wiping it from the tip and smearing over his pulsating pole.  My own cock
felt even harder, and I was starting to twitch in his grasp, my balls
feeling tight under me.  I watched his hand on my shaft, still gently
thrusting to meet his strokes, imagining it was his arse.

As much as I wanted to fuck him, I was getting so near in his hand, I'd
have been quite happy to let him finish wanking me off.  Standing so close,
I knew my spunk would slop out all over his cock and balls, or his thighs.
I had a quick mental image of how his leg would look, with my fresh spunk
on it, clinging to the dark hairs.  I thought about my spunk spurted like
wall paper paste all over his cock, with me finishing wanking him with my
own fresh spunk for lube, smeared all over his prick, getting under his
foreskin.  That thought nearly finished me off on my own.

Daz's busy hands between my legs were bringing my second climax closer by
the second, and I could tell from the tension in his body that my
attentions were having a similar effect on him.  We were both beginning to
grunt, each others hands prying involuntary groans from each other.  It
became a competition, trying to hold back while making the other shoot,
trying to wrest a groan out of each other, trying to make each come,
speeding up our wanking of each other.  I was getting very close to coming
and the big forward didn't seem far off himself.  Looking up to meet his
stare, his brow was furrowed with a funny expression, as if trying to
concentrate down his arousal, and hold off his climax.  My own attentions,
still stroking away at him were making him very tense, and up close I could
see the packed muscles of his body flexing, the shape of them swelling
under his hairy skin as his second wad of spunk prepared to fire.

"Whoa, steady mate" Daz announced, beginning to pant.  He dropped his hold
on my cock and pushed his arse out backwards, slipping his cock quickly out
of my grasp.

"I dunt wanna come just yet." he explained.

He wasn't about to leave me alone though, and his hand reached for my balls
instead, grabbed them roughly, and he started having a good grope.  I
grunted with enjoyment and spread my legs a bit wider to help him.  He
began to rub my balls firmly, rolling them around with his palm.  I didn't
want to feel left out, so reached between his thick thighs to have a good
feel of his bollocks.  I was looking forward to this, getting my hands on
his nuts to have a good play around with what had recently pumped a load of
muck up my hole.  I cupped his enormous testicles in my hand.  It was great
getting my hands on them.  They were drawn up quite tightly, and the
wrinkled skin of his sack stuck to my palm.  I closed my hand around them.
What a fucking beautiful pair of bollocks.  The big bastard had a truly
fucking huge pair of balls on him, big, hairy and heavy.  I remembered the
feel of them slapping against my arse when he fucked me.  Cupping them in
my hand, I slowly squeezed, admiring the size of his dense plums.

Daz was still rubbing my nuts, and we continued playing with each others
balls. I relished the sensation of having the big man by his bollocks,
tight in my grasp.  I had a feel of each nut again, rolling them round
between my thumb and finger, feeling each large ball individually in the
sack before grabbing a firm hold of them again.  Daz responded and stopped
rubbing my sack and established a firm grip, clamping my balls in his huge
hand.  Slowly I felt him begin to squeeze and increase the pressure.  I
returned the attention and started squeezing Daz's balls harder.  I was
surprised just how much pressure I could take and yet the feeling still be
enjoyable.  As the vice like grip on my balls grew, I increased the
pressure on Daz's big hairy bollocks in my own grip, which forced a loud
deep grunt from him, followed by more pressure on me.

"Bout fuckin' time someone had thee by the bollocks mate!" Daz commented
softly.

"An' I'm fuckin chuffed I'm the one to do it."

We were both standing stock still, very slowly increasing our squeezing.
This was developing into a competition.  It was a match between rivals,
players on opposing rugby team, seeing how much pressure we could give and
take from each other.  It was certainly putting a whole new slant on
possession of the ball.  I looked up and found Daz's brown eyes waiting for
me, his brow set and teeth gritted to take it, and give me back the same.
We squeezed harder.  I began pushing my middle finger up between his balls,
separating them in my grip and adding to the nut busting squeeze.  My balls
were throbbing with a dull ache, beginning to spread to the pit of my
stomach as we started to twitch and wriggle uncomfortably in each others
grip, pushing each other on, seeing how much testicle crushing pressure we
could take, hovering on the threshold between arousal and pain.  We were
both still rock hard, still enjoying it, and I was impressed how firmly I
could squeeze without making him flinch.  The bastard had balls of steel.
He grinned evilly and gave me a really rough, hard squeeze.

"Awwfff! FUCK!" I hissed through my tightly clamped jaw.

"Easy tiger!" I added.

That last squeeze had been just a bit more than I could take, the enjoyment
turning to a dull throbbing pain in my nuts.  Daz took the hint and let go
and released my balls from his clamping grasp.  Relieved, I released my
grip on his massive plums, relieved it hadn't turned nasty, Daz was still
leering at me with a good humoured expression.

"I allus said you had balls mate!"

Trev, still relaxing under the steamy spray, couldn't resist chipping in.

"Now then men! Play nicely!"

"Or I'll bang yer fuckin' heads together.  Pair of fuckin' nutters!"

Daz couldn't resist one last go however, and hooked his forefinger round
the back of my balls und used his thumb to make a tight circle round the
top of my sack, just under my hard on.  The bastard pulled down sharply,
popping my nuts through the fleshy circle.

"Oooof!!!!  Yer bastard, that fuckin' hurt!" I complained.  Daz chuckled to
himself, unrepentant.

"Nah, just a bit of fun mate!" he smirked, before giving my nuts a
conciliatory rub, with a `better now?' leer.  His hand cam round my head,
and pulled me in for a quick, warm snog.  I kissed back, a quick lick of
tongues before parted.

I saw that Daz was looking a bit uncomfortable, and he was squeezing
tightly around the base of his hard cock.  I wondered if I'd given his
balls a bit more attention than he'd found comfortable, privately enjoying
the thought.  He was still gently wanking, more slowly now, and he eyed me
with an intrigued look that made me feel uneasy.

"Christ, I need a fuckin piss!" he moaned, giving me a glare of evil
intent.  If he wanted me to drink his piss, he must have known that I'd do
it.  He must have enjoyed watching Trev hose me down, and fancied giving me
a bit of the same.  I always enjoyed that, getting hosed down, by a bloke
and the showers were at least a practical place for it.  I could almost
taste his piss in my mouth and feel it on me, wondering if it would be as
strong as Trev's.

"Ere's an idea.  I've a way to get all that spunk out of yer bum!" Daz
suggested.

"Oh aye?" I said, before I suddenly twigged.  He wasn't going to piss on
me.  He wanted to piss up me.  Interesting.

"Bend over mate." he suggested, gesturing with his thumb for me to get
myself back up against the wall.  The low growl in which he spoke made it
pretty clear this was something he really wanted to try.  I knew what was
coming.

"I wanna piss up yer fuckin' arse pal!"  Daz announced with relish.  `One
point to me' I thought.  I'd been right.

"All right then, ya bastard, I might as well give it a go."

Trev's interest had pricked up, and I noticed he was watching, fascinated,
still lazily soaping himself in the shower.  He handed Daz the soap, and I
watched him quickly lubing up his cock with plenty of Imperial Leather,
giving me a diabolical look.

I bent over, grabbing hold of the exposed shower pipe work, bracing myself
for what was coming, scalding my hand on the hot pipe before remembering to
grab the cold.  I suspected a mild scold would be nothing compared with
what I'd be getting next.  Daz got in position behind me, enthusiastic and
ready for a bit more action.  He kicked my legs a bit wider apart.

"Fuckin' spread `em pal!" he insisted, and then pulled up my hips to raise
my arse a bit higher, getting it perfectly in line with his cock.  This
would be a new one for me.  I'd never had this done to me before, or tried
it on anyone else, but if Daz wanted to, I'd take it.  No way was I going
show the cunt I was squeamish.  He pushed the tip of his dick in, and I
stifled a shout, flinching involuntarily.  It fucking hurt.  I was already
sore enough from Trev's repeat performance, and Daz's thick blunt head and
the sting of the soap momentarily felt like a hot poker, mercifully easing
to an uncomfortable throb.  Daz remained stock still, locked in position,
clearly concentrating hard.  It's not the easiest trick, pissing with a
full hard on, but most men can do it.  I soon found out Daz had no problem.

"There we go!  Fuckin' take it mate!"

I couldn't feel much at first, except humiliated, which Daz was probably
enjoying.  Then I felt the pressure growing in my guts, a strange sense of
getting filled up from the inside, not unpleasant, but not particular
enjoyable, just strange.  I soon heard a satisfied grunt behind me, Daz
announcing he'd satisfactorily emptied his bladder.  I felt brimming with
it, and his excess piss was already escaping my arse, which I felt in warm
streams down the insides of my legs.

Without warning, he shoved forward and buried his fat cock into my brimming
rear, sending more of my arseful of his piss to escape down my thighs.

"Ouch!" I protested!

"Oooof!  You fucking CUNT!" I moaned.  Daz just chuckled evilly, and gave
me a light swat on the back of my head.

"Don't tellus tha didn't know that weren't comin!"

"Shoulda know I were gonna fuck thee again into the bargain mate!"

His ring stretching lunge had brought a new stinging to my arsehole,
stretched wide once again to accommodate his width, and the internal
squelching of liquid churning in me was maintaining its strange sensation.
Daz thrust a few times, slowly fucking me in his own piss.  He could feel
it squelching about,up my arse, and leaking out down the insides of my
thighs with the intrusion.  I bet Archimedes had never thought of this.
Daz took a couple more thrusts before he pulled out, giving me the chance
of relief.  I took it, and contracted my guts, and disposed of his
impromptu enema, which came rapidly gushing out of my arsehole, a torrent
of piss and fuck knows what else that I could tell had splashed full over
Daz's thighs.  Serve the cunt right.  The relief was the most enjoyable
thing about it.

"Fuckin' hell!" I complained.

"Next time tha wants try that out on me, thy can bloody well bugger off!" I
told him, angrily pushing myself off the tiles.

Trev, evidently watching, commented, with mild amusement.

"Bloody hell!  You really are one dirty cunt Daz!" shaking his head
incredulously.

I was still scowling at Daz.  Dirty bastard.

Daz caught my look, nearly laughing.

"Come on mate, just a bit o' fun!  Tha's gorra try everything at least
once!"

"Aye.  And once is fuckin' enough!" I spat back.

"Steady on mate!  Tha looks like tha's thinking about having another swing
at me!  Dunt forget `im bigger n' thee!"

His humour was infectious as always.  I found myself smiling.  And looking
into his brown eyes again, he was keeping me horny.  I hadn't minded his
cock up me again.

"Tha shoulda seen t'look on thy face!"  Daz finished.  Cheeky bastard.

"Oi! hurry up lads.  I wanna get out of here and go an get pissed!" Trev
interjected, impatient as ever.  I turned round back into position, and
presented Daz with my sore arse.

"Well if tha's gonna fuck me, lets gerrit done with.  I'm with Trev, I need
me pint!" Daz laughed.

"Good lad! right then.  Lets have a bit more of that great arse of yours!"
he was growling again, his deep voice thick with lust.

"I'm looking forward to this mate! I Can't believe tha's gorrus so fuckin'
horny again so quick.  Yer a fuckin good un!  Got mesen a right fuckin'
hard on here, pal!""

His big hand grabbed me by the shoulder, as settled myself back round to
take another fucking.  I knew I'd need to be sitting on ice pack for a week
by the time he was done, but I was going to make the most of the
opportunity.  I liked having him up me, and I was still determined to work
things round to have a shot at fucking him back.  I heard the sudsy squelch
of Daz soaping up again behind me.  Without further ado, his hands tightly
grabbing hold of my shoulders and pushing me up against the wall.

"Right matey.  Time for another shafting!"

"Go on then you cunt.  I can fuckin' take it!" I told him.

He made me pay for that.  Daz barged his cock right back up my arse with a
loud satisfied grunt.  Same as before, full length with his first thrust.
I was ready for him, but couldn't help letting rip with a load bellow as I
took it.  I tried to relax my hole, readying myself for him as he started
to fuck me again, quick and hard, spearing me up the arse with his rampant
pole.  His grunts deepened, and brow down, he continued to shaft me, only
intent on shooting his muck, using my arse as a convenient rubbing hole for
his dick.  His fat cock felt absolutely fucking massive up my arse, that
immense thickness pressing into my prostate and I found myself starting to
enjoy it again, beginning to push back against him, needing more, wanting
him in deeper.  My cock was still fully erect, swinging merrily as Daz
slammed into me, grunting louder, enjoying my appreciative wriggling
against him.  I was determined to show him I could take anything he gave
me, show I enjoyed it.

Still busy up my arse, Daz let go of my shoulder, reached his brawny arm
round me and his soapy mitt found my cock.  He began rubbing me in time
with his thrusts.  I groaned with pleasure.  It felt good having his hand
on my cock again and I found myself in a building rhythm of thrusting
forward into his tight grip and pushing back to meet his incoming thrust.
I felt bloody good, and I was surprised how quickly I felt the familiar
sense of an impending climax spreading through my crotch.  Daz pulled me
away from the wall and I propped myself against the tiling, as he felt him
licking my ear, never loosing the pace of the screwing he was dealing out.
He continued wanking me off in time with his thrusts, his arm straining
over my shoulder for the reach around, my cock slipping through his tight
fist as his thick pole slipped through my tight ring.  He was still using
my own technique on me that he'd learned earlier, and with the dual assault
on prick and prostate, he had me wriggling and moaning for all I as I
worth.  There was no way I could last much longer, my balls already tight
up against my body, ready to slop out a fresh wad of spunk.

Daz wanted me to come, and coaxed me on.

"Go on mate, shoot yer fuckin' load." He thrust harder.

"Go on, you cunt, I wanna feel you shoot when I'm fuckin ya!"  his
thrusting was even deeper now, his balls audibly slapping against me, his
hand wanking me faster, harder.

"Come on, come on, empty thy bollocks, come on mate, let's see ya spunk."
With that I was there, point of no return passed, and a second almighty
climax built up, rolling through me.

"Go on mate!  Go onnnn!  Shoot yer spunk with me cock up yer arse mate, go
on, shoot!"

I shot.  Fucking hell, I shot.  A climactic shudder knocked through me,
intense and ecstatic and I relaxed with the familiar relief of coming,
while still feeling Daz's cock up me. Thick powerful wads of white spunk
squirted out of my cock, still abundant despite my earlier load up Trev's
arse.  I slopped out my balls, groaning like a stuck pig, with my spurting
cock in Daz's big hand, still getting hammered from behind, my seminal load
finally ending, sticky white strings hanging thickly from Daz's fingers,
and running down the tiles.  Daz was well pleased with having wanked me
off.

"Nice one mate!" he congratulated me, lifting me up my toes with a
particularly brutal thrust.

As I ebbed back from my climax, the heady pleasure faded into a strong
awareness of the soreness of my battered arsehole.  Daz, to my relief
pulled out.  I sensed he was keen to finish him, and could probably manage
it faster with his own attentions, then up my severely slackened arse.  As
I turned to face him, he pushed me straight down onto my knees in front of
him, hocked a good wad of spit into his rough mitt and with his crotch
smack in front of my face started wanking fast and hard.  His hand was
flying back and fort over his thick shaft with speed, lubricated with his
spit, soap and my latest load of spunk, his enormous tightened balls
swinging and bouncing to his wanking.  He was a spectacular sight looming
over me, brawny, hairy, dripping wet, and close to coming.

He was pushing his hips forward, near to my face and I imagined the sight
of the muscle in his hairy arse tensing up behind him.  I opened my mouth,
as I expected he wanted, reckoning he'd want to watch himself spunking into
my open waiting greedy mouth.  I soon got what I was waiting for.  I saw
one white bead of semen momentarily appear, at the tip of of his prick,
before he went rigid.

"Phwooarrr! `ere we go lad!"

"I'm comin! I'm fuckin comin!"

"Hurghhhh!"

Daz let rip with a bellow that announced he was coming to the whole of
northern England, and the seminal bead in the eye of his cock suddenly
disappeared in a hot, thick white spurt.  Trev was watchingly intently,
seeing the first few spurts of semen travel from his mate's prick into my
open mouth.  I loved the fact that Daz was still copious, a few good thick
squirts jetting out.  I managed to catch the first few slimy ropes in my
mouth, the last few drips landing on my chin and I waited with my gob open
until his climax had passed, his spurts stopped and I heard his loud sigh
of relief.  I felt his spunk, thick and sticky in my mouth, the taste heavy
and a lot sweeter than I'd been expecting.  I wanted to suck his cock, and
slurp out any spunk left in it, but he had other ideas.  Reaching under my
arm pits, he pulled me to my feet, still light headed with my climax,
effortless again with his immense strength, his face still red and flushed
from coming.  He held me up tight to him, locked in a powerful bear hug,
the coarse black hair on his chest tickling.

I caught the look of deep satisfaction in those brown eyes, as he loomed
in, his mouth on mine, and his tongue slid straight in, lapping round for
his sperm pooled in my gob, spreading it onto his tongue, tasting his own
come, the sweet cloying fructose of fresh semen.  I returned his snog,
tongues wriggling and smearing his slippery gunge round our mouths.  We
parted, swallowing hard, washing it down.  Daz ran his knuckles gently
under my jaw, brown eyes staring intently into mine.  There was a quiet
moment.  Nothing but the showers, and the beating of my heart and the
gentle brush of his spent, softening cock against my thigh.

The moment suddenly ended.

"Owwwww!  Fuck off!" roared, Daz, releasing me from his bear hug, turning
round like an enraged Rottweiler.  I realised that Trev, wet towel swinging
in his shovel hands had just given Daz a stinging flick on the arse.

"Hurry up you two daft buggers.  I've abaat ten pints o' bitter wi' my name
on `em waitin' for me!"

"Allreet, allreet, mate, were done!" Daz placated.  He gave me a last quick
snog, and ruffled my hair before letting me go.

"Thanks fer that mate!"

 I took a few seconds for a last contented rinse off, before I turned off
the showers, the air steamy, but rapidly condensing in the February evening
chill.  Trev was quickly towelling himself dry, the cool air raising goose
bumps and the ruffling of his towel had raised up the fur all over his
stocky body.  I had a good look for a moment, remembering the feeling of
his hairy arse on my cock.  Daz handed me a threadbare towel and I suddenly
clicked why he'd taken two out of his kit bag.  I was grateful for his
consideration.  I took it thankfully and dried off, very gingerly drying my
arsehole.  It was bloody sore, and felt about 6 inches wide, with a couple
of loads of spunk still up it.

I headed out of the showers, wet feet slapping on the floor, and glanced
round the changing rooms.  The floor was a bomb site, with dirty rugby
strips, shorts, boots, socks, pads and jockstraps strewn everywhere.  Trev
had found his dirty, stinking sweaty jockstrap on the floor, and I watched
him, grinning ear to ear, throw the sodden, muddy article at Daz.  It hit
him full in the face, with a wet slap.

"Arghh! Geroff tha stupid get!"

Daz chased after him, and they wrestled briefly, crashing into the lockers,
Trev laughing himself hoarse.  Settling down, they joined me on the rows of
benches, sat opposite, while we finished drying off.  Trev found a new
bottle of Lucozade in his kit bag and took a swig before passing me the
bottle.  He leaned back, belched loudly before lifting up one cheek of his
hairy backside from the bench and farting loudly.  His spunky arse still
sounded wet and sloppy.  I wondered if he could whistle a tune with it.  I
took a good swig of the chemical tasting brew, washing away the last
lingering taste of Daz's spunk, before handing the bottle to him.  Daz took
a few noisy gulps.  We were sitting silently, privately contented, but
there was a sheepish silence, none of us really knowing what the fuck we
should say again and we spent a few moments, butt naked and drying out all
our nooks and crannies, quietly listening to the drip of water from the
showers heads, echoing slightly in the changing rooms.

I've never much liked uncomfortable silences, so I opened my mouth to break
it.

"Bloody hell.  Never thought I'd end up getting a double mauling this
afternoon.  First on the pitch and then in here afterwards.  Well, at least
this maulin' was a bit more enjoyable than the one you gave us out on the
field!"

Daz nodded.

"I dunno mate.  I enjoyed `em both, but aye, this un `ere were pretty good
fun like.  Like I said, aint no better way to wind down after a game than a
good fuck.  Good thing tha's as good as fucking as thy is at fighting" Daz
rubbed his jaw where I'd belted him to make his point.

"I suppose so.  I'm not kidding though, I could `ave fuckin murdered you
both earlier.  I'll have a right fuckin' shiner tomorrow."  My cut eye had
resumed its steady throbbing, and I gave it a tentative rub.

Trev chipped in.

"Don't be so soft young un.  I didn't do that on purpose.  Honest.  You
just ran straight into me knee!  Anyhow, I bet you was lovin' it really.
Me havin me hands on thee in't tackles.  Go on, admit it! It weren't all
bad!"  Trev was beaming smugly, a teasing twinkle and challenge in those
hazel eyes.

"Did I fuck!  I were hell bent on trying to win t'fuckin game at the time!"

"Bollocks!"

 Trev, rolled the vowels with his deep rumble.  He had another dig at me:

"Oh aye!  Thy couldn't keep yer eyes of me.  Right from moment tha saw us
car park thy was wantin' a bit!"  Trev was on a roll.  I had to smile at
his audacity.

 "I could definitely tell tha were lovin' it when we grabbed thee in't car
park!  You had a fuckin hard on then!"  He continued, teasing me.  "Aye, I
could tell.  There were definite acorn in't front of your overalls!
Couldn't keep yer eyes off me!"

I grabbed me cock defensively and shook at it him under the towel.

"It's no fuckin' acorn mate!" I cautioned him.

"Aye, yer not wrong there lad.  Tha's a right cock on thee son.  Tha knows
how to use it n'all." conceded Trev, gingerly wriggling his aching arse on
the bench, remembering me screwing him.  Daz laughed heartily at that
comment.  Trev turned on him, indignant.

"Thy can fuckin' grin! Tha's the only cunt sat here who aint gorra sore
arse."  Trev was right.  I had to say something.  I was hoping that what
had just happened wasn't going to be one off.  Just a quick fuck and a fare
thee well, just another couple of notches on my bedpost.

"That's a point mate..." I interjected, growing bold, but not quite knowing
how Daz would respond.  I suspected he was likely top mainly, but I was
going to stick to my principles.  You can't give out what your not prepared
to take all the time.

"I were hoping I might get a chance to fuck thee mate."  I'd cast my die.
No sense beating around the bush, best out with it.

Trev laughed heartily, his Hazel eyes twinkling at me.  He chipped in
before Daz could respond.

"You'll be fuckin' lucky!  Daz only lets me give him one about once a
fuckin' year."  He turned on Daz, with mock accusation.

"In't that true? Eh? Eh?  You selfish arsed cunt!"  Daz gave an innocent
`who me?' look that fooled no-one.  Trev was on an indignant roll.  He
winked at me conspiratorially.

"I'll tell you this mate, last time he let me anywhere near his precious
fuckin' arsehole was only to make it up to me after he'd done some cunt's
roof up wi' a load o' nicked slates, and when they found out, he told the
police he'd got `em of me!"

Daz gave a hearty chuckle.

"I did get `em off you, you bent twat!" he laughed.  I couldn't help
laughing myself, it sounded quite likely.  Daz leaned back, cracking his
knuckles, his hairy pectorals swelling as he stretched.  He gave me his
deep brown eyed gaze.

"Tell thee what mate, if thy team beats ours year, tha can fuck me all
bastard night if tha wants."  He gave Trev a dig in the ribs.

"Thee n' all you fat cunt."  Trev gleefully rubbed his hands with a greedy
smile spreading all over his mug.

 "Bugger all chance of that then, ya walked all over us today.  Tha's on a
fucking good squad this year.  Thy two are impossible to break past and the
winger's a corker." Daz and Trev beamed proudly like a couple of kids.  Daz
furrowed his brows and responded sincerely.

"Aye, he's a good `un young Edwards.  What'll `ee have scored now, bout 10
tries now over his first 3 games this year or sommat like that?  Thinker
n'all.  Lets us open up for him, and he's allus there, right where he
should be for us to feed him the ball.  Star of the fuckin' squad that un.
Still, he's miserable twat.  Fancies himsen a bit too much like."

Daz elaborated.

"That's true mate., you cant have laugh or owt with him.  He has this funny
ritual afore a game, he says a prayer or summat.  Gorra a picture t' Virgin
Mary in t'back of his locker!"

I nearly wet myself.  That was pretty funny, and was information that could
well be used to strategic advantage.  It'd definitely cheer up my squad if
I told them.  Daz and Trev chuckled heartily.  Settling, Trev had a quick
glance at the clock on the wall: 6:02 pm.

"Shit!  Has tha seen time!  We'd better gerroff.  All the lads are an
hour's drinkin' up on us." Trev whinged.

"Right, we'd best fuck off for that pint before Trev starts cryin'"
finished Daz, the men digging fresh clothes out of their kit bags.

They were right.  My team mates would be half way pissed before I joined
them.  Better get a move on before things start to look suspicious I
thought.  I watched Trev pulling on a pair of grubby looking stripy briefs,
squeezing his ample cock and balls into material straining to contain him,
tucking the elastic under his hairy gut, before giving his armpits a
liberal spraying down with Right Guard.  There wasn't a great deal I could
do, with my own change of clothes back in the home changing rooms.  So I
watched them dress, enjoying my last chance to enjoy the sight of them
naked, They were in their civvies quickly, clean socks and jeans, and
spraying themselves with half a gallon of cloying deodorant. as I watched
with regret as Daz's fine cock disappeared into a pair of black boxer
shorts.  He wrestled himself into a faded Budweiser T-shirt, about two
sizes too small for him, which showed off his strapping body perfectly.
I'm sure he was well aware of that fact.

Trev was soon dressed, after giving the crotch of his jeans a good rub to
settle his bollocks, and stomping around in tatty trainers and an old 1985
England Rugby League shirt.  We started sorting out the mess of squelching
muddy kit on the floor, the lads hastily stuffing their muddy strip into
their kit bags, and Daz found his bottle of lube.  He buried into the
bottom of his bag, with a lewd wink at me.  I used my filthy shirt like a
carrying sack, stuffing my kit into it, to carry back round.

"Right then mate, lets get show on t' road" called Daz, one last flash of
his brown eyes.

"Aye, hurry up pal." Added Trev, and they were up, barging their bulk
through the door like stamping bison, a charge of muscle and bulky kit
bags, heading back to their local to get absolutely pissed as newts.  An
hour earlier I'd wanted to kill them.  Now I knew I was actually going to
be sad to see them go, and what had happened in between still seemed
incredible.  I really needed that pint.  Fuck knows, I was going to drunk
tonight.

Following them outside, keen to get back to my clothes and get myself
decent, I was grateful it was dark and quiet so no one would see me in the
car park, sneaking out of the away changing rooms wearing nothing but Daz's
towel and struggling with my dirty strip.  Might look a bit odd I
thought. The tarmac was freezing under my bare feet.  Daz had opened up his
works Transit., and they were busy trying to pile their kit bags up on the
middle seat.  I couldn't help but notice Trev arse as he bent over through
the open rusting door to sort out his kit.  His shirt had ridden up to show
off a perfect 3 inches of hairy arse cleavage as usual.  I wondered if I'd
ever get the chance to get up that arse again.  And there was still Daz's
hole on my mind.  I wondered again what he'd be like to fuck.  Bloody
brilliant I should think, if the last hour was anything to go by.

"See thee next time we play." I told them, but they were too busy getting
ready for off.  It was only a ruse.  They were just pretending thy hadn't
noticed me.  The moment I'd turned my back to go into the home changing
rooms, the towel round me waist disappeared, tugged off me with one hard,
fast wrench.  I dropped all my kit in surprise.  Turning round, I saw Trev,
with my towel in my hand.

"Daz'll want this back!" Trev chuckled.

I was left there standing bollock naked in the middle of the car park, with
my cock to the breeze.

"Very fuckin' funny!" I told, them.  They were creased up, laughing like a
pair of hyenas, giving me a good look up and down.  I was freezing, and
their leering at my body just made me feel even more exposed.  I though
about picking up my socks to cover myself, but decided against giving the
daft pair the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

Trev gave me a low dirty wolf whistle.

"Very nice young un!" Trev leered, having a good, pointedly obvious, look
at my cock.  "

"Just wanted one last look at that nice arse of yours lad!"

"Aye lad, don't go all shy on us now!  Tha's got nowt we haven't seen
already!" Daz added.  They thought it was hilarious, almost paralysed with
mirth.  Trev cupped the hefty bulge at the front of his jeans, and rubbed
it at me, grinning.

"Fuckin' `ell lad, tha's still lookin' good!  I'm thinking about givin'
thee another one already!  Get yersen off before I fuck thee again!  I
could give you one right here, up against van, spread eagled over t'
fuckin' bonnet!"

"Fuck off the pair thee.  I'll see thee next time on the field!" I threw
back, and ducked into the changing rooms, before I gave the whole village a
good look at my equipment.  I had a good laugh to myself when I'd got in
though.  I had admit the two big men were a good pair, good fun to be
around, and sexually had been something of a revelation.  Pity it was
finished so quickly.  I wondered how it was going to feel playing against
next time we met after what we'd just been doing.  I steeled myself
mentally.  What happens of the field is a totally different kettle of fish
to what happens on it I told myself.  No way could I let it affect my game.
I was going to do my damndest to see the was a good year for the team, and
come back up from the defeat we'd seen today.  I wanted this to be a year
that took us up a division and I wasn't going to let my cock get in the way
of that.

I changed in record time, a clean Fred Perry, jeans and coat on, and my
filthy mud and spunk splattered rugby kit stuffed into my bag.  I wedged my
overalls and rigger boots from my locker in on top of them.  All I had left
to do was have a quick tidy round on the away side.  Turning the lights
off, I had a moment of panic thinking I'd lost the key but remembered it
was still in my sock before I stepped out, booting my kit bag through the
door.  I locked up after me and was surprised to see Daz's van still in the
car park.  I was even more surprised to see the two big forwards still
there.

Leaning up against the van, they still looked bloody good, cleaner and
fresher, but still a strapping, horny looking pair of men.  There was no
mistaking them for the prop forwards that they were.  Intriguingly, they
looked like they were waiting for me, both of them having a quick smoke,
blue wreaths drifting off into the dark.  Trev was puffing away, in thumb
and forefinger fashion.  He blew out a long contented stream.  Seeing me,
he reached into the Transit and rummaged in the vast collection of shite on
the van's dashboard finding his packet of Lambert and Butler under his hard
hat.  He threw me the carton.

I caught it like a rugby ball I was taking from a long pass.  I've never
been a heavy smoker, but I'll have the odd social cigarette.  The committed
nicotinists on our team always used to envy me for that.  I could have one
or two with a pint then not be bothered for a week.  Tonight it seemed
right.  I shook one out and Trev stepped close, flicking his lighter.  He
cupped his hand round the flame.  Leaning in close to him to get a light
felt comfortable, friendly and intimate.  I coughed a little as the smoke
hit my lungs, then took a good drag, letting the nicotine sharpen me, give
my senses a heightened buzz.

"''Ad a quick word with Daz here, while we was waitin' for ya son." Trev
told me between drags.

"We was wondering if you wanna do this again sometime?"

I stayed quiet.  I took another drag on my Lambert.  Of course I did.

"I'd love to mate.  Anytime."

Daz chipped in.

"Great!  Good lad!  I dunt know about thee, but I've enjoyed mesen.  I was
hopin' you'd be up for it again, and well, I don't think any of us `ave bin
disappointed mate."

"Tha can say that again. Certainly beats thumpin' each other!"  I tried not
to look too happy about it.  Truth was I was ecstatic.  There was no way I
wanted to let what had just happened become a one off.  I really wanted to
see them again, off the field for a bit more fun.

Daz was pragmatic:

"We'll have to be very careful mate.  It's gonna be a bit awkward. We're
gonna have keep very quiet about this."

"I know mate, I don't think my squad mates nor thine would think too highly
of us shagging the enemy!"

Daz laughed.

"We'll just just make sure we keep this to oursens then.  I'll see you up
the gym.  Sort sommat out then if you want."

"Aye, sounds great to me!"

Get in there, I thought to myself.  There was a lot I was looking forward
to trying out with these two.  I was flicking the ash of my cigarette when
I noticed a couple of oil drips underneath the Transit, just visible on the
tarmac in the dark.  The glinting oily drops reminded me of precum, and I
could almost taste the men in my mouth again.  I also remembered the smoke
and noisy clatter of the Transit's engine.  She was a short wheelbase
Flareside, and only on an `F' Plate.  The dents and bangs and cement
spattering told me she'd lead an expectedly hard life, but it was a shame
to hear her sounding so rough.  I can't stand the sound of poorly
maintained machinery.

"You've gorra a leak there mate."  I pointed out to Daz, giving the van a
gentle pat on the bonnet. I knew Transits reasonably well, I'd more or less
started out on them.  I had a good idea that this one hadn't been well
looked after.  I also had a suspicion the tank was probably full of red
diesel.

"You wanna get your sump plug washer changed mate.  And I'd check on your
rocker cover gasket while your at it." I told him, taking another drag on
my Lambert.  Daz gave me an `over my head' look.

"Probably does mate.  The boss is a right tight cunt.  Never gets `em
serviced proper.  Surprised he dunt get `em done up at your place."

"I think he used to mate, but Smithy told him to fuck off in the end, `cos
he never paid the bills." I replied.

Trev roared.

"Aye, that sounds about right!  Still Daz'll have to make do with this
until he gets his motor fixed.  Least the boss lets him use his work wagon
private `till he does."  My interest had pricked up.  I was curious to know
what Daz was driving.  You can tell a lot about a man from his motor.

"Oh aye?  What's tha got mate?" I asked.

Daz broke into a wide smile, enthusiasm sparking up in his brown eyes to
make his proud announcement:

"Audi Quattro mate!"

Lucky bugger, I thought.  Seriously nice motor.  I wondered how Daz had got
his hands on one.

"What year?"

"'85.  C plate.  She's a beauty.  Tornado red, stainless exhaust and goes
like hell.  Classier bit o' kit than Trev's Granada that's for sure."  Trev
scowled while I replied.  I knew my Quattro's reasonably well.

"Oh aye. WR engine.  5 cylinder turbo.  2 point 2, 10 valve.  200 horses.
Very nice bit of kit.  What's up with her?  There pretty robust, shouldn't
have much wrong with her."

"Just needs brakes and the exhaust doing before I can MOT her, but it'll
have to wait.  I need a bit more overtime before I can fork out for that."
I had an idea.  I knew I could fix that for him easily.  I could probably
be of use there.

"Well I can do that for thee and service it.  I've me own set of tools, and
I can get the parts cheap through the garage.  I do me own stuff on me
Golf.  It's all VW group so it wont be much different.  You'd only have to
pay for the parts, and it'll cost thee about a quarter what Audi'd charge
thee."  Daz looked well chuffed.

"Really? Nice one!  Cheers mate!  If tha's as good with thy spanners as thy
is with yer cock, that'll be a job well sorted.  I'm stuck workin' next
coupla Saturdays, but if you wanna have a look after?"

"Aye, no bother mate."

"Really appreciate that pal.  An' I wont have thee do it for nowt though.
I'd give thee sommat for thy time."

Cheers Daz, I thought.  Walked right into my trap.  I'd taken the pass and
I was going for the try line.

"Very kind of thee, but I wont be able to take any of yer brass off thee.
Just call it a favour off a mate.  Tha could do summat for me in return
though."

Trev was listening intently and pissing himself.  Not as thick as he
looked, he'd seen what was coming.  He winked at me, grinning all over his
face, waiting for the penny to drop with Daz.

Daz knew when he'd been caught out.

"Oh aye.  I'll bet I could.  A service forra service mate?  I suppose I'll
be havin' to pay for it with me arse then?"

I nodded firmly.  Daz laughed out, admitting defeat.

"All right then mate, you're on.  If tha sorts me motor and tha can fuck
me."

"You can shag the arse off me!  All fuckin' night long if tha's up for it."

You bet I was.  Got him.  What a fucking result.  Trev wasn't one to miss
an opportunity either.

"Well you can include me too then, you cunt.  When this young uns' done `wi
thee I'm gonna fuck thee in to the middle o' next week!"

I was going to enjoy watching that I thought.

Trev had ducked into the cab of the van, and found the back of an old
envelope and a pen.  With great effort and concentration, his tongue
sticking out the corner of his mouth as he thought, he jotted down a
collection of large shaky numbers on the back with a well chewed pen
grasped tightly in his huge hairy fist.

"There ya go, young un.  That's me number.  Give us a bell sometime, and
I'll make sure we hold this cunt to it!"

"Cheers mate!" I told him, folding it triumphantly and tucking it into my
back pocket, finishing my Lambert and stamping it out.

"Right then lads, looks like you've got me in me place." whinged Daz.

"OK. Lets get up the pub, `cos there's abaat ten points wi my name on `em!"
Trev insisted.  Daz fetched out his keys and climbed into to his Transit.
Trev was heading round to the passenger seat, but stopped before he passed
me.  He gave my hair a ruffle, his hazel eyes beaming at me.  He had a
careful look around from side to side, and satisfied no one was around to
see, took hold of the front of my shirt and pulled me in close.

"Come here young un." he told me softly, then gave me a quick, wet snog,
his beard rubbing my face and his tongue delving into my mouth for a quick
slurp.

"See you later lad!" he told me gently, before throwing his bulk into the
passenger seat.  I heard that awful clatter as he started up, and they were
out of the car park in a moment after.  I watched them disappear up the
road, Daz giving me a quick toot of his horn.

I felt a strange twinge as they left.  I wondered if I was missing them.  I
regretted for a moment that we weren't on the same team, but I supposed
that would have made things even more awkward.  No way would I ever be able
to concentrate on my rugby if had to play with them.

I ducked into the away changing rooms, the scene of my recent crimes.  I
was in no mood for finishing Dave's punishment chore in mopping the place
out.  Time was getting on, and the squad would soon be wondering where I'd
got to.  I was looking forward to settling down with them for an evening on
the ale.  My only concern now was to make sure there was no evidence left
behind of what I'd just been up to with Daz and Trev.  I quickly mopped up
the puddle of piss on the floor from Trev's hosing me down, grinning with
the fresh, vivid memory of the taste and warm spattering down my body.
There were a few more sticky patches of lube and suspicious looking
dribbles on the floor, probably spunk, that I quickly obliterated with a
swipe of the mop.  I laughed to myself when I noticed two perfectly round
wet sticky circles on the metal door of one of the lockers where Trev had
slapped his hairy arse against surface to cool down after I'd fucked him.
The mop soon sorted that out too.  I chucked the mop and bucket into the
corner. I could sort that out come Tuesday night's training.

Just about to leave, I caught sight of something off white and mucky
looking under one of the benches.  I quickly investigated, and scooped
something up off the floor.  It was Daz's smelly jockstrap.  It still felt
damp, sweaty, and the bottom of the leg tapes muddy.  The waistband was
wrinkled up, the front slightly folded over into a crease from Daz's belly,
and the material of the stinking pouch was stretched from the very large
and now familiar pair of bollocks that had been held inside.  I had a quick
look on the inside.  Slight piss staining and a couple of dark curly pubes
clinging to the material.  It was Daz's all right, and it was I knew it was
bloody sad of me, but I couldn't help it.  I pressed it to my face and took
a good deep sniff.  It smelled gorgeous, ripe sweat, cock, clammy balls and
testosterone.  I gave the damp Litesome a quick wipe over my face, still
inhaling the heavy sweaty odour.  I folded up the damp, sturdy support and
tucked it into my kit bag.  I was generally more interested in seeing the
team win trophies, then keeping personal ones, but this time, feeling a bit
of a sad twat for doing it, I gave into temptation and let myself keep it.
I had a good grin thinking abut the interesting possibilities yet to come.
Especially fucking Daz.  Now that was going to be enjoyable.  Not to
mention getting stuck into to Trev's tasty, hairy butt again.  Kit bag over
my shoulder, I switched out the lights and locked up.

*** Action Replay ***

The walk over the road to the pub was a strange one.  I'd made the five
minute trip countless dozens of times before, in victory or defeat, but
tonight I felt different, still scarcely comprehending the reality of what
had kicked off that afternoon.  I idly wondered what my team mates would
have thought if they'd known what I'd just been up to, just a few hundred
yards away.  I doubt they'd have approved.  Doubly given the fact my
illicit sexual activity had involved members of the enemy team who'd just
walked all over us.  I consoled myself with the knowledge they were most
unlikely to find out.  I hardly thought Daz and Trev would be bragging
about it.  I felt completely knackered.  I was bruised, tired, and
exhausted, aching all over from the work out I'd given my muscles both in
the game and after.  My cock felt sore from plenty of use, and my arsehole
felt like a sore throbbing doughnut from the amount of large prick I'd just
taken.  I remind myself to buy some super soft bog roll soon.  My aching
muscles told me I was going to be as stiff as fuck the following morning,
and wasn't looking forward to getting back to work, but was relieved the
late shift would give me half a chance of sobering up before going in.  I
knew I was getting well and truly pissed tonight.

I found my way into the familiar warmth of the pub, and headed straight
into the tap room to join the lads, adding my kit bag to the small mountain
of similar holdalls nearly blocking up the door, gratefully to back in out
of the February cold.

"Wooahhh! Here he is!  How you doin' scrapper?"

It was Martin welcoming me back into the squad.  The lads were well away,
and I could barely see the couple of tables the squad was crowded in around
for all the empty beer glasses, fag packets and ashtrays.

"Come on mate, get thesen sat down!"  Dave was grinning at me, shuffling
aside to make some room round the table for me.  Martin shifted over as
well so I could squeeze in between them.  Sam, returning on the bar, noted
my delayed arrival and gave me a cheerfully pat on the back.

"Here is!  As you're on cleaning duty, could you clear this table mate"

"Oh, yeah, and then there's 13 pairs of boots need cleaning n' all!"

"Fuck off, you cheeky bastard!" I shot back at him.

It was good to be back among them, having a good post match booze up with
the squad.  I wedged in onto the spare stool they'd kept for me, settling
my sore arse gently, pulling myself up to the table.  It took a fair bit of
effort not to wince, but I really didn't want the squad speculating as to
how I'd come by a sore arsehole.  I was sure I could still feel spunk up my
bum.  I downed one of the pints bought on for me in nearly one gulp.  It
felt like I'd been waiting for it for years rather than an hour.  Absolute
heaven.  It was a bit flat with having sat for a while, but it tasted
great, a bit warm, but needed, and within a few minutes I felt the
familiar, relaxing bliss of alcohol flowing through my blood and it's
soporific impact soothing my brain.

Dave Briggs shoved another 2 brimming glasses on the table toward me,
leaning back on his stool.  He was still in his club fleece but he's
changed into a tatty looking pair of jeans with a prominent hole on the
knee giving a glimpse of hairy flesh.  I couldn't help but notice his
crotch bulge as usual, large and hefty, nestled comfortable on his bar
stool between his spread legs.

"You've a couple more pints sat here waiting for you!  Where've you been?
Picking up litter all over town?"

"Nah, just making sure I did the job proper!"

"Do I count mesen back in yer good books then now, ya bastard?!" I asked
Dave.

He smiled away at me.

"Aye, course you are lad.  I wouldn't want to be upsettin' me best try
scorer too fuckin' much now do I?  An cheers for that today mate.  Really
put in a great game there, bar the bit we'll consider forgotten now.  Keep
it coming and we can make this a season to remember.  Sod what happened
today, we'll be on top o' the fuckin' league by spring!"

Dave's comment was as much an announcement to the squad, and 13 beer cheery
rugby league players, me loudest of all, put in a good boisterous cheer to
that notion.

Whatever happened on the field, this would definitely be a season to
remember, one way or another.  I had a surreptitious reach into my back
pocket.  I still had Trev's envelope with his painstakingly written number
on it in there.  My fingers brushed the edge, confirming it was safe, a
ticket to all sorts of fun to come.  I had a private grin to myself.  I
could almost still feel Daz and Trev on me, the warmth of their bodies, the
taste of their juices and gonads, and the brush and tickle of Trev's body
hair on my skin.  I thought about them for a moment wondering what they
were doing.  Sitting in their local pub with their squad mates getting just
as steadily drunk as I was I would expect.  I wondered what they'd said
about me on the way there.  I could imagine them gleefully comparing notes
about me.  I couldn't get the image of Trev in his rugby strip with his
hairy arse out for a fucking and Daz's cheeky grin out of my head.  I
wondered if Trev's butt was as sore as mine after I'd given him one.  I
doubted it.  4 to 1 wasn't an even score, but I wasn't complaining.  It was
still a better result than we'd managed on the field.

Dave shook me back into the conversation.  He stared at my glass with mock
incredulity.

"What's up wi' thee?  Only one fuckin' pint down ya?  Yer still one behind.
Get suppin' lad!  It'll be thy round soon enough! Tha might as well make a
cunt of thesen with the rest of us.  I'm gonna get well and truly arseholed
tonight lads!"

That brought on a few cheers of encouragement.  Dave was getting quite loud
and pissed already, as were most of us.

 Neil, offering me a peanut pork scratching, gave me a nod of approval.

 "Nice try today mate, just keep `em coming.  Fuck knows, we'll need `em
this year."

"Tha shoulda seen thine eye mate!  Your gonna have one beautiful black eye
in the morning!"

"Might improve me looks mate!"

I chuckled back at him.  It was starting to throb again, but given what it
had been the catalyst for, it was a price worth paying.  What it had
started had been the best and most enjoyable sex that I'd ever had in my
life.  I was definitely going to ring Trev and sort out a quiet get
together.  Id do it soon, but not too soon.  Well, I didn't want to look
too desperate for more.  I'd enjoy sorting Daz's Audi, and the promise of
the reward was getting me edgy with anticipation already.  I had no doubt
that eventually getting to fuck Daz would an experience well worth the
wait.

I settled back down among my squad mates, swilling pint after pint of
Tetley's and we were soon recounting the game, arguing good naturedly,
reliving the best and the worst, which included the men recalling my brawl
with visceral delight and a great deal of teasing.  It was difficult for me
to keep up with them slagging off Daz and Trev and calling them every cunt
under the sun.  It was not as if I could tell them that they weren't bad
lads really without elaborating on my reasons why.  They were under blokes
under it all, a great lay and good fun.  They were a couple of
jock-strapped thugs on a rugby field, but they weren't any more ot less
than I was.  Or any man on the squad for that matter.  I felt a bit of a
traitor, both for having fucked the enemy, and for not standing up for the
men I'd come to see a different and better side to.  Life can give you some
strange predicaments at times.

The defeat had made the post match drinking a little less rowdy to begin
with, but we really cheered up as the alcohol flowed, arguing over the ins
and outs, high and lows of the game that afternoon.  We shouted and argued
on, discussing the upcoming fixtures, changes to the squads we'd heard
about, how we were going to tackle each game, recounting the glories of old
Premier League games and the virtues of players past and present.  There
wasn't too much larking about, more a focus and determination to do better
next game, pick up on the weak points and push forward for that divisional
promotion when we were talking about rugby As most blokes do, cars, work
and sex were the mainstays of the rest of the conversation.  Some
celebrations after a win got a bit lively, with a bit of horseplay, pissing
in pints and a few of the lads running about naked, myself usually one of
the worst offenders if I was drunk.  I remembered one night where they'd
hidden my clothes and the bastards left me to walk home in the buff, nearly
freezing my balls off.  Tonight everyone was more concerned with getting
quietly drunk.  As beer does, it wasn't long before my bladder told me it I
needed a piss.

I eased myself up and squeezed out of the noisy throng, down the corridor
to the gents.  6 pints down, I was a little unsteady on my feet, and
sitting on a bar stool hadn't done any favours for my sore, well fucked
arsehole.  I knew I'd still be sore in the morning.  Even the head of my
cock still felt sore from the amount of friction it had received.  It was
the best sore feeling that I'd ever had.  Banging through the door of the
gents I positioned myself in front of the stainless steel trough, fished my
well exercised cock out of my jeans, and let fly with a sigh of relief,
long stream of beery piss.  I guilty observed the condom machine on the
wall of the gents, ominously reminding me that everything I'd just done had
been bareback.  Rubbers hadn't exactly entered my mind at the time, and I
was well aware even back then, in the early days of growing awareness of
the nastier S.T.D.'s, that unprotected sex with a couple of strangers
wasn't the best course of action for long term health.  I resolved to be a
bit less reckless in future.  I doubted I'd pick up anything really nasty
from Daz and Trev, but then reluctantly admitted to myself that I wouldn't
be surprised if they'd left me with a good scorching dose of the clap.  It
would be just their style.  I amused myself wondering if they didn't have a
plan.  Win the year by putting every decent opposing rugby league player
out of action with a nasty dose of the clap.

Shaking daft ideas out of my head, I finished pissing, and stuck out my
arse to pull my cock back into my jeans before buttoning up.  I was just
about to head back for more beer, when Dave Briggs walked in and gave me a
big friendly grin.  He was his usual self, cheerful, and a bit pissed.

"All right there lad." He settled himself in front of the trough.  I hear
the zip of flies opening followed the patter of piss against the stainless
steel urinal.  He chatted to me over his shoulder while he was pissing, his
large cock in his hand and gushing noisily into the trough.

"Cheers for tidying up mate.  No hard feelings about me lumbering you with
that eh, lad?"

"Nah, boss, I did my crime, I don't mind doin' me time."

"I were a bit worried about making Daz and Trev help you, but they needed
putting in their place. I were feared the three of thee might start
knocking lumps out of each other again."

Not exactly, I thought.  Stumbling for words, I managed a response.

"Erm, no boss.  We seemed to get along fine."

Dave continued pissing, talking to me over his shoulder.  His deep voice
suddenly dropped very soft and very low, almost a whisper.

"I know you did mate.  I know I told you blokes to kiss and make up but I
wasn't expectin' that!"

My mouth went dry, and I could feel my heart racing.  I hoped I'd heard him
wrong.  How in the fuck did he know?  And how much did he know.  Dave
confirmed my worst fears.

"I thought tha might end up brawling again, so I came over to check on you
all.  Fuckin' hell lad, I could hear thy three carrying on half way up the
street.  It were pretty obvious what yer were doin'."

Fuck!  If the ground could have swallowed me up at that moment I would have
been grateful.  I felt my skin crawling.  I knew I would have to tell him
the truth, regardless of the consequences.

"I'm surprised lad!  I never thought you would have been into owt like
that."  At least he seemed more amused than judgemental.  I could feel my
ears glowing with squirming embarrassment.  For once in my life I just
didn't know what to say, no smart comment, nothing.  Dave paused, turned to
face me.  He seemed to be thinking about something, then a firm resolve
clouded his expression.  I was trying to work out what he was thinking.  I
wondered what he was going to do.  Put me off the team?  Tell me to sling
my hook in disgust?  I was wrong.

"I know about Daz and Trev liking a bit of cock.  Well, they used to be on
this team before thy day."  I listened in silent surprise.  Then Dave
grinned broadly, and continued.

"I can't say I blame thee lad.  They're a good fuck."  My heart skipped a
beat.  Dave finished pissing, shook his substantial cock and turned away
from the urinal.  I heard him very slowly zipping up, the rasp of his fly
the only noise in the loaded calm.  He gave me an appraising look, and
finished my thoughts for me.

"I don't mind the odd bit of cock myself mate..."

Dave looked over his shoulder, making sure no one else was coming and
listened briefly for the sound of any one approaching.  He slipped his hand
round the back of my head, fingers gently teasing my ear.  He pulled me
closer, giving me a firm beery kiss.  Hardly knowing what I was doing, I
found myself grabbing the waistband of jeans under his belly, pulling him
nearer, and opening my mouth.  His tongue was straight in, tasting of
Tetley Bitter and Embassy Number One and we had a very quick, frantic beery
tongue lashing snog.  Dave pulled back, and I felt his hand in my crotch,
having a good feel around, appraising my bollocks, before letting go after
a quick squeeze of my cock through my Levi's.

"Fuckin' hell Dave!" I responded, incredulous, but liking what I saw.

The big rugby coach was a fit bloke for his age, and his maturity had a
definite appeal.  I'd always been interested in that bulge between his
legs, and he certainly wasn't unattractive in a rough way.  I'd had more
than one wank thinking about him.  He wasn't quite in Daz and Trev's
league, but he was definitely a man who provoked a strong sexual interest
in me.  I'd known him for years and never imagined he was up for anything
with another bloke, any more than I'd have imagined Daz and Trev were. I
wondered for a moment just how much did go on around me that I'd never
realised.

"Well that's two surprise in a day." I concluded.  First Daz and Trev, now
Dave.  Must be that new aftershave I'd started wearing.  My heed was
reeling from the beer and the shock.  Who says lightning never strikes
twice?

Dave grinned, and gave me his usual slap on my arse, and a good squeeze of
the cheek, taking a lot longer about it than usual, glancing over his
shoulder to make sure we were still alone and out of earshot in the pisser.
I ran my hand up the inside of my thigh, and did what I'd wanted to do
every time I saw him.  I had a good feel of his bulge.  Dave didn't raise
any objections, just grinned at me at pushed his crotch forward to meet my
hand.  It felt like he was still wearing his jockstrap underneath, but I
could easily fell the shape of his substantial balls, and a very thick
piece of cock through the material, not hard, but not completely at rest
either, just the hint of sexual firmness.  It was very promising.  Daz and
Trev were big lads, but Dave felt like he could be bigger than the both of
them.  I couldn't believe it, but it looked like I'd found another rugger I
was going to find out a lot more about in the near future.

"Looks like it's gonna be a good year this year lad." Dave told me, quiet
and breathy.

"I might have to make sure you take on a bit of extra training though.
Just me and thee. .."

"I've got quiet a few techniques that we could try out, just to improve
your game of course, sharpen up your ball skills."

"Or we could see if Daz and Trev want a bit of a get together.  See if we
can sort out a quiet game of four a side rugby league sometime mate? "

He let my arse go and gave my hair an affectionate ruffle, and nodded for
us to get back to the ale.  I reluctantly withdraw my hand from his groin.
Plenty of time for that in the future.  From the depressing events on the
field to light headed awe of that moment my, day had seen an incredible
reversal of fortune.  A session with Dave, Daz and Trev could well be epic
material.  My mind was just beginning to open up to all sorts of
interesting future possibilities.

Dave, sensible as ever, got us back to the fulfilment of more immediate
needs, and came up with the best suggestion a Yorkshireman could hear at
that instant to round off a pretty interesting day.

"Come on lad" Dave volunteered, cheerful and more than half drunk.

"Let's go an' get pissed!"



rugby.rigger@yahoo.com

*** December 2008 ***