Date: Sun, 18 Feb 2018 12:27:05 +0000 From: Christopher Hudson Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 22 (Plus EPILOGUE) The Cup Final looked set to be the only occasion on which Will would ever see Gareth play live professional football in England, and as such was set to be an event that would live long in the memory. Having secured his lover a ticket at the very front of the terraces -- just behind the City benches, on what seemed to be very edge of the pitch -- Gareth was now freshly determined to rise to the challenge before him, and it was with a mixture of nerves, excitement and pride that he walked out onto the lush grass that sunny afternoon to be presented to the attendant royalty, glancing out into the crowd in the hope of seeing the face he loved. It was a somewhat forlorn hope under the circumstances, of course -- even given Will's prime position, it was impossible to see one person amidst a sea of one hundred thousand others (no matter how beautiful he thought that face to be). For all the unfathomable feelings that he felt for the young Dutch lad, Gareth knew that he had to concentrate on his sport now for one last time -- aware, as he was, that to do otherwise would be disastrous against a team as keen as United, who had been crowned League Champions only a week before. After all, they were fired up to secure the double, and there was little doubt in the City's striker's mind that every ounce of fortitude would be needed on his team's part if they were to prevent their dearest adversaries from securing a League and Cup double that year. It was little wonder, therefore, that the game itself should begin as a tight-knit affair, with chances in the first half few and far between. Only after the break did matters really start to heat up, with United being awarded a gravely disputed penalty when City's goalkeeper, Cary Jacobs, was alleged to have brought down United's Brent Tabbenor in the box. Protests from the team in red proved futile -- and with fifty-seven minutes on the clock, Hicks found himself playing on the trailing side. United closed themselves down, as was their usual tactic having secured a lead, and for the next twenty-five minutes it was simply impossible for their opponents to wear their defence down. Then, suddenly, came Gareth's moment of inspiration. A ball from nowhere (courtesy of Todd Rankin from the wing) met the young man's head at the edge of the penalty area. A split second later and there was a bulge at the back of the net -- causing half the stadium to go frantically wild. City, as John Motson was pointing out to the viewers at home, were back in the game. This, it seemed, was anyone's final for the taking. The blues pushed forward -- looking for a quick goal to finish the game -- but City's defence held firm. Minutes ticked away -- eight remaining, seven, six -- and still there was no breakthrough, but United were unquestionably the stronger team and it looked only a matter of time before they eventually scored. And then -- with ninety minutes on the clock and with just a couple of minutes of injury time to play before the two sides went into a gruelling extra half-hour -- a miracle happened. United were pushing almost every man forward, confident, it seemed, that a goal was destined to come if they forced enough pressure on the City back, when Gareth suddenly intercepted a rather sloppy pass across the field between two of their defenders. It left the fellow clear, with only the United keeper, Gert Jorgensen, standing between him and glory, and the whole stadium (it seemed) stood up and held their breath. Would he score? Would he flunk it? Or would Jorgensen somehow produce the same sort of brilliance as Hicks to keep United in the game? Gareth's legs felt like lead -- with the United back three now pounding up behind him -- but somehow the thought that this might very well be his last kick of professional football kept him a pace or two ahead. In the meantime, the keeper was now bounding his way towards him, casting as wide a barrier as possible, and for a terrible second or two the young man feared that the nerves of the moment might finally get the better of him. He had to kick the ball -- he simply *had* to -- but the fellow found that he almost didn't have the strength to do it and for a passing instant it seemed the chance of a lifetime had passed him by. And then, for the very first time since kick-off, he thought of Will -- of all that that lad meant to him and of all he was prepared to sacrifice to keep him at his side. In many respects, it was just the sort of thought hat he *shouldn't* have had, given his determination to concentrate on the game, but at such a crucial moment it may well have been just what he needed. It certainly appeared to regain his initiative just at the very point that he appeared about to stumble, and lifting his fine, young head, he instantly judged the right elevation that he needed to give the ball for it to cut right over Jorgensen's handsome frame. Half a second on and his Predator boot had connected for the final strike -- leaving the United keeper helpless in its wake. Needless to say, the red half of the stadium went wild with jubilation. 2-1 to City, and now barely ninety seconds left to play. Gareth could think of only one spot that he wished to run to at that particularly frenzied moment, and he trailed down the side of the pitch in search of his lover, desperately trying to avoid the hugs and kisses of his team-mates in the process. The crowd was going wild, but it was only Will he cared for now, and reaching the spot, he held out his arms to embrace the object of all his affection, who by this point was jumping up and down with the sort of excitement that he had possibly never thought himself capable of at a football match before. God knows what those nearest to them thought, as the Dutchman exchanged the most intimate moment that they had ever shared in public (gaining quite a raging hard-on in the process) -- but let's face it, neither of them really cared! The Cup was won (barring some terrible catastrophe in the final minute) and they now had the prospect of a lifetime together ahead of them. Needless to say, there was so such cataclysm in the dying seconds of the game, and upon the sound of the final whistle the likes of Todd Rankin, Philippe Bourg, Cary Jacobs and Matt Foster raced in Gareth's direction in order to lift him victoriously into the air. The United players, meantime, hung around in abject misery -- but then, no real wonder! After all, not only had they lost a final that they were favourites to win, but they also had the unexpected prospect of providing bottoms amidst the post-match celebrations. No wonder they looked so despondent as they made the walk to collect their medals! Todd Rankin lifted the trophy -- the first time a City skipper had done so in a long, long time, which made the triumph even sweeter. Then the team assembled on the pitch for the jubilant press `photos, before the manager and several of the players were lined up for interviews with the BBC. It was at this point that Gareth's colleagues suddenly realised that their star striker was nowhere about them, although admittedly it didn't take his captain very long to ascertain his whereabouts, as he glanced down the field to see him and Will holding each in as respectable a fashion as they could muster given their whereabouts. The skipper didn't realise it, of course, but the pair were actually debating where they went from this point onwards and whether Gareth was indeed going to prove true to his word and give up professional career -- a promise that Will was still half unable to believe that his boyfriend would honour. But this, however, was where the Dutchman was wrong -- as he was to discover when Gareth concluded his subsequent television interview with the startling revelation. `... I'd just like to say something else if I can,' he added at the end of his interview -- the other sweat and dirt-sodden players having now slowly departed for the showers and with Will just off-shot from camera. `Certainly, Gareth,' the reporter agreed, in a manner that revealed the fellow's naivety -- unaware, as he was, that he was about to take the sporting scoop of the year! `I decided before the game today that this would be my last match. Now I've won a winner's medal, I'm sticking with that decision. I've enjoyed my footballing career -- short though it's been -- but now it's time to concentrate on other things ...' It was at this point that the surrounding press suddenly realised that they were onto a major story here, as journalists appeared to rush in from all directions -- the flash of cameras only adding to the manic atmosphere. `I'm not gonna say any more,' he sighed, `because there's obviously thing that I need to discuss with the club --' `You mean City's management don't know?!' exclaimed one excited reporter. Gareth shook his head. `No -- so I won't go into details. But one last thing I do want to say is --' He glanced away to his side, where Will was waiting for him near to the entrance of the tunnel, then gazed back at the cameras and microphones. `-- Is that I'm gay. I'm gay and I'm in love with the most wonderful man in the world!' A predictable uproar of questions boomed in reply, but the footballer was saying nothing else. Instead, clutching his medal in one hand, he stepped aside to take the hand of Will Brandt in the other, before the two of them walked back into the stadium together. `You do realise you'll be on the front of every newspaper in the land tomorrow, don't you?' smiled Gareth now. Will laughed. `You're worth it -- believe me!' They turned a corner -- at which point the striker stopped momentarily to take off his boots. `Come on,' he urged, throwing them casually to one side (as if to underline that he didn't need them anymore), `let's go and see how the celebrations are going on down in United's dressing room!' At which point the two of them raced down the corridor. Neither of them had any intention of stepping inside, but judging from experience there was little question that it may well be worth their effort to push the door open a little so as to take a peek. After all, both of them knew what tends to go on in the shower-rooms after professional matches -- especially Cup games -- and they were not to be disappointed that afternoon. The whole room (which was somewhat larger than what is considered standard size for any Premiership club) was filled end to end with hot and horny studs, all of them stark-bollock naked and every one of them engaged in the sort of heated man-to-man action that they would no doubt publicly condemn. It was a point brought home to Gareth as he considered what the press would print tomorrow -- their `facts' about the game being a gay-free culture no doubt underpinned by comments made by some of the same footballers he was presently watching having their cocks and balls sucked and their sweet butts rimmed! Indeed, there was no denying that there were hard dicks and willing butts everywhere -- not least of all around a certain quarter where Todd Rankin and `Donkey' Foster had taken court. After all, these two fellows were a couple of the most desirable bulls in the game -- the skipper with his bleached blond hair and smoothly shaved balls and the auburn defender with his prized ten inch salami, which at present was just beginning to be engulfed by one of the United forwards, Pierre LeCacheux, who was providing recompense for not scoring enough goals that day by netting near enough the biggest dick in the business. With a certain hesitation, the dark haired, gently-featured Frenchman fell to his knees to grasp the base of Foster's shaft and eye the monster that he was now expected to satisfy -- glancing across at his team-mate, James Siddorns, who was now feeding his face on Todd's pulsing member. Playing for a team like United meant that he didn't often find himself in this position, and indeed he had probably played almost the entire game anticipating being a top after the match. As it was, however, he found himself serving a cock that he could only describe as obscenely extended, and opening his fleshy lips, he seriously wondered he would actually be able to stretch his jaws wide enough to engage upon the muscle. It's amazing what you can do when you have the urge to do it, though -- and, let's face it, the stretch of his own dick testified to that -- and before he knew it he had taken the whole of that nicely skinned crown into his drooling mouth. What was more, he was then able to slip the rod further and further into his throat -- a delirious sensation that got his own balls clinging tightly to his groin in excitement. As such, the end of Rankin's love-meat was soon thrashing about around the lad's tonsils, threatening to white-wash the back of his tongue if he wasn't too careful. Not that he particularly cared by this point, it had to be said. The feel of Todd's engorged axle was making him feel more than game for anything, and it wasn't very long at all before he was beginning to be grateful for having lost the final, if this present feast was now the reward! Meantime, his team-mate, Siddorns -- who was slightly younger, with cropped brown hair and a comely smile, as well as a fit, desirable body that boasted manhood at its peak -- was making the most of Todd's eight-incher, as well as those amazingly hairless orbs that nestle in his crotch. Like Pierre, he was sliding his mouth up and down the opponent's love-rod, but he was also cupping Rankin's cum-sac, whose soft, delicate nature was always a focal point for any man he encountered (as Gareth himself remembered). Indeed, it wasn't too long before the young United centre-forward had turned his sole attention to the orbs and was bending down so as to lap them with his hungry tongue. First one, then the other -- both slipped into James's mouth, where they were sucked and rolled like a gob-stopper. It was a move that certainly gained Todd's satisfaction, that was for sure -- as he groaned in manly delight, reaching out to hold a nearby clothes-hook as he did so. The sight of all this action -- and the dizzy moans and grunts that pervaded the clammy air -- was more than enough to get Will and Gareth feeling like raw animals themselves, as their cocks began to stiffen in their groins and their balls turned moist in sweet anticipation. Yet for all their present desire, they were determined to carry on watching. After all, this would probably be the last occasion on which they would see footballers having such a hard, unrelenting workout, and snatching a furtive glance at each other, they held on for a few minutes more, knowing (by the strained look on some of the lads' faces) that it would not be too long before a great deal of cum was winging its sticky way around the room, in all possible directions! The City captain, for one, was desperate to relieve his aching nads, which were now straining from the pressure of cum inside -- thanks to the skill that Siddorns had displayed with his mouth and tongue upon that swollen region. Consequently, he grabbed hold of a rubber to slip upon his cock, then insisted that the United player bend over the leather bench so that he could grease the youngster's ass, which he discovered was nicely smooth and fresh-looking. It was therefore with even added appreciation that he finally stuffed the hole before him with his meat -- sliding inside the young man with a gusto that could only leave the bottom gasping for breath (and, incidentally, visibly enjoying every fucking thrust of it!) Seeing his cup-winning colleague in unrestrained action left Foster in much the same frame of mind, as he pushed Pierre down onto the bench beside Siddorns and started to lube the foreigner's tunnel -- his manner a tad aggressive, being that of a man who was perhaps determined to remind his would-be victors of the price of footballing failure. Not that LeCacheux appeared to mind one bit as he felt the Donkey's end launch into his guts. In fact, his call to Foster to fuck him harder seemed only to confirm the City defender's suspicion: that Pierre was a man who (for his apparent initial reluctance) secretly enjoyed man-sex, especially if it meant being butted by a dildo-sized joy-stick in the process! Cocks were now pounding butts from one end of the room to the other -- a vision of hard indulgence that no-one on the terraces would ever have once imagined. For to the fans, these heroes of the modern game were straight, red-blooded guys, who viewed the world with allegedly homophobic eyes. How differently those supporters would have viewed them had they known the truth -- a reality that was blinded to them by seemingly innocuous displays of affection on the pitch, of course. That said, how many of those same fans would've have envied these primed athletes had they have known? It was a question that no-one could ever answer, and you could almost bet your bottom dollar that the newspaper reports concerning Gareth over the next few days would simply endorse the long-held view that football was no place for any gay man! Such reports may well have been a tad more reticent in their prejudices had there been a few journalists in the changing room at that particular moment, mind -- all those hard dicks and gaping ass-holes would almost certainly have changed one or two long-held views, that's for sure! The United team were being buggered without mercy -- but neither Gareth or Will were about to complain. They were savouring every sap-rising moment, and their pleasure was only further enhanced when the action began to prove a little too much for all those rigid manhoods. A rather inexperienced trainee on United's pay-list was the first to succumb -- squirting a fine load of cum across the tiles below him -- but he was soon joined by several others, as their groans permeated the air with strained excitement. To their credit, however, Rankin and Foster proved to be of a more resilient nature, and although their respective bottoms had wanked themselves off from underneath, showering the floor with delicious man-seed in the process, they remained as hard and unrelenting as ever, pushing their crimson cocks back and forth with seemingly evermore ferocious strokes. Ultimately, however, such rampant action could result in but one thing -- and it was Todd who reached it first, ripping aside his condom and depositing a fine load of jizz across James Siddorns' back. Creamy wad after creamy wad launched across the young man's flesh -- splattering with heavy, pronounced jolts, before sliding slowly to the floor. It was, all told, a quite magnificent display from the captain -- an example to the rest of the team, for sure -- and it was little surprise that it rallied Matt Foster into a similar flourish. He, of course, was blessed with a king among cocks -- ten inches of unadulterated hardness that others could only dream about -- which could spurt cum like a whale, and Gareth was not at all surprised when a fine cascade emerged from the depths of the fellow's balls. For Will, however, (who until now had only had Gareth's word that such orgies took place after games), the blow-out was dazzling, and he could not help but watch with an open jaw as the man-milk erupted like lava from the end of the guy's over-sized trouser-snake. Not that he was left with great desire to exchange Gareth's comparatively inferior shaft for Donkey's rod, though. No, he was more than happy with his boyfriend's offering -- attached, as it was, to the man of his dreams! -- and turning to the fellow, he forced a lingering kiss as if to reinforce his deep affection. They raced back to City's deserted changing room, where Gareth quickly showered and slipped into his travel-suit -- their departure from the ground only then delayed by the striker's desire to speak to his skipper. After all, he owed a lot to Todd since arriving at the club, and to have left without an explanation would have seemed more than a touch discourteous. Not that the captain appeared greatly surprised at Gareth's news, it had to be said -- realising, as he did, that the lad had little choice, given soccer's political climate, but to choose between true love and his career. To have done anything else would've been to have courted disaster, and shaking their hands, Todd wished them both every ounce of fortune in their new-found happiness. Gareth did not take the club coach back to the hotel. Instead, Will called a taxi and the two of them returned back to the footballer's home -- which by now was the unsurprising centre of fevered media attention. Gareth, who was used to such a spotlight, appeared to take little notice of reporters and cameramen on his doorstep, but to Will, who savoured being a nobody, the development came with deep discomfort and it wasn't long before he began to wonder whether his lover had done the right thing in telling the world of his decision and of the man he had sacrificed his footballing career for. Perhaps, when all was said and done, it would have been wiser to have said nothing -- though given the soccer-ace's fame, the Dutchman realised that such a course of action had never seriously been open to them. `Don't worry so much!' Gareth insisted, pulling him away from the window and closing the blind. `In a few weeks there'll have found some other story to follow and we'll be forgotten. `In the meantime,' he sighed, `I have a couple of things I want to give you ...' He handed Will a brown envelope, which the youngster puzzled over for a moment before tearing it open. Inside, he found two air tickets ... `Rio?' he gasped in surprise, then glanced at the tickets again. `Tonight?' `I thought it was probably best if we went away for a couple of weeks,' Gareth explained. `Then we can come back, sell this place, find somewhere in Holland -- and then, well ... we can do what we like -- away from the glare of publicity!' `You think?' The athlete sidled up to Will and wrapped his arms around him. `Yes, Will,' he sighed. `In fact, we might like Rio so much that we decide to stay there -- you know, all that sun and sand and sea ... and sex!' Will turned to kiss him again. `Sounds good to me,' he agreed. `By the way, you said you had a *couple* of things you wanted to give me ...' `Oh yes,' Gareth remembered, pulling a ring-box from his pocket, `I wanted to give this back to you -- assuming, of course, you'll accept it this time and that you'll wear it for me ...' Will smiled -- his cheeky, boyish grin shining out from that handsome face. `Of course I will wear it for you,' he agreed, `though only if you will put it on my finger first!' His lover took the ring, then slipped it carefully onto the fourth finger of Will's left hand. `I love you, Will Brandt,' he finally noted. `I love you and if I had to give up everything I owned in the world to keep you, I would! You do realise that, don't you?' The Dutchman kissed him tenderly on the lips. `Of course, I realise it,' he affirmed. `You *know* I do!' `Mind,' sighed the ex-footballer mischievously, `there is one other thing I'd love to give you ...' Will glanced at his suspiciously -- unsure of what he had in mind. `Oh yes ...?' he quipped. `Yes!' Gareth laughed, gripping him tightly and rubbing the manly bulge in his trousers against the lad. `Something I *always* love to give *you*, Will!' He didn't need to say another word, of course. For the truth was that all their Saturdays had come at once -- and both Gareth and Will had the rest of their lives to enjoy it! EPILOGUE Three years on from that wonderful day and the two boys are still as much in love as they ever have been. Not that Gareth's desire for the beautiful game has ever really waned. Having partied in Brazil for a couple of fabulous weeks, they returned to England, before eventually buying a house in a quiet corner of northern Holland, overlooking the North Sea. Such solitude suited Will, who soon found plenty to do to occupy his time -- from painting boats to fixing the plumbing (which was in urgent need of repair). For the older fellow, however, such pastimes were never destined to satisfy, and indeed it wasn't at all long before he was once again yearning to indulge in his second greatest passion. Fifteen months after collecting his Cup Winner's medal, he signed for a friendly team in the Dutch second division -- a move that Will had perhaps half-anticipated even on the day that his lover quit the English Premiership. A season after that and with Gareth now quite fluent in the language of his adoptive land, his openly gay-relationship appeared to gain him the initiative in securing a job on Dutch television as a football commentator. Meanwhile, sex with Will has possibly never been better -- their love perhaps strengthened by the footballer's new-found professional outlet. As such, there is hardly ever an occasion when either lads are troubled by pent-up cum in their balls, for the fevered desire and frequent opportunity to spray their sperm continues undiminished. ... And will do, it seems, for as long as there's a Saturday to look forward to at the end of every week!