Date: Thu, 14 Oct 2004 18:49:49 +0100
From: Alistair Stevenson <asjam@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Made in Sheffield Chapter 4

7:00am

"Hello."

"Hi. Hey, Sarah, you know Colin Wright?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, I came home from a trick last night and saw the two of you having
sex in our bed so I followed him to his place and tried fucking him up the
arse at gun-point. Sorry about that."

When I woke at 7, there were a couple of moments before I opened my eyes
when I couldn't remember what the weight on my mind was. But as soon as I
saw Sarah I knew. I lay watching her sleep wondering what the future
held. Wondering what Colin had expected me to say to her. Everything
could've been all right, but now everything was going to get wrecked, and
it was me that was supposed to take the first swing.

In bed would have been the best place to tell her and right away would have
been the best time. But I didn't have the will to turn myself in. I got up,
pulled on some old rugby shorts and went downstairs. There was a note in
the kitchen from her reminding me I was supposed to let her know if I was
going to be staying out after twelve. I stood in front of the fridge eating
bits of whatever I could find, thinking dark things about the day ahead
only to look up and realise Sarah had come down as well.

Knowing the truth now about Colin and Sarah, I realised it had been ages
since the two of us had said hello as if we'd been pleased to see each
other. People had paid good money to see me in as little as I was wearing
right then but Sarah didn't give me a second glance. And - now I knew the
effort I'd put into giving her a good time in the sack had been wasted
effort - I wasn't exactly desperate to tear her clothes off
either. Thinking I didn't really like her much made what I had to tell her
seem easier to say.

"Where did you get to last night then?"

I shut the fridge and turned to her, trying to be gentle.

"It's quite a story. Er, I think I fucked up, actually."

"If you didn't go drinking with eighteen year old gym-heads you'd wind up
doing less stupid things."

I was being told off for leaving her enough time to play away from home
with just the same age and type of guy she didn't like me hanging out with.

"Yeah, well, you're always in the right, Sarah, aren't you?"

I left her scowling over her Bran Flakes and went upstairs. I showered
planning to break my story to her quickly on the way out and shaved
rehearsing just what I was going to say. But then, in the bedroom, choosing
my clothes and getting dressed - feeling better for being clean and looking
good in 501s and a muscle-hugging top - I thought, "What the fuck, why
should I do what Colin tells me? Let the two of them work it out
themselves." And I sorted my work-out gear and lecture notes and I left the
house without another word.

Before you can conceal your feelings from other people, you've got to know
exactly what they are yourself.  Motivating a beaten football team, making
money out of sex, being a decent graduate manager; all the things I was
good at, needed me to come over as confident and positive no matter how I
felt inside. Seeing me set off that Friday morning, none of the smiling
checkouts I got from girls, nor the quick, shy glances I got from boys
caught me off guard. No-one dogging me could've thought anything except
that I was just as happy, horny and secure as I'd been the day before.

But I wasn't fooling myself. I was certain I was in trouble. So far, only
Colin Wright knew how much trouble, but within five hours, it wouldn't just
be him who was saying the captain of the University's first eleven was gay,
it might be anyone. It might be my Dean, John Royal, it might be the rest
of the team, it might be some bully boy copper in a cell. Besides trying to
stay cool and facing it, I had no idea what to do because I had no idea
what was going to happen.

I arrived at Nick's place just before 8:30, my bullshit cheerfulness all
sorted out. Nick was a good guy. My age and on my course, he worked as hard
at training as I did, he was just as cocky as me and, most times I had a
problem I never minded telling it to him. We worked out together three
mornings each week and- every month or so - got properly blasted
together. Drinking at wine bars or arriving at a club, we both knew there
weren't many women who didn't notice us and either wish the guys they were
with would look after themselves a bit better, or nip off to the pisser to
check their chances of making a move on us.

"Yo, Noah."

"All right, Nick?"

"D'you finish that TQ Management stuff?"

"I'm my own customer, my colleagues are customers, my customers are
customers. I believe in what I do."

"Oh. The answer is yes, then?"

We walked along, talking football. Gradually, all the shit from the night
before drifted off. I believed Nick really liked me. And he knew me. I
didn't believe scuttlebutt from some undergrad rower was going to put him
off.

By the time we'd made it to the Sports Centre, Nick and I had been fooling
around long enough for me to think that maybe I could talk to him about
some of the crap that had happened. Undressing in the changing rooms, we
were quiet. Instead of getting fixed ready for the weights, I was thinking
about whether to open my mouth or not. Sitting down to get his trainers on,
Nick broke the silence.

"So, you do anything last night?"

"Not really. Went round to Paul's."

"Paul Leys?

"Yeah."

"How come?"

As he stood waiting for me, Nick was grinning to himself.

"You know. Just hanging out. Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing...Paul control himself did he?"

"Eh?"

"I hope you were gentle with him, Noah."

I could feel my face burning like I was fourteen but by then we were
walking into the weights room so I had to fake inattention, trying not to
advertise my interest in understanding what he meant. I got under a press
and began work on my biceps while Nick flexed his calves and thighs.

"What's wrong with Paul?"

"I can't say. If you haven't noticed it's better you don't know. But that
poor boy. You're such a heart-breaking bastard."

"Quit it. What is it?"

"You'll piss yourself. He's got a hard-on for you."

Nick was concentrating on his work out more than conversation. I was
fighting not to lose my rhythm wondering how to be casual about getting
more out of him. He glanced over and saw I was waiting for him to say
something. He looked more serious.

"No. He's a sound bloke. Don't say anything to him. Remember his house
party? Katy Toor and I used his bedroom and we found this thing under his
bed. He's got a scrapbook of stuff from Darts and the Athletics Union
newsletter about you."

"That's just because he knows what a shit-hot footballer I am. It doesn't
make him flitty, Nick."

"No, that's true. But the five sided porno fantasy about you and him in the
sauna together isn't the way most fans keep tabs on top players is it?"

"You're joking, aren't you?"

I was bricking it. How the fuck would Paul feel if he found out Nick knew?
And if Nick thought I'd gone to sleep the night before wishing I'd been
with Paul instead of Sarah, what the fuck would he make of me?

I shut up and we didn't talk about it again until we were in the changing
room afterwards, Nick getting back into his jeans while I pulled on
Speedo's ready for an hour in the pool.

"You're really freaked about Paul, eh?"

"I dunno."

"Look, forget it. I know you got a problem with gays, but he's all
right. You wouldn't be where you are in the league if Paul wasn't playing
for you. You're a good looking bloke, guys who like guys are going to like
you. What if you manage a rec. centre? There's going to be gay customers,
gay staff, gay directors. You gotta get with the Millennium."

I didn't have anything - not one thing - to say. Everything I thought of
seemed dangerous or false.

"I shouldn't have told you about Paul. But, then again, it might be good
for you, Noh. You should talk to him. He's not going try anything on you is
he? You should be flattered."

"Yeah, YOU'D be flattered wouldn't you?"

I was thinking about how, if I hadn't done what I'd done to Colin, I
could've been asking Nick if he had a problem with me being that way
too. But if I started down that road now, having to confess I'd tried
forcing another guy was at the end of it and even Nick wasn't laid back
enough for that. So, I stood there, knotting the drawstring on my trunks
while Nick body-sprayed himself and sorted his hair.

"I got a mate from home who's gay. Normal as anyone at school. You know: a
friend of mine. Well, he told me he fancied blokes when we were in the
lower sixth. You can't blame him. You're born that way, aren't you? I could
have been, you could have been. It's not your fault where your dick
points."

"I know that."

"I mean, he's not some freak. He lives with a guy now and they're just like
anyone. It's cool. A real good house. Lots of money. Like two blokes
sharing at college only sleeping in the same bed as well. I tell you,
they've got it sorted: no time of the month, no kids, no bother about
getting married. And if one of them fancies it with someone else..."

"Yeah, Nick, I'm not interested, man. I gotta swim."

I didn't want to hear Nick banging on about how great it was to be gay. I
knew soon he'd have me saying that if one of the players on my team was
queer then that was ok with me, and it was something I didn't want to
say. I'd spent years fucking guys and telling myself it was just for money
and there was no way I was one of them. If Paul could be out with such
little hassle, then what the fuck had I been up to? Why had I got involved
in all this rent stuff and clinging to Sarah and attacking Colin when I
could've been like Nick's mate, doing my own thing without fooling myself
or having to make out to everyone that I didn't want what I did? The pool
was nearly empty. Most students have early lectures on Friday mornings to
stop them taking three day weekends. I was pleased with the peace because
all I wanted was to swim until I'd forgotten myself. I bombed thirty
lengths, thrashing at the water until I was knackered enough to have to
slow down. It was then I realised the ginger-haired muscleboy posing around
at the deep end was someone I knew: Stuart Jenks, a fourth year medic and
rugby player. I didn't like him because he was such a stuck-up, jerk-off
daddy's boy but he was a pretty fit guy, always wandering around changing
rooms showing off his cock. He'd often tried chumming up with me because he
knew John Royal liked me and he was obsessed enough with networking to want
the contact. In fact, I'd thought he might be chatting me up for real since
no amount of put downs stopped him treating me like his lifelong buddy. It
wasn't until I'd heard him trying to get elected headboy of the Student
Tories by promising to cut Union money going to NUS sponsored sports events
that I stopped thinking of him as a potential trick and just got on with
disliking him instead.

Well, I was in a humbler mood now, and it occurred to me Stuart might be
like me: trapped into hating queers to cover up the fact he wanted to fuck
his mates. It was only a half-thought and I wasn't bothered when he hardly
responded to me. He was sitting on the edge of the pool and I tapped his
foot just before my tumble turn then went over onto my back expecting him
to be trying to stop me for a talk. He waved but his attention was
somewhere else.

I stopped at the other end of the pool and saw he was on his feet again,
talking to the guy he'd been with when I'd first got in. The guy was a
serious swimmer that was clear: a close crop for speed in the water,
no-bullshit attitude and not a gram of body fat. Stuart was quite a bit
taller than him and obviously - with loud fake laughter and backslaps and
all that shit - trying hard to butter him up. Once his friend was swimming
again, I cruised down to Stuart and stopped properly this time, asking him
who it was. His eyes were locked on the guy, following him up and down,
smiling.

"Ah, yah. He's called Janek or something. There's an international on at
Pond's Forge and he's with the Russians."

That was all I was getting out of him, because he stood up to get a better
look at boy wonder. Underneath the elasticated blue material of his trunks,
Stuart's prick was as big and hard as any I've ever seen. And he was either
so cock-sure or so devoted to the Olympian he was busy pulling he wasn't
even self conscious about it. Exercise had taken my mind off my problems a
bit but looking at Stuart, and believing his erection was that size because
he wanted to use it on another guy, made me forget all of it completely. As
subtly as I could, I kept my eye on the developing closeness between the
two of them. The Russian stretched and flexed for Stuart; Stuart licked his
lips over the Russian's backside when he bent forward, they both patted and
pushed each other every chance they got.

After half an hour wondering just how far they'd go before a lifeguard had
to pull them apart, I watched them have a serious little conference and
then walk one behind the other towards the changing room. As he walked by I
checked out Stuart's horn side-on and it was clear there was still only one
thing on his mind. The guy was going to have to get laid or his Speedo's
were going to split.

Seeing Stuart acting like a dog on heat was hilarious certainly, but also
interesting and - I've got to admit it - thanks to his well bred good
looks, rugby players build and powered up erection - it was a big turn
on. If the boy felt sexy enough to let his desperation to get fucked show
so much, I wanted to see what he did next. I gave them a minute to get
clear then pulled myself out of the water and strolled after them. The
lockers and changing room were empty but I could hear them.

At the back of the changing area were the showers. A free standing white
tiled wall screened guys showering from guys changing but it was half a
meter short of the roof so you could easily enough haul yourself up it and
look over the top. The ginger wanker's loud rugby field laugh cut through
the sound of water jetting down on them. He was crawling up his new pal's
arse by finding the Russian's stabs at English rib-bustingly funny. I
scouted round the changing stalls to make sure no-one was about then
boosted myself up so I could see over the top of the wall. I was high
enough not to be obvious but close enough to see everything. Actually, I
wouldn't have been that bothered if Stuart had happened to glance up and
catch sight of me; but it was pretty plain he had his mind on other
things. They were standing side on to me, facing each other and both of
their Speedo suits were obscene: their eager young organs aching for each
other, even if the lads themselves were still a bit shy.

Janek made the first move, going quiet while he loosened and dropped his
trunks. Stuart looked thrown by the Russian's nerve. He wasn't laughing
now, but there wasn't much point in him being bashful since the
record-breaking thickness of his dick under the nylon of his wet costume
made it pretty clear how turned on he was. And Janek wasn't far behind: his
erection wasn't world-conquering like Stuart's, but it was still a good
size and as pumped as any dick could be. He was quite a sight all together,
shorter than Stuart but with a body trained so every muscle was well
defined and - now his Speedo's were round his ankles - it was even less
surprising Stuart had lost his head. Janek seemed pretty eager to see as
much of Stuart as he was showing him and without any hanging around, put
his hands to Stuart's hips and pulled his trunks halfway down his
thighs. Having his dick spring free set something loose in Jenks: suddenly
he was all over the swimmer, putting his arms round him to pull him close,
his greedy hands going straight for the swimmer's ass. The showers had cut
out by now so the only sound was the grunting and sighing of the two guys
getting off. I was off the floor, braced by my knees between two walls. It
wasn't comfortable, but there was no way I was going to miss a second.

 Watching the passion with which the two of them were going at it had my
own cock as hard as theirs. Without being properly aware of it, I was
squeezing myself through my trunks. It was like one of the live sex shows
Sarah and I had been to for a laugh in Paris, only instead of bad actresses
pretending to be lesbians, it was two fit guys letting lust take over for
real.

If he'd been hesitant before, Stuart had got over it. He was squeezing at
the firm globes of the Russian's butt with more enthusiasm than he can ever
have put into a pair of tits. He was pulling those cheeks far enough apart
for the guy's crack to be wide open and his hole on display. I pushed my
hand inside my trunks so I could work my dick properly while I watched
Stuart - eyes closed and groaning - as he gorged himself on Janek's mouth.

For his part, Janek was at least as keen. Probably expecting nothing more
than a free swim his morning had turned up a huge piece of English
schoolboy international rugby player to fuck. He was pushing Stuart
backwards against a wall, one hand pulling Stuart's mouth down to his own
level while with his other he was doing the same as me, urging his cock on
with a hard wank.

Once he had his guy where he wanted him, he broke off from their kiss and
stood back to admire Stuart, his dick still in his hand. Stuart's famous
tackle was putting on quite a show. His big nuts were pulled up tight under
a thick pole that stretched up to his navel. He was cut so his swollen
helmet was fully exposed. He smiled as little Janek yanked away at himself
while Janek kept his eyes locked on a dick that seemed to please him almost
as much as its owner.

Stuart Jenks was a first rate tosser, but with a prick that was straight
out of a wet dream. I disliked him but if I'd been in Janek's place I would
have done just what Janek did, which was get down on his knees between
Stuart's thick rugby field thighs and put his face against his nuts. With
the action intensifying neither of them were thinking about anything except
cock so I was free to crane further over the wall to watch Janek open his
lips over Stuart's big ginger-furred balls and fill his mouth with one of
the hot plumbs hanging under his hard-on. Stuart looked down at the smooth
young athlete tonguing his bollocks and began ratchetting down the
truncheon-sized length against his stomach, encouraging Janek to get his
gob round that as well. Jenks gasped as Janek took the hint and sunk his
mouth down the thick branch of Stuart's cock. His compulsory Russian
military service must have included drilling squaddies on cock-sucking
because Janek was doing a professional job. He pushed Jenks' bellend deep
down into his throat so that his lips were buried in pubic hair. Stuart was
doing some serious moaning. Head back, he grabbed the hand Janek had on his
stomach and moved it round behind himself into the crevice of his beefcake
backside. Jenks didn't just want to get sucked off, he wanted his arse
fingered as well. Janek wasn't shy about penetrating deep inside his new
shower buddy. I watched him slot first one then two fingers right up
Stuart's tight gash then draw them in and out in time with the pumping his
mouth was giving Stuart's bench. Stuart bucked his hips forward, aching for
another downstroke of warm suction while Janek's fingers frigged away at
his arse. I gave up gripping myself over them, less turned on by watching
the pair of them going at it, than amazed by just how dick-hungry Jenks
turned out to be. Janek obviously appreciated Jenks' appetite for sex with
another guy as well because - with his face still impaled on Stuart's
manhood and his fingers still inside the muscly ring of the boy's backside
- he began squirting his load all over the hairy sturdiness of Stuart's
legs. Stuart looked down to watch Janek's cock spurting out against him
then threw his own head back, pulled Janek tighter against his balls and -
red-faced with the effort - began pumping out his own ropes of come. Within
a second or two, Janek was choking on the bolts of spunk and took his mouth
from round the gushing geyser between Stuart's thighs, which now did wide
arches from Jenks' pole across the shower stall. A bit less driven that
he'd been before, Stuart slowly lowered his gaze from the ceiling and began
to sink down the tiled wall to join Janek on the floor. Midway, he glanced
to his left and - you should have seen it - the exhaustion on his face
flashed to shock as his eyes met mine. I grinned and gave him a big thumbs
up. I would've clapped as well but, not wanting to spoil the moment, I
dropped down from the wall, left Jenks to ponder on the implications of
having been caught red-handed and - within a few steps - was plunging
smoothly into the clear blue water of the uni pool.



Knowing Stuart liked fucking other men made me laugh. Not just because I'd
never liked him and it was nice to know someone who'd ranted publicly about
student standards of sexual morality was secretly horny for dick, but also
because it restored my faith that everybody was at it. Maybe Stuart,
picking himself up from the spunk-splattered shower room floor had just had
his first and last male-male experience but, whether he went on to shag a
million women or settle down comfortably with a loving wife, he'd had and
enjoyed sex with another man. And anyone like Colin Wright who wanted to
pin me down as a liar for going with blokes while living with Sarah was
going to have to point the finger at a lot of other guys as well.

Time was moving on. I did enough lengths to let the two new sweethearts in
the changing room get clear then got myself out of the pool, showered and
changed ready for my lecture at 10. It was a short distance from the sports
centre to the campus, but that was time enough for me to start thinking
about Sarah again. What I'd just seen in the showers reassured me I wasn't
the only male student around who did it with other guys, but it had done
nothing to help me prepare for what was threatening to blow up later on. I
jogged down the steps onto the Union concourse, trying to concern myself
with management theory instead of pointless worry.

Inside the Sports Science building I met Nick chatting to two first year
girls I knew he fancied. He saw straight away I'd got over his gay-is-good
lecture about Paul and broke off from the women to come over to me. We
walked into the lecture theatre and took seats at the back where a memo was
going round about a compulsory faculty-wide meeting at 1.  I didn't really
pay attention because I knew John Royal creamed himself over every
opportunity to ball out the student body about whatever his latest thing
happened to be: dropping litter, working harder, hating foreigners; it
might have been anything. Anyway, by one o'clock Colin would have had his
date with Sarah and who knew what was going to happen after that? As the
lecturer arrived, I took my file out and settled down for an hour of
doodling, keen to distract myself during a session of material I'd either
know already or get a much better angle on later from a book

It was about fifteen minutes in that John Royal arrived. Anyone disturbing
a lecture usually apologises to the lecturer. John didn't. He stood at the
door scanning the students around while everyone stayed quiet. I wasn't
even slightly phased by him, but - for some reason - I felt guilty about
not having taken better notes. That's the effect he had. He was a twat,
everyone knew that; but just the same no-one was too keen to cross him. His
eye caught Nick and me

"Mr Green," he said and left.

There were murmurs and then joking around as I packed my stuff away because
what had just happened was ridiculous. It was as if I was eight and in
trouble at school rather than a postgrad and captain of the first eleven. I
was angry he was summoning me as if he could do what he liked and I'd
obey. On another day I'd have hung around showing my contempt for him but
distant alarm bells were ringing that this might have something to do with
the night before so I got up and left. He was waiting outside.

"John?"

He held my look then turned and headed off down the corridor towards his
office. I'd brought in more silverware than any other student, most
weekends I dropped in at his house, most weeks I sat and let him drone on
to me at his local, but apparently that was all forgotten now. While I
followed him I calmed myself, doing what I always did before running on a
football pitch or limbering up for a confrontation. By the time we arrived
at his office I was ready to face whatever he wanted to pitch at me. If
Colin himself had been sitting there waiting for us there would have been
nothing but composure and self-assurance to see on my face. As John
motioned for me to sit down I looked at him and - realising just how angry
he was - I forced myself to relax some more. His secretary came in without
making eye contact with me, placed a file on his desk and kept her gaze on
the floor while he told her we weren't to be disturbed.

"Right. Mr Green, do you understand the importance I attach to the
reputation of this Faculty?"

"Yes."

His phone rang. While he hurried whoever it was off the line I began
feeling impatient to know exactly what it was I was facing. Once he'd rung
off, he paused to collect his thoughts then turned his furious little eyes
back on me.

"As a mature, post graduate student honoured with the leadership of one of
our teams, you have been afforded a position of responsibility and trust. I
have put my confidence in you and you have betrayed that confidence by
holding me up to ridicule in front of my senior management colleagues."

I had nothing to say since I had no idea what he was talking about. It
obviously wasn't attacking Colin, which meant I was on surer
ground. Anything else must be a misunderstanding. I hadn't done anything.

"I will not be humiliated by a student. I devoted yesterday afternoon to
making some enquiries about you, Mr Green, and I have been," here he
slammed his hand violently down on his desk and was suddenly red-faced and
shouting, "...appalled by the discoveries I have made."

I wasn't over-worried about John's sense of theatre but I was a bit
bothered about what stories he might have heard. Losing his temper was a
pretty pathetic move, but if he'd heard rumours about me being on the game,
now wasn't an easy time for me to start defending myself.

"I'm not sure I understand you, Dean. I've always respected the reputation
of the Sports Faculty."

"Have you? Have you? Well, so I believed. But yesterday the Student Union's
society for Homosexuals addressed a meeting of this University's faculty
heads." I could only imagine the protests Royal must have made at being
forced to listen to people he thought of as criminal deviants and suddenly
something Chris had said the night before sprang to mind and I knew what
was coming.

"As I understand it, it is these people's intention to encourage young
people who have only recently left their parents' protection and who are
supposedly at this institution to study, to regard certain sexual practices
as normal. It has been a matter of honour to me that no member of my
faculty who has played for any team at inter-collegiate level, or gone on
to graduate, or found work as a result of a reference from me has ever, to
my knowledge, been associated with them. Are you a member of the Homosexual
Society, Mr Green?"

He knew I wasn't. He probably didn't know what a jerk he sounded but he did
know how to threaten effectively. If I wasn't able to cheer him up he
really could louse up my future for me. Which, on top of Sarah and Colin,
would be just what I needed.

"No, John I'm not."

"Then I would like you to watch a film and explain to me how you came to
act as their spokesman."

The video he put on had been put together by Chris, the Gaysoc president
who'd paid £20 to give me a blow job less than twelve hours before. It was
his over-the-top attempt to make Gaysoc look like the most widely supported
part of the Union's student welfare programme. I hadn't seen it, but I knew
I was part of it. A month before they'd been interviewing people on campus
and I'd been dumb enough to get caught by them. The first fifteen minutes
was the standard guys in dresses, guys in rubber, girls in leather, gay
pride embarrassment. Imagining what John thought of it made my mind
reel. There couldn't have been anything less likely to make him
sympathetic. But I didn't really start sweating until the on-campus
section. Most of the interviewees were random students saying they had no
problem with gays and, yes, they did think queers should be allowed in the
army and to adopt children and get married and all that shit. Then, there I
was, walking towards the camera with Nick. Chris headed straight for me and
I came over to him, grinning.

"What do you think about gay and lesbian students?"

Cue big ironic grin from me. "I think they're atrocious."

Chris laughs, "...and how would you react if you knew you were fancied by
another man?"

"Well, if he was rich enough to afford me I'd be keen to do business."

Even at the time, it was meant as a joke. I would never have said anything
serious about prostitution in front of Nick since he didn't have a clue I
did it. On the spur of the moment I'd made up something that sounded
far-fetched but that I knew Chris would understand. It had never occurred
to me that anyone other than Gaysoc people would ever see it. John stopped
the tape and sat back behind his desk looking down at what I guessed was my
departmental record.

"Can you understand, Green, the effect that your appearance on that film
has on me? Can you imagine the betrayal and humiliation involved in being
undermined before fellow faculty heads by a student who is known to be a
personal friend of my family?"

"I'm sorry, John, it was a mistake."

"Winking at the idea of prostitution, promiscuity and homosexuality is not
a mistake. I could not make such a mistake because none of those subjects
do I find amusing. Your mistake was allowing me an opportunity to
understand your true character. What if a member of the first eleven were
to witness your participation in this film? Don't you think he might find
it difficult to play his best for someone he knows associates with these
types? And what if an appointment panel had a choice between two similar
candidates, one of whom had made such a statement as you have and one of
whom had not? Which candidate would you select? Isn't it my duty as a
referee to make your potential future employers aware of your readiness to
make public statements against conventional morals?"

I could see John might have found it embarrassing for someone from his own
faculty to have appeared on a gay rights video but - keen as I was to deal
with him seriously - I couldn't understand why he was going so electric
over something so meaningless. It was pretty mad even by his
standards. Either he'd flipped for real or there was more to it than he was
letting on.

"I honestly am very sorry, Dean"

"I want you out of my department."

There was silence. He held my eye as if I might fall over backwards at the
red card he was suddenly waving in my face. But my breathing stayed
regular, I glanced away from him only to hide my impatience.

"Can I ask what your reason would be?"

"You have brought this faculty into disrepute. This is what I have on you
and it is enough for my purposes. I will not discourage an alternative
university from allowing you to continue your studies, but I want you away
from here."

"John, surely a student is allowed to say anything to anyone..."

"As a senior manager with thirty five years academic experience I believe I
can terminate a student for any reason I see fit. Asking you to leave for
the reason I've given is a compromise I have decided upon to protect your
fellow students from further embarrassment at your hands. Do you
understand?"

I guess I must have looked as if I didn't understand, because John's sweaty
little fit twisted a notch tighter.

"Confirm now that you wish to end your association with Sheffield or I
shall go further."

I raised my chin and stared him out. I said nothing.

"Very well. Following yesterday's Management Committee meeting I was in
some confusion about the right course of action to take against you. You
have been an effective captain of an important team, a successful student
and a trusted acquaintance of mine. I was unwilling to believe my first
thought which was that you were a secret homosexual in league with the
people presenting yesterday's film. Consequently, I spent the afternoon
taking soundings first from teaching staff then from your colleagues. It
appears everybody but myself has harboured suspicions about you. You are
the subject of widespread rumour. None of your tutors would express to me
what the substance of this gossip might be. The whispers about you are so
scandalous my subordinates were not prepared to repeat them, even to me."

I'd always known people talked and I'd never cared. I'd been proud of my
talent in bed and of the money I'd made and if people thought I was on the
game then that was fine. I liked the idea of being looked at and wondered
about. But that was on a football pitch or in a changing room. Now fucking
for money had jumped the barricade between being a laugh and being a real
threat to my future. There was no Sarah any more to use as a shield, and
John was so confident and determined it seemed obvious he must have got
something concrete against me.

"In the end, Noah, I was forced to accept one of your tutor's tip-offs that
the place to track down the truth about you was on the back of a cubicle
door in the Union toilets. It was there - among the usual filth - I found
out just what the secret reputation of my first eleven's captain is. In a
gents toilet I find poetry, graffiti and even sketches testifying to your
willingness to provide any sexual service it is possible to perform in
return for money. If it had been the work of one degraded person admitting
some distant, inappropriate attachment to you I would have been angry
enough; but there were five or six different contributors, all of them
boasting of actual experiences."

Gobshite in some student pisshole wasn't enough to hang me so John had gone
on to check the stories out with guys from the Department who, no doubt,
were only too eager to score brownie points from him by telling him
everything he wanted to hear. I knew there were plenty of undergraduates
around afraid enough of Royal's power to admit being buggered by me
themselves if it meant helping him. And I realised as John spelt out the
mountains of dirt he'd collected about me that it didn't even matter it was
all hearsay. If he'd decided I was out of the game then that was it: nobody
was going to persuade John Royal that a decision he'd reached was wrong.

John made a regular thing of turning up on the sideline at odd training
sessions and running them himself. Ignoring the coach or whatever set-ups a
squad might be rehearsing, no matter how important the routine might be, no
matter how close a big game was, John would stroll onto the pitch and -
with no messing around - rearrange things and manage them his way. That
would last half an hour then he'd walk off again, leaving the lads to get
back to whatever it was they were doing before. He'd done it to me when I'd
been coaching and - like everyone else - my team and I did anything he
wanted without arguing, even made out he was doing us a favour, wasting our
time with sports theory from the fifties. Everyone knew John was an
embarrassing fuckup as a faculty head, but everyone did what he said.

I shifted in my seat while he went on spitting out the things that he'd
heard about me. I couldn't say what I wanted to say - I couldn't point out
the he'd made no formal charge against me and had no evidence - because I
knew arguing back would only make him more determined to finish me. His
mind was shut so tight nothing could change it. There was a pause. His list
of unnamed finger-pointers had run out and he was looking at me like he'd
just proved I was the lowest piece of dirt in Europe. Satisfied that the
fact I said nothing was because I had no answer, he grunted and then
finally arrived at the heart of his fury with me. Calmly he asked,

"Did you molest my son?"

I wasn't bothered about Chris's video because even though it made me look
stupid, it wasn't that bad; and John hearing about the prostitution was a
pity but then again, fuck him: he had no proof. Alex was something
different. I'd really liked him and I felt guilty I hadn't helped him. I
glanced down at my feet and John saw I was rattled.

"Is that why he's in America? Because you tried having homosexual
intercourse with him? Did you proposition my boy?"

He'd been under control to begin with, but he was white with anger now.

"No."

"Well I don't believe it. My wife knows you were involved in Alex running
from me. I didn't listen to her. She's right. I saw the two of you looking
at each other the night he threw that bout. My God! I watched you courting
the lad every week at the pub. Did you go after my son for money?"

"No."

"Can you explain why he's gone missing? Answer me!"

I thought of Alex the day I caught him jacking off in my room, of his pain
and panic then, and of the despair on his face when his father screamed at
him after he'd lost his last boxing match. With John so frantic to have me
admit I was responsible for Alex flitting out I could see why his son had
gone. If Alex, deep and brooding as he was, had tried opening up to the
shallow, twisted screwup he had for a father it would have been like
looking for sympathy from barbed wire. It was exactly then that the urge
I'd first had after screwing up with Colin came back to me: I'd had enough,
I'd leave.

"Well that is fine, young man. You have not only brought public shame on my
Department, you have attacked me personally by - I believe - driving my son
from home. I warn you to hide yourself. I have called a compulsory meeting
of the student body this afternoon and at that meeting I intend making my
opinion of you clear to your colleagues. Yesterday I discussed you with men
who had only restrained themselves from dealing with the reputation you
have because they believed you had my protection." He dropped his voice,
"This will be denied if the matter ever goes further, but it would be my
keenest wish that anyone finding you on campus would show you just exactly
how unwelcome you are here. Do you understand that?"

I was imagining Alex turning his back on all this bullshit and setting out
alone. I thought about the postcard he'd sent to me and realised how much
it meant that he'd done that, that he'd wanted me to know he was OK. John's
threats didn't worry me. I was confident I could handle any fresher - or
little gang of fresher friends - who might be sad enough to believe Royal
had enough power to commission vigilantes. But with Sarah and Colin still
to deal with and with my course, maybe even my career, totalled by John the
cleanest, fastest answer was fucking off. I was still being stared to death
by my maniac dean.

"You're a twat, John."

If John was ever going to have had a heart attack, he'd have surely had one
then. He sprang up from his chair and whipped halfway round the desk as if
he really thought he had a chance with me. I got up too, but slower and by
the time we were facing each other, his sparking rage had frozen into
tight-faced determination.

"Your former university, your sixth form, your parents...your fucking
primary school teachers, you dirty, bent, shirt-lifting whore...I shall see
that each and every one of them understands who you are. You will never,
ever work in sport in this country or any other."

I looked straight, deep into his eyes with all the contempt and physical
anger I felt towards him. He backed off coughing, hacking up his lungs, red
and breathless after all the effort of balling me out. I laughed softly,
picked up my bag and walked out.



An hour before I'd watched almost exactly the kind of student John had
threatened to have me beaten up by, pushing his dick between another guy's
lips. Now Stuart Jenks was free to fuck male swimmers on University
property while I was off my course and a disgrace to my Faculty. Just
because I'd joked on camera with the chairman of the Union's Lesbian, Gay
and Bisexual Society. Maybe if it had been the football season and John had
been more conscious how much he needed me to keep the First Eleven up the
League I'd have got a chance to defend myself. But sweating over the way
I'd been shafted was a waste of life because - even without John's
hysterics - I'd still have been facing the threat of Colin broadcasting
what I'd done to him and I might have decided the same thing anyway: the
only way to deal with what had happened was to leave it all behind. Instead
of making excuses or pleading for mercy or toughing it out, I'd walk
away. Fuck football, I could live without it. Fuck management, it wasn't
worth the hassle. And fuck whoever thought they could stop me, I wasn't
explaining anything to anyone anymore.

I was pretty sure that if I spent the afternoon hanging around campus I
could've hustled enough with students to get me the air fare to New York,
but, at that moment, the best thing about doing a runner was getting away
from the University and all the wankers inside it. I had mates in
Manchester, a couple of them working the street and I left Royal's office
looking forward to being somewhere else. All I needed was my dick and my
wallet. I ditched my textbooks and lecture notes in the entrance hall so I
had nothing but sports kit and a towel in my bag. I left the building for
the last time, pushing open the glass front doors and shaking the dust off
my feet as I came out into the sun.



I was kidding myself, of course. As I walked across campus I knew that much
for sure. During my second year at Manchester I'd tried to avoid taking a
loan by working as rent for real. Instead of giving clean, easily pleased
nineteen-year-olds a gentle seeing too, I got a guy I met working at the
college bar to show me how he made a living hawking his body. Hanging out
with glued up fifteen-year-olds or raddled smackheads ready to do anything
for a fix had been a good experience because it had taught me how much
easier it is to make money any other way than prostitution. I still did OK
for myself but even short term, getting picked up on street corners was a
low, dangerous trade. My stomach lurched at the thought that I couldn't go
through with leaving; that I might have no choice except facing Colin and
fighting John. It was difficult to see myself pleading to be let off for
trying to fuck another guy, and if I appealed to the Vice Chancellor about
Royal I knew I'd end up at some disciplinary tribunal being accused of
propositioning Alex. In any case, If Colin did what he'd promised and went
to the police then that would be that, not even my parents would doubt that
everything John had accused me of was true. It was a relief to realise I
had no choice. Entering shade under a road-bridge on the way to the Union,
I slowed down and thought about what to do next. I didn't want to be making
decisions blinded by panic and I half-hoped there was still a chance if I
talked to Sarah she might find Colin's story difficult to swallow. If I
left Sheffield without seeing anyone it would look like John had scared me
into running which he'd love and I didn't want, so I was going to take my
time.

It was eleven o'clock. I'd been due to meet Nick in one of the Union study
rooms and the idea of seeing a friend felt so good right then I was sure it
must be the right choice. So I walked on, across the concourse into the
Union and upstairs to the quiet areas meant for work. I saw people I knew;
people I knew called to me, but I wasn't in the mood for
socialising. Thinking about how Nick had defended Paul for writing porn
about me, he was suddenly the only person I wanted to be around. I took the
stairs three at a time, thinking nothing except that I felt like I could
trust Nick.

Outside the study room I looked through the door at all the students
pouring over their books to see if Nick was around. Out of the blue, the
chairman of Gaysoc - the spark that lit John Royal's fuse - Chris, was
heading towards me, coming out. He hadn't seen me yet but there was no
avoiding him and I wasn't going to hide anyway. I dropped back into the
corridor and watched his face as he swung open the door and noticed I was
there.

He wasn't tripping like he'd been the night before and he looked better:
serious, not bad looking. He came over, sheepish about whether I'd want to
be seen talking to him in public. He was still girlish, but I had no real
problem with him.

"Hiya, Noah. How are you doing?"

"Not good. Fucking John Royal's had a go.

The fact I found myself hinting at the truth to someone like Chris proved
how much was on my mind.

"Oh, that man's terrible! He's called some kind of meeting for this
afternoon about student morals. Well, we're all going along in case he says
anything homophobic; you know what he's like. Are you going to go?"

"I just might if it means seeing your lot get pasted by Johnny
boy. Watching your promo is most of what's done it."

Chris stopped smiling and lifted his chin. You could see how he'd earned
respect from management. He had determination.

"If he says anything homophobic, or racist, or whatever we've got the equal
opps policy behind us. He might think he can do what he likes, but those
days are over. It's true, Noah..."

He stopped because, suddenly, Nick had turned up. Colin seemed to guess he
wasn't wanted any more. He said goodbye and I watched him walk off wishing
I could believe he really had a chance taking John on, then wishing I could
ask him what he thought I should do. Switching from Chris to Nick was like
diving deep underwater instead of being in the air.  We went into the study
room with Nick still telling me about the lecture I'd missed.

"What did John want, buddy?"

I paused because I didn't know what to say. I was still thinking about
Chris standing up to the same person who had me running away. If I told
Nick the truth, how far did I go? Did I tell him Alex had been wanking off
over me, that I'd had sex with Paul; that Sarah was going to leave me for a
bloke I'd tried fucking up the arse? I hardly knew Chris but I could
imagine myself letting him in on everything. Nick was my best mate but
there was almost nothing I wanted him to know.

"Uh, nothing really. Look, Nick, I forgot: I've got to sort something out,"
I got up and left, "I'll see you later, OK?"

I left Nick so I could think. The idea of someone else taking John Royal on
was like a goal when you're three nil down; it gave me some hope. I didn't
rate Chris's chances of winning any fight with him, but the fact he wasn't
apologising had made me think I might try a bit less
lying-there-and-taking-it myself. Sarah finished work for lunch well before
noon so she was due to meet Colin any minute.

I went down to the Union bar planning to cut through it as a short cut to
stopping her on her route from the hospital but when I arrived there she
was: sitting alone, waiting for a date with someone other than me. I was
halfway towards her before she looked up. As soon as she saw me, it was
obvious she wished she hadn't. I was relieved to get to her before Colin
but I was as clueless about what to say to her now as I had been back at
the house.

There was nothing pleasant about it when we said "hi". She agreed to a talk
with me somewhere quieter like she'd rather do anything else. We found an
empty poolroom and she stood there in her nurse's uniform looking serious
and unhappy while I felt my optimism freeze.

"Uh, something happened last night...I've got to tell you about it, it's
difficult."

"I know what happened. He rang me at work this morning."

"What, uh, what did he say?"

"He told me what happened, Noah. That you came after him with a starting
pistol. That you tried having sex with him." There was no bullshit about
her tone. She wasn't afraid of anything. She wasn't interested in whatever
my story might be. "How did you find out I was seeing him?"

"I was in the back garden last night. I saw you at the window."

"Oh."

"What's going to happen?"

"He says he's going to report it. I can't believe you'd be so stupid."

"I was angry. I don't care about that anyway. What's going to happen with
us?"

"God! What do you think?"

"You're going with him then?"

"Noah, I don't want to hurt you, but you've got to face facts. I'm a
psychiatric nurse: I spend half my time dealing with denial. I've been
there myself, I spent two years in Manchester loving you too much to admit
what was going on. Even you've got to see it now."

"What?"

"You didn't do what you did to Colin only out of anger, just like you don't
sleep with other guys only for the money. You do it because it's what you
want to do."

Straight off, I went into the same hard, unresponsive daze as when Colin
was preaching to me about his heroic little younger brother.

"I've been honest with myself the whole of the last year that you wanted
the students who pay you more than you wanted me. I've lived with it. I've
put up with how bored you are in bed, I've let you treat making love to me
like you were practising ball control, like you were showing off tricks you
can do. It wasn't till last night with Colin I realised what I was missing,
what it's like being with someone who isn't putting on a display."

She saw I was going to answer back and shut me up, "Can't you see what it's
like for me never taking the lead or being able to surprise you in bed? You
act like you're doing me such a big favour but to be truthful sex with you
is shit for me. Why? Because your heart's not in it. Why? Because you'd
rather be with another man."

"You're getting all this from him. He's slept with another guy, did you
know that?"

"He's slept with his brother. That doesn't mean anything. I've slept with
girlfriends of mine. What someone's done doesn't matter. It's what you want
that's who you are. Even if I still wanted you, you don't genuinely want
me. Except to help you hide from the truth, that is."

I began walking off.

"Noah, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have done this to you, but you're in trouble
now. You've got to see that."

Outside the poolroom was a dark corridor leading back to the bar. There
were games machines around and at one of them was Stuart Jenks, the guy
whose tanked up hard on had dragged him towards Russian boy butt like a big
homing missile earlier on. Uptight about Sarah I was keen to avoid the
yuppie wanker's rugby field mateyness but he noticed me as soon as I
appeared. I nodded trying to look like I was too single-minded to be bluff
and hearty with him right then. Instead of grinning and coming right over
for a man-to-man chat like I'd expected, he stayed straight faced, nudging
his mate to point me out.  The second guy was a real jerk too, Mark Escott
the rugby team vice captain. We'd come close to a punch up over an after
dinner speech he'd made at the Athletics Union ball about how, compared to
his game, football was for little boys. Unfazed by Jenks blanking me out I
was about to walk past them and forget them, but Mark had lost interest in
pinball and was coming over towards me, Stuart right behind him.

"Hi, Noah. I've just made a couple of quid on the fruit machine, uh, could
I have a blowjob please? And then my mate here's not fussy about where he
puts it so d'you reckon he could bugger hell out of your arse for five
minutes?"

They were both second years so they must have been about nineteen, two
years younger than myself. But rugby being the sport it is, they were both
pretty stacked. Taking Mark on alone would have been something to think
about. Right then, I was about as scared of them as I would have been of a
couple of schoolboys threatening to call me something really nasty. I
dropped my bag and let my arms go loose at my sides, my feet firm on the
ground. Looking relaxed and like I really wanted to know, I asked him

"You got a point to make, Mark?"

"Yeah, you're a..."

And while his ape brain was still searching for the worst thing he could
come up with my left arm jerked up and backwards and my fist cannoned into
his stomach. The air in his abdomen exploded through his mouth doubling him
up and my right smashed against his face sending him staggering sideways
against one of the machines. I knew he was big enough to take a hammering
and come running back for more so I had no time at all to try anything
fancy with Stuart. I stepped towards him fist and eyebrows raised, offering
him a share in the proceedings as well, if he wanted it. It isn't easy
stepping down from a fight, especially when one of your mates is on the
floor. Stuart cleared his throat and looked away from me. At the same time,
I heard Sarah coming out of the pool room behind me. She would have seen
Mark on his hands and knees spitting out blood and Jenks trying to look as
unthreatening to me as your average lamb. I picked up my bag not bothering
to look back, hoping my ex-girlfriend was left with the impression -
whatever kind of mental case she took me for - that I could look after
myself.

"Tossers," I said as I walked off, not minding at the time if Sarah took
that to mean her as well.

Splitting Escott's face had knackered my hand but it had taken my mind off
what Sarah had said. I sped through the bar and out onto the hot, bright
street with my plans confirmed. It was settled now. I was leaving. Not
because Royal had made it clear to his prize students I was fair game for
anyone who wanted to take a pop at me, I didn't give a flying fuck about
that. But, with Sarah gone, there was nothing left in Sheffield worth
fighting for. Adrenaline was still surging around inside me so instead of
heading into town I turned right down the road I'd taken the night before
from Paul's. It took me a few hundred metres to lose my drive to lash out
and by that time I was near the Botanical Gardens. I guess losing Sarah was
starting to sink in. I turned off the road into the quiet pensioner and
children world of the park. It was past noon now on a baking yellow June
day. I felt calmer, sadder. I walked across the grass trying to think about
nothing, planning to head back into the city centre as soon as I got to the
other side. Coming through a screen of shrubs I glanced across at a young,
topless guy in football shorts practising ball skills. I did a double take,
realising it was Paul. He'd noticed the fact he was being looked at and the
ball he'd been kneeing in the air dropped to the ground. It was
embarrassing. If we hadn't slept together I'd have been glad to see
him. He'd always been easy to captain, a laugh to get drunk with and
flattering to hang out with cause he seemed so keen to get on with me. But
now all of that was wrecked. I didn't want it to be. I smiled. He hesitated
at first but then left his ball and came over. He looked good: tanned and
muscular in nothing but a fine gold necklace and white shorts against the
front of which was a thick line of flaccid cock.

"What are you up to?"

"Just hanging around."

"No college then?"

"I didn't want to see anyone."

"Because of last night?"

"Yeah."

I paused. I felt guilty for how I'd been with him. I remembered implying I
couldn't have cared less if he'd killed himself. Now I had problems of my
own I felt about Paul the way I'd felt about Alex, that I wanted to help
him any way I could.

"Look, Paul, I shouldn't have said that stuff. You took me by surprise,
that's all. I thought we were just fooling around."

"I know. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm a mess." If I was trying to do him
good it wasn't working because, tough guy that he was, he voice was
cracking like he was close to crying again. I reached out to squeeze his
shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"You're not a mess. It's not your fault. Let's go over there, we'll talk."

We walked back into the shade of the tree under which he'd been practising
and round behind it out of sight of anyone else.

I glanced back to make sure we couldn't be seen then put my arm around
him. He was pulling in air through his nose like he was trying to sniff
back tears. I put my hand flat on his chest feeling the warmth of his soft
light brown skin.

"Hey, come on, it's all right."

Words weren't going to do him any good. He was looking down, hiding his
eyes from me. I lowered my head and put my lips against his, kissing him
gently on the mouth. I smoothed my hand up and down the bulk of his arm
muscle and, as we got closer, I felt his dick shifting underneath the thin
material of his shorts. Taking my face away from his, I brushed his fringe
back out of his eyes and put my hand against his cheek. He breathed deeply,
shut his eyes and lifted his chin wanting us to kiss again. I got my arms
around him properly, pulling him against myself and smoothing my hands down
his back to the tight orbs of his butt cheeks. He forced his tongue between
my teeth as I drew him closer so I could feel the vertical bar of his
extending cock as it grew against my crotch. Half of me was professionally
detached, half of me was feeling like I'd just got home after a ten nothing
hiding from Smalltown College 11. We moved over to the trunk of the tree
and I pushed him against it, smearing a kiss against the side of his face
and his neck then stepping back so I could take a look at his balls. I kept
him from kissing me by keeping one hand pressed against his shoulder. His
prick was almost big enough to force its way out from under the elastic
webbing round his waist. I flicked it gently, liking the tight breadth of
its shape against his shorts. I cupped my hand around the eggs between his
thighs, squeezing his nuts while the tips of my fingers reached for the
sensitive area near his hole. Handling him with his full approval, I
grinned at him and he gave me a half-smile back.

"Some loss to womanhood this is, Paul. You're quite a guy aren't you?"

He laughed softly and - glad he was happy again - I moved in for another
kiss. He was passionate, opening his mouth to me as wide as he could, his
tongue wrestling mine like he wanted to eat me. This time, he broke it off;
but only so he could cling to me like he knew I was planning to go. With my
head on his shoulder, our cheeks together and his balls thrusting against
me I realised Sarah was right: I wanted him now a lot more than I'd ever
wanted her.

"My dick is going to fucking well explode."

"Give it a rub, man." I put a hand to either side of the waistband of his
shorts and tugged them down his legs. Now his dick was out in the open,
free to stretch up hard against his six-pack stomach. His plums were pulled
up tight at its base. I've heard some women say they don't like looking at
erections: those girls have never seen Paul's. It was the clearest
statement of his need for a fuck; a hot straining, single-minded tribute to
how much he wanted sex. His faced showed a nineteen year old's hesitancy
about getting off with another guy in a public park but his fully grown
cock wanted nothing except for him to let it give up its load. He glanced
around and took his cock in his hand. I pulled my shirt over my head and he
stroked his hand over my body while starting to draw on his tool.  I
breathed in to expand my chest, my arms by my sides so he could do what he
liked to me. He was cranking slowly, squeezing one of my tits with his free
hand. To be wanted like he seemed to want me felt good. He raised my arm so
he could nuzzle his face under it, breathing in with his nose in my pit
while he jacked off over the scent of my body.

"Yeah, Pauly. Come on, boy: touch me."

He looked back at my face and - just like I'd groped him - his firm hand
felt for my own crotch. He kept his hand between my legs, his thumb rubbing
up and down my dick while his face reddened with the effort he was putting
into wanking. I leaned forward and kissed him. Closer to him, he was
jacking off against me so the same hand that he was pulling himself off
with was also going up and down the front of my jeans. Tasting his mouth
again I could feel the horny vibrations of his hand movements speeding up
against my balls.

"I'm going to cum."

"Let me do it."

I pushed his hand away and wrapped my own palm around him. The thick skin
covering his bone slid back and forwards easily with the lubrication
leaking from his knob. His dick was so thick and hard and his mouth was so
tightly sealed to mine, I was pretty close to losing it myself. When I felt
his arms tighten around me I knew the lad was about to spill. I dragged his
foreskin back from his head as hard as I could and simultaneously slotted a
finger firmly into the soft cleavage between his asscheeks. He groaned and
I looked down to watch a jet of come shoot thickly out of his dick into the
air and fall heavily onto my stomach. He clung to me and I pushed my finger
further into him as his prick continued to discharge. I loved it. I loved
having control of his bollocks, I loved watching him come, I loved feeling
him against me. And when I kissed him as the pulsing of his dick reduced,
it was for real.

I pulled his shorts up for him, my own erection still aching under my
jeans. I felt like - in a different world - I would have pushed Paul over
onto the grass and we could have spent the afternoon making out. I wanted
him for sure but the idea of admitting it, of letting him know I was into
him as much as he was into me never occurred. I hadn't known we were going
to get off with each other again until we were standing there doing it and
- even while I was thinking how much I liked him - I was also thinking
about what time I'd get to Manchester and who I'd call first when I got
there. To me, that afternoon, Paul was a spunky mate I'd like to have
fucked around with a lot more. If he'd been a woman I'd have chucked over
anyone including Sarah for him and been trying my best to convince him that
he wanted to settle down with me. Because he was a guy, just as I kissed
him again and felt up the curves of his thinly covered backside, I was
thinking how I could get away without letting on anything about what had
happened to me since I'd left him the night before. I didn't want him to
know about Colin, I didn't want him to know about Sarah, I didn't want him
to know about John Royal. The more I thought what he'd think of me if he
found out about any of it, the more I wanted to get away. He was still
leaning against the tree with me on top of him. We were still hugging and
nibbling at each other like any standard student couple going at it on a
summer afternoon.

"Mmmm, you're really good, Pauly, you know that?"

"I don't have a chance with you though, eh?"

"What are we going to do, buy a house together? Are you going to tell your
parents, let onto the lads in the team?"

"I don't give a fuck about them. Ever since I got here I only wanted you. I
thought I'd screwed up so badly last night I never thought you'd even give
me the time of day any more, now we're doing this. I just love you, that's
all. The rest of it can piss off."

I moved my head to his shoulder, so our cheeks were together, the warm bare
skin of our upper bodies joined. I wanted to pull him inside myself or to
go somewhere else where we could be as close all the time as it felt we
were right then. Half of me was devoted to the idea of fucking Paul all
afternoon then walking into a pub and telling my mates he was mine; half of
me was pumping out information about how I'd have reacted if two other guys
I knew had told me they were in love with each other, and it was the worst
half of me that was stronger. If Colin and Sarah were right about what I
was then that was it: I'd rather live my life alone on the streets than try
to carry on like everything was still OK. I told Paul I'd have to get
moving and he accepted it silently. I pulled my tee shirt back on while he
picked up his ball and began heading and kneeing it again, waiting for me
to go. In the beginning, I'd meant to be comforting but it looked like I'd
made things even worse. I couldn't face lying to him about seeing him
around and he seemed to have disappeared into his own world anyway so I
watched him for a moment then turned around and left.



Real Time



41

COPYRIGHT ( Alistair Stevenson 2002