By David Heulfryn (email@example.com)
My alarm sounded a little later than it would on a school morning. No-one else in the house was awake by the time I had got ready for my morning jog, so I closed the front door quietly. It was quite a cold morning, my breath misted in front of my eyes and the cool air stung my bare legs. I felt the tiny dark hairs on my legs and arms become erect as my exposed skin broke out in goose bumps. Jogging on the spot for a few moments, I got my circulation going again and headed off.
It was not particularly early, sometime between eight or nine, but the pavements were clear as most sane people decided against walking anywhere. The traffic on the roads however, was beginning to thicken, the weekend workers on their way to open the shops for the weekend shoppers.
Despite living in the centre of an estate, we were quite close to the countryside and it never took me long to leave the concrete slabs behind and feel the softer surface of the path which led alongside a river and round the back of the estate. This was where all the dog walkers and horse riders came. In the summer the pathways were clogged with them and the cyclists and joggers all out for the fresh clean air and exercise.
On this bitter morning, only a few hardened dog walkers came across my path, I politely bad them a "Morning" as I jogged by, hoping their dog wouldn't run alongside me, or worse still get under my feet as it tried to nip my ankles.
It wasn't until I got back home and felt the warmth of the centrally heated hallway that I regretted not wrapping up warmer for my jog. My arms and legs were red from the exertion, they felt painful when I tried to rub them to warm them up.
My mother poked her head from round the kitchen door and saw what state I was in.
"You haven't been out like that have you?"
Why do they always ask such obvious questions, I thought.
"You should have worn something warmer."
"I know, I know." I gasped, "It was colder than I first thought." I left her and ran up the stairs, two at a time, almost bumping into my father on the landing as he emerged from the bathroom.
Slipping on my tracksuit to warm myself up, I got my things together for the rugby club. It was a league match this afternoon and all the first team players had been hassled for the past few days to ensure they were still going to turn up. Usually, if it was a friendly match, we only got a half hearted showing and we would have to filch players from the second or third teams.
Today the cold morning remained in my limbs and I couldn't warm up. Feeling sweaty and cold I thought it best to have a shower rather than wait until after the match.
Throwing my clothes onto the floor, I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to the bathroom. After locking the door, I turned on the shower and waited until it had warmed up and filled the room with steam.
I expected the pain as I stepped under the falling warm water as it hit my cold skin. I remained still as it doused my body, warming my skin back to life.
Reaching for the shower gel, I slowly rubbed the scented cream onto my skin, covering up and washing away my stale odour.
Kick off wasn't until three in the afternoon. After showering and dressing in my rugby kit, I went downstairs to spend my morning slouched in the front room watching any old crap on the television. Thankfully, my boredom was reprieved by a knock at the door, it was Scott.
As I opened the door, Scott lunged forward and kissed me on the lips.
"It's a good job my parents are out the back or we'd both have some explaining to do." I smiled at him as he pulled away from me. "Come on upstairs so we can talk in private."
We hurried to my bedroom. Once we were safely out of the way, Scott began to tell me everything. He spoke fast, hardly drawing breath, certain he would finish everything he wanted to say before I could distract him. He looked so sweet and vulnerable as he told me that I was his first and, so far, only crush. It was quite a revelation to me, we had began as friends and just seemed to become closer over time, by the end of our first year at secondary school we were, what you call, best friends. I began to realise that my feelings for Scott had been growing into more than friendship for about a year now, yesterday's incident in the showers with his hard dick poking my cheeks was just the catalyst for me which brought my feelings out from my unconscious mind. I had no idea that Scott had those same feeling for nearly five years, I supposed that is why we became close.
Scott looked like we was about to burst into tears as his feelings were finally revealed to me, I didn't feel sorry for him, I felt very tender to him and embraced him, hugging him tight to me.
Time flew by as we spoke of our feelings for each other, both of us feeling something other than friendship for the other.
Realising it was time for me to leave for my match, I got up from the bed, where we had been sitting, grabbed my rugby boots and stuffed them into my sports bag along with a towel and my tracksuit.
"I have a match to get to now, if you're not doing anything, why don't you come and watch?"
Scott thought for a moment. "Yeah. Why not? Besides I love seeing you in your kit."
My dick swelled as I enjoyed the sensation of being admired and wanted.
The rugby club was already busy when we arrived, it wasn't far from my house and the gentle walk always served to loosen up my limbs and muscles before the match. I left Scott outside the clubhouse, telling him to wait for me, while I went into the changing rooms.
The changing room was cramped, filled with bodies clad in the club colours; the noise was ringing in my ears so that I couldn't make out anything which was being said.
I found a team-mate on the bench and sat next to him. He was a tall and well-built prop forward. It appears that all the noise was because our team captain found he was a player short for the match and so poached one from the third team, who were also playing a league match today. As the club saw it more important that the first team play their match, the third team were angry at having to forfeit their match by not fielding enough players.
The third team captain finally conceded the fight, realising he would not get his player back, and was about to explain to their opponents and forfeit the game when I remembered Scott. It was worth a chance.
Telling the captain to wait, I went to talk to Scott. He was not the best player in school but he wasn't bad. And if it meant that our third team stood a fighting chance, then it was worth asking.
Initially Scott was unsure and continually hid behind not having any kit as an excuse. Finally I got him to agree in principle; all I had to do was rustle up some kit.
Following me into the changing room, Scott saw the other twenty-eight blokes and drew closer to me.
"Scott, this is Phil. The third team Captain."
The short, rotund, forty odd year old balding man held out his hand to shake Scott's. "Nice to meet you. And thanks for doing this."
Every player rummaged around their bag to try and get some kit together, unfortunately for Scott, it was a ripped shirt and muddy pair of shorts which hadn't been washed since last week's game; they smelled stale and musty. A pair of boots were found by raiding the lost property box, these too were caked in mud and must have been festering in the lost property for months, if not years.
Scott sat next to me on the bench as he started to get changed. As all the other players were ready, he felt like all eyes were on him as he pulled his shirt off and scrambled into the old and torn rugby top.
"Er, mate. I've got a spare one of these if you need one."
Scott and I looked up and we saw a dirty jock strap come hurtling our way, Scott flinched but I reached out and caught it. Neither of us saw who threw it.
Holding it up, I said. "Sorry, but that pouch looks a little on the small side, no way he could fit everything in there. Not even his baby brother could."
The room erupted in laughter, everyone turning and laughing at one bloke, who pushed his way through towards me.
"You better watch it kid." Rob, a six foot flanker, snatched the grey jock from my fingers.
"Where's your sense of humour, Rob? Or is it as small as yer dick?" I laughed.
"It aint small, as well you know. Besides at least I can satisfy my girl. The only action your thin little stick has seen is your palm." Rob was twenty and had a very sturdy build.
"Well, my palm is free. At least I don't have to pay your girl."
Scott was thankful for the distraction, although he was somewhat taken aback by the vicious banter which was flung between the guys. It may have been vicious, but no-one ever took it seriously.
Dressed in the musty kit, Scott sat and listened to the banter. He didn't know anyone enough to participate, and was rather shy about it anyway. He was grateful when the referee came in and told them to get out on the pitch as they were waiting for us.
I left Scott with the third team as I jogged onto the other pitch where we were playing and began our team warm up routine.
My game was hard and tough. Our opponents seemed fitter and faster than most of us but our team overshadowed them with our size and strength. Despite their valiant efforts they never managed to win a scrum nor a line-out. Our six-foot flanker Rob dominated the line-outs as, with the help of another, would hoist me skywards to catch the ball wherever it was thrown. My small frame made me ideal for this. I was also the fastest in our team and so made an excellent scrum-half. A couple of times I would snatch the ball as it left the scrum and make for the try. On one occasion I made it and nonchalantly dabbed the ball down between the posts leaving us with a simple and elegant conversion. The second time I thought I was home free but was over confident and as I slowed my pace slightly, I felt the familiar grip around my legs and I was instantly floored. The force caused me to loose my hold on the ball. The other team took advantage of my knock-on and in our confused state allowed them to charge for our line. We tried to catch them but they were too fast, they may have got the try but we forced them to lay the ball in the corner as we chased them further from the centre, it was a difficult conversion which they missed.
It was a difficult game, the pace hardly ever let up. Our opponents quickly recognised our weakness and purposefully kept the game fast and furious. Despite our efforts we lost, 22-18. After the customary shaking of hands with the winners, we made our way to the changing room. I was tired and not in the mood for the standard post match dissection, as I pulled my jersey over my head I remembered Scott. I went outside and noticed that the third team had not yet finished, then I heard the whistle and watched as all players converged into one large huddle. I waited until they made their way over.
"How was it? Good game." I called out to Scott when I saw him jog towards me.
"Not bad, we won, despite me. I was crap and kept fumbling the ball."
As he joined me, I put my arm over his shoulder and we walked into the changing room.
The room filled with steam as some of my team-mates had already gone into the showers.
"Come on, Scott. Shower time. This is the best bit." I whispered. "And don't worry, you can share my towel."
Scott hid behind me as we walked, naked, into the showers. I hoped we wouldn't get a repeat of what happened in school, but by the frightened look on his face, Scott was too unnerved to get hard.
I have always found the showers an unusual place after our rugby matches. With the under 21 sides it is all young and fit bodies, but when the other teams played on the same day as us, the room would be filled with a mixture of the young and old. I found it strange to shower with old and unfit men in their thirties, forties and fifties. They are neither conscious nor embarrassed by their hairy and pot-bellied bodies which hang over their shrunken dicks.
It was difficult sharing a towel, I thought it best to let Scott dry himself first as I stood next to him, dripping onto the floor and chatting to him about the game. When he passed it to me, it was damp but I dried myself the best I could.
After dressing, I made my apologies to the team as I left with Scott, forgoing the post match drink and grub.
Scott was quiet as we walked home. I tried to make small talk but he wouldn't join in. It felt like I was having a conversation with myself. Thankfully my parents were out when we got home.
As I closed the front door, I took the initiative. I trapped him against the wall and kissed him hard on the lips. His mouth stayed closed as I prodded him with my tongue. As my hand cupped the hard mound in his trousers, his lips parted as he attempted to gasp. Our tongues met and teased each other as my hand rubbed his crotch. Through his loose trousers I could almost grip his hard dick and I slowly wanked him. I felt his body tense and then his muscles convulsed like he was having a petit-mal. Our mouths were still locked together as he exhaled sharply, his warm breath entering my lungs, and I felt his dick lurch out of my hand. I reached for it and held onto it as it pulsed and twitched. Scott groaned and his body relaxed, I felt a cool fluid seep through the fabric and coat my palm.
We separated and I rubbed my palm down my tracksuit bottoms to wipe off his cum.
Scott whispered. "I'd better be going. I'll come round tomorrow. Is that ok?"
Note : This is part two of three, the final part will be posted shortly.
Thank you for reading
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