by David Heulfryn
Part Two: Saturday
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 goosebumps. 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. However, the traffic on the roads was beginning to thicken with 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. 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, joggers, cyclists and horse riders came for 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. My arms and legs were red from the exertion, and I felt the stinging pain as I tried to rub them to warm them up.
My mother poked her head from around 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, still half asleep.
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 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 rubbed the thick suds over the hard bump and short stump where my cock and balls had retreated into the warmth of my body, I coaxed them back out and directed the warm spray from the showerhead over them. No longer looking like a eunuch, I gave my dick a few quick pumps to ensure every sensation had been resurrected. Feeling the familiar tingle in balls, I released my limp dick and slowly rubbed the scented cream onto my skin, covering up and washing away my stale odour, soaping the rest of my body back to life.
Kick-off wasn’t until three in the afternoon, and 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, sure 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 begun 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 realised 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 he 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.
He didn’t cry, but I felt his arms wrap themselves around my back and pull me even tighter to him. We stayed, just sitting on my bed, clutching each other, hugging each other, feeling our warm and hard body connect. It was the longest and most tender hug I’d ever had. Neither of us wanted to leave each others’ arms, but the noise and rumbling from my parents downstairs caused us to part.
Time flew by as we spoke of our feelings for each other. We both felt something other than friendship, and both felt a little scared about taking it further. Each of us was concerned for our friendship and bandied around every ‘what if…’
Realising it was time for me to leave for my match; I got up from the bed, grabbed my rugby boots and stuffed them into my sports bag along with a towel.
“I have a match to get to now. If you’re not doing anything, why don’t you come and watch?” I said as I slipped on my tracksuit over my rugby kit.
Scott thought for a moment. “Yeah. Why not? Besides, I love seeing you in your kit. You look so cute.”
My dick swelled as I enjoyed the sensation of being admired and wanted. “Cute, Rugby players are supposed to be cute, we’re ruggedly handsome.” I smiled, and play punched him on the arm.
Scott clutched his arm where my fist hit and fell back on to the bed. He curled up, moaning and groaning and writhed in mock agony.
“With theatrics like that, you’d make a good footballer.”
“Yeah, I’m multi-skilled. I can cry like a footballer and I can,” Scott leapt from the bed and hurtled towards me, he wrapped his arms around my legs and tackled to the ground, he fell on top of me, his head bouncing on my chest, “rugby tackle you as hard as any seven-foot Welshman.”
I pushed him off me and got to my feet. “Come on, or I’ll be late, and then you will see what an entire squad of pissed of players can do.”
“Sounds fun; for me to watch, not for you.” He rose to his feet, I caught him in a headlock and dragged him out of my room.
The rugby club was already busy when we arrived, I wasn’t late, but my Captain was getting on edge as kick-off was in fifteen minutes. 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 of deep green and gold; the noise was ringing in my ears so that I couldn’t make out anything which was being said.
The room cheered as I entered, it seems something was going on. I guessed that not enough players had turned up.
I found a team-mate on the bench and sat next to him. He was a tall and well-built prop forward. He told me our Captain was pissed off because he was two players short, well one now that I had arrived. Our second team also had a league match today, on the other pitch and our Captain was demanding one of their players to make up our numbers. As the club saw it more important than the first team play their match, the second team were angry at having to forfeit their match by not fielding enough players.
Conceding the fight, the second team captain finally realised 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.
I shouted to get my voice heard above the rowdy chatter. If it meant that our second team stood a fighting chance, then it was worth asking. He was not the best player in school, but he wasn’t bad, and the Captain was willing to give it a go.
Initially, Scott was unsure and continually hid behind not having any kit as an excuse. I knew he wasn’t comfortable around new people. I especially knew that a bunch of testosterone fuelled rugby players would really unsettle him, but I finally got him to agree in principle; all I had to do now 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 second 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 get some kit together, unfortunately for Scott, it was a ripped shirt and muddy pair of shorts that hadn’t been washed since last week’s game; they smelled stale and musty. A pair of boots were found in the lost property box. They too were caked in mud and must have been festering in there 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 jockstrap 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 ain’t 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.”
“Hey, cut it out you two. Save it for the pitch and the other team.” Our Captain interrupted us, and Rob went back to his bench, but not before grabbing his crotch and telling me he’d show me how big he was after the game. I knew how big he was and looked forward to getting a good look at his long piece of meat.
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 cruel, but no-one ever took it seriously. It served to work us up for the match and hopefully make us better and more aggressive.
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 second team as I jogged onto the other pitch 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 overconfident and slowed my pace slightly, I felt the familiar grip around my legs and was instantly floored. The force caused me to lose my hold on the ball. The other team took advantage of my knock-on and, in our confused state, we allowed them to charge for our line. We tried to catch them, but they were too fast, each yard we chased them we drove them further from the centre and further from the posts. They may have got the try, but it was a difficult conversion; which they missed.
It was a tough 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. Bare-chested, I went outside and watched as the referee blew his whistle to end the game. All players converged into one large huddle, and 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.”
The team captain came over. “Hey, Matty. Your mate’s not that bad.” He patted Scott on the back. “You can bring him every week.” He looked at Scott, who smiled at him. “We need a player like you on the team. Think about it.”
He patted Scott on his back one last time then went into the changing room and cheered with the rest of the team.
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 borrow 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 nervous 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.
We found a couple of free showerheads and started to rinse our bodies. I heard my name ricochet from the tiled walls and turned to see Rob heading my way. I purposefully kept looking at him in the eye, even though I could see his long dick swaying as he approached me.
“Hey, Matty. Look at this and tell me I’ve got a small dick.” His head looked down at his own equipment. My eyes also looked down; his fat dick hung low, the head poking out from the foreskin.
“That’s cheating,” I said. “You’ve just firmed that up.”
Rob grabbed my hand and placed it on his dick. “Feel that you wanker and tell me it’s hard. You’ve obviously never seen a proper dick before.”
My fingers curled around his shaft. “Yep, definitely half-hard.” Then I repaid the compliment and grabbed his hand to get him to grip my shaft. “Now that is a soft dick, and I think we’d all better be careful if you keep getting a hard-on around us. You don’t want to get a reputation, Rob.” We each released the dick we held in our fingers.
“Ooh, you’re so right, Matty. I could never control myself around you.” Rob camped it up, and everyone who was listening to our banter laughed.
Scott just listened to all this and let the warm water run over his body, I suspect he wanted to be anywhere else but here. The showerhead the other side of me became free, and Rob stood under it.
“You may have a little dick, but you gave them one hell of a good game out there.” Rob slapped my back.
“You too mate, especially the comment about the little dick.” We smiled at each other and started to wash. Scott had to wait for me to finish so that he could get my towel. He didn’t fancy waiting out in the changing room stark bullock naked while I tossed around insults with Rob.
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 changing room 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 apologised 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 Scott 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.
Embarrassed, Scott whispered. “I’d better be going. I’ll come round tomorrow. Is that ok?”
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