Loose Leaves

[smoothmanfun]

I'm glad you are enjoying it, Craiger. I must say I enjoyed writing Archie and seemed to get into their heads quite well when typing. It was fun to set it in late-Victorian times and, of course that was a perfect setting for the "gothic" aspects of the story.

More free excerpts from my other novels to come....

 

[Craiger]

Oooo! I love the deep mystery that is forming in Archie. I'm starting chapter 9 next.

I look forward to more snippets of your other works, Richard.

Craiger

 

[smoothmanfun]

I have written many gay/bisexual stories and would welcome any feedback. This particular story "Carter Plays Ball" is a novel about the sport of Soccer. It is available for the Kindle on Amazon.

Posh Timothy Carter immerses himself in the homoerotic world of soccer stars. I hope you enjoy the free episodes!

My Blog is: http://richardpetersbooks.blogspot.co.uk/

My Amazon author page is: http://amazon.com/author/richardpeters

Carter Plays Ball

1. Millenium Reflections

My name is Carter, Timothy Carter M.B.E., current steward of Low Longsdale, my estate in Yorkshire, which has been in my family for generations. Some say I am a stuck-up toff, but I prefer to think that I preserve standards that are so lacking in these days, at the turn of the Millenium.

Being a confirmed bachelor and also confirmed, since the age of nineteen, to the ways of Oscar Wilde, in nineteen eighty two it became obvious I was not going to begat an heir for the family fortune, due to my following of the Socratric path.

So, back then, I adopted Peter, who has now turned twenty-one and has grown into a fine young man to inherit the family estate. He is the delight of my life, and now that I have attained the ripe age of sixty-one, I could wish for no better heir.

Where does my story begin? Should I go back to my days as a student in Cambridge? No, that can wait another day for the telling. No, a good place to start is nineteen eighty two, after my solving of the London hotel murder and my getting to know the handsome footballer Garry Newburn.

Some of you may already know of the handsome Australian and the London murder mystery, so I won't re-tell the details now.

I always thought I was so finely attuned to the Wildean way that I could spot a Socratic tendency in any male. Back then, I was amazed to learn that I had failed to see the inclination of Socrates in the famous footballer, Garry Newburn! How Garry and I became unusual lovers was told in that murder tale and does not need narrating again now.

After I solved the murder in London, in nineteen eighty two, I had hoped to fade away back into my privileged anonymity. Unfortunately that was not to be. Once the trial came around, I had to testify and the press pounced upon my story. The homosexual aspect to the case caught the seedy imagination of the tabloids. "Surecock Holmes - Private Dicktective!" was the worst epithet that they tacked on me, when news of the homosexual peccadilloes was revealed in court and the story was told of how I had found the killer.

I survived the exposure. My private life was revealed to some extent, but fortunately I was able to retire to the safety of my estate in Yorkshire. Garry, who I'd managed to keep out of implication in the murder story, was wonderfully supportive and visited me as often as his football career and his marriage would allow. For twelve months I wanted for nothing else sexually. Garry was exciting, young and virile. With a wonderful mixture of sexual curiosity and bravado, the handsome Garry was more than fulfilling for me and he was also my best friend. Of course, I was only forty-three then and only twenty years senior to the devastatingly handsome footballer.

During this period I adopted my darling boy Peter. My solicitor had expedited it through and fortunately I was given custody of the boy before the publicity from the trial.

I have been homosexual all my life. I suppose, for these modern times I am a bit stuffy and old-fashioned. I prefer to think I have standards, but I am aware that I am losing touch with modern life.

You may well call me "gay". How I detest the use of that word. In my day, "gay" was a wonderful word that conveyed carefree happiness. The word did not, to my way of thinking, have anything to do with sex between men, which could be anything from degrading, to wonderful. Sometimes gay, sometimes hopelessly sad and pathetic.

I prefer the word homosexual. In these days of such sexuality becoming more exposed I have wondered why the word homophile has not been coined to describe Socratic tendencies. "Love of men" is what homophile meant and that is certainly what I have felt all my life. I love men. I love their bodies, the male sexual organ and the contact of my body with male bodies.

Since I met him, Garry had not been my only source of male company over the years but we have a kind of loyalty that is rare in the so-called "gay" world. He has been my only true love since he had first given himself to me and apart from his wife, who he had loved dearly, I knew his love for me was constant. He has always been honest about his desires and I always knew he had a few "special" friends and needed to experiment.

Yes, these past eighteen years have been wonderful and fulfilling for me! I have not always lived up to the standards of sexual behaviour that I had resolved for myself, but compared to my dangerously promiscuous behaviour, before I met Garry, I have behaved in a very restrained manner!

 

[smoothmanfun]

I have written many gay/bisexual stories and would welcome any feedback. This particular story "Carter Plays Ball" is a novel about the sport of Soccer. It is available for the Kindle on Amazon.

Posh Timothy Carter immerses himself in the homoerotic world of soccer stars. I hope you enjoy the free episodes!

My Blog is: http://richardpetersbooks.blogspot.co.uk/

My Amazon author page is: http://amazon.com/author/richardpeters

Carter Plays Ball

2. Sex with Garry Again, and Again, and Again…

So, what had happened to me since that time in 1982 when Garry and I had fallen into our unusual, but workable, love for each other? Even now I can remember the lightness of heart I had felt, back then, while waiting for one of Garry's visits to my estate, Low Longdale in Yorkshire. The young footballer was returning from his summer trip back home to Australia and was visiting me before the started his training for the forthcoming 1982 soccer season. He had phoned me from his hotel room in Hong Kong with his actress wife sleeping in the other room. He had described their sex together and told me how excited his penis was over telling me about their intimacy. He had flirted with me in that peculiar charm that he had. I didn't mind his wife. I understood his needs. I understood his experimentation with his sexuality. And I loved his frankness and excitement over his discovery of the love of one man for another. He was some twenty years younger than myself and had enlivened me like nobody had done for years.

So on that day in 1982, little Peter had returned to the orphanage after his trial visit to my estate. He was a lovely boy, so sad, so beautiful, so polite and so loveable. I had fallen in love with him instantly and he seemed to like me too. How I hoped he would agree to the adoption. I wanted to care for him, provide for him and give him the best that life could provide. He had enjoyed playing with my drivers twins and I fervently hoped he had enjoyed his stay.

Gus, my young chef who I had rescued from the clutches of his evil employer had served me a delicious dinner and retired to his cottage for the night. He had settled in well and seemed happy to live with my three gardener lads. As far as I knew, they were happy with him too! But I didn't pry into that side of things. Not since my new-found efforts to be less of a predatory homosexual and to behave more honourably.

I retired to bed and dreamed of the arrival, tomorrow, of my lover Garry.

Next night, I was frantically rogering Garry after he had excited himself telling me in intimate detail of his sexual athletics with his wife. Now I was exposing his feminine side, in contrast to his asserted masculinity and he was loving it! His eyes rolled in delight at each of my thrusts, his teeth clenched in pure pleasure, his hands pawed eagerly at my backside, which pumped rhythmically.

His phallus lay half erect up his lovely belly, flopping and rolling around, trailing slithers of juice across his abdomen, which was amazingly free of pubic hair. His muscular chest heaved in pants of satisfaction at my manly rogering. His gentle, golden suntan spread evenly over his body. It covered his hips and groin, evidence of private sunbathing back home in Australia, these past few weeks. At the base of his phallus lay a small nest of fair, pubic hair. I groaned a huge groan and filled his lovely tight hole with my discharged load.

Still panting, I slid down his beautiful torso and took his staff into my mouth. His hands stroked my hair, his mouth moaned his satisfaction, his rod hardened and pumped its ammunition down my throat.

"Jeez mate!" He panted, as I lay on my back beside him. "That was fuckin' great mate!" He said in that Australian accent that I loved so much.

"Glad you enjoyed it young sir!" I joked. My breath smelt of his semen. His musky body next to mine, smelt of clean sweat and manliness. Not that Garry was a particularly masculine man. He was smooth and beautiful, but athletic and had the sleek muscles of a pro soccer player. At that moment, I was as much in love with him as I had ever been.

He went on to brag about all the "Sheila's back in Oz" who had "come-on" to him. Normally I disliked the modern vernacular but somehow it suited Garry and I suppose it made me feel younger to hear such a young man of his times, talking so frankly to me in this way. His swearing sometimes grated on me a little and I suspected he did it somewhat deliberately to "push my buttons" as the modern phrase goes.

"Fuckin' Jesus, mate. Sheila's with boobs like Ursula Andress would come to me on the beach and just ask if I wanted to fuck them!" He bragged.

The cursing was ameliorated by his use of the familiar "mate". How I loved him to call me that! I know he called all males his "mate" as is the Australian way, but somehow when he used it on me, my heart melted just a little more each time. And of course, it was an accurate epithet in the case of our relationship.

I knew his bragging was just that. That his faithfulness to his wife was complete, except for the satisfaction he derived from our Socratic love. He knew that I knew this too, but somehow he loved to release his sexual tensions with this frank bragging that I supposed many heterosexual men go in for with their male companions. I was not as sure, however, about his faithfulness to myself, as far as the special physical relationship that one man can have for another.

"They'd blatantly look at my John Thomas under my shorts and ask me if I wanted to screw them, mate!" He grinned mischievously at me, playfully trying to goad me into feeling jealous.

"I expect you reciprocated by allowing some engorgement of the said member in order to inflame their ardour and further exaggerate the feelings of unrequited lasciviousness that was engendered within their breasts" I replied.

"Jeez, mate!" Garry laughed. "You don't half talk some crap, mate!" He laughed again. "If you mean I got a stiffie, I sure did!" He leered cheerily at me.

I didn't really understand what he found funny in what I said, but it pleased me to amuse him like this. "I suppose you restrained yourself and saved yourself for the amorous meeting with your wife."

"Pent up like a dog on heat mate!" he replied. "Fucked the pants off her!"

Despite the crudity of his expression, I knew that he loved his wife Kate Mossthwaite, the glamorous actress, dearly. That he would not betray her for the sake of some shallow fling on an Australian beach with some beauty. Despite his crude talk, Garry was a romantic man who was a faithful lover and husband to his wife. His flowering to the homosexual needs of a man's love had been cautious and satisfied an aspect of his personality that could not be fulfilled by the feminine charms of his wife. In that respect he was still being perfectly faithful to his wife and their marriage vows. I was not sure, however that I commanded the same fidelity in him. He had already told me of his attraction for his soccer teammate Alan, and I was sure he would experiment further with the delights of male to male love, now that I had opened him up to it.

"And some of the beach boys too." I ventured, tentatively.

"Huh?" he said and rolled on his side to face me. He stroked my chest softly.

"I expect some of the young surfer lads on the beach were more than a little excited at the prospect of sharing the sand with the famous and handsome Garry Newburn " I said.

His fingers stopped on my left nipple. "I guess so, but I'm not as famous in Oz as I am in Blighty, mate" he said.

"I wasn't referring to your fame, but to your features and your magnetic looks, which are bound to have more than the occasional young man's heart aflutter." I rolled on my side to face him and felt for his soft phallus, gently cradling it in my hand.

"Oh, you mean did any fags come on to me!" He laughed deeply and his testicles rocked in the cradle of my fingers. "Well there was one young fella, mate." His voiced tailed off teasingly.

"And did his attentions bring about, what you so charmingly called 'a stiffie'?" I asked, trying to hide my nervousness. How would I react if he said he'd engaged in mad homosexual passion with some youth with whom I couldn't compete for looks and firmness of flesh. Then I reminded myself of my many dalliances in the past. Who was I to feel jealous, if Garry had given way to his natural and new-found urges?

Garry smiled cheekily and said. "He was hot, mate. Blond and muscular. The geezer looked openly at the front of my shorts while these girls were propositioning me. When I told the chicks, thanks, but that I was happily married, they all walked off up the beach, but the hunk looked over his shoulder at me and the signal was clear, mate." Garry stared wide-eyed and excitedly at me. His penis swelled slightly under my touch. Just as happened when he told me of his sexual activity with his wife, the young man was getting excited at sharing the confidence of a stolen lustful look with some young man on a beach.

I relaxed in the knowledge that that was all that had occurred between the two men and my fingers gently manipulated his phallus into more activity.

"Then I saw him again, mate." Garry said and my heart sank a little. "That night in the bar. I was with some old schoolmates and the blond surfer dude came in. He smiled at me and offered to buy me and my mates a drink. The bastards left, mate! Had work the next morning. They thanked him for his offer and shook my hand, patted my shoulder and left me with this hunky fag! Jeez mate. I didn't know what to do. He sat next to me with the drinks and he looked so hunky in his black singlet and bronzed muscles. I wondered if I would go with him."

Garry was working my penis now and together we were encouraging our tired phalluses into action. "Then he put his hand on my knee, under the table, mate." Garry's voice was husky at the memory of it. "I've, I've never done anything like that with another guy, you know, except you, mate. Fooled around in the showers with the lads and with Alan, like I've told you, but never, never, you know, had another guy come on to me like that." His voice tailed off.

"What did you do?" I asked, hardly daring to listen for the answer. I was going to lose him. My darling Garry had discovered there were many men hungry for his lovely body. Many men younger and better looking than my forty-three years. My sweet, darling boy was learning the ways of the world too quickly!

"I was tempted, mate! He was so handsome and hot for me. I wondered what sex with him would be like. Would it be as great as it is with you, mate!"

We had stopped playing with our penises. The tension between us grew unbearable.

"His fingers traced up my bare thigh towards the hem of my shorts, soon, under cover of the table, those strong fingers would be on my John Thomas and I would be unable to resist. But there was something cold about it. His body was going to have my body. It would just be sex, not like with you, not like with my wife. No tenderness, mate."

I stroked his dear cheek.

"I got up and left, mate!" Garry concluded. "Went back to my parents' house, phoned Kate and whacked off afterwards, mate," he concluded rather sadly.

I kissed his tender lips and his fluttering eyelids. "Have you ever been with anyone else, Garry?" I softly asked him.

"No, mate. Just you, you and Kate" his voice tailed off again. We kissed tenderly and embraced. I felt him stir against my thigh in response to our tenderness.

"I think you will go with other men, Garry. I expect this and I want to tell you I will try to understand. You are young and will want to explore your new-found delight in male love."

"I will always love you, mate and will always be your lover" he said and fully aroused his manly ardour. I recognised the signs. Sometimes he needed to have his feminine side exposed to himself, right now he needed to feel his masculinity. I let him take the lead in our lovemaking.

We paused. Having already satisfied our initial lust with our first lovemaking, we were in no hurry. "Who do you think you might try it with?" I asked him between his kisses on my lips.

"I would like to try it with Alan, mate." He said.

"Yes, I know." I replied. It had been clear from everything he had told me about his teammate that there was a chemistry between them. They'd even flirted discreetly in the showers and kissed playfully in celebrations on the pitch.

"But, I'm not sure if he wants to. He has a girlfriend." He said.

"And you have a wife." I added, stating the obvious.

I don't know if it was thoughts of having sex with his young heterosexual friend or desire for me, but the lust in my lover grew uncontrollably and soon he had thrown me over on my knees on the bed and was forcing his eager rod into my anus. I willingly let him take me roughly.

Reaching his rapid climax and panting behind me, I wondered how his wife would react if she saw her husband grunting inside me!

Later that night, lying in his stomach, I stroked his golden tanned buttocks. Explored his curves and hollows. Garry said, "Will you come and watch me play, mate? The season starts in three weeks and I'd love you to come and watch."

"Oh, I don't know, Garry. I'm not really keen on Association Football." I replied, while he dreamily sighed over my fingers' explorations of his globes.

"You enjoyed the World Cup Final when we watched it together earlier this summer." He said.

It was true that we'd watched it together on TV and we'd cheered and hugged when his Italian heroes won. But, for me it was mainly the sharing of the event with my new friend, rather than any inherent interest in the game. It was the physical contact with him and his infectious enthusiasm that had really stimulated me rather than any love for the sport. Still, getting the chance to see Garry's cute body in those skimpy shorts that players wore, was appealing and he really was a most skilful player, according to the newspaper reports that I had read about him. Maybe I should share in his life a little more.

Before I knew it, he was affirming that he'd send me a ticket. I could attend with Kate. I had a twinge of guilt at the idea of attending with the person who shared his body, but Kate was a delightful woman and we had got on well when she'd come with Garry to stay at Low Longsdale earlier that summer. Amazingly it did seem to be working out, this way that he secretly divided his sexuality between us. I would not have credited that such a thing would be possible.

 

[smoothmanfun]

I have written many gay/bisexual stories and would welcome any feedback. This particular story "Carter Plays Ball" is a novel about the sport of Soccer. It is available for the Kindle on Amazon.

Posh Timothy Carter immerses himself in the homoerotic world of soccer stars. I hope you enjoy the free episodes!

My Blog is: http://richardpetersbooks.blogspot.co.uk/

My Amazon author page is: http://amazon.com/author/richardpeters

Carter Plays Ball

3. Homoeroticism Everywhere!

So it was that three weeks later, Roberts was driving me to the football ground to attend my first ever football match. Grantchester United was the biggest club in Yorkshire and huge crowds were milling around outside in the streets, as my Rolls whispered through them and into the private car park reserved for VIPs.

Kate greeted me in the Directors' bar under the main stand. She was looking her most beautiful and elegant. I regarded her grace and charm and understood Garry's infatuation with her. He had told me so many times how much he loved her and how "beaut" she was. As on previous occasions when we had met, I resolved once again to never give her a hint of the relationship between myself and her husband. If Garry could divide his live in this way and chose not to tell her of his newly discovered proclivity for sex with males, I could respect his choice. I didn't hide my sexuality, but neither did I advertise it. I supposed that Kate just took me at face value as one of his "mates".

"Garry will be so pleased to know you are watching him today." She said in her lovely, crisp English accent. She sipped her sparkling wine. Dressed in a sophisticated, cream two-piece suit, her only adornment was an extravagant broach in the team's colours. "Hopefully you'll inspire him to play at his best. He's very fond of you." Her clear hazel eyes regarded me closely.

I felt a slight blush. It was almost as if she knew about us! Quickly diverting the subject, I said, "I don't really know anything about football."

"Neither do I" She replied and we laughed conspiratorially. I liked her.

"Let me introduce you to the Chairman" She said, still laughing and she led me over to a fat, red-faced man. "Mr Bateman, let me introduce you to Mr Timothy Carter."

The chairman regarded me closely over the top of his glasses. "Timothy Carter, the owner of half of bloody Yorkshire?" he said, in a voice ruined by cigars and whiskey. I disliked him instantly. His suit was expensive, but fitted his rotund body poorly. The neck of his shirt squeezed his fat neck uncomfortably. His language and tone was crude, his manner belied a life mis-spent. His podgy hand was thrust towards me. His handshake was firm to the point of painful and his flesh was clammy. How I hated such fiercely heterosexual men, who met every new encounter with another man as a challenge and every handshake as an opportunity to exert their own masculinity.

Within his crippling, sweaty grasp I deliberately held my hand limply, refusing to match his silly macho grip. I communicated the highest refinement I could muster, sensing that such a bluff Yorkshire oaf would be disarmed by the finer things in life. He didn't recognise my Masonic handshake.

"Mr Bateman, I am delighted to visit your club and hope that we are treated to a magnificent encounter and display of some wonderful examples of the dexterity of the young men who represent the hopes and aspirations of the people in attendance today." I said, giving him a withering look.

His vice-like grip released my crushed fingers, the sweat from his flesh made my hand feel cool when it was freed into the warm, dry air of the Directors' bar. His mouth fell open, momentarily lost for words.

"Er, I hope we win too." He said, befuddled. Recovering his composure somewhat, he added, as we turned to leave him, in a voice that half the bar could hear "We must have a drink after the match, the club could do with some of that bloody money of yours!"

"What a dreadful man!" Kate whispered to me through a clenched smile.

"Dreadful!" I agreed and we laughed quietly.

We found an empty table and sat down with our drinks. She told me of her latest movie, which she was filming in Japan. She delighted me with funny tales of stars she had performed with. She would be returning to Tokyo the following week. "Will you keep an eye on Garry for me while I'm away?" she asked, with happy, clear eyes. "He looks up to you like a father figure."

"He misses you terribly when you are gone." I said truthfully, while thinking that what we did together was not like any father-son relationship!

"He's a dear!" she said.

"He loves you very much you know." I said truthfully.

"You are a lovely man." She said with a smile.

How I wanted to confess to her of my love for her husband!

A distinguished-looking man, with greying temples, interrupted us and asked if he could join us. His name was Dexter and he was a Director of Grantchester United. In contrast to the oafish Bateman, Dexter was sophisticated and Kate clearly liked him.

"What are the team's prospects this season?" she asked.

"Pretty good." He said cheerfully. "So long as Bateman doesn't sell our best players!" he added in a confidential tone.

"He wouldn't, would he?" she asked.

"Not sure, we need some money and the Italians are sniffing around your Garry."

"Mmm, life in Milan or Rome could be nice!" she said.

"It's more likely to be Turin. Juventus are very interested in him." Dexter said.

"Urgh!" Kate said at the thought of living in the unstylish city.

I could imagine her enjoying the "dolce vita" life of a well-paid footballer in Milan or Rome. And I remembered Garry's love for Italian football. I realised that if he moved to Italy I would not see him so often!

"Surely the club wouldn't part with him?" I asked Dexter. "Isn't he one of your best payers?"

Dexter regarded me closely. "Might do." He said. "The Italians want him and they want Alan too."

My heart sank at the prospect of the two young friends being together in a foreign country, drawn even closer together than they already were by the strangeness of language and culture. My mind filled with images of the young men seeking physical comfort from each other. I was getting jealous of this Alan character!

"Sell one, only. Realise some capital without knocking too big a hole in your team. Garry tells me that Alan Dutton is the best centre forward in the world." I suggested, shocking myself at my selfish deviousness.

"Maybe." Dexter said. "It's up to Bateman, it's out of my hands."

I thought it was a strange set up where a Director appeared to have no input or power.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, Carter." He said rising up to take his leave.

I stood and shook his hand. His touch was firm, but not crippling. I reciprocated. I liked him in opposite proportion to my dislike for Bateman. What was more he was a brother, a fellow Mason.

Time for the match! Kate led me up to our seats in the Directors' box. The stadium was packed and vibrantly expectant. To my surprise I found the atmosphere exciting.

Out came the teams! Garry turned and waved up at me. I was about to wave back when I realised he was probably waving to his wife! He looked wonderful in his tight yellow shirt, worn outside of his shorts, hugging his hips and buttocks with just a hint of tight white shorts peeking out below the shirt. The other players had their shirts tucked in their shorts apart from one other good-looking fellow who wore his shirt over his shorts in the same style as Garry.

Garry moved with a sexual grace, while they warmed up kicking footballs around. My eyes hardly left him, despite the other players in their tight white shorts running athletically about.

"Which is his friend Alan Dutton?" I asked Kate.

She pointed out the other player who had his shirt outside his shorts. I took a closer look at the blond athletic god who was kicking the ball back to Garry and my heart sank! No wonder Garry was attracted to him. He was sleek and muscular. Supple and tanned. A wonderful example of handsome athlete! Garry, himself was beautiful, but this Alan was unspeakably lovely!

He waved to the crowd behind one goal as they chanted his name. They worshipped him. Now they were chanting my Garry's name and he waved to them.

"They like the strikers best!" Kate said by way of explanation of the ritual. Looking around the rest of the team, who varied from reasonably good looking to plain and worse, I realised that I liked the strikers best too!

Now the crowd were singing some song or other. I could just make out the words:

"Garry, Garry, give her one from us,

Give her one from us, give her one from us

Garry, Garry, give her one from us

Ka-ay-ay-ay-te Mossthwaite"

I blushed at the crude sexual innuendo, aimed towards this elegant woman beside me. I feared to look at her and cause her embarrassment. It seemed that as well as worshipping Garry's football prowess, the hot-blooded male supporters lived out their sexual fantasies through him as well! How many of them saw pictures of her in magazines and imagined they themselves were Garry in bed with her! Or did they picture the lad himself "giving her one" indeed. Fame was a dreadful thing!

I amused myself wondering if they knew the truth, whether they would sing a song asking him to take one from me, on their behalf!

Now they were chanting Alan's name again as the excitement built towards kick off. I looked around the stand in which I seated. It was occupied almost entirely by males. They were a quieter bunch than those fans behind the goal, who were now chanting crude verbal abuse at the opposition fans behind the other goal and questioning their sexuality. They in return, en-masse, gestured crudely with their hands that the home fans were in the habit of masturbatory practices.

The match started and the crude exchanges changed to great roars of encouragement. My eyes mainly watched the movement of my lover and his friend, even when the play was down at the other end of the pitch.

I was lost in reverie as to how the fans and press would treat Garry if they knew the secret of his sexual life. How brave he was to have ever opened himself up to me in my games room, back home. How brave to continue seeing me. These days, people were becoming more open about their sexuality, but even so, I saw that it was impossible for a man like Garry to come out to the public. His fans were fiercely homophobic, to judge by their insults hurled at the opposition fans. Clearly being homosexual was the most reviled thing in the world!

Now Alan received the ball. He passed it out to Garry who streaked down the touchline with the ball at his feet. Inside one opposition player, sending him sprawling on his backside, around another and he crossed the ball into the centre where Alan rose to meet it with his head. Just over the crossbar it flew. The crowd gasped and roared their approval. Alan sank to his knees head in hand. Garry spun on the spot covering his eyes in the agony of the near miss. This was exciting, this was wonderful!

The crowd chanted Alan's name. The team retreated down the pitch to meet the kick from the goalkeeper. I turned to smile at Kate who was clapping wildly at United's efforts.

Backwards and forwards the game ebbed, with little to choose between the two teams. Now Garry got on the ball and rushed towards his favourite touchline. Inside his favourite defender he cut, past another. This was more exciting than watching Italy on the television. The crowd roared him on as he jinked his way into the penalty area before unleashing a pile driver of a shot, that left the goalkeeper stretching helplessly towards the ball, which winged like a bullet into the back of the net.

The crowd went wild! We were all up on our feet, arms in the air. Kate hugged me around the waist and I turned to press her to my chest. We were all shouting like men and women possessed.

I looked down at the pitch and Garry had stripped off his shirt and was swinging it around for joy above his head. Racing back along the touchline below us, he displayed his smooth muscles and chest to the adoring fans. This peculiar behaviour seemed entirely appropriate in the context of this joyful cauldron. He stopped below us and flinging his shirt into the air, he stood triumphantly, fists raised in the air in salute, grinning up at us.

The first of his team-mates to catch up with him was Alan Dutton who grabbed his triumphant body from behind and pressed his own body against his pal's, clutching his friend firmly to his chest, and holding him vice-like with a muscular arm pressed across his naked chest, he too raised a triumhant fist to the crowd. Garry freed himself from his friend's clasp and turned his back on us to face the man. Hands clasped cheeks, mouths smiled and panted, before they hugged themselves together, chest to chest, groin to groin, legs locked together in ecstatic joy.

Now the other team-mates arrived and jumped on the pair, knocking their two entwined bodies over and piling on top of them. There was a heap of eight or nine bodies with my lovely goal-scorer buried somewhere beneath it. The referee was rushing towards the heap and frantically blowing his whistle in a vain attempt to restore order. Most of the people in our stand were seated again but were applauding the pile of bodies below them. The crowd behind the goal was a sea of yellow as Grantchester United replica shirts were swinging above heads in jubilant mimicry of Garry. Naked torsos, overweight and pale, fancied they too could streak down the wing, beat all the opposition and score a fantastic goal!

Eventually the players rose off the pile and turned to run towards the home fans to share the celebration. Garry and Alan rose from the grass and stood side by side, Alan's arm around Garry's naked shoulder, Garry's around his friend's waist, they raised their other arms in triumph towards us. Then Garry blew a kiss towards his two lovers, before he picked his discarded shirt up off the ground and the pair wheeled away towards their adoring fans.

I was breathless from the power of the homoerotic scenes!

"You've brought him luck!" Kate said and she squeezed my hand. I became aware of the growing erection inside my trousers!

Now the match restarted and the cheering subsided. A few minutes later the referee blew for half time and we stood to applaud the team down the tunnel below us. Garry, once more raised a fist in triumph towards us. I retired with Kate to the bar below and excused myself to find the lavatory.

Seated in the cubicle. I smoothed out my still enlarged penis and tried to regain my composure. I heard voices.

"Bloody marvellous!" said the unmistakable, crude tone of Bateman.

"We won't have many more days like these, if you have your way." The smooth voice of Dexter replied.

"We have to sell the fucking pair of them!" Bateman said in rising anger. "Frankly I've had a gut-full of your bleating!"

"Sell Garry Newburn and Alan Dutton and we can prepare for relegation." Dexter said, remaining cool.

"The bloody Italians are begging to throw a shit-load of lira at us to get them. We'd be bloody crazy to turn it down." Bateman snapped.

"We'd be crazy to accept." Dexter said curtly. I heard him leave.

"Fucking posh ponce!" Bateman mumbled under his breath after the door closed. This was followed by load splashing noises of urine against urinal, accompanied by loud farts and belches. I heard him leave, without running his hands under the tap.

I folded my now flaccid phallus inside my undershorts and raised my trousers.

Back in the bar, Dexter was talking excitedly to Kate. "You're a lucky omen!" He greeted me as I sat next to them.

"It's wonderful!" I said, just catching my words, before I inadvertently said 'He'

"When we win, it is!" He smiled openly at me. I liked him the more I got to know him.

I was invited to the performance of 'Tosca' by Opera North that evening. Dexter and his wife were going and I was asked to join them.

"You and Garry too!" Dexter smiled at Kate.

"Opera's not really Garry's thing." She said ruefully. "He'll probably want a night out with the lads, especially if we win the match.

"Ask him anyway." Dexter kindly said.

"You can accompany me." I quickly added. "If Garry doesn't want to go, I'd be delighted to take you."

"You have no wife?" Dexter asked. I felt uncomfortable, remembering the unwarranted publicity over the court case that may be in the papers in the near future and the unwanted intrusion into my privacy.

"Any woman would be proud to have you as a husband." Kate said. I felt she was being politely kind. Of course she would soon know I was homosexual, if she didn't already, I feared that once the trial commenced the whole world would know!

My embarrassment was broken by the cheering in the stands. Time for the second half.

The match was in the doldrums and Kate tried to explain the incomprehensible 'offside rule' to me! Then United attacked again. Garry passed to the captain Jones who slipped the ball through to the advancing Alan for him to calmly slot the ball into the net for the second goal.

More hysteria. More rushing around the pitch and hugging, more shirts swinging in the air amongst the crowd. More homoeroticism on the pitch.

Grantchester held on grimly for the rest of the half, surviving wave after wave of attacks from the opposition. More abuse from the sets of fans. It seemed that if you supported a different team, your parentage was severely in doubt as was your sexuality!

The teams trooped off exhausted, to load cheers from the home supporters. In the bar Bateman collared me.

"Come and meet the players." He ordered me. I hesitated and looked embarrassed towards Kate.

"Go on!" she signalled that she didn't mind being left alone. Boys were boys and were to be indulged.

"Bloody hurry up!" Bateman said, offended at my hesitation over his invitation into the inside track that all supporters would envy.

I followed him down a staircase. The smell of cigars and whiskey gradually changed to sweat and mud as we descended into the sanctum of the players changing rooms. The world of expensive luxury changed to one of games changing rooms, middle aged men rushing around in tracksuits, shouting voices and swearing and an overwhelming stale odour of men's perspiration. Although the facilities were expensive, my mind was thrown back to unpleasant changing rooms at boarding school, cruel games masters and even crueller boys. Unpleasant cross country runs on freezing cold mornings and embarrassment at having to undress in front of the other boys.

Up in the stands the world of football seemed sanitised and unreal. Down here the reality of sweat and bruises, hurt limbs and macho behaviour impinged upon me. But I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

Bateman bustled rudely past an older man in a track suit with a leathery face and opened the door marked "Home". I was greeted with a rush of steam and sweat. Naked young men were everywhere. This was like no quiet boarding school changing room I had ever known! My eyes were filled with boisterous, bronzed flesh and steam.

A few noticed our entrance and there were some high-spirited whoops at the sight of the Chairman. "Bloody marvellous, lads!" Bateman said. Cheers rang out as everyone turned to face us. Naked men were uninhibited, over displaying their glistening bodies!

They turned away from us to carry on showering and joshing together. They laughed and stroked lather over their bodies. Some pushed and shoved each other playfully. Hairy chests pushed past rounded buttocks to reach an unoccupied showerhead.