Biker Mates

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BIKER MATES PART FIVE

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BIKER MATES PART FIVE

That night was a long night.

Martin wouldn't sleep; he kept wrapping himself around me if I drew away at all, rubbing his prick against me like an over eager puppy. Soon enough I fucked him, pushing his legs back to his ears and snogging him deeply while I cummed up his rectum, but he didn't sleep after he had cum too; he just kept on rubbing his prick up against me, stroking me everywhere, kissing my ear, breathing in my face, rubbing his toes against my toes, holding me and feeling me and groping me and on and on.

Finally, I turned him round so his back was to me and his beautiful dimpled ass cheeks nestled against my pelvis, and I grasped his wrists in my fists; I wrapped my arms around him tight and put my leg over his legs, gripping them in a scissor knot. He was completely restrained and seemed to prefer it, safe and sound and calm. Finally, then, like a kid who had been read a story about far far far away, he dozed off, snoring quietly, and I fell asleep as well, my hard cock pressing relentlessly into his back, like it was me, dreaming.

=== === ===

Next morning we woke up early. We had no time for anything. We had to get back to our jobs. But Martin immediately started making out, the moment he woke. In fact he woke me up - I could have done with another half hour.

I pushed him away and told him to get ready for the off. He was naughty; he wanted to snog, he wanted to turn me on again. Well, I was already turned on.

"We don't have time," I whispered, kissing him on the nose. He put his legs around me and slipped my thick morning boner between his thighs. It was too much.

"We don't have time," I whispered.

I pulled myself away from him. I grabbed him and forced him off of me. He moaned in frustration and hurt.

"We have time," he whispered, pawing back.

"We don't have time," I said, wondering how much time we had. Now I was totally excited again and couldn't imagine doing anything without screwing him first.

"We don't have time," I said, pulling his strong body back on top of mine; gripping my cock; finding his hole; pressing myself fast, back, penetrating his gorgeous buttocks once again.

"I can't get enough of you," I whispered.

He whimpered with pain and lust. He moaned like an animal caught in a trap. He drove his ass firmly and swiftly down onto me, working it and gripping it, and soon we were in orgasm once more, and his sperm was once more flooding my stomach.

=== === ===

When we were at last finished, ready, dressed, washed and packed, we jumped on our bikes and raced back along the A6 to Manchester and our jobs. I drove my new ride hard, somehow expressing my excitement and jubilation at having found Martin and nailed him. Hard.

It was quite a rush, but we flew on euphoria. All the way I was staring at Martin's bum on the saddle of his KLX, sliding seductively from side to side, caressing his perineum with the throttling vibration. His narrow back bent forward as he crouched against the handlebars for speed. I simply couldn't believe that all my dreams had come true in so very few days, that on Friday I was Martin's queer side-kick friend, and now on Monday he was my fuckboy, my very own sex toy.

Martin worked in Salford, at the BBC, and I worked near Deansgate, "Manager's Assistant" at a reprographics franchise. So we parted company with a wave at some lights in the centre of town. I slowed down and watched him drive away.

I was thinking about him constantly at work, and constantly hard. I pictured sliding my curved erection up and down between his hard buttocks, hearing him whimper and wanting more and more. And I was thinking about loads of other stuff I could do to him, ways to keep him in agony, ways to keep him needing me and satisfying me. I knew that's what he wanted.

I texted him several times, lurid sexy messages that he replied to in kind. I started calling him fucboy. He started signing off his texts "fucboyxx". It was cool. We arranged to meet up in the evening, at my place.

=== === ===

So after work I was in the garage at home, working out and cleaning the mud off my bike. I heard the growl of his motor pulling up outside. There was a tap; I opened the doors and Martin wheeled in his Kawasaki. He pulled off his helmet with a grin. He'd shaved, but there was something else different... He'd only gone and shaved his head, or had it shaved, that is to say! He'd shaved off the sides of his loose dark locks, leaving only a kind of lank, wide Mohican stripe across the top of his skull. It looked vicious.

"Fucking hell, Mar! What's that?" I cried.

He laughed.

"Fucboy," he said.

He looked hot like a punk; rough and ready and up for trouble. I told him he looked too hot to handle.

He laughed.

"When did you...?"

"Popped out lunchtime," he laughed.

"You're ma-ad. Why did you do it?"

He laughed.

"Dunno, fancied a change."

He laughed.

"Come here, fucboy," I said.

I grabbed him and kissed him like we hadn't met for weeks, our partially bearded faces rubbing abrasively against each other, and when we spoke again it was with our faces and bodies pressed close together, nose to nose, eye to eye, chest to chest, and cock to cock. Even our thighs were pressed tight in contact. I held his head in my hands, rubbing the unfamiliar sandpaper surface of the skin above his ears. I looked into his deep dark beautiful eyes like I might see some kind of explaination submerged within.

He laughed.

"What did they say about it at work when they saw it?" I said.

"S'no big deal. People are fine. But I think they're shocked. There's this girl, Judy. She does, like, photocopying and stuff and she seemed kinda miffed. Bit that's no problem. She's just a girl."

He laughed.

"Probably fancies you."

"Oh yeah. I snogged her once at the Christmas party."

He laughed.

"You snogged her?"

"Yeah, why not? Went down as well... Photocopier rooms are great. She's been nice since then, but this hair cut kinda freaked her, I think, like I've gone 'n' spoilt me good looks! Like I've gone bad or summat."

He laughed.

"Little does she know," I said.

"Little does she know," he repeated, and laughed.

I was pushing myself against him, groping his ass and flipping the outline of my hardon against his.

I pulled his head back, inspected him and then held his face back against mine.

"Why didn't you shave it all off?" I said, holding on to what was left with a friendly tug.

"Didn't want to."

"It'd look good."

"This looks good, don'it?"

"Yeh!"

I stuck my tongue in his mouth again, pushing him with a thump against the garage wall. I lifted his hands up and pinned them above his head. He raised his legs and wrapped them round me. Jesus.

"Are you going to fuck me?" he said.

=== === ===

Now my garage has a variety of uses. There's the tools and parts I need for my various bikes. There's a bit of old mattress where I sometimes sleep and sometimes fuck blokes I've met. I've even got a kettle and a little fridge. It's home from home. I could live here if I wanted. I've got a stash of porn and bike magazines in one box. And in another box I've got a load of useful sex equipment: cuffs, collars, chains, rope, condoms and lube and poppers, tit clamps, things that tickle, and things that hurt. The roof beams are strong and I've had guys strung up there. My old Dad never knows. He never comes in. He stays indoors, in the house. I mean, he knows... but he doesn't know, if you know what I mean.

I lowered Martin to the ground and strolled over to my box of tricks. I'd found a little black collar with studs and rings and a padlock latch. The sight of it made my prick jerk up against my zip again.

"Here," I said.

"You what?" He said.

"Fuckboy," I said, "stand still."

He did as he was told and kept quietly stationary whilst I fitted the collar about his neck. I tightened it on him and snapped the little padlock shut.

"There."

He felt around it with his finger, resistant and unsure like a cat would react. It was tight.

"I look a prat," he moaned.

"No you don't. You look like a horny little cunt. A horny little cocksucker."

He liked that. He went over to a small mirror I had hanging on the wall and inspected himself from various angles, and I could see he liked it. It made him smile.

"Hmm... It's strange."

I went over and grabbed him by one of the loops. He spun round to face me. I grabbed his crotch. He was hard, of course.

"Take your clothes off."

He stripped top speed and stood before me in just this collar, with his hands naturally held behind his back, and his prick standing out like a flag post. Jesus, he looked too hot.

Then I grabbed his pole and squeezed it hard. He froze whilst I increased the pressure, until he was starting to resist despite himself. I let him go, and kissed him. He was totally excited and willing and fed on my mouth, letting me spit a load of my saliva onto his tongue. He swallowed it down eagerly. I grabbed his balls and ground them together in my palm letting him become fully consumed by the pain. He opened his mouth and became motionless with concentration while with my other hand I stroked his skin reassuringly, his back and his chest, his nipples and his bum. He loved it.

Always I had my face barely an inch from his. I could feel his laboured breathing, his growing tension and complete focus on what I was doing with my hands and what it felt like.

I released him.

"Kneel down fuckboy.".

He sank down quickly in front of me, looking up at my face like a loyal hound.

I had taken out my hard cock and now pressed the tip between his lips and teased him with it, holding his head away just so that he could barely reach it. Then I let him have it and let him enjoy licking and sucking for a few minutes.

His lips looked swollen and ruby-red as they pressed themselves around the shaft of my penis, glossing it with spit.

I let him have my balls as well. It was so keen, him kneeling down like that, tonguing my meat in every way imaginable.

I grabbed his collar and dragged his face away so that I didn't cum.

I loved having this little collar to play with. I could grab him and hold him and drag him about and bump him into things. He loved it, being dragged around on the floor of my garage. His knees were sore and red. With his tongue hanging out and his long erect prick bobbing about, he acted like a dog. I crouched down in front of him and let him lick my face.

"Goood," I said, "gooodog."

He laughed. He was so totally into it, I swear he'd've chased a stick if I'd thrown it! He was so totally into it, but really all he wanted was one thing, so I faced him round so he could rest on all fours to receive it. I spat on his hole and fucked him for about half an hour, several ways, until I had him collapsed on the mattress, whining face down into it, and I came a bucketload up his shitter. It was great. He creamed into his hand and then ate it, cheekily, like a dog eats something it's found in the gutter.

The place stank of shit. But it always stank of something.

=== === ===

When we'd recovered a bit, Martin said we should meet up with our mates Wayne and Hud. They'd been on the phone. We dressed and drove down to this chippie near where Martin lived.

We were hanging around outside, leaning on our parked bikes.

"I've still got some of your cum leaking out of my behind," Martin confessed.

"Don't tell me that, I said. I'll want to top you up again, fuckrrr."

Martin gave me a look.

"Please don't tell them anything," he said, sadly.

"What, like that you're sloppy-filled with other men's cum?" I asked.

"Yeh," he said. "That."

"That you're a man-whore fuck-bunny?" I laughed. "That you're a horny, sexy tight-asscunt?"

He grinned and looked away.

"You've still got your collar on..."

He grinned even wider and put his hand up to feel it.

"Yeh I know. I like it. I'm just gonna say its part of the look, y'know, the Mohican. It's post-punk."

"I own you now," I said.

"Yeh, I know," said Martin. He looked down at my feet like he'd like to kiss them. I'd've liked him to be down there, tap his nose with my boot, have him eat the mud off my toe.

Soon after we arrived at the chippie, sure enough, Hud and Wayne turned the corner on their bikes and coasted towards us. Martin had texted them.

Wayne had a terrific bike - a Honda Fireblade 600. A real cool fast bike. It was done out in red and white and he wore matching leathers. His tight butt swivelled around on the saddle like a marble and he kept punching his legendary penis with his glove to emphasise a point he was making or just to keep it comfortable. He was in super-tight shape. His big thighs arched over his machine like they were bolted on and part of it, and he gripped the throttle like that was part of his own anatomy too. He took off his helmet revealing his generously strong jaw, massive, slightly malicious smile, great expressive eyes and lovely round head, a great shaped skull covered in tiny clippered black curls. You could trust him. He was cool. Never uptight. He had a girlfriend, Lacie, who sometimes came with him on his bike, helmeted, crouching behind him, his waist viced between her knees.

Hud's bike was a Yamaha WR - not the biggest, though it looked mean enough with its big off-road forks and high tail. His skin was tanned and soft because he worshipped the sun; He frequently rode without his shirt, let alone a jacket. He basically seemed to resent wearing clothes at all! And the helmet was god's curse to bikers as far as he was concerned - though he had to have one on, so he called it a condom. Today he simply had a sleeveless jeans jacket; it showed off the muscle development of his brown arms and shoulders to perfection. A thick vein pulsed on his bicep. Unbuttoned in the front, you could see he had one of those beautifully defined but narrow chests, pecs with big rosy nipples, and a flat, sharply etched six-pack. You could see his lats through the material. They cut sharply down to his back like they'd been slashed into his flesh with a blade.

He removed his helmet and released a flood of beautifully clean shoulder-length hair. Sort of off-blonde in colour. He stayed astride his bike stabilising it with his long lean legs, leaning forward onto his helmet. He looked like cross between an Armani model and a heavy metal rocker.

Wayne slid his neat round butt off his saddle, hitched his bike back onto its stand, and came over to us, one arm threaded through the visor of his helmet, the other outstretched to slap-five us in the air. We obliged.

"Bro's," he said.

We yo'ed him back.

Suddenly Wayne mock-collapsed in convulsions of hilarity, pointing at Martin's new look. Why it took him that long to notice, I don't know.

"What you done, bro?" He said with a mock-concerned voice. "They'n't gonna like that."

I guessed he meant the girls.

Hud de-biked, stabilised it and sauntered towards us, smiling but with a distant jaded look in his steel blue eyes. "'S'cool. Looks wild. Still scores," he reassured us without much interest.

I smiled.

Hud looked at me awkwardly. We shook hands.

"You do this?" He asked me. He was always suspicious.

"Yeh," said Wayne in a friendly way. "You behind this, Mike?"

"Why me? 'S'nuthn t'do w'me," I said, raising my hands and gurning innocence.

Martin ran his fingers over his head, apparently thinking fast - his version of fast.

"I just fancied summat different," he said, at last.

"Well it's certainly that," laughed Wayne. "Hud, w't'd'you think? W'd you do it?"

Hud shock his head. His hair shook around him in golden bronze waves. When he raised his arm to comb his head with his fingers I could see through the arm-holes of his jacket into the hairy cavern of his deeply excavated armpit. I thought he'd look good with some shaved skin at the sides of his head; a little roughness to balance the gloss and the smooth and the bronze. But I didn't say anything.

"Yeh? How's it feel? What is it? Yamaha..." Wayne brushed a hand over the seat and tank of my glossy new bike, briefly changing the subject.

"250," I said. "That's all."

Wayne heaved a leg over and sat twisting the handlebars. He examined the dials.

"Smart," he said. "How much?"

I told him

"Cool..." He nodded.

Hud walked up to it and bobbed down to examine the chassis.

"Neat," he concluded. "Good on yer. Now you can ride without shame."

I smiled.

"I always ride shamelessly," I said.

He didn't get my point, but Wayne thought he did and smirked. He climbed off and started to walk towards the chippie.

We all trooped into the shop, sat at a booth. I sat next to Martin who sat against the wall opposite Hud. Wayne sat next to Hud, opposite me, with one leg spread out into the walkway. Martin was holding his knife and fork upright, tapping their ends on the Formica table in anticipation of the food.

"I'm starved," he said.

The waitress came over and we ordered four big fish meals.

"Whatcha'do at the weekend?" asked Hud. "Went off somewhere didn't ya?"

"We went test run Mike's new bike over the Peaks," said Martin, "Ashton way."

"Where's that?" asked Wayne, looking at his watch.

"Like between Buxton and Bakewell."

"D'ye get any Bakewell tart?" said Wayne with a snort. He laughed.

Martin laughed. "Kinda, I guess," he said.

"You did?" Wayne's eye widened.

"Yeh, kinda."

"What's 'kinda'?"

"Well, there was these girls."

"Ooo," said Wayne. "What'bout you, Mike?"

They knew I am gay, so it was friendly.

"I think I cramped his style," I said diplomatically.

"I'll bet," said Wayne, leaning back and putting an arm round Hud's shoulders; he needed lots of space.

Hud wasn't really listening. He just grinned. He was humming along to the music playing over the speakers: Smokey Robinson's "I don't care what they say".

Wayne started playing with his chest, inserting his fingers into the zip of his jacket and seeming to play with his nipples. That's the sort of thing he did, that and playing with his prick. He was humming along to the song, singing the single word "Lacie" to the whole thing instead of the original lyrics.

The meal arrived, served by a teenage girl, probably the daughter of the owner. She deftly slid four large plates into the table and asked if we wanted red sauce or brown sauce or vinegar or salt or anything. We said we wanted all of that and she pointed to a little island of condiments already on the table, straight in front of us.

Then we tucked in.

There was a long silence while we ate.

"So tell us about the skirt," said Wayne, finally.

I wished they'd changed the subject permanently. Martin started re-telling his story about Gail, but embellishing it so that it appeared to be a story in which he made a conquest. Like he'd nailed her. When all along I'd nailed him, he knew and I knew. It pissed me off that I was being portrayed like I was some kind of impotent, emasculated bystander. Like I, as the token gay present, was condemned to a fool role in any true human drama. At the same time, I knew, I knew, that Martin sucked my cock and that I fucked him. And so I was calm on the outside, and angry on the inside and on the inside of that I was truly happy.

"What happened to the other one, man?" asked Wayne.

"She lost," said Martin with a smile.

"D'ye like her?" asked Hud, meaning Gail.

"She was alright."

"Did you get her number?"

"What's the point?"

"She might visit, or you might, if you like each other."

"It wasn't that sort of thing."

"Wham bam, said Wayne. That's Mar's style. He's like you, Hud. He doesn't care."

"Who says I don't care?" Said Hud.

"Lacie doesn't reckon you do."

"Like she'd know."

"She know, she know, she know, said Wayne, with his knowing grin. She know everythin'. He looked at me. E-ver-y-thin'."

"She doesn't look like she knows everything," I said.

"If she looked like she know everythin', would you then believe that she know everythin', man?"

"Probably not."

"I tell you: She know everythin'," repeated Wayne ominously. Then he laughed and hit Hud gently over the head, as if proving a point and Hud touched his hair to check it was still beautiful, pushing it behind one ear.

"Asshole," he said, under his breath.

Wayne pursued his theme, leaned forward and asked me, "You Mike, what you think she say?"

"People say a lot of things," I replied with circumspection.

"Ah yeh, that they do. But wha-t do you think she say?"

No one said anything.

"I honestly don't know," I said, honestly.

Hud leaned his head forward as Wayne dragged his arm over the top of him, thoughtlessly, and put it on the table.

"She say," said Wayne, "'Mike watch', and she say, 'Mike wait'."

"What does that even mean?" I asked, irritated and trying to eat.

Hud put a fork of battered cod into his mouth.

"Wayne, she doesn't sound like she makes much sense, man," he said, chewing it up. "You know what I'm sayin'?" he said with a grin.

Martin started laughing, spitting bits of food onto his plate. With his mouth stuffed he said, "Wayne, bruv, you're full o' shit."

We all laughed, except Wayne who silently returned to his food having given me an ominous and disturbing look.

But then Wayne too burst into raucous lighter, pointing to me like I was the joke.

"Your face," he said.

Then we all laughed.

Then there was another silence.

Hud was the first to say anything and he changed the subject in the only way blokes know how: He talked about football.

"U-NI-TED HA-HA-HA," he sang, tapping his cutlery.

Wayne rebutted with enthusiastic abuse, and Martin, more or less a United supporter, backed him up. I had nothing useful to contribute and stayed quiet until I could stand it no more and added my own worthless opinion to the effect that City were wankers.

"You're a wanker," rebutted Hud with a grin.

Everybody laughed again. It was fun.

As you know, a conversation about football cannot be written down, because it doesn't consist of coherent sentences and doesn't mean anything outside the moment it exists in. A conversation about football is a kind of... breath of wind on the surface of a pint of bitter. It means nothing, but it means something. Like birdsong means something to the other birds, and the birds can't explain it.

We polished off our plates, and again Hud was first to speak. He was looking at Martin, staring at him, examining him.

"What's different?" He said at last.

He was staring at Martin.

"Not the hair... Some thing else... What is it?"

Martin stared back at him. "What you talking about?" he said.

"Something's different. Eh, what's this?" Hud reached forward and grabbed Martin by the little collar I had put on him. Martin was caught by the neck.

"Oh man, that's new. What's that?"

"Oh man," groaned Wayne. "What's that, man, eh?"

Hud held Martin like a fish on a hook. Martin couldn't move.

"It's nothing, man," he choked.

"It's not nothin'," said Hud. "This Gail?" he said.

"No, not Gail," gasped Martin.

Wayne peered and shook his head. "I can-not believe it," he said. "What next?"

I was surprised it had taken them so long to notice.

Hud pushed his finger further through the loop he had caught on the collar and pulled tighter so that Martin was pulled by the neck and had to put out a hand to steady himself, and to resist, but Hud gave the loop a yank and dragged Martin across the table towards him. Martin stood up to avoid his plate. Hud gently moved the neckline of Martin's jacket to one side with his other hand, like a doctor gently exposing the viscera of a dissection subject. His blue eyes focused in, and his lips parted in interest showing the merest splinter of his white teeth.

Wayne leaned towards Martin's neck with a similar pathologist's approach. Hud looked to Wayne as he might to a colleague for his medical opinion.

"What so you make of it Wayne?"

"It looks like a dog collar," said Wayne, with a snide grin. "You a dog, Mar?"

"It's just a look," croaked Martin. "S'nothin'."

"You right changed, man," said Wayne mockingly and regretfully. He shook his head like a disappointed parent. "This Gail's got you good."

Martin fell forward, knocking his plate with the bulge of his pants. At the same time he grabbed Hud's wrist and tried to yank it free from his collar but he could not. Hud laughed like he was teasing a pet.

Wayne picked up some leftover chips from his plate. They were covered in tomato sauce. He aimed them deliberately and incompetently at Martin's mouth, while Martin couldn't move, and rubbed them into Martin's face, smearing sauce over his lips and chin and cheek, like a child scribbling in red over its colouring book.

"What's up with you?" He said, laughing. "You're makin' a mess, look."

Martin shook, bidding to free himself from Hud's control, keeping his balance, off the table, now put a hand up to bat Wayne off and clean the sauce from his face. He was ineffective.

Martin was vulnerable and powerless and' once again, I was kind of enjoying it. I grabbed Martin's hand and pulled it down and behind his back and held it there. Them I reached round and grabbed the other hand so that Martin was completely stuck. He gave me a look of horney disbelief. Basically he didn't know what was happening. He was off balance in every way.

Hud laughed and picked up some more chips and rubbed them in Martin's face and then pushed what was left over into the tight neckline of his tee. Martin looked exciting and humiliated. The chips disappeared into his shirt. Martin made a face of disgust, quivering with fury.

"Fucking cunts."

Hud's jacket rode up, exposing his tanned chest his nipples and distracting my sight. He saw me watching him and gave Martin a deliberate yank on the collar, in some kind of response. Martin fell forward, but I held him by the hands so that he didn't actually hit the table. He was twisting to keep his balance and swearing.

"Fuck off."

Wayne tapped me on the arm.

"Let him off, man," he said. "It's getting too much."

"Fucksake," said Martin as I let him go and Hud let go of the collar and Martin fell back into his seat, wiping his face.

"Fuck you cunts," he fumed.

I put a hand on his thigh, my fingertips feeling his groin under the cover of the table. I could tell he was hard. I didn't even have to see. I didn't even have to feel. I could tell we were going to have fun later.

"Chill out, Martin," I said. "It's only a bit of fun..." Though it didn't look like fun with all ketchup on his face and clothes...

Wayne was looking at Martin with paternal disappointment. "Jesus, man, what's happened to you? You used to be smart."

"Fuck off you bastard," said Martin. Actually, he was really upset. Then he looked at me and said, "thought you were supposed to be my..." He stopped mid-sentence.

I leaned in to his ear and whispered, "I'm so gonna fuck your sweet ass, boy."

Martin said, "Fuck off you cunt." But he said it with a small smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry you aren't happy," I said sarcastically, out loud. I touched his hair gently and let my fingers stroke his face. Martin gave me a moody smile. My fingers rode over the soft bump of his lips and Martin parted them slightly. I pushed my finger against his teeth. Then I wiped the moistened tip of my finger on his chin. Martin always had the power to turn me on.

Wayne and Hud watched all this and exchanged glances.

Wayne sighed slow and long and looked down at the table. He pushed his empty plate away and folded his fingers together, at the same time raising his eyebrows just about as far as they would go.

"Oh... So..." he said.

Hud stared at Martin as if he was trying to see through a sheet of tinted glass. He peered at him intensely, and he looked at me as if examining a corpse beneath a sheet and determining cause of death.

Then Hud said, "Now I see."

"See what?" said Martin.

"I see what's changed," said Hud. "I always knew. I just thought... I was wrong."

"Oh I al-ways knew," responded Wayne triumphantly. "Lacie said she knew it and she was right. I just guessed there must be something else to it but she was right. She all-ways right."

"You wha'?" said Martin.

Wayne simply puckered his lips and blew a puff of air towards the ceiling.

Hud nodded. "Looks that way," he said.

I didn't comment. I just looked straight at them with what I imagined might look like defiance.

Hud stretched his arms out above his head exposing his whole chest again from inside his jacket. The soft brown skin and fine golden hairs were distracting, the flat lined stomach and petite belly-button. But we were all good looking boys. Hud laughed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Wayne laughed and looked away, rubbing his nose in embarrassment. He reached across the table with his strong right arm and mimicked my actions previously. He stroked Martin's hair, his eyebrows, his cheek, his lips, and them he gave Martin a small slap so that Martin started and shied away.

"S'alright, Martin, we don't mind you bein' that way."

Martin looked back at him with distrust and uncertainty.

Hud put his hands together on the table. "Is that what it is, then? You two?" He said.

Martin didn't speak. He looked at his plate.

I didn't know what to say. I turned my head to Martin so that he had to reply rather than me.

There was a long and awkward silence.

After a while Wayne slapped his forehead with his palm. "Awww'man," he said, "so that's it? You've gone over to Mike's side now?"

Martin was quiet. Then after what seemed like a long wait he simply said, "yes."

Wayne and Hud were amazed. So was I.

Martin rested his head on his hand and sighed. "Yes," he repeated. "I'm gay now, I guess. I guess," and he laughed. He picked up a fork and stabbed at some of his discarded chips indifferently, but staring hard at them as if they were the problem.

"How this happen, man?" asked Wayne. "No, no, no, no, no, you ain't gay. You like to fuck pussy. You had a girlfriend. You one of the lads, man, one of us, the lads, man!"

"I never had a girlfriend, Wayne," said Martin.

"So who was she, then?"

"What, Alison? Christ, she was just a good friend, man."

"You didn't nail her?"

"Well, look, let's just say.. It didn't work." Martin took a deep breath. "Look, guys, it was something that happened over the weekend."

"Well obviously," said Wayne.

"Yeh, well, after me and Gail... umm..."

"...screwed," Hud interrupted with a laugh.

"Yeh, well, we didn't screw actually, though Gail was all over me. She was horny as fuck."

"You were all over Gail as well," I said, helpfully.

"Yeh, well, it was like we was up for it and I went back with her to the tent but... I... couldn't ..."

"You couldn't get it up!" Said Wayne, helpfully. "That heppens."

"Yeh, well, I was a bit embarrassed and, well to tell the truth, my heart wasn't in it. She just didn't turn me on in the end and I was just willing her to fuck off, which she did, eventually."

I wasn't sure if I wanted him to be too honest, but the wheel was turning and it seemed like at last he had something to say.

"Your heart wasn't in it? You cunt. You didn't nail it. You had it an' you didn't nail it," said Wayne.

"I was off me stroke. I wasn't on the job because, well, I was thinking... I didn't really want it."

He paused and everyone listened.

"I wanted something else."

"You wanted Mike?" said Hud, in disbelief.

Martin continued, "Gail got angry and stormed off and then Mike turned up..."

"Oh, man, sick," said Hud.

"Hold on, mate," said Wayne. "He's tellin' us. Hear him out."

Martin paused and looked Hud in the eye and, staring at Hud's face with its appalled expression, he said, "When we were alone together in the tent I... I wanted... him... and we kissed and... we... had sex."

Then Martin looked at Wayne and them at me and then leaned back in his seat, defiantly. Resting his case, so to speak. His eyes were unblinking. His face was quivering with outrageous determination.

Wayne and Hud both groaned and looked at each other in embarrassment. They looked at me: I'm quite a man, I'm well built and well hung and a good fuck and perhaps they thought of me as they might think of any man they saw who was like that. Perhaps they thought I was going to get married some day. They sure as hell never imagined I would be fucking one of their own, a United supporter, two United supporters playing with each other like Southern queer boys! That must have come as a hard surprise.

Then, just in case there was still any uncertainty in anyone's mind about exactly what Martin was saying, he leaned over and planted a kiss on my mouth, holding his lips open against mine and jostling them with his tongue.

He never ceased to amaze me.

Wayne and Hud watched this wide-eyed. When Martin pulled away from me he dragged a gooey line of saliva from my mouth which sagged between our faces, snapped and fell down our chins.

Wayne and Hud were in shock.

"You're goin' to hell," said Wayne with a laugh.

I wasn't sure if he was serious.

"I never would'a believed it," said Hud. "So, you're a gay now! You're Mike's ... boyfriend? It don't make sense cos how long you been a poof, sorry, um, 'homosexual'? Cos you definitely weren't gay when we was screwing' those girls in their gaff in Salford, remember! What were you then?"

Hud giggled pathetically.

"That was then," argued Martin assertively. "I was different then. I didn't love them! I'm gay, right?"

"You didn't really like it? So you fuck men now, you fuck Mike ... up his shithole?" Hud exclaimed.

"Nah, I don't think so, mate," said Wayne perceptively.

Martin didn't reply.

"What then... the other way round?" said Hud, warily.

"Yeah! He's my bitch!" I said, laughing.

Martin gave me a 'Thank you very much, mate,' look. I contined laughing half out of embarassment and half out of delight.

"What, so you fuck Mar... like up HIS shithole, yeh?" Hud said. It was another revelation he couldn't take.

"Yeh, and he sucks my cock when I tell him to. He's my bitch," I said bursting into tears of laughter. "Mar's my bitch, my honey."

"For christsake, Mike, tone it down," moaned Martin, sheltering his eyes beneath his palm.

"Yeh," said Wayne, "ladies present, mind your language!"

And everyone except Martin laughed like drains. I put again put my hand on Martin's solid muscular thigh with what I hoped was a comforting squeeze. His hand under the table found mine and held on.

"How does it feel to be the hottest girl in the town right now?" I sang.

Hud and Wayne groaned and covered their faces in despair.

"You know what," said Hud, "I always said Kawasaki was a gay bike..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

END OF PART FIVE