Part 108: The Only Way Is Norfolk
Like every other Premier League football club across the country, Norwich City FC was opening its doors for a gradual start to training. East Anglia scorched under a strong sun and the lads, decked out in the lime green and canary yellow training kits, bounded around the club's rural training ground in high spirits. Tanned skin, overgrown bears, dodgy home haircuts, booming relieved laughter; eager and energetic sportsmen released from weeks of restriction and isolation.
As the short session came to an end, one group of players collapsed to the freshly mown grass, wiped out by how much they'd thrown themselves into practice and how much laughing had interrupted their play. The junior coach working with them had given up trying to calm or discipline the young blokes working under him today, just as delighted as they were to be back on a football ground and preparing for vaguely imminent games.
One recurring joke had caused a lot of laughter, and bounced back into conversation now between the reclining footballers, sprawled in the hot midday sun and slurping energy drinks from the bottles that had been handed out by coach, from his cooler box.
`So are ya gonna be leaving us for bigger things?' demanded 22-year-old Yorkshireman Ben Godfrey, leaning on his side and almost dribbling the sugary drink down his neat goatee as he grinned around at the other young players.
Beside him, fellow defender and northerner Sam Byram laughed louder than the rest and waved his bottle in the direction of their target. `Yeah, I heard you were gonna do a James Corden and fuck off to America interviewing celebrities haha -- or that MTV are chasing you for a reality show.'
`The Only Way is Norfolk,' quipped Max Aarons, the 20-year-old London lad sat cross-legged with a dumb grin on his face. As one of the youngest on the squad, he just looked glad not to be the victim of teasing for a change, smearing sweat from his boyish face and enjoying the ripple of laughter through the group at his little joke.
Stretching out on his back and shielding his eyes from the sun, Todd Cantwell took the ribbing in good humour and smiled along with Aarons' and the others' little jibes. The 22-year-old midfielder shrugged his shoulders loosely, stretching his bare arms in his vest and enjoying the sun's glow on them, flexing his knuckles and ignoring another rambling joke from Godfrey, who was speculating about his new role presenting Loose Women on ITV.
The lads had been full of their banter today on his social media enterprising during the lockdown. He knew it was all a bit daft and that, to the older players especially, that sorta thing was a bit weird and distracting to the proper football; but Todd had picked up quite a following and he enjoyed the attention. He'd grown up with the virtual world and its swathes of Likes and DMs as ubiquitous, he didn't see why he couldn't invest himself in it and use his platform. Besides, he'd been fucking bored and restless throughout the quarantine weeks and doing `Insta Live' sessions with and for his fans, including little quizzes and competitions, had been one of the social opportunities that helped him get through it.
Yep, definitely on his way to stardom,' chuckled their Scottish senior teammate, Grant Hanley, downing the last of his energy drink and tossing the bottle back into the cool box. But pretty boy here is already the face of the club. The Norfolk Harry Styles, they call him,' the Scotsman chuckled gruffly.
Todd sat up a little and smirked at his older friend, used to the ribbing about his blond locks and boyish good looks; it was hard to get offended by it when the crux of the joke was that he was better looking than anyone else in the county, never mind the club. Shaking grass out of said long blond hair, he leaned forward to stretch his back and arm muscles, then rolled his eyes as Godfrey launched into some jokes about his online fitness sessions too. Posing in his shorts, showing everyone how many press-ups he can do,' the young defender laughed with a meaningful look, when's the fitness DVD coming out, Davina...?'
`Ho ho ho,' Cantwell mocked back, reaching for a water-bottle.
Mind, the Redknapp interview is my favourite bit,' Byram said, and the others readily laughed their agreement. I mean, were you high or something? What a terrible interview...'
`Lads,' grunted the coach warningly, worried the teasing was going too far.
Yeah, most awkward convo ever,' Aarons chipped in. Talk about dead air. You're normally biggest chatterbox in the world, but get you on cam with Jamie Redknapp, and...' General chuckling and muttering amongst the tired, sweaty cluster of young lads. Todd supped his water and turned away, a slight colour rising in his glossy cheeks, a few stray blades of grass stuck to his smooth tan skin. He could sit and smirk his way through any amount of ribbing about his little game show efforts for his followers, or his self-styled Body Coach antics, but Max had hit a nerve there...
`Probably intimidated by meeting someone more handsome than him,' joked Hanley, and the banter spiralled away; there was a variety of homophobic laughter at Hanley daring to comment on another guy's looks, eventually dismissed and quietened by the coach, who tore them away from their banter by dishing out some mild praise for people's efforts in the training session, despite the constant laughter breaks and messing around. Todd half-listened, thrown into a moody little pause by the last set of jokes at his expense; the quiet, short-lived little interview he had given to Jamie's from-home Sky Sports footy show the other day, watched by all the Norwich lads and the subject of much group chat back-and-forth in the few days since. Cantwell had clammed up and given a series of shitty answers to Jamie's smooth questioning, getting the names of two teammates wrong and accidentally badmouthing another, apart from fluffing a little quiz about his own career to date. It had been a minor publicity disaster.
The others were getting up now to lug their things indoors and get changed, so he followed, flipping himself up onto his feet and tugging at the wedgie in his green-and-yellow shorts. Nobody was talking about him or his social media antics any more, no more joking about his crap Redknapp interview... well, thank god, because he didn't want to think too much about that appearance.
If only they knew, he thought self-consciously, then they'd understand...
It had been late on a Saturday night almost a week ago, and the latest of his nocturnal livestreams. He'd been broadcasting himself to Instagram, answering random questions from Norwich fans then doing another live little quiz for a couple of easily amused contestants from his online audience, giving away an old Norwich jersey as a prize. Standard sorta thing.
Todd Cantwell lived in a sizeable new-build house not far from most of his family in a small Norfolk market town, the local boy of Norwich's success story; for various health reasons, lockdown had been strict for his family though, and he'd had a particularly lonely experience. Stuck alone kicking about an empty house; the 22-year-old football star was cheerfully committed to bachelordom for the time being, but lockdown had tested that patience and removed the enjoyable freedom of it. His days had consisted of intense garden workouts and usually solitary walks across the admittedly beautiful countryside. In the evening, he found many of his footballing mates too busy with their wives, girlfriends or families to be all that interest in video chat catch-ups or group quizzes or the sort of thing others seemed to do to kill time. Thus, he'd turned himself into a bit of an online star for his small following, and he enjoyed the virtual company.
He switched off the feed with a satisfied grin, sprawled sideways on the long black leather couch of his big airy lounge, dressed in a baggy grey tshirt and close-fitting dark green joggers, his feet bare and stroking the cool leather. He yawned and ran his fingers through his tumbling mane of blond hair, checking the viewing figure from the livestream and grinning. He'd basically tripled his social media following in a month, his amateurish webcam antics picking up new fans from the footballing community, and bored online teenagers. His agent, keen to look at offers from bigger clubs, would be pleased, even though Todd felt strongly loyal to his boyhood club here in East Anglia.
He was just about to close his phone, toss it aside on the sofa, work out a midnight snack and bash on some video games, when a DM pinged into his Instagram inbox. He yawned again as he slid across the screen to check it, expecting the usual viral rubbish or odd mix of hyperbolic praise and vitriolic hate that social media seemed to bring; neutrality had no place in the 21st century. He started at the name on the message: Jamie Redknapp, and he started again at the little confirming blue tick next to the profile, before he'd even questioned if this was some loser fake profile messaging him a scam or some bollocks.
hey,' read the message from the ageing pundit and TV star, good live show there kid, nice 1!'
Todd, who tended to spot his Premiership buddies when they popped in and out of his online appearances, stared in surprise at the message, taken aback that Redknapp would have seen any of it -- and then really dazzled that the long-retired Liverpool star would choose to message him any feedback on it. Cantwell was hardly taking his online profile THAT seriously, but still... He pushed across the screen to tap in his response.
`thx chief, awesome to hear that from u!!!'
`np, you're doing great, good cheer up for the fans etc -- quality stuff, lad, keep it up'
`will do big man lol, maybe 1 day be on Sky Sports like u haha'
`yeh probably, with your looks lol -- hope you're well?'
Todd had remained slumped on the sofa through these messages, staring blearily at the phone screen in his weary alarm at the celebrity fan he'd somehow picked up tonight. He didn't know quite how to respond and he suspected his hasty DMs back to Redknapp seemed flippant and immature. He felt like maybe he was meant to be writing more formally or properly for a guy approaching 50, one of the most popular TV football personalities in the country, a legend in his own right despite his early retirement due to injury. God, what would the lads say when he screenshotted this for the group chat, hah..?
`am well thx, just bored a lot, that's why I go live most eves'
He hit send and sat up on the couch, dazed but pleased with himself. He got up from the sofa and collected up the detritus of snacks from his hardwood floor, moving through into the house's slick new designer kitchen, assuming that might be the end of his short interaction with old Jamie. But nope, a new message waited when he'd dumped the things on the side and reopened his phone.
`same tbh -- u up to much now m8?'
Cantwell paused. It was always such a funny question in text messages and emails and phone calls, now. Who the hell was up to much of anything?
`nah, just probs play some COD then bed or summat'
`video call?' He blinked at this odd response to his bland comment, hovering at the kitchen counter and holding both thumbs over the screen in a surprised pause. Before he could pop in a vague, bewildered response to that, the video call was coming through over WhatsApp, which was a bit odd because he had no idea that this old bloke would even have his number. He hesitated before swiping across to answer, though he couldn't quite have said why. The screen crackled and adjusted and then there he was, Jamie Redknapp, slumped at the sofa in a similar slobbish way that he had been until a minute ago.
`Hey Todd lad,' called the familiar slick South Coast accent of the pundit.
`Good evening!' Todd yelped back in mild awkwardness.
He paced the kitchen as they spoke, listening to Jamie reel off some positive comments about the live show tonight, making it pretty obvious he had discreetly watched the whole thing as it played via the social media app. Todd, so chatty on his solitary broadcast, found himself a bit lost for words, fetching the lonely last beer bottle from the fridge and making his way back into the lounge, holding the phone up for this video call as he moved.
Well that's really kind of ya,' he said bashfully, the hint of country bur in his Norfolk accent. Jeez, I didn't realise you were such a big fan, Redknapp, ha ha...'
Do you know what,' rambled the pundit, it was my older son, who's living with his mum at the moment, he said he and loads of his friends had started following you and it was quite a laugh, y'know? Yeah, so it was his tip-off, I thought... yeh, let's have a look at that. And what do you know -- you've got good chat for it, Todd mate. Seriously, can see you sat across a desk from me putting the footballing world to rights sometime.'
Cantwell, used to the mild obscurity Norwich often faced in the major league, grinned happily at this notion, flopping back into the couch and taking a swig of beer. `Sweet idea, chief, I'd love that sometime. Well, cheers for watching -- and messaging. It's really cool of ya.'
Oh no bother,' drawled Redknapp, I'm just sat up -- bored as hell!' He brought a beer bottle of his own into view and they clinked with mutual chuckles at the silliness of it. `Just up late on my own, killing time. Got a few laughs from your little livestream.' The handsomely tanned 46-year-old sprawled back in his comfortable sofa, dressed down in a crisp white tshirt with a hint of beard forming on his well-preserved strong jawline.
It's just a daft thing to fill the evenings alone,' Cantwell admitted with a note of vulnerability, unsure he should admit how lonely he felt some nights. I guess you still have a lot of long-distance work, being in demand like you are, but I've only got my walks and my fitness, and video games, so...'
Live alone?' Jamie asked. There was something odd in his tone there, the question didn't sound quite so casual as it should, but Todd didn't give it much thought as he nodded and explained his circumstances a bit. Well I've got my younger son with me some days but we have to share the duties, Louise and I. So I know how you feel, I'm alone a fair bit, like tonight,' Jamie carried on after a while. `It really can get to you -- if you let it.'
`Sure,' Cantwell agreed quietly.
But like you say, you've got your fitness,' Jamie pointed out then. Great videos you've put up, I have to say...!'
Oh,' the young Norwich player exclaimed, even more surprised now. Well yeh, thanks -- I just thought -- may as well share what I'm doing. Have had some positive feedback from the City fans, y'know, and...'
Yeah and probably a whole lotta pussy in your DMs too,' Redknapp blurted out quite suddenly, and Todd was so surprised that he couldn't help but giggling along with the older bloke's throaty laugh. All the clunge in Norfolk be sliding into your DMs with those crunches and leg exercises you've been posting, you little tart.' There was something almost comically sleazy in the older guy's faux Cockney banter.
Well, a bit!' Cantwell admitted self-consciously, though the random influencer' model types and spotty teenage girls who had flooded messages at him always seemed too weird and unreal to actually get back to; how the hell did you even really know who you were messaging? Busty Annabel, 21, from Ipswich, was probably really Gareth, 57, from Stoke-on-Trent. Jeez,' he exclaimed again, you really saw those?'
Well, I had a browse of your page,' laughed Jamie gently. Good workouts though, they come from the club, or did you improvise a bit...?'
`Er, bit of both, I guess.'
You could be the next Joe Wicks,' Redknapp teased. And you're looked ripped, if you don't mind me saying -- work's paying off clearly.' On the camera view, the ageing pundit threw back more beer and stroked the short scruffy beard of dark reddish brown.
`Thanks,' the Noroflk lad mumbled bashfully, though he hadn't been so shy when posting them.
I heard you go topless half the time on your livestreams,' quipped Redknapp now, so I was pretty disappointed when that t-shirt stayed on all the way through tonight.'
`Oh-!' It was true, he thought with a giggle, he had been sat with no shirt on some of the time, finding these hot spring nights oddly stuffy. He'd hardly expected it to be a big thrill for his audience, assuming them mainly to be footy-loving lads, but it had earned some weirdly thirsty comments from both young ladies and the odd guy, but he blocked those creeps straight away, every time!
Just kidding,' Jamie chuckled unnecessarily, but then added, give us a flash of that six-pack then.'
The suggestion (instruction?) was so unexpected and casual that it didn't really occur to Todd not to follow it. He propped the phone on the arm of the sofa and yanked the old top up and off his slim, browned body, baring the lean but defined chest and abdomen that he'd been sculpting throughout his daily sessions. Across the video call, the older bloke gave a teasing whistle of admiration that made him blush but also burst out laughing, enjoying the camaraderie of it. Encouraged by the pundit's leering snigger, he pulled his arms up to flex his thin but strong biceps and exaggerate the definition of his six-pack.
`Looking GOOD,' Redknapp told him firmly.
`Worked hard for this, hardly gonna keep it to myself,' sniggered Cantwell.
`Fair play!' No sooner had the ex-footballer spoken than the screen was a flurry of white fabric; Jamie too was yanking off his tshirt and tossing it aside, stretching out shirtless on the couch in a surprising vision of toned flesh. Todd raised his eyebrows, oddly uncomfortable with the fact the other guy was being just as brash and confident as himself; why did that feel a bit wrong? It would be hypocritical to judge Redknapp for stripping off in the same way he casually did...? He looked at the man's body: a little chunkier than his own, equally and surprisingly smooth (did he wax or something?) and a little paler, but surprisingly firm and defined looking for a bloke in the latter half of his 40s. How long even was it since Redknapp played professionally...?
I'm no twink model like you, mate,' Jamie was saying, but I keep myself trim, y'know.'
`I can see that,' Todd agreed, a little uncomfortable at the sound of his own compliment.
Jamie was patting his flat tummy as if there was a belly there. `I might have to try some of your core exercises though, firm this thing up into bronzed abs like those, Norfolk boy. You're looking SO ripped.'
Todd was both embarrassed and deeply pleased with the continued admiration for his body, twisting a little on the sofa to bring his washboard into better view for a moment, seeing Jamie shift and adjust a little bit, perhaps to puff up his broad chest and look even more ruggedly attractive in the camera's blunt view.
`You've not had a queue of fit slags hitting you up after those vids then?' Jamie demanded.
Well, something like that, I guess,' Todd told him, but... I mean, can hardly be meeting up with them, can I?' He thought about this. `I'm not after being shamed in the papers like thingy, Kyle Walker, or even Grealish, or...'
No, good lad,' Jamie agreed with a wistful tone. It's a hard bachelor life on lockdown, huh?'
`It really fucking is,' Cantwell responded and honestly, he hadn't realised at all how sexually frustrated he was until he said it, hearing the earnest hunger in his own voice. Luckily, Redknapp was already laughing along with him as he felt his blush rising.
You must be wanking yourself silly,' the retired sportsman said with an abrupt smirk. I know I am,' he added over the awkward pause of Todd not knowing how to answer. Lost for words, he just giggled again and pulled at his shaggy hair with his free hand, staring at the image of the stubbly smirk and casual shirtless pose of the other bloke. Like clockwork, this time of night,' laughed the South Coast playboy, and I'm not half as young and excitable as you must be, Todd.'
What could he say to that? He laughed and blushed and shrugged. The reality was that the 22-year-old was so sexlessly restless that even these casual reminders of the fun he wasn't having were starting to make him spring a semi in his joggers. Moments after guiltily realising that, he saw the camera view of the older man shift a bit and noticed, with a hint of alarm, that Jamie's own free hand was resting below the waist on the crotch of his slim black jogging bottoms, seeming to cup his crotch idly.
`I do what I have to do to get by,' Cantwell said, recovering his charms.
`I'm sure you do,' Redknapp answered, giving himself a more blatant squeeze.
Todd felt the sure stirring of his own privates, realising that he would definitely need to tug one out before bedtime and sleep. He hadn't actually cum in days; self-pleasure was becoming tedious and repetitive without the usual stream of eager village girls that he happily preyed on at Norwich's limited nightlife. He was thinking about the hot Norfolk socialites he often brought home here to pleasure, but he realised what he was actually watching was a middle-aged man pawing at the crotch of his joggers and smirking into his own image.
`You okay there?' Redknapp asked, seeming to sense his discomfort.
`Fine, yeah,' Todd answered gently. Well, he was. There was nowt wrong with this, was there?
Don't mind me, just feeling so horny,' the 46-year-old admitted. How about you?'
He paused; what to confess? Well, it wasn't as if this bloke wasn't being painfully honest! Still giggling and colouring in his cheeks, the slim blond youth nodded and, just out of shot, allowed himself a cheeky tug at his bulge. Just a bit!' he confided. Is that bad? It's been a long day, haha...'
`I bet,' Jamie said, seeming to pull back more comfortably on the couch now; his hand was out of shot too and all Todd could see now was the faint shifting of his spare arm, the vaguest suggestion that he was continuing to feel himself up. He found himself forced to image the off-screen image by association and he screwed up his face a little bit.
`You seem a bit worried.'
`What? Oh, nah -- just...'
`You don't mind me giving myself a tug now, do ya?'
What? Nah, course not, that's cool, I mean-
`Just two blokes, bored alone, after all.'
Er, yeah, I guess, that's kinda-
`You not hard yet, mate?' There was a shift in the celebrity's tone. A kind of raspy forcefulness, a demanding undertone to the question. Thing is, he was spot-on; Todd's cock was getting really stiff now, rising against the thick fabric of the dark green joggers, just beyond view of his phone's cam. He squirmed a little and twisted his wrist to shift the angle and get in the crotch of his pants, allowing Jamie to see the vague tenting shape.
`Well, a bit,' Todd mumbled sheepishly.
Pfft, can't see nothing in those joggers,' Jamie said. Don't you wanna get them off?'
`Huh?'
I thought you liked showing off on cam,' laughed the older bloke casually. He sneered into the camera, something almost hostile in his expression for a moment. It's just a laugh, mate,' he added in a softer, encouraging voice. `Fuck, I'll show you mine if you show me yours, haha. Go on. It'll be funny.'
Would it be funny? Todd paused on the sofa, a bit unsure how it had got to this. But the fact of the matter was that he felt really fucking horny and there was a silly pleasure in sharing the moment; he was vaguely amused by the ready excitement of this much older guy, the vindication of his own tireless masturbation whilst on lockdown.
In front of him, the view on his phone screen shifted again, pulling back; Jamie seemed to have propped his phone up at the far end of the sofa and he was sliding down his own slim-fit bottoms, baring long hairy legs and a tightly packed pair of dark red briefs that made Todd's eyes bulge slightly. He was hypnotised by the boldness of it but suddenly even shier of his own twitching erection and shirtless posing. Jamie sighed as he relaxed into view, letting his bulge rise between his bare thighs and patting his absent belly again. `Just a fat old bloke in his pants,' he said self-deprecatingly; was it false modesty? He was so buff for an old guy, and that bulge, shit...
`I dunno about this,' Todd mumbled.
`Oh come on, what's the matter?' Jamie asked challengingly.
`Mmm, okay.' Well, why not? It was just the two of them. Todd stood up, lifting his phone with him, and undid the drawstring at the front of the pants, then shoved them down at one side then the other, stripping them down to his ankles and sitting back down in his dark grey boxer briefs. He saw a flicker of enjoyment on Jamie's face, but he worried that the older man was comparing the sizes of their bulges.
`Well you are hard, aren't ya?'
`Huh, erm, yeah, I am haha, god... how embarrassing...'
`It's only natural, kid, it's only natural...'
`Yeah but...'
`Mmm, don't you just feel SO horny on these hot nights, though...?'
By way of silent agreement, Todd found himself stroking the front of his boxers, where his hard-on rose up and was clearly outlined in the fabric. He was very aware that Jamie was watching; measuring; judging. The old guy was grinning and really tugging at the fat package of his briefs, so swollen and ominous. Cantwell looked on, inexplicably transfixed, as Redknapp took hold of the Hugo Boss waistband and pushed these undies down, springing his cock out into view. Todd was a bit appalled, but didn't look away; he watched the long snaking meat flop out and hang quite limply against Jamie's hand, not really hard yet, but long and thick and vaguely threatening. Their eyes met past his obstacle in the camera.
`Just gets to you, being locked away on your own,' Redknapp sighed, pulling some more life into that thick monster, dragging it back against his toned lower tummy and letting out another dreamy sigh.
Sure,' Todd agreed awkwardly, it does...'
`You not getting yours out, mate?' Jamie said. Again, he sounded demanding, impatient. His smiling eyes were friendly and almost seductive though.
Todd was hesitating, but he realised mainly out of a sense of dead competition. He knew his wasn't as big as that. That much was probably already exposed by its visible outline in his undies, but still... he hardly wanted to sit here and be sneered at by this ageing playboy and his monster cock, did he...?!
Go on, don't be shy,' Jamie said. Half the internet's seen your six-pack, after all...?'
Perhaps it was Jamie's shifting tone, his gently persuasive laugh, his earlier compliments... Whatever, the Norwich player reached into his undies and pulled out his slim but rock-hard boner, taking it in his grip and angling at the camera in a pornographic fashion. For all the embarrassment, the exposure and the dangerous smirk on Redknapp's face just seemed to make his cock more rigid and sensitive against his fingers.
Lovely dick,' Jamie said, you don't need to be embarrassed by it.'
`It's not half as thick as yours,' Todd admitted.
`I bet you know what you're doing with it, though.'
`Er, I guess I do.'
`Bet you make the girls scream round those parts.'
`Well, uh, yeh...'
`Give it a tug then, Todd, mate.'
`Okay...'
`That's better. Mmm. This ain't too weird, is it?'
`Erm... I dunno... is it?'
`Nah, not at all, Todd. Just two horny blokes. We're not even in the same room, how can it be weird...? Haha. What I'd give for some pussy though, y'know!'
So here I am, Cantwell thought, sprawled on my own couch in the privacy of my lonely house, jerking my cock over a video call with... another man? Well, not just any man -- Jamie Redknapp. How did that make it better? It didn't, and yet it did. He frowned confusedly and toyed with his prick, watching Redknapp's now fully hard cock twitch at slow deliberate tugs, expertly angled for emphasis on the cam's view. The bloke let out long moans of self-pleasure, interspersed with encouraging chuckles.
`You enjoying this?' Redknapp demanded after a while.
I dunno,' he admitted. Kinda.'
`You don't like being watched...?'
`I... I don't know.'
You're a handsome lad, you know,' Redknapp told him in a hoarse whisper. A right little adonis, really.'
`Er... thanks...'
`Just one more thing I wanna see.'
`Oh... erm... what's that?'
`Sit back a bit, mate.'
`Okay, but, erm...'
`Spread your legs a bit, will ya?'
`What...?!'
Just lift them up a bit, yeah, like that-
`Mate, I dunno...'
`There it is. God, what a cute arse. Smooth little pussy you got there.'
`Mate...!'
But here he was, sprawling back with his legs parted, all fluffy sun-bleached leg hair and ripped muscle, his cock angled up in slow lazy strokes, the furry gap between his legs on show to the phone's camera. On screen, Jamie was tugging furiously on himself, his bigger paler body trembling with the enjoyment of it, his sleazy groans and chat leaking from the tinny phone speakers. Todd was excited, but he couldn't say what by: being watched? What he was seeing? He didn't like either answer. But he went on pulling on his cock and staring intently at the propped phone on the arm of the sofa, gulping dryly and listening to the encouraging pants and remarks.
That's it, play with it good, imagine you're fucking a tight little pussy,' Jamie gasped at him. A tight little pussy like the one between ya legs, haha...'
Todd was paralysed by the weirdness of that comment. There was something in it he liked, the emphasis of his cuteness and attractiveness, the dirtiness of the older guy's banter; but he was also scared by how it reduced him to something feminine and submissive. Even so, his cock ached and throbbed and he couldn't bring himself to kick the phone away off the sofa, sparing him this guilty exposure. He pulled and pulled and let out his own frantic gasps.
Cum for me,' ordered Redknapp. I wanna see you squirt, you little blond tart. Come on.'
What the fuck? He was being spoken to like a...
Squirt for me,' demanded the older man, shoot your load you little bitch...'
Fucking hell, who did that smug prick thing he was talking to? And yet...
Come on you little whore,' snarled Redknapp, cum for daddy...'
Oh shit... Todd's eyes rolled back in orgasmic delight as his hot wet cum sprinkled his ripped torso, flecks of white on the soft gold of his tan, tickling his smooth skin. He panted loudly into the air, his hair falling in his eyes, his body shivering against the sticky leather of the couch. He forgot, for a few moments, about his audience, then he was brought to attention by the rattling groans of the other man. On the screen, he could see a close up of Jamie's prick, the tip wet and red and the foreskin sliding back and forth, and... He lashed out with his foot and whacked the phone off the sofa, smacking it to the hard floor. He could no longer see the screen, but he still heard the older bloke's climactic groans and yells.
As soon as he had recovered enough, he snatched it off the floor with his clean hand, and went for `end call', but it had already snapped off, either disturbed by the fall or ended by Redknapp himself. All that stared back at him was the DM page from Instagram, the innocent messages from the older bloke that had initiated the dialogue and then the call, and then... He panted loudly still, recovering from the force of his own orgasm.
The next morning, he had woken to the email from a lady at Sky Sports, a rather formal looking invite to appear on Jamie's Sy Sports footy chat show that evening. He'd ignored it to start with, showering off his vague shame and working out in the garden, not taking a vide of it this time, his passion for online exhibitionism somewhat quashed. Then, sitting eating his porridge in the lonely kitchen, he saw the call come through from Jamie himself.
`Wotcha, kid.'
`Er... hey.'
`You get the email?
`Hmm?'
`My show, mate. The email? Come on, I'll interview you tonight, it'll be sweet. Your fans will love it.'
And somehow, he'd agreed; hoarse and awkward and nervous at every chuckle from this sleazy older ex-footballer, but compliant and polite. All day, he'd paced the house and garden in a state of nervous anxiety, dreading speaking to him live over webcam. Clothed. He thought guiltily about that intense wank and the knowledge that it had been watched, encouraged, almost instructed. He felt nauseous about it.
The interview came and went, his awkwardness omnipresent. Afterwards, he'd cringed watching it back to himself, anticipating the roasting he'd get from the lads, the confusion that would be felt by many of his fans. What the fuck had he done?
He was still asking himself this today, traipsing off the training ground with a guilty frown on his handsome features, lingering behind the other lads a little bit in the hope that they would stay off their chatty roasting of his online behaviour. He could smile and shrug it off, but it was beginning to get to him; he was a little scared by the attention he'd brought to himself with those antics, not meaning to entice creepy attraction with his bared six-pack and tight little shorts in the sun. He thought with heated annoyance about his own dumb responses all that night: why had he even answered the call? Tired and frustrated and on a high from his live show with the fans... Why had he been so intoxicated by a bit of praise from that old creep? Why had he... Well, the questions could go on for quite some time.
`Hey,' cut in a voice suddenly, as they neared the edge of the pitch. It was Max Aarons, who had been leading the ribbing only a few minutes ago, now bundling in next to him and throwing a bare sweaty arm about his shoulders, the pair of them in the skimpy green training vests to stay cool in this heat.
`Yo,' Todd replied disinterestedly.
`Everything alright there?' Max asked, his youthful face a little mask of curiosity.
What? Yeah, chill,' Todd told him dismissively. Why wouldn't it be?'
Max peered perceptively at him. You just look a bit... I dunno. Did we piss you off back there?' he asked, sounding kinda nervous. You know it was just...'
I'm cool,' Cantwell told him firmly, but gave him a quick smile, appreciating the younger lad's keen friendship and apologetic frown. He threw his own arm about his back, glad of the support in this little moment of sullen memory. All cool,' he assured him, resolving to put the little episode behind him and forget all about the video wank. It hadn't meant anything, had it? It was just a laugh, like Redknapp said... It's not like he ever bumped into the guy in real life anyway!