Part thirteen: Two Geordies
Andy Carroll pulled up his sleek understated BMW on the corner, letting out a leonine yawn before stepping out into the chilly morning and going to ring the buzzer. It was Boxing Day, and soon the Toon lads would be hitting the road ready for their game at Old Trafford later on. Andy pressed the flat 6 buzzer again, watching his breath condense into a plume of mist, and checked his watch. A crackly sound from the apartments' intercom, and an apologetic voice: `Er, won't be a minute... come up, mate...'
As two of the few real Geordies on the Newcastle squad, and a similar age, Andy had gravitated towards Paul Dummett since his exciting return to the North East this season, years after he had left for much-regretted big money and an underwhelming career in Liverpool and London. Being back was amazing, and amongst the many reasons for that, he was enjoying his friendship with the Welsh-Geordie defender.
The doors opened with a click, and Andy got himself out of the Boxing Day chill and into the elevator up. The door to Paul's flat had been pushed open a bit for him and he let himself in. The spartan bachelor pad was both an amusing contrast and a welcome relief for Carroll, whose big Newcastle property was dominated both by his growing family, and the gaudy tastes of his TOWIE star missus.
Hey,' Paul called apologetically, dashing past him in the middle of packing his bag. Merry Christmas again, big man.'
Aye, you too,' Andy responded cheerily. How was it?'
Great, great,' Paul said, though not enthusiastically, poking his head out of the bedroom. Yours?'
`Aye, class.' Andy inspected the familiar scene of the flat, a space he'd spent a good few evenings in these last couple of months, bashing out video games or catching up on box sets with the mild-mannered younger lad. Andy's bad boy reputation of his youth had been withered away by injury-prone years and his new marriage: he was back home now, ready to work hard and earn his salt.
Hang on there,' Paul called through, I have something for you, actually.'
Andy's ears pricked at this and rather than be pleased, he felt a rush of guilt. He hadn't even thought of buying a gift for his newish buddy, he'd been so wrapped up in spoiling his several kids, his extended family, his high-maintenance wife Billi. He looked over with a wary expression as Dummett emerged from the bedroom again with a foolish grin and a small, neatly wrapped package in his hands.
Oh man,' Andy cried in slight protest, you really shouldn't have. I mean, I didn't...'
Oh don't be daft, man,' Paul said firmly, stepping up to him and pressing the box into his hands. Look, man, it's been great having you up here this season and I wanted to show how much I appreciate your friendship, ok?' The stocky Northerner actually looked a bit nervous at handing over the present, and it heightened both Andy's awkwardness at not having thought to get anything, and his gratitude for the friendly lad's support of late.
`Here, giz a hug,' he demanded with a laugh, wrapping a long strong arm about Paul's thickset shoulders, having to lean down a bit to give the hug. Dummett was a respectable 6ft of defensive muscle, but Andy was a near giant at 6'4, as everyone constantly liked to joke with him. Dummett let out a friendly laugh, returned the hug, and backed off to finish getting organised and let Andy unwrap.
Andy tore the paper away in his big hands, and opened the wooden box within. The phrase `friendship bracelet' sounded childish and feminine, but that's clearly what this was: a simple silver chain with a little symbol of their shared banter engraved in a tiny disk: a little playstation remote for all those killed hours of Fifa and Fortnite. It was lame but sweet.
Aw man,' Andy exclaimed, you soppy lad. Here.' He strode over to Paul, in the middle of tidying some breakfast crap away in the kitchenette, and grabbed him from the side in another, stronger hug. `I really appreciate you too, you kna. I'm sorry I didn't get a gift.'
Paul wriggled away, laughing again. You don't give to receive,' he said, hiding behind clichés, but flashed his broad handsome smile. It's just a wee token. Don't get overexcited.'
Oh aye,' Andy chuckled, looks like it might have cost you a bob or two, though. Cool. I won't put it on, though – will only fucking lose it on the coach trip or at shitty Old Trafford!' He admired it again in its box, smiling vaguely to himself, and thinking of all the other things he'd received from his family yesterday on the big day. `It's better than what my fuckin' wife got me, like,' he thought aloud.
`Oh?' Paul responded vaguely, brushing past him, disappearing into his bedroom, returning with his packed kit bag and a beanie hat pulled over his neatly trimmed hair, returned to its natural chestnut after a playful blond phase for much of the year.
Andy looked up, closing the jewellery box with a snap, and regretted his openness. The lads' eyes met and the 30-year-old striker hesitated. Ah, just a daft thing,' he said vaguely. She did get me plenty of cool shit too, so...'
`What daft thing?' Dummett pushed curiously.
Andy opened his mouth then shut it again. `Get your shite together, man, we need to move. I'll tell you about it in the car,' he offered evasively, pushing his gift from Paul into a coat pocket and nodding back to the door. He wasn't just avoiding the question: he was giving Dummo a lift to the ground to meet the others, soon to hit the road for Manchester.
Soon, they were in Andy's motor, Paul panting a bit from hurrying. He was a dopey shit, for all his good qualities, always taking too long, always late. Andy didn't really mind, but he loved to wind Dummett up for such habits, a hypocrite who knew how bad he'd been in the past. He enjoyed the 28-year-old's almost haphazard attitude to their intense professional lives.
What's this daft gift off Billi then?' Paul demanded, settling in the passenger seat and tugging on his belt. What did she get ya?'
Andy, who had thought this conversation dropped, paused in the middle of starting up the engine, and gave his mate an awkward look. If I tell ya, you keep your big gob shut,' he instructed slowly and reluctantly, and Paul just chuckled and nodded. I dunno if it's a joke present, like, or for real...'
`Now I have to know,' Paul insisted in his heavy accent, reaching over to slap his mate's shoulder.
Andy sighed. It was hard to explain, and he knew really he was just gonna have to show rather than tell. Which was okay, since he'd brought the fucking thing with him to try and get his head around it whilst on his own... And if he could trust anyone, it was this dopey fucker. He watched Dummett's curious face, then clicked open the glovebox and pulled out the small plastic-wrapped package that was giving him so much consternation since his wife had teasingly presented him with it yesterday morning.
What the hell is this?' Paul asked openly, taking it off him. A Love-Sense? Never fuckin' heard of it...' Turning it over in his curious paws. `It looks like a – Whoa. Yikes.'
`Aye. I kna.'
`It looks like it goes in your...? But then... It's also got this... Is that a remote control?'
Both tall athletic men burst into heavy laughter and stared at the offending gift as Paul slammed it down on the surface between them. Mate,' Andy moaned, I dunno what she's fucking thinking. She ain't normally the kinky type, you kna? But she says...' Awkward pause. `She says we ain't been doing it much since we moved up here, I've been too busy, head in the game, yada yada...;
Well of course,' Dummet said sympathetically, you've had a battle to get fit, lot of pressure on ya...'
Yeh, yeh,' Andy agreed defensively. But she says we need to... spice things up. I mean... seriously?!'
Paul stared at the plastic packaging again, and Andy measured the shock and judgement on his face, although was there a mix of envy or admiration too? Carroll always got the sense his pal was a wee bit jealous of his hot wife, or just his relationship, or whatever. Dummett seemed curiously content with bachelorhood, but for these wistful moments.
Think I'll have to, man,' Andy admitted, getting them on the road and following the deserted streets of outer Newcastle to get them to the training ground meet-up. I mean... She's given a lot up to move up here with me, she's a fuckin' good mum to her step-kids, so I...' He groaned. `I reckon I'll have to try it for her.'
Paul just whistled, either in disapproval or admiration, it was hard to tell. He reached over to pass it to Andy, he shoved it back in the glovebox with a sigh. Well,' Dummett said, as the car rolled through the gates of the grounds and they spied the huddle of other arriving players and staff, the waiting coaches. If you need a... hand, or... moral support or whatever... you know where I am.'
Andy pulled into his parking space and gave him a half-smile. `Hah, I appreciate that, man, but I reckon this one might be beyond our friendship boundaries, ya kna!'
Yeh, yeh,' Paul laughed, suddenly blushing a bit. I kna what you're saying, I just meant... Sorry!'
Nah, nah, don't be sorry,' Andy chuckled, squeezing his arm. And thanks again for the bracelet. You're a true fucking star, Dummo. Nee idea where I'd be without ya up here.'
Paul just laughed, as self-deprecating and humble as always. `On some other daft lad's couch getting thrashed at FIFA, I reckons.'
They got out, and were greeted with the unsurprising news of delay. Paul was a bit late at times, but there were worse on the team. And there was some issue with the coach drivers, and the fuel, etc. etc. etc. It was a standard slow Boxing Day, but to be fair it was a 5.30pm game and so there was no real rush. The illusion of slick organisation always fell apart at times like this. The men were used to it, but it was still frustrating. Andy was far from the only bloke pulled away from partner or family after the big day, and there was always a slight streak of resentment to these media-timed matches on the worst possible days, even if they were so important to the fans.
`What we gonna do for another half hour?' Andy moaned, sitting on a wall and slapping his palms together to keep them warm.
`I wish I'd stayed in bed longer,' Paul admitted in a grunt.
`Aye. Same.'
`Really? Not scared what your wife would try to do to ya?'
Andy groaned but laughed as his mate gave him a dig in the ribs then squeezed his shoulders, apologising for the low joke. `Oh god, you're fuckin' lovin' this one, ain't ya? Prick. Hah. You're so right though. If I'd been in bed five more mins, who knows what would have gone near my jacksie...'
Paul let out a weird laugh, and shook his head. `Rather you than me, big lad. But still. You gotta try it some time.'
Aye,' Andy agreed philosophically. Can't be ungrateful.' There was a pause, Andy eyeing up their milling teammates and the general disorganisation of the day, not seeing the thoughtful look on Dummett's face beneath his tight beanie, until he got a gentle shove to the shoulderblade.
Hey,' Paul said in a low voice, why don't you try it out now? We got time to kill.'
Now?' Andy asked, unconvinced. But we're... Well.' Paul just shrugged, and Andy for a moment wasn't sure if it had been a serious suggestion or a bit of banter. But it did make a kind of sense. If he was gonna give this shit a go, he sorta wanted to figure it out without the missus first, and round the family home was a bit risqué potentially, so... But here, it was busy, there were plenty of lads about, and...
`Mate, it was a silly idea,' Paul cut in apologetically.
Nah, nah. I think it might be a good idea,' Andy responded heavily. But would you, like, come with me? Keep an eye out, sorta thing.'
`Yeah, yeah. Of course.'
`Right.'
Andy went back to the car and discreetly fetched it. His big puffer coat had deep pockets, fortunately. It tickled him with a moment's amusement as he strolled back: Paul's cheesy friendship bracelet tucked in one pocket, a bizarre inappropriate sex toy from his wife in the other. He gave the shorter defender a bashful grimace, and they headed quietly indoors to the training complex. The nearby toilets were a bit cramped and awkward, so Andy strolled on to the changing rooms, which would be empty today.
I'm so sorry about this,' he said to loyal Paul as sincerely as he could, this is probably real daft timing but... it's bothering me, ya kna? I just need to...'
`Of course, of course,' Dummett said quickly. Was he so edgy cos he was pissing himself laughing inside, or cos he was scared of how weird this was? Or, Andy considered privately, was the daft fucker a bit excited about it?
In the awkward privacy of the changing rooms, Andy pulled it back out of his coat pocket and inspected the cringey packaging of this stupid gift. What was the silly bitch thinking?
Here,' Paul offered, let me get it out for ya, you need to er... get yourself sorted, right? Let's gan into the shower block, then you can use a cubicle?'
Andy was surprised by this helpful, open-minded offer, and a bit relieved that Dummett seemed so unfazed. He slipped off his heavy coat as they passed through into the still, damp air of the shower area, and hung it on a towel hook. `Get yourself sorted', Paul had put it, and he realised he didn't really know quite what that meant, watching Dummett use fingers and teeth to get through the plastic packaging and tug out the separate parts: a strange, curved plasticky bullet, what looked like a small TV remote, and a little cardboard package of batteries. Fuckin' hell.
Paul slipped his own coat off, since it was warm in here, and began fiddling about with the plastic bit and the batteries, getting them into both that and the remote, watched nervously by Andy.
Look,' Carroll burst out in a gruff voice, this was daft, let's just...'
Paul paused and gave him a funny look. `We're here now, mate,' he pointed out. He held the thing forward to Andy, a funny torpedo-like lump that either looked tiny (in a general sense) or huge (in relation to where it was meant to go) depending how he thought about it.
Aye,' Andy said slowly, it's just... Fuck, I think she's having a laugh with me, don't you? Sticking something like that up my... God. It ain't natural. Spicing things up is one thing, but...' Paul seemed to be pondering the thing in his hand very deeply, just adding to Andy's sense of how ridiculous this actually was, but also another surge of gratitude that he had a close mate he could even discuss this nonsense with, never mind get the shit out of the packaging and weigh up using it!
`Do you want me to try it?' Dummett suddenly offered in a little voice.
Andy couldn't help but gawp and let his eyes bulge, staring at his pal's open, helpful expression. Mate,' he responded in a groan, I canny ask you to do THAT.'
I know you wouldn't,' Paul continued in a mumble, but... well... I feel like one of us has to give it a gan, ya kna?' He shrugged. `See if it's ok.' He was blushing a bit in his rounded cheeks, and Andy tried to measure how earnest or genuine the offer was. He would be lying if he said it didn't appeal, to have his friend try it out, to know what the hell was going on, to have Paul's honest help on this stupid device or whatever fantasy his missus was cooking up! But...
Nah,' Andy resolved, firmly. I can't let you. You're fuckin' kind, but... I need to try this shit.'
`Sure?' the kind Geordie lad offered, and again, Andy wondered, just for a fleeting moment, if there was a touch of excitement in his voice, or his blue eyes. But nah, Dummo was just being a good, loyal mate. It was Andy who had brought this ridiculous situation to them both.
I do really appreciate it,' Andy said firmly, but I gotta do this.' He snatched it out of Dummett's fingers and gave it a long look. It really was a pretty small thing, a plasticky lump, tapered into a sort of cord, which he guessed was for getting it out again, yikes.
`You're gonna need some... lube?' Paul said in a concerned whisper.
`Oh... fuck, yeh...'
`Vaseline do?' Paul said. Their voices were dropping to anxious whispers now.
`Aye, that should... you got some...?'
Paul nodded, and went to his coat on the hook, fished in a pocket. It was one of those little round tins, the kind people used for chapped lips. Andy took it gratefully. Right, so this was actually happening. He eyed up one of the curtained shower booths opposite them, and looked at the little toy in his fingers, then looked at Paul. `Don't go anywhere,' he said, pleadingly.
`Mate, of course not,' Dummett said, patting him on the arm a bit, looking up at him with a reassuring but not totally confident smile.
`Ok, ok... here I gan, hah...'
He disappeared behind the ragged fabric of the shower curtain with a nervous laugh, and popped the Vaseline and the toy on the little soap shelf, before pulling his sponsor-branded sweatshirt up a little way around his thick midriff. Right, then off with the trousers, he guessed – undoing the cord at the front and sliding down his well-fitting trackies, then his fresh-out-of-the-packet Armani undies that she'd also bought him (why couldn't all pressies be so fucking normal and COMFY?), so his hefty cock and balls flopped out loose, but also his peachy muscular behind. Once or twice, he suddenly remembered, she'd tried to go there with a finger, mid-fuck, but he'd always batted it away. That sorta thing was weird.
`You okay in there?' Paul's cheery but slightly shaky voice from just beyond the curtain.
`Aye, for now...' Andy quipped nervously.
`Just... er, put a bit of the Vas on your finger, and...'
`Oh, yeh... ta.' How weird to have his pal try and talk him through it like this, but also, how fucking comforting and necessary.
He opened the tin and swabbed his forefinger in the hardened goo, unsure how much was necessary, then pushed it between his glutes to rub it on his arsehole a bit. Bloody hell, that felt odd. Not altogether unpleasant.
`You er... need to find your er... Hole...'
What fucking hole? All Andy could feel was the thickly haired crack against his slick finger, not somewhere he'd hoped to shove it! He ignored Paul's tentative advice and reached his other hand for the toy, and pushed it a bit against the little tin of petroleum jelly, then tried to shove it between his cheeks. The thing was so small and yet, against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, out of sight, it may as well have been the size of a fuckin' car, for all the chances of it going in. He let out a frustrated, angry grunt, suddenly hugely resentful of his dumb wife.
`You okay?' came Dummett's concerned tones.
This isn't working!' Andy snapped angrily. Fuckin' stupid...' The curtain twitched a bit, he saw Paul's fingers, though the other guy was of course politely not looking in, other hand over his eyes childishly. `Mate!'
You want a hand?' Paul offered nervously. The question was ridiculous, and yet so was its answer. Andy was getting worked up, stressed, panicky. He couldn't see what he was doing. He daren't put his yes' into speech but he pushed the curtain a bit and tugged Paul into the dry cubicle by the wrist.
Paul opened his eyes, and made an apologetic face, even though he was the fucking saint offering to help with this stupid experiment! Andy felt that surge of gratitude, that real awareness that here was a loyal, true friend who would do anything for him: literally anything, judging by this palarva.
`I can't find a hole,' Carroll hissed thickly.
Paul took a deep breath before saying any more, tugging the curtain a bit more properly shut behind him. `Let me get some Vaseline,' he croaked, and reached around Andy in the tight space, slicking one finger. He didn't want to have to instruct the obvious so he just gave Andy another wide eyed look of apology. Andy read this and turned his back on Paul with a groan of expectation. Sure enough, Paul's finger brushed past the firm meat of his backside and into that hairy crack – Andy felt a brief shame at how hairy he was, wondering if Paul was the same, or if he'd be freaked out or even more disgusted (surely he was disgusted!) by the forest down there. Shit, it felt even weirder having someone else's finger down there, and yet... mmm. No wonder Billi and other lasses had always wanted to try it, you felt a right weird tingle in your balls as soon as... oh.
`Is that it?' Paul asked in a tiny voice.
`I... I think so... shit, mate.'
`It's... really tight, isn't it?'
`Aye! Fuck. Here's the thing.'
Andy stood there, tensing up, passing the lubed, slick toy back around for Paul to take in his free hand.
Mate, relax,' Paul said, you're er... clenching and hurting my finger...'
Fuck! Sorry!' Andy said, but relax' was not an easy task, standing with his arse out in front of another bloke, who was up to his knuckle in hairy crack, about to... oh! The cold sensation of something harder and less fleshy hitting the tight hole. A brief burst of pain, and then...
That's it,' Paul said breathily, it's in.'
`What, already?' Andy exclaimed. Actually, he hadn't felt it half so much as expected: tiny, smooth, not such a painful presence... Dummo's thick finger had been a way more invasive, startling sensation, as it still was, pressing the toy in a bit, teasingly withdrawing from his arsehole and almost forcing an embarrassed moan out of the lofty Geordie striker.
`Aye,' Paul said, backing off and out through the curtain whilst Andy yanked up his Armanis and Adidas trackies. Could he even feel anything down there? His arse defo stung but was that just from Dummett's fingers? Jeez. He took the tin from the soap shelf and swaggered out into the more open space, joining Paul hurriedly by the sinks to apply an intensive wash to his hands, both men lathering their fingers up in soap and rinsing in near-scalding water to erase the interaction. They daren't look at each other for a moment, but Andy caught Paul's sparking blue eyes in the mirror and cringed.
`How does it feel?' Dummett asked him in the same low, cautious voice.
Andy couldn't really answer, because he didn't know hot to describe it. He could feel there was something there, yeah, but not a lot, and it wasn't so much... unpleasant, as... novel. He realised, of course, that this awkward insertion had only been half the experiment. Jutting out of Dummett's pocket was the thin stick of the remote, which looked more like it belonged to some Apple speakers than a kinky arse-invader.
Go on,' he grunted. Try that, then.'
`Me?'
`You shoved a pinky up my jacksie but you won't press a button?' Andy retorted half-mockingly, giving his mate a weary look.
Paul slid the remote out with a nervous laugh. It had 3 different buttons on it, both men staring thoughtfully, and concluding the same thing: they looked like 3 different levels of intensity. Andy noticed, to his satisfaction, that cautious Dummett had already binned the packaging, tidied up any trace of their awkward little secret here, which was good, just in case – FUCK. His eyes flashed back to Paul, who was staring right at him, his thumb on a button. Andy could not suppress the noise this time: a short, gasping `huh' bursting out of his lips at the sensation in his backside.
`Was that level 3?' he hissed, almost angrily.
`No, no, 1!' Paul insisted, a terrified look on his handsome short-bearded features.
Andy shook his head, his heavy top-knot of long dark hair shuddering. The sensation faded. `Fuck me,' he muttered. The irony of the expression settled on him and seemed to register with Dummo, from the transient smirk on his features.
Oi,' came a sudden third voice, did you lot not here me shouting?' A head and shoulders around the doorway. Jamaal Lascelles, their tough captain, frowning round at them. `Come on – the coach is ready. We're leaving any fucking minute. You two planning to spend the day in here or out on the pitch smashing some Reds?' demanded the injured leader with a serious expression on his face.
Andy, in turn, could not hide his shock or guilt at this interruption, standing there still drying his intensely cleaned hands on the thighs of his trackies. Paul had half-turned, looking Jamaal's way with the same embarrassment and naughty-child air of being caught.
And what is that?' Lascelles demanded, stepping into the shower block, and reaching out: before either man had the wits to invent a half-decent lie, the remote was snatched out of Paul's fingers, and into the captain's. Yedlin was whingeing about losing the one for his portable speaker, is this it? Come on, get with it lads, you look like you've seen a fucking ghost.' And off the captain went, before either Andy nor Paul could squeak out a single protest at the disaster that had just occurred. No time to argue, no time to undo the er, invasion in Andy's backside. Fuck!
They sat together, as was often the case lately, and Andy sat himself as carefully as he could onto the coach seating: but it was okay, he couldn't really feel anything there, it was more or less uncomfortable than an average bus ride. If anything, Paul's wide, alarmed eyes following his every move beside him were making him more uncomfortable. He leaned in, as Dummett settled down next to him, the idle chatter of their teammates filling up the space around them.
Stop looking so fucking scared, people will ask questions,' Carroll hissed urgently, and Paul nodded dumbly at him. It's fine, really,' Andy claimed, trying to hide his own nerves. Then, seeing the other lad's discomfort, he added, `This ain't your fault, ok? I made us do it. I was a twat.'
Paul didn't say anything, just leaning back in his seat trying to look more normal. It was hard for either of them to focus, or to engage with the varied conversations going on behind, or in front, or over their heads. If they had listened though, they might have heard their injured captain Lascelles passing something to American DeAndre Yedlin a few rows in front, wondering aloud if it was his lost property. Andy was oblivious to this, trying to get comfortable, watching out the window as the familiar nostalgic sights of his home city rolled by, the coach making its way out through Newcastle towards the motorway, and then –
`Huh,' he grunted out loud, feeling the sensation again (level 1???) in the seat of his pants. His whole body straightened up and he grabbed unconsciously at the nearest thing, which happened to be Paul's wrist. And then a second blast (level 2???) and he looked wild eyed at his neighbour and confidante.
`Is it...?' whispered Paul urgently. Andy nodded his head, briefly unable to form words. Andy looked down: in the creased nylon fabric of his tracksuit, a shape was forming. Oh fuck. He looked from it to a confused Dummett, then back again, just as a third burst hit him in the G-spot. It was all he could do to avoid arching his long back and letting out a wild cry to everyone on the bus. The shape in his tracksuit crotch took firmer shape, and it was now obvious to Paul too: Andy could see the flash of surprise in the other lad's eyes, recognising what was happening to Andy's dick under this surprise stimulation. Paul moved quick, tugging off his sweatshirt and flinging it discreetly aside onto Andy's lap... but then came another wave (level 3, surely?!) and Andy couldn't even hold his voice on.
Fuuuuck,' he drawled under his breath, fortunately audible only to Paul in the noisy coach space, but sounding like a precursor to louder cries of... pain? Excitement? Pleasure? It was tough to really put a word on it now... He turned wide eyes on Dummo, worried and pleading. Do something,' he mouthed silently.
Paul hopped out of his seat into the aisle immediately, and Carroll gripped the front of his seat tightly with both hands to steady himself, anticipating the next burst of vibration from that sneaky fucking toy lodged up his crack. What fucking games was his wife really playing here?! He heard Paul's voice: Ah sorry guys, sorry, that's mine actually... er yeh... dunno why I didn't say anything before... sorry lads, sorry... Yeh, haha...' And then the loud, chorused ribbing: Ah Dummo, you thick fuck...' Stupid lad, what are you like...' Get back in your seat, fatty...' And a red-faced, cringing Dummett slumped back down next to him, remote clutched in his hands. Andy turned to stare gratefully at him, while the most intense, throbbing erection he'd ever had ached silently between his legs, tenting through several layers.
Fucking hell – that toy was trouble. But it worked.