Part 378: England's Hole-keepers
`Give me - like, an hour and a half? Would that be okay? You're sure you don't mind, mate?'
He nodded enthusiastically and gave a mock salute to his Arsenal teammate, backing away out of the room; it was early evening on the second full day of the England camp, and their duties were largely over. A handful of other players were still involved in different media work that the bosses had organised, but the North London clubmates were entirely free, like a good half of the men on the squad.
All good,' the 25-year-old called brightly again to the other occupant of their suite, grabbing up a few items to hold under one long muscled arm, and backing to the door. Enjoy your call, mate, it's all good.' Another waving gesture at the lad seated at the desk by the windows, and with that he took his leave, stooping out onto the landing area outside their room, and then up a short flight of stairs onto the next floor of the familiar hotel that formed part of the Three Lions' home base.
It was a simple enough request to honour for the good pal who he was rooming with - Declan Rice was a more than welcome addition to his North London life and he was even gladder of the other English player once out here on England call-up again, and so more than happy to help the other young star out by giving him space for an hour or two on a Wednesday evening. The sensational midfielder was planning some big group call with family members, it seemed, and he'd made a point of asking if Aaron Ramsdale could keep out of the way and allow him some privacy. And sure, he thought on his way up the stairs, for all his warmth and good matey banter, Rice was actually a really private person, who didn't seem to share much of himself with his new Arsenal colleagues; Aaron wondered if things had been different at West Ham, where he'd been so much better established, or if this was just Declan's way of being professional. Nobody at the club even knew if Dec was single or not, whereas everybody knew all about Aaron's wedding plans and one-month-old kid - the big Stoke lad was an open book in every way.
Up he went, rather than down; he wasn't sure anybody would be hanging out in the communal areas down in the hotel below, other than the few lads who were doing media interviews or filming silly content skits for the national team's social media. Excused from such obligations this time, Ramsdale had headed to his room in the same fatigued manner as everyone else, leaving a comfy nap on his bed only when Declan made his stilted formal request for a little bit of space. Instinct and familiarity drew Ramsdale to what seemed like the obvious corner to him, bringing him to a sharp flurry of knocks on a door at the far end of the corridor above, temporary home to his two fellow goalkeepers of Southgate's selection.
The door was answered almost instantly, and Jordan Pickford puffed out his chest and gave him one of those looks of mock seriousness and inflated self-importance that he loved to adopt, acting like a bouncer at some top nightclub - `You got ID, son?' the Northerner demanded in a silly Londoner accent, barring the doorway and looking ominously past him in either direction.
`Can a goalie not chill in the goalie suite?' the 25-year-old Arsenal player huffed playfully back at the England No.1, poising as if to rugby tackle past the senior keeper and invade the room he was sharing with the squad's other unused back-up. Pickford laughed immediately and opened his arms, welcoming into a brief tight hug, then shoving him on into the large room and pushing the door shut behind him.
Ramsdale was often surprised that the team's accommodation plans didn't lump all three goalies into one shared room, since so much of the schedule did keep the three of them at close quarters, with a whole load of extra coaching and mentoring to create a `competitive triad' between them - the Arsenal player knew that the truth of it was about buttering up himself and Johnstone or Pope, whoever was in that other spot, so that they could handle being spare parts whilst the Everton keeper continued to be Southgate's favoured last defence, time after time. And with Pickford not yet even 30, a big change to the No.1 spot for England seemed like it might bypass Ramsdale's prime entirely.
Sam Johnstone, this international break's fellow goalkeeper competition, was a large stoic fella who seemed relatively comfortable with that situation - in Ramsdale's limited experience thus far, the big lofty Lancastrian was someone who just plodded uncomplainingly into the duty and accepted whatever the gaffer handed out, unfazed by minimal game appearances and happy to work his socks off in training on behalf of the wider squad. An admirable big fucker, Aaron thought, but not perhaps a role he saw himself leaping into - he had enough of that angst going on at his Premiership club, never mind on the international stage.
Right now, the 6ft4 Crystal Palace keeper was standing by the open window on a phone call, turning only to give a brief wave of welcome as Aaron sauntered into what felt communal space for them, even if he was actually roomed elsewhere with Rice. At Jordan's direction, he flopped down into a comfortable seated position at the foot of one bed, whilst the Mackem bloke slobbed down into a nearby chair and resumed whatever game he was playing on his Nintendo Switch.
Good lad,' the 29-year-old murmured distractedly to him, feet playing and thumbs bashing buttons, for coming up here - we thought you might be getting ideas above your station and hanging out with the real footballers, y'kna.' He looked up, smirking. `But nope, good lad, up here with the goalie losers for a quiet mope.' He resumed his play with intense focus and Aaron chuckled vaguely at the lines, unsure how genuinely self-deprecating the typically over-confident bloke was being - he wasn't really sure what he'd expected by coming up to her join the guys, but it had seemed to make sense as he found himself outcast from his own room by Declan's intense politeness.
After a moment's quiet, just Johnstone's deep rumbling voice in the background, Jordan paused the game and tossed the handheld console onto a stack of his belongings on the floor, lounging comfortably where he was with his feet propped on the edge of the bed. He fixed Aaron with an inquisitive look. `Did you come up here for some wisdom from your elders then, or what?' Again, it was hard to know when to take the swaggering Everton man seriously or not.
Just kicked out of my room,' Ramsdale told him lightly. Dec had a call to make.' He scratched at his fine blond stubble and the back of his thick neck. `Just thought I'd pop by and see what you oafs were up to, that's all.'
`Hmm, rightyo,' said Pickford.
`I didn't mean to kill your gaming time,' he laughed gently, nodding at the discarded Switch, and then dumping out the few belongings he'd brought up with him on the blankets to his side: his tablet, a crime thriller he was reading, and a bag of cheesy snacks. Jordan gestured impatiently at them and he ripped open the bag to share.
Jordan just shrugged as he crunched on a mouthful. Was just playing it cos I'm bored,' he admitted conversationally. Who the hell is Dec calling that he needs privacy?' A slightly nasty sneer formed on the Sunderland bloke's tanned face. `Mason bloody Mount, haha?'
Less familiar with the running joke of the sport's greatest bromance, Aaron just frowned vaguely back at his teammate and shrugged broad shoulders, taking a large handful of the snacks himself. Family, he said,' he said disinterestedly, in no mood to be cynical or suspicious of anything his friend got up to - he generally got on well with Pickford as a fellow keeper, but he did sometimes find something a little obnoxious or almost nasty in the other man's sense of humour, and he was not interested in joining any gossip. I left him to it, what with not being a dickhead and all,' he added decisively, putting a lid on that topic and asserting himself to the other guy.
`Fair,' was Jordan's vague, dismissive response.
Alright lads,' boomed big Sam's voice, his call now finished, striding between them and aggressively dislodging Jordan's feet from the bed to get past and throw himself down on the other double. Goalkeeper party in da house, is it? Yes lads. What we drinking from the minibar, hey? Haha.' The well-built 30-year-old from Preston sprawled out comfortably on his bed in a white England polo shirt and baggy tracksuit pants, the exact same gear as the other two, but for the light shorts that Aaron had opted for, exposing the pale fluff of his thickly-muscled legs folded beneath him.
`If only,' Pickford groaned, and Ramsdale nodded enthusiastically.
`I could murder a pint,' Johnstone complained heavily.
`Or seven.'
`Shall we escape out of the window and find a country pub?' Aaron joked.
`Oh now our kid's talking,' enthused Sam in his thick Preston accent.
Aye, talking shite,' corrected Jordan cynically. Southgate would string us up. Gah, no wonder you two are just back-ups, it's my level head that England needs in goal, not two alcoholics,' he boasted with ridiculous piety, pausing to laugh at himself. His humour was obvious, and yet it was the wrong banter for the Number One to go with - for Aaron, it tapped into too much current discomfit at home, and even for stoic Sam, it roused a frosty expression and a sudden silence, and Jordan clearly knew it. `Minibar aside, what the hell shall we get up to?' he demanded frustratedly, running fingers through his quiff of strawberry blond hair.
Taking it in turns punching you in the gob,' quipped Johnstone brutishly, making Ramsdale snigger stupidly. Taking it in turns to kick you up the backside?' he added, matching the big guy's tone, and fixing their superior with an ironic look.
Pfft, chill out the pair of yas,' chuckled the Mackem guy. He got up from his seat and climbed aboard his bed, joining Aaron, and giving him a gentle shove in the knee. He snatched up the bag of snacks and began throwing them for Sam to catch in his mouth like a performing animal, whilst whistling thoughtfully to himself. Come on, Rambo, we know you came up here to quiz us and get all the best tips, don't deny it - I mean, if anyone can help you beat Raya and stay at Arsenal, it must be us.'
Aaron blanched at the openness of this new topic, a matter which none of his friends here in the England camp had addressed with such directness, even after his own dad made sports headlines yesterday by complaining embarrassingly on his behalf to some interviewer. Life for Ramsdale had changed drastically this year at his club, going from a fan favourite hero and shithouse to a spare part with only cup appearances to his name - and he wasn't sure what he thought about arrogant Pickford bringing it up so casually right now on their evening downtime. He went awkwardly silent as he thought this comment over, glad when the Palace player cut into it instead: `Leave that out, Picky, for god's sake - don't be a cunt to the lad, or I'll smack yer arse myself.'
Huh,' chuckled Jordan, don't threaten me with a good time, big man.'
Fine,' grunted Ramsdale quietly, in the quiet that followed. What would you two fella do if you were in my position, then? Other than keying Arteta's car?' The second question was meant to sound funny and casual about the issue, but he could hear himself sounding nothing short of bitter and resentful, which made his cheeks blush and his head hang, wishing he'd changed the topic instead.
To the 25-year-old Stokey's vague surprise and delight, however, the conversation turned into something of a heart-to-heart - whilst prime first-choice goalies at their current Premier League, both northern blokes had experienced varied highs and lows to their careers, which they talked about now with a frankness and kindness that took Ramsdale by surprise. Jordan, for a change, was all quiet humility, dwelling on a long spell of loan deals when he'd thought he might never have a permanent spot in anyone's goal, whilst big Sam complained about having been on the Man Utd roster for 7 years without a single proper appearance under the crossbar at Old Trafford. And then, as if they had spoken too openly and earnestly for too long, the pair of them fell into some more generic banter at each other, their clubs having clashed in the Premiership on Saturday gone - Aaron's career crisis brushed aside, Jordan went scrambling over to wrestle stupidly with the bigger bloke, bantering about Everton's dominant 3-2 win over Palace. Aaron, impressed and reflective after their shared experiences and moments of genuine advice, sat there quietly to the side, whilst also privately noting that a 5 goal game was hardly one for any keeper to try and take particular pride in, but never mind...
Johnstone had Pickford in a headlock now and both men were turning red faces this way as if Ramsdale was the umpire of their conflict - he raised a single eyebrow and smirked stupidly at them, then grabbed and threw a couple of pillows their way to break them up. As they parted with a series of grunts, the 6ft2 lad stretched out and climbed off the bed, feeling slightly lighter after all for having talked the dry spell over with his contemporaries, men only a few years older than him but seemingly much more worldly. Thanks guys,' he said once the noise of their scuffle was over, returning their surprising frankness. It's good to hear all that, y'know, it's been a rough six months or whatever - a bit of a dry spell.'
Pickford's little snort of amusement was quick, another seeming instance of him unable to think much before speaking - `And I bet it's not the only dry spell in your life right now, big lad, that's for sure!'
Ramsdale, out of context, wasn't even sure what the other guy was trying to say, pausing and looking awkwardly his way - he could tell there was some mean or crude joke to what Pickford had to say, but he was so wrapped up in his Arsenal battle for that position, that he could only infer some sly dig at his performances, contradicting the No.1's kinder words only minutes ago. Jordan was clambering off the far bed, but Sam was giving him a thump in the side and shaking his head. `What you playing at?' the Palace man demanded crossly, but Jordan laughed and gestured pleadingly.
Hey, hey, Sam and I know what's it like,' Pickford professed enthusiastically, hurrying closer to him at this side of the room. I mean, Rambo mate, we're both dads - we've been in your boat before, him a couple of times.'
Realisation dawned on Aaron and he laughed embarrassedly, realising they'd moved on from his goalkeeper career to a very different kind of `dry spell' - and though it was hardly something he might have brought up or complained about to these two, or in fact anyone other than his closest pal Ben White, it was clearly a situation he was conscious enough of to instantly recognise what Jordan was trying to say. A month or so after the birth of his first son, the hot-blooded young athlete was nowhere near getting any intimacy from his beautiful fiancee, and had been stuck in one of the longest sexless ruts of his young life. He blushed deeply and continued to laugh, whilst Pickford leant in and pinched his cheek with a knowing wink, accompanied by a low grunting laugh from Johnstone in the background.
Tis true,' mourned the other goalkeeper, rising up to his 6ft4 stature and shrugging. And don't expect it to go back to normal for a good while yet, youngster.'
What he's saying,' Jordan elaborated needlessly, is get used to Mrs Palm and her five daughters, you get me?' A wanking gesture in the air left no room for misinterpretation and then the obnoxious fella jabbed him playfully in the ribs before returning to find a seat on his bed, picking up his Switch again on the way to play idly on his game whilst they spoke. In a wistful voice, Sam was trying to count out how long it might be before Aaron was going to have sex again, and Jordan was complaining loudly about all the other reasons his own partner found to say no these days - and Aaron just chuckled stupidly at them, unsure of this turn in the conversation, but then glad to think of something other than his battle with Raya. It felt disrespectful for him to say anything specific to their banter, anyway - Benjamin really was the only one of his football mates that he might do, given the alarming honesty previously shared between the two of them, in the Arsenal sauna and the similarly arid heat of Qatar.
You ought to show him that thing you brought,' Jordan barked suddenly at Sam, putting his console down, and really breaking into sleazy laughter. Maybe you can recommend a purchase to this horny young buck too, hey?'
Big burly Sam actually looked quite mortified, and so Aaron was intrigued in spite of himself, shooting a confused look to the tall broad man, whilst the main goalie continued to piss himself laughing on the bed. Oh fuck off,' Johnstone was barking at Pickford, I knew I shouldn't have shown you that, you cunt. I told you, I ain't even tried it out properly, so how could I go recommending it?'
`Oh go on, get it out!'
`Fuck off...'
Get what out?' the Arsenal back-up called to them, pausing by the open window and folding his arms. What the hell are you two on about?' Jordan couldn't answer for his own laughter, whilst Sam grimaced and rolled his eyes and then, with a pantomime of reluctance, went fiddling into one of the bags by his bed. He pulled something out and threw it forcibly this way, arcing high through the room, so that Aaron had to lunge forward to give it a catch. He stared at the large thick tube in his hands, briefly uncomprehending, and then he noted the rough shape of it, the lip-like lining that formed a circle of sorts on this end, and- Fucking hell,' he exclaimed, is this a fleshlight?'
He wasn't so innocent or thick that he'd never encountered the idea - he had, after all, sneaked into the only sex shop in Doha to buy that big chunky dildo to mock Ben White, for all the fucking trouble it had caused! - but in the context of this hotel room on England duty, the thing was alien and ridiculous, and - he frowned and blushed more deeply - a bit bigger than he'd imagined such an item to be. Quickly, as if it were a hot potato, he flung the thing back - not across the room at Sam himself, but at the cackling hyena Jordan on the nearer bed, unsure that such an item was the solution to his position as a new father trying his best to support his fiancee.
Well,' he said evenly, giving an empathetic look across at the Palace player, you gotta do what you gotta do, big man, so no judgement here...'
Oh aye,' moaned Jordan. No judgement, not like you're the lad who's gonna have to lie in the next bed while the big bastard here fucks this thing into oblivion - what if he gets over-excited and comes across to my bed once he's smashed it with his big cock, eh?' As always, there was something astonishing in the crudeness and sneer of Pickford's banter, which made Ramsdale himself feel prudish and silly in their room - watching as the Everton goalie placed the male sex toy over the crotch of his trackies and pretended to thrust upwards into it before tossing it back at Johnstone.
Sam caught it deftly, smirking and shaking his head. I'd fuck every item of furniture in here before I caught syphilis from you, Mackem lad. Thinks something of himself don't he, Aaron? Ugly prick.' And losing his self-consciousness about it, he tossed the toy from hand to hand, moving between the two beds. It was a gift from the missus, said I should try it out on this trip, that's all - says it will stop be complaining when she's too tired, haha. I mean - it's just a daft toy, I'll defo give it a go.'
When he does,' Pickford insisted, I'll be coming down to hang out with you and Rice, mate, even if he is having a cam-wank with Mason Mount, okay?' He was being sneering and derogatory and yet, Aaron couldn't help but notice, he was staring up very intently at the way Sam juggled it from hand to hand and then, in the same mocking exaggerated way, placed it dramatically over his crotch and proceeded to thrust into thin air. Aaron laughed and rolled his eyes at both of them, thinking maybe this was his cue to leave.
`You two are mad,' he huffed in a half-laugh.
We're just trying to help,' Jordan protested weakly. Just trying to offer some solutions to your dry spell, Rambo. Hey, I mean maybe if you empty your fat balls some time, you might actually lift your goalie game and get back in that Number One spot, so...' This time, as Aaron flushed and grimaced, there was no interjection or warning from the bigger man, who just chucked the fleshlight back his way, and shrugged his shoulders, saying, `Our man Prickford here might be right, y'know - nothing worse than sexual frustration for ruining your form during a tense season, kiddo.'
Catching the tossed item, Aaron stared in surprise at this perspective from the giant, and then back at the lewd look on Jordan's face. Sure,' he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, I'll just whip my prick out now and pop this thing's cherry for you both, shall I? I'm sure that'll put me right in goal on Friday night, no worries... Fuck's sake, lads.'
Go on, I dare ya,' cackled Pickers, whilst Johnstone said less mockingly, We don't mean Friday, for fuck's sake - this cunt has that one sealed up as usual - we just mean if you relaxed a bit more and let yourself go, maybe you'd find things got a bit easier for you at Arsenal, that's all. I think that's what we were trying to say earlier, mate, that's all - once you get uptight about it, once you freak out, that's when you start losing the battle, hey?'
Aaron stood there, arse propped back against the windowsill, hoisting the offensively large plastic item in one hand and staring between the other two goalkeepers. `And whacking my nob in a fake vagina is the thing that's gonna relax me, is it?' he said, trying to sound annoyed but his face splitting into a grin and the question ending on a laugh of disbelief. He inspected the device more carefully, shaking his head - he had never tried such a thing, though he remembered staring at them in horrified fascination when scouring that sex shop for the most intimidating rubbery phallus on sale. The most intimidating and embarrassing rubbery phallus, he thought, which had caused so much aggro when secreted in Ben's bed to horrify his conjugal visitor - for a moment, staring at the fleshlight in his paw, Ramsdale was back there in the winter World Cup, and Benjamin was helping to push the stupid sex toy into his backside to... to what? To atone for his prank? To prove a point? He felt himself go pale and stiff and awkward, thinking about that incident between them, which had ended with Ben's pinkeye and flight home to the UK, perhaps the flat end to his entire career on the England squad. Fuck.
His long moment's thoughtfulness must have been ambiguous or misleading, because Pickford now whooped, `He's tempted, isn't he? Fetch that lube she bought you with it, Samwise, and hoy it at the kid, he's well up for giving it a test drive.'
Sam was laughing, but with some doubt in his voice as he said, `Hey, I don't think anyone is popping that cherry except me, boys, that was MY gift from the missus, okay...' And with an awkward kinda serious, he was moving this way and reaching out to accept it back - which Aaron gladly accepted with a laugh, chucking it to him and then wiping his hands on the sides of his shorts as if tainted by holding it for too long, though his thoughts were less on a receptive toy than the penetrating monster that had slid between his downy cheeks.
Well heck yeah,' Jordan barked, you can go first, but I think all of us want a go on it.' It was as simple as that, somehow, the sudden shift in the tone, the shift from exaggerated banter and overdone outrage between them, because Jordan was sliding off the bed now and hopping over his roomie's bed too - leaning over and fishing rudely through his mate's belongings, until he was wielding the little pump tube of Durex lubricant, which he waved about like a trophy, then came in at Sam with some boxing moves, laughing his head off and then gesturing enthusiastically over this way. `Here, Aaron, you won't mind if the big twat gets his chopper out, will you? We're all goalies here, brothers-in-arms.'
Ramsdale could laugh heartily at this, picking himself up from the windowsill, arms folded uncomfortably against his chest, but perhaps only because he was so sure that Jonhstone would laugh it off too, and give the uppity prick the clip about the ears he deserved. So when the Palace goalie reached a hand into the front of his pants and then flopped his cock and balls out with complete self-confidence, it gave the Arsenal boy a start. Honestly,' big Sam sighed playfully, this Mackem cunt will do anything to get another glimpse at my meat, y'know, he's such a fuckin' perv.'
Well,' remarked Jordan in the voice of a connoisseur, stood close next to him, it is a fucking ridiculous big monster of a thing, ain't it? Ain't it, Rambo? What do you think?' And he forced the pump tube into Sam's free hand before lounging comfortably back down on his bed, staring brightly between the cock-swinging giant and the gawping younger lad.
For several long moments, Ramsdale didn't really know what was expected of him - he could see the leer and provocation on Pickford's face, but he could also see a kind of simple dumb pride on Johnstone's, and more than anything he could see the fat drooping member that hung over the waist of the England tracksuit, a prick that was perfectly proportionate to the 6ft4 man's excessive height and breadth. It was big enough to make Aaron think again of that Doha dildo, but perhaps that offensive monster was already too much in his mind, triggered by all this chat about sex toys.
Here,' Sam chuckled, watch me finger the sexy bitch.' And stood proudly before them, the third-place goalkeeper of the England squad squirted a bit of transparent lube onto two thick fingers, and then pushed them gracelessly into the `lips' of the toy, chuckling as he did, and eliciting whoops of amusement and approval from Jordan too. Aaron let out a hollow awkward laugh, blinking furiously. He was about to announce his departure to leave them to their egos and rivalries over dick size, but he was stopped in his tracks by further shock at the openness and exhibitionism of a bloke as simple and traditional as the Preston giant: more lube pumped out of the tube, into his palm, and then a few slow leisurely pulls on the soft length below the hem of his polo shirt, bringing it into an even thicker shape, slowly rousing himself with a few long strokes, whistled at admiringly by Pickford.
Fellas,' Ramsdale said quietly in a voice of nervous disapproval, but he felt himself ignored - Pickford was cackling quite happily, and Johnstone too was laughing, in a heavy grunting sort of way, whilst he took the fleshlight in one hand and his semi-hard prick in the other. Fuck, not quite hard enough,' he was chuckling, whilst Jordan barked, `Well give it a proper stroke then you daft twat.'
Aaron found himself oddly fascinated by it in several ways. He was fascinated by the openness and carelessness of Sam, a guy who had never seemed particularly broad-minded to him; he was fascinated by the extent of Jordan's dirty humour and unhealthy interest in his teammates, which went far beyond the daft jokes that he was used to hearing from him. He was fascinated by his own... what, prudishness? Who was he to judge, after what he'd let happen with Benjamin? It had been one thing joking around with the dildo, and pranking White, but then... why had he needed to appease him with such a physical act, why had he gone through with it? Why had he let Ben help, taking hold of the thing as it pushed into him and hurt his hole, made it sting and ache for DAYS, in such a way that he hadn't been able to admit to anyone, least of all the England medical staff who were so inquisitive about his limp the next day? Jesus, what a mad stupid time that had all been, how had he been so daft as to...? He saw Benjamin's face, as he unloaded messily into it, and remembered the difficulty in their friendship for so many months after Qatar was over, though everything was rosy again by now - so long as neither mentioned their Middle Eastern adventure whatsoever!
`Right, maybe now,' boomed Sam, and dear jesus, his cock really was a big long hefty thing when getting seriously hard - was it fully hard, or did the thing extend further?! Whatever, he was bringing the plastic tubing back down to it, taking it in both hands, and inserting himself into the synthetic tightness - Aaron's eyes slide upwards, wanting to study the mixed amusement and pleasure on the big rugged face of the skinhead bloke, then across to the glassy fascination that covered Jordan's features, absolutely mesmerised by what was happening - with jealousy and eagerness to try it, he wondered, or some more unconventional interest in his well-proportioned roommate?
That's it,' insisted Jordan very eagerly. Push yourself right in there, big fella - shit, she knows you need the XXL one, I guess - she's been split open by that weapon enough times since you swept her off her feet, ha.'
`It's fucking huge,' Aaron found himself echoing awkwardly, taking a couple of steps forward, lowering one knee to the edge of Jordan's bed, knuckles resting on hips. Like Pickford, he too stared intently, watching as with a performative kind of rhythm, the fully-clothed giant of a man held the cup to his crotch with both hands and rolled his hips, fucking his dick slowly into the toy in several slow strokes, then a sudden flurry of quicker humps that were accompanied by higher-pitched laughter. And then, in a flourish, he pulled the thing off his manhood, making a squelchy sucker noise, and tossing a few damp flecks of lubricant against the edges of the bedding; his big dick twanged and shook where it protruded from between his polo shirt and his tracksuit, and he slapped one lubed hand to it instantly to continue playing, whilst holding the toy aloft.
`Sure, she feels good,' he confirmed through his big manly laugh.
Here, I'll give it a go,' Pickford demanded, and Ramsdale was further shocked when he heard his own voice, firm and pushy: Nah, I thought it was my dry spell we were trying to fix? I'll go next, thanks, and you can have sloppy thirds, Prickford.' He heard his own aggro there like it was the voice of some other rough lad from back home in the Potteries. And yet the other two were laughing their agreement and the toy and pump were being tossed his way.
Right, then. Here goes. I mean, this can't be weirder or worse than what happened with Benj, can it? Fuck no, this is nothing like THAT. This is just banter, and- yeah, yeah, maybe these guys have a point. Maybe I just need to let loose, by some daft shite like this whilst sex is off the table at home, and...
`Well you'll have to get yer dick out, Rambo,' Jordan informed him tartly.
Don't be shy,' guffawed Sam. You can see I ain't.'
And so with one hand Ramsdale found himself pushing down the front of his training shorts, exposing the soft wiry grey-blond of his pubes, and then flopping his saggy balls and gently swollen semi out into view, whilst also reaching for the little pump tube and spunking out some lube to rub against his fat pale member. He was confident in his size, but there was something about Johnstone's proportions that made him insecure and keen to make it harder, wanting the other guys to see it at full mast and not in this shy droop - somehow, their crass comments were helpful to his arousement, rather than distracting: Rub yerself happy, Rambo lad,' tittered Sam stupidly, and Have a wank imagining Raya snapping a wrist next weekend, hehe' was Jordan's nastier invocation. Whilst Aaron slid his hand about his reluctant and shy cock, slowly pulling it into fuller shape, Jordan picked up and inspected the cock, seemingly unphased by the slimy wetness of the entrance where their friend's cock had penetrated it - but passing it back once Aaron looked ready, holding his thick heavy cock at the base and angling the bright pink tip towards the entrance.
You sure you don't mind sharing your new girl?' he croaked across at Sam, trying to sound bolshy and aloof - met only with hearty laughter from both the other guys, and some pushy insistence from an excited Pickford: Go on, shove yer big nob in her, daft lad, make her squeal like your bitch!'
And so he did, although it was a giggling Jordan Pickford who added the squealing sound effects for him, adopting a high feminine voice and crying `Yes yes, I'm being fucked by the king of the Arsenal hole, I mean, goal! Oh yes, Rambo, you fuck much better than that wanker Raya or tiny-cock Arteta, ohhhh-' Until, that is, a heavy clip about Jordan's head from Sam silenced this distracting banter, and it was suddenly all three of them assembled about the one bed. Aaron stared into the middle-distance, avoiding eye contact with either of them, whilst pulling the strangely realistic skin-feel against his head, against his peeled foreskin, against the girth and veins of his shaft, sliding quite slowly into it, shocked at its tightness, its inexplicable warmth. Oh, it felt good, and he needed to buy one of these. He found himself unable to express this in words or laughter, just a breathy moan, one which triggered more peals of excitable laughter from his naughty pals.
Go on,' Johnstone grunted simply, fuck her, pal.'
`Does she feel good?' came Pickford's almost breathless enthusiasm.
Pickford, he noticed, was feeling himself through his tracksuit, hot pink in his cheeks, his neatly quiffed hair falling out of place and a little sweaty sheen all over his brow; Johnstone, mind, was still openly pulling back and forth on the obnoxiously large rod that had christened the toy, wanking himself in a leisurely and immodest fashion, as if loaning the fake fanny out was a very temporary measure - he looked ready to reinsert and take back his wife's gift, impatient to finish the show-and-tell. Somehow, Ramsdale didn't really mind this, didn't mind their excitement or proximity, kinda proud that he'd got himself hard and shoved it into the toy, at their joky insistence - it was like he was proving himself to his fellow goalies here in some new way, actually stepping up and joining their experienced clique, rather than being the bright-eyed newcomer as he'd felt on his last few call-ups.
And this, he told himself, was nothing like Doha, nothing like that whole messy prank.
He felt like he'd barely played with it, barely pushed his hard member in and out of its slimy entrance, but Jordan was reaching for it - snatching rudely for it while it was still wrapped about his cock, which made him flinch uncomfortably, demanding that it was his turn. And Sam was muttering agreement, saying Give it to Prickford, sloppy thirds like you said!' And so he pulled out with some reluctance, sad to lose the pleasurable pressure on his cock, and shy to have his lubed hard-on judder about as it was released - but grabbing it in his hand, like Sam was, because Sam made it seem okay, and after all he really WAS horny, so- Jordan was shoving down his trackies and boxer shorts, and making the joke before either of them could, putting himself down whilst sounding entirely smug and cocksure: She'll hardly notice this chipolata after you two beasts, but here we go!'
And with a fully performative energy to his movements, he was shoving his shorter, more slender prick into `her', holding it in one hand and bringing the other up for high fives, first with Johnstone and then with Ramsdale too, clapping palm to palm with them whilst gyrating his hip and fucking the lubed lips in a rapid flurry of motion. Here they were, all three of them, pleasuring themselves, the three England goalies together - god, Aaron thought, this is a bit much, ain't it?! And he and Ben had got in trouble for being found playing with themselves in a dark sauna, he remembered, fined by Mikel Arteta for inappropriate behaviour, and the gaffer hadn't even caught them trying to finger themselves because of Benjamin's relationship problems at the time...! If it hadn't been so long ago, it would be tempting to blame that silly disciplinary matter for his current out-of-favour subs bench era, but who knew where the boss's distrust had begun...
Aaron pulled on his cock repeatedly, matching the slow steady rhythm of Big Sam, rather than the rather frenetic and showy fucking with which Jordan now attacked their shared toy, cackling as he slammed noisily in and out of it, overcompensating - his hair flopping back and forth and his face getting more shiny with sweat. It was Sam who broke into this, giving him a shove to the shoulder, and announcing with a sort of matter-of-fact simple bluntness: `Give us it back, then - I need to finish off this boner before we all have to go down for dinner, you pair of wank-stains...!' And like Jordan, he was casually snatching at the toy, pulling on it whilst it still gripped Jordan's smaller erection - yanking it away for himself, and pushing himself back into it, absolutely comfortable in his size and power, and happy to fill up the tight tubing in a way that must feel even better for his girthy equipment.
Stop thinking about his dick, Aaron chided himself, you've never worried about your own size before, so quit this new insecurity!
But he was thinking more about the toy, about its tightness, its strange realism, and maybe even... well, maybe just a bit, the AUDIENCE of it, being able to fuck it, fuck `her', with two other fellas here, like this was some seedy foursome or something, some tabloid footballer sex scandal like you read about with the names removed - Aaron had never been invited into anything so naughty as that, and he'd resented it before he started settling down with the current love of his life...! He felt that a misspent youth had escaped him, he looked like too much of a big goofy good guy, that was his problem... Too wholesome.
And in front of this wholesome Staffordshire lad, in front of him and smirking wide-eyed Pickford, Johnstone was no totally going for it: one-handed, but rapid, really pulling the toy back and forth so that shiny wet glimpses of his thick shaft were flickering in and out of vision. There was something businesslike about it, something mechanical and repetitive, but his face was intense, his brow furrowed and veined, his cheeks red, his eyes fixed and narrowed, lips pursed, facial hair glistening damp. He was a man on a mission, and his grunts grew louder as he approached its completion. Here I go, fellas,' he announced simply, speaking through the hot breathy dirty talk of Jordan's encouragement (Fuck her hard, mate!') and Aaron's own mumbled endorsement (`Er, go for it, fella...'), until suddenly he was letting out an almost animalistic growl of satisfaction, and his motion ceased - he just held the toy tightly down on the entirety of his big cock, pushing himself into it and presumably filling it with his jizz.
In his sweaty-faced climax, his big heavy body fell forward slightly, and one long arm extended - a big heavy hand clutched at Aaron's shoulder through his polo shirt, and he tensed to steady the weight of the 6ft4 man. The contact felt odd, his other hand gripped about his shiny dick, reaching the left one up to hold and support Sam's grip. Fuck!' roared the Crystal Palace goalie, still stooping there, with Jordan grabbing and squeezing his shoulder in tactile approval, telling him, You've cum buckets in there, I bet...'
And just like that, big Sam's interest was switched off - he was pulling away and squeezing the toy from off his member, dropping it heavily to the bedding, and pushing back with heavy rasping breaths... grasping at the front of his white shirt to pull and waft it against his overheated chest and stomach muscles. I'm showering,' he declared, adding, might make it a cold one after that...!' He had no interest in the discarded toy, or the rapt faces of his audience - he was just steering heavily away from them, beginning to peel off the Three Lions merch, and disappearing into the bathroom doorway that his huge stature entirely filled. And then he was just a firmly closing door, and Aaron was an awkwardly kneeling one of two, dick in hand, staring down at the toy.
The question was forming in his head, close to escaping his lips, when it was answered by Jordan's shiny snatching fingers. The question was Did he really shoot his load in there?' and perhaps, as a follow-up, We can't put our dicks in it now, can we?' The answer was, based on the enthusiasm of Jordan Pickford, `Who fucking cares?'
Right next to him on the bed, kneeling up like him, the Everton goalie was dragging his polo shirt further up his dense torso, up to just below the nips, and rubbing sensually at his abdominal muscles, whilst bringing the lips of the toy back to his quivering cock, average-sized or perhaps a little smaller, Aaron didn't like to judge. He certainly felt bigger next to him than face-to-face with Sam. Whilst one hand applied the fleshlight to his prick, Jordan grabbed at Aaron's shoulder with the other, pressing his weight into him for support, and forcing the Arsenal keeper to grip helpfully at him with his right hand, bringing his left to his dick to carry on stroking it.
As a more polite form of the questions that had died in his throat, Ramsdale asked, `How's it feel now?' He hoped Pickers understood what he meant, but it was unclear. The other man responded only in grunts and moans, thrusting into the toy really hard, breaking his gasps of pleasure only to laugh heavily as if this was all one hilarious dirty joke - and in the background, the sounds of a shower and a bad singing voice, Sam Johnstone casually washing away the sin of communal masturbation.
Fuck, it feels better,' Jordan hissed, either finally catching the hint of Aaron's query, or just spontaneously sharing his concern, I can feel Sam's jizz as extra lube, fuck.' Such a filthy thought, Aaron couldn't help but purse his lips awkward and wrinkle his nose, but he was also intrigued by how excited it made his England senior - and so when Jordan's pace slowed and they shared a meaningful look, he nodded, and reached out, taking it directly from the other man's cock with a squelch of release. He paused only briefly, looking at how slick and shiny the lips were, but then just shoved himself into it again, glad at that tightness closing once more on his head and shaft - it didn't feel any different, neither better nor worse, but there was some special dirtiness in the knowledge of how well-used the synthetic cunt already was.
Fuck, that's it,' growled Pickford's voice, grabbing and rubbing at his shoulder muscles, and there was something cloying and excessive about his closeness now - Ramsdale shut his eyes to better ignore him, briefly using both hands on the toy, just fucking it like there was really a beautiful woman on the bed with him, but feeling the intimacy of Pickford's hands running over his bicep and shoulder and onto his broad back. And then, worse, brushing his chest, heading down - Here,' hissed the England Number One, `just let me take over, pretend it's your bird...' Aaron's hands were brushed aside before he could take in this instruction, and now he was just kneeling there, feeling the pulsing tightness of the toy, but his hands dangling to his sides, a confusing moment's unreality with his eyes closed - he was fucking a fantasy woman, beginning to push with his strong hips and glutes now that his hands weren't involved, and for several beautiful moments, hardly processing that it was JORDAN'S hands who'd taken control.
His eyes flickered open and so he was unable to edit out this information, because they were kneeling close on the bed, Johnstone gone so that the banter of three men had become the alarming intimacy of two - and with one hand still on Aaron's shoulder, Jordan's other was tightly gripping the toy, holding the fleshlight in place so that Ramsdale could thrust energetically into it with the full force of his 6ft2 physique, sweat pooling in his pits and down his back, damp and fresh beneath his polo shirt and the bunched up shorts. He shook, alarmed, when Jordan told him to pause, his voice breathy - it was as if Pickford was suddenly registering how dirty and wrong this was, and demanding that they stopped, which made Ramsdale feel filthy and desperate for allowing it to take place. Instead, though, the Everton man just reached for the little tube and held the lube over Aaron's crotch, pumping out two squidges of it so that the substance drooled down onto the base of his cock, meaning that as he slowly began thrusting again, his cock felt all the better and looser, and he could really pick up speed.
That's it,' hissed Jordan's voice. Fuck her good.'
Ramsdale found that he couldn't reply anything more than sharp gasps, but he didn't know what he'd say - he stared almost resentfully into the snarling face of his England superior, the man whose position he needed to usurp, and in his final moments of pleasure, found that he'd gone from sensual fantasy to utter grudge-fucking. It wasn't as if the toy in Pickford's hand still represented any idea of womanhood at all - he was literally fucking the man's fist and showing him that he was the more powerful, the more virile, the more manly goalkeeper, the young stud who should be defending England from all-comers. He stared quite aggressively into the shiny face of his prime rival, and in his mind's eye he was staring at David Raya too, at Mikel Arteta, at the whole fucking stupid situation, at the crippling sexual frustration that had gripped his body until today.
`Cum for her,' drawled Jordan.
`Shurrup,' Rambo barked back at him.
Yes,' gasped the England No.1, fuck me- er, her, I mean, her-'
Shurrup,' he growled again, shurrup!'
His hands reached out and grasped at Jordan Pickford's rounded shoulders, holding tightly onto him as if he WAS the fleshlight, whilst the toy itself was held vice-like in both of those goal-saving mitts, keeping it still and secure as Aaron Ramsdale powered into it and emptied his balls, adding his own salty flavour to the mess that Johnstone had deposited inside. `OH FUCK,' he growled, and a flurry of other swear words and gasps escaped dry lips, eyes fluttering, and Jordan's pants turning into bursts of vicious laughter.
Ramsdale slowed, his cock sensitive and tingling, his body suddenly exhausted; he realised how tightly, perhaps painfully, his large hands were gripping the 29-year-old by the shoulders, and he let go, leaning and swaying backwards, his face feeling drenched with sweat. He looked down, lashes fluttering, and fixed his eyes on Pickford's hands, still clutched around the plastic that encased his quivering member - sure, there were a couple of synthetic layers between meat and skin, but still... `Geroff,' he grumbled awkwardly, pulling away, sliding his cock out as Jordan simultaneously let go, so that the kinky thing tumbled down, silvery-white liquid oozing from its lips as it hit the bedding - his, he wondered, or Sam's?!
Breathing heavily and avoiding eye contact, Ramsdale retreated off the bed, shoving his aching cock into the mesh of his shorts, and wiping the hairy backs of his arms across his clammy face. God. What a mad thing to do. He looked towards their en suite bathroom, but the door was still shut, the other goalie still having his cold shower; and so Ramsdale shot his eyes back at Pickford with an almost accusing expression. The Sunderland man was gently stroking himself, hand stuffed down the front of his tracksuit, small cock no longer on show, but definitely still hard; and the No.1 stared confrontationally back, which was fair enough. What was Ramsdale trying to accuse him of...?
`You alright?' Jordan demanded.
Fine,' Aaron panted quickly. Fine, fine.'
He stood there at the foot of the bed, fiddling awkwardly with shorts that didn't fit well with a dick at half-mast. He writhed at the sweat-damp polo shirt. He glanced again at the bathroom door, thinking of how the tone had seemed to change when big dumb Sam had pulled away and left them to it. Jordan had gotten VERY close to him. He tugged uncomfortably at his collar and then wiped his face again on one arm. He took a slight step away, and paused as the senior goalkeeper suddenly spoke up.
What,' Jordan asked, his voice low and serious, aren't you staying to help me finish too?'
For a long awkward moment, Ramsdale stared at him, blinking, his pecs rising and falling with his pants - and then the deadly serious look on Pickford's face switched to his usual leer and a burst of laughter. `I'm fucking kidding, you twat - now piss off so I can enjoy myself in peace, go get yourself showered off before teatime, go on you wanker...!' And Aaron laughed too, shakily, and hurried for the door, still trying to adjust the bulge of his fading erection in the front of his England shorts - hardly noticing as he slipped out that Pickford immediately reached to pick back up the cum-leaking sex toy from the bed.
He didn't rush immediately downstairs, too preoccupied with the obviousness of his physical arousal - he paced the corridor awkwardly, remembering at some point that he'd left his own personal tablet and book back in the goalkeepers' room, but too worried of interrupting Pickford if he went back. Eventually, still streaked with sweat, and cock very sensitive in his briefs and shorts, he took to the stairs, back down to his own floor. How long had it been since he left Declan to it? He wasn't sure. It felt like he'd been upstairs with the other keepers for absolutely hours, given the intensity of the experience - first the heart-to-hearts and man-to-man advice, and then... the other thing. He marched down towards the door of his own hotel suite in the confidence that Rice would be finishing up and done with his family call, confident that if not he could slip straight through and drench himself in his own ice-cold shower, following Sam's lead.
Well, `finishing up' was one phrase for what he found when he burst into the room.
Aaron's eyes picked details out one at a time as if in extreme slow-motion: the open laptop first, at the centre of the double bed, then the bulky bare legs spread either side of it, ending in the white-socked feet of his roommate and Arsenal colleague; the long wide-mouthed expression on Declan's face, the wildness in his wide eyes; the tension and contraction in his chest and arm muscles; the fortunate positioning of the open laptop, and the more explicit view that its presence perhaps obstructed from this imprinting visual; and for some reason, his eyes lingering ironically on it, one of those same pump tubes of Durex lubricant, lying nestled in the folds of duvet near Dec's knee. And last, but most vividly, happening in real-time as he lurched in through the hotel room door, the sticky shiny wetness that spurted up Dec's pectorals, accompanied by the throaty sound from his open mouth. And then, more vivid and distinctive than the orgasmic moan of Rice's vocals, the tinny distant speaker voice through the MacBook between his open legs: That's so much cum, baby, so much!' It was a good long while since Aaron had spent any time with the out-of-favour midfielder of former Chelsea fame, now Man Utd, but the cheery perky voice of the south coast twink was very very recognisable. Oh yes,' moaned Mason Mount's voice through the magic of the internet, and Aaron didn't hear the follow-up to that exclamation - in a panicked rush, he retreated, slamming the door behind him and staggering back into the corridor, his own aching cock and dubious behaviour forgotten, and his brain now completely obfuscated by the image of Declan Rice's secret orgasm.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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