This story is copyrighted (c) 2001 to rugbystud@hotmail.com and first posted on the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website. It may not be copied or posted or transmitted in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer.
Weekend rugby trips are well known in Britain for being an excuse for grown men to throw away their normal patterns of behaviour and act like drunk versions of schoolchildren on organised trips to a museum or something i.e. noisy and badly behaved. Whether it's an international game or a friendly between local teams, normal rules of behaviour cease to apply and even those bearing the brunt of the drunken exploits, once told "it's a rugby tour", simply smile indulgently and carry on. This weekend tale is no different except for the fact that I don't ever remember any school trip that included me shagging or being shagged by an old friend, a team-mate and a complete stranger (sadly not all at once!).
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The weekend of the Wales/Australia match of the 1999 Rugby World Cup, my local team had agreed to go to Baz's home town in the North of England and play a few games, watch the World Cup matches in the club and generally have a complete four-day piss-up. It's the sort of weekend I enjoy anyway, but this time of course, I was pleased because Baz and I hadn't seen each other since that May and after five years of knowing each other, Baz was still the only bloke I could really call a fuck-buddy. The team was booked into a cheap bed-and-breakfast and though most were sharing, some of us, including me, had got a single room. Baz has a large family and staying in his bed wasn't an option unfortunately.
Anyway, we'd booked a bus to take us on the 6 hour drive on Friday afternoon and back again on Monday morning. Despite the bus company's no-alcohol rule, funnily enough we managed to bring enough alcoholic variety on board to open a small pub. There were about 20 of us on the bus and we were already in a good mood, having been in the rugby club's bar for over an hour - to have lunch, of course. My lunch had comprised of two packets of salt and vinegar crisps and about 4 pints of Caffrey's. We always eat a very well balanced diet on tour.
I was sitting with Paul on the trip up and we were sharing a large bottle of Coke, which had been diluted with so much vodka that it was almost colourless. Gareth and Dan opposite were also drinking Coke but theirs was diluted with Bacardi. This pattern of "soft" drinks was repeated all around the bus apart from the back few rows, where, in exchange for a glass of whatever you had, you could secure a can of lager. After about two hours of such behaviour, nature took her course and we all needed to piss very badly.
I'm not sure the services we stopped at had ever catered for quite so drunk a party so early in the afternoon, but I have to say they managed very well. Though I'd have hated to have had to clean the toilets after we'd all been in there. There were no spare urinals, so Paul and I had to share a stall, standing side by side and chatting away loudly and drunkenly as we pissed in to the bowl. Similar scenes were repeated down the row and along the line of urinals. I say Paul and I were pissing in to the bowl, actually, his was going everywhere as vodka's not really his drink and he was a bit unsteady. I had to support him with my left arm around his shoulders as I was holding my dick with my right. I finished, shook and put myself safely away (anyone who's ever been drunk and snagged a bit of skin on to a zip should know why I was careful). Paul suddenly wobbled alarmingly and put both hands out to steady himself. I started laughing as he was now standing there with his hands-free dick dribbling piss-drops on to the floor.
He grinned at me and said "Seen as how you're so careful, tuck me up too would you butt?" (Note - "butt" or "butty" is what we Welsh say for "bud" or "mate" as in "friend" - nothing to do with arses - I'll get to those later!).
Now I've always been very careful about my team not knowing I'm gay. As much as I love seeing their naked bodies on a regular basis, I know how most of them feel about men who fuck men so I keep quiet. Though some of the games and talk that goes on when we're all drunk of course, does put most of them in to the "hypocrite bastard" category. Paul is one of those, even though as mates we get on well. Needless to say, I had to react to his offer in the time honoured way of bullshitting him.
"Fuck off, I'm not touching that little thing, I've heard where that's been recently". I was referring to the fact that he'd got his girlfriend pregnant and as she'd been off sex (and him) ever since, he hadn't been too fussy where he put his cock every weekend. The previous weekend didn't bear writing about, unless the Nifty Archives set up a fat ugly bitch horror category. His excuse was that he was very very drunk. Riiiiight. So as much as I wouldn't have minded fondling his cock back into his boxers (despite what I said, he's got a very thick cock with a real gobstopper head), I just held his shoulders as he sorted himself out.
Back on the bus, he slumped down and went to sleep. I was chatting to Gareth and Dan about our friendly game Saturday morning and the Wales vs. Australia match in the afternoon. Dan seemed confident that Wales would win, but after our defeat against Western Samoa, Gareth and I thought our boys hadn't got the confidence and would have a tough match. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned round. Simon, sitting in the row behind me, pointed at Paul next to me, who had, without me realising, curled up against my back and was snoring peacefully.
"Too much vodka already and we're still a few hours away. And there's still all fuckin' weekend to go!" slurred Simon.
Dan spoke from the other side of the aisle. "I think we'll keep Paul on the vodka, it's about time he was shaved again." Dan was referring to the ancient and honourable practice of shaving anyone who passed out too soon, and I don't mean trimming a beard. Many is the weekend when one of us would return home with a bald head, no eyebrows and no pubes.
"Let's wait till Sunday," I said, "and see who lasts the weekend. You can't hold your fuckin' drink either Dan so be careful!"
"Fuck off, I'll drink you under the table any day Dave." But he was grinning when he said it. One thing about the team is that there's little if any clashes of personality. We might not be that good a team, but we're good team mates.
Paul slept the rest of the way, but wasn't the only one. I was feeling drowsy but remember laughing till it hurt when the boys in the back seat mooned a bus load of pensioners somewhere just outside Manchester (drunk rugby players have a certain standard of behaviour to maintain after all). But I envied the pensioners their view.
A few hours later, we arrived and staggered off the bus into the bed-and breakfast. It was a large, old house that had been converted in to a bed-and breakfast hotel and had four floors including the converted attic rooms, one of which was mine. Gareth and Dan helped me get Paul in to his room, which was across the corridor from mine, their shared room was next door to Paul's. Next to me I had the staircase and the fire escape on my left and the bathroom for our floor on the right. There was also a door marked Private - Staff Only at the far end of the corridor.
Each bedroom had small room containing a sink and a toilet, but the bathtub and shower were communal. This pattern was repeated on each floor. Nobody minded, given that we all shower together anyway; modesty about naked bodies just didn't exist. And anyone who's been on a rugby tour will know that it's nothing for four or five men to share a room and shit, shave and shower with no awkwardness. Just a lot of male-bonding, which of course has no similarities whatsoever with any "homosexual feelings". And of course, no telling the family when you return to work and normality afterwards.
Most of the team needed to sleep off the journey's alcohol before having some food and making our way to the rugby club for the night. Our two teams have been playing friendlies like this back and fore for years and we've been to their club dozens of times, so us turning up at sevenish looking hung-over already, wasn't a surprise to anyone.
I slept for maybe two hours then woke up feeling thirsty. I decided to go downstairs and get something like a pint of squash. As I went out in to the corridor, I could see Paul exactly where we'd left him, I don't think he'd even shifted position. Gareth too was asleep across his bed in their room but Dan was nowhere to be seen. Then I heard a familiar splattering noise from their toilet and I guessed - but not wanting to find out if it was sick or crap I could hear, I quickly made my way down to the dining room and bar.
At first I thought the room was empty, but then I spotted someone, he looked about eighteen or so, standing behind the bar. He hadn't noticed me but was staring out of the window in to what was grandly called the beer garden, but was really more of a small concrete patio with a few plastic tables and chairs. I was about to ask him for a drink when I noticed what he was actually watching. No, actually, a better word would be staring - he was staring at one of the tables where three of the boys were sitting drinking Cokes. He seemed a bit fixated by them, but curious as I was, I needed squash.
"Hi, can I have a pint of orange squash please" I asked, then laughed as the poor guy leaped a mile. "Sorry, didn't mean to break the concentration."
"What?, Uh, oh that's OK, just daydreaming. One pint of orange it is." he said
"You seemed to be miles away" I said.
"Not really that far," he said as he poured the squash. Hmmm. Now I've never been exactly the world's best when it comes to gaydar, if I had to rank myself I'd put myself in the "fucking useless" category, but this guy had me wondering right away. Did he mean his dreams where out on the patio? Years of keeping my own situation quiet meant that I could sympathise with him, but that's only if my own faulty sense was right for once.
"My name's Dave," I said to ease the tension and extended a hand. Then, after putting the pint of squash down, I extended it again with a raised eyebrow.
It was his turn to laugh. "Sorry, I'm not really awake." This time he shook my hand as I'd intended the first time and introduced himself as Mike, nephew of the owners of the hotel and working there as a barman/handyman/porter and anything else too.
"Are you coming to watch the local game tomorrow?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Nah, got too much to do, but I'll be at the club all tomorrow afternoon when the game's on and I'll be at the club tonight too for a while. I'm off out clubbing later."
"Anywhere good? Some of us might like to stay out for a while."
"Umm, I doubt it's the sort of place you'd like. Anyway, haven't you got a game to play in the morning? Don't want to be playing with a hang-over do you?"
"Been there, done that. I'll see how I feel about clubbing this evening. Tell you what then, I'll buy you a pint later in the rugby club" I said. Mike's comment about the night club had done nothing to stamp out my curiousity and though I'd be seeing Baz later, chatting to an eighteen year old after a few pints might get me a few more answers. OK, OK, so I was horny and he was fairly handsome, friendly, tall and had shaken my hand with a strong grip (always a good thing).
I don't know whether his gaydar was working, or whether my offer of a pint so soon after meeting was taken as more than a friendly gesture, but he smiled back at me and said "Yeah, OK, that would be great." He looked over my shoulder suddenly "Looks like your opponents have arrived".
I turned and followed his gaze through the windows at the front of the bar and saw about five or six men climbing out of an estate car. Recognising them, I grinned. Our opposing team for tomorrow morning had arrived and that meant one thing to me. Baz.
They piled in to the bar, shouting for the rest of us. Baz was last but one and we both broke in to huge grins straight away as we saw each other. Much shoulder slapping and name-calling went on as the rest of my team came in, some from their rooms and the three from the patio. Mike was suddenly rushed off his feet as pints were ordered in a deafening rush (and not squash this time).
Both Paul and Dan came in for a lot of teasing. Paul had woken up looking like he'd slept for a week in his clothes and his hair was all over the place. Dan was white - I found out that it was sick I could hear as the Bacardi had "disagreed" with his lunch of crisps.
Within about an hour, we'd all made our way to the rugby club, which was only about half a mile down the road and as we were only adding to our already high levels of alcohol, we got pissed very quickly. Baz and I hardly left each other's sides which luckily doesn't surprise anyone as they all know we're best mates.
That's lucky for us too as it means when you are close and whispering, no one bats an eyelid. They would have of course, had they known that Baz was telling me how much he wanted to fuck me and how I'd have to go to the bar as he was sporting a big wet hard-on that I'd have to do something about soon. It was only because I had a long loose t-shirt on that I could go to the bar as my own dick had shot up in response to all the talk about shagging.
I was walking back to our table with two more pints when Mike appeared in front of me. "Do you need a hand with that?" he asked.
"The pints you mean?" I asked then suddenly realised what he could have meant. I looked at him and said "Not now, but maybe later, get yourself a pint and come over to sit with me and Baz, join in the round if you like."
Baz wasn't the bit annoyed when I told him. "Now I know why you're so horny tonight, you've been after that barman!"
"What do you think, then?" I asked, watching Mike as he stood by the bar. Baz looked at him and said "Not a bad looking young man, nice arse on him judging by those jeans. Just tell me all about it OK?"
"Thanks for having so much confidence in me! And anyway, first things first." As the club was quite dark, with only the bar area lit up and the giant TV over in the far corner, I slowly moved my left arm under the table and rubbed Baz's crotch, feeling the steel-hard cock pressed against the material. Baz shifted slightly then said "He's coming".
"Already?" I asked.
"Not my cock you twat, your wet-dream barman." Baz said, shaking his head at me and laughing.
We both cracked up as Mike sat down. He looked like anyone would do, breaking in on a private joke. Once I'd got my laughing under control, I introduced Baz and the three of us sat, chatted and got drunk. During the course of the evening, I could see my fellow team mates getting equally drunk. Dan had gone back to the hotel as the Bacardi Incident was still casuing him to throw up. Paul had gone with some of the local lads to a night club and the rest of us were just going to stay till we got chucked out.
About two hours later, Mike said he was off to meet some friends and go to the night club. He seemed almost disappointed that we didn't want to tag along. I told him we were here till Monday, so we'd have another chance. I really just wanted to get Baz alone in my room.
We said goodnight to Mike at the rugby club door. He went off and Baz and I started walking back to the hotel. About half way there, Baz stopped "I need a piss" he said. Looking around, the best spot was a bus shelter across the road. A solid brick shelter, with bushes behind it, Baz nipped round the back, while I sat on the wall nearby. I could hear a steady stream against the stone, then it stopped. Silence.
"Baz?" I loudly whispered, then I went to look when I didn't get an answer.
"I can't wait till I get you back to the hotel," he said. He'd obviously done more than just piss as he was now holding his solid cock in both hands. Judging by the piss-marks on the wall, he'd been hard when pissing anyway as most of the wet spot was about five feet up.
Just as it always does, my dick just bounced in to life when confronted by a sight like that. Baz had his jeans tugged down to his thighs, no underwear as usual. He knelt in the grass and undid my jeans, almost ripping the buttons open. Within seconds, he'd got my cock in to his mouth and was bobbing up and down and moaning softly. Baz knows, after years of practice, just what gets my cock to blow and tonight was no different. He's got this way of yanking my foreskin back and rasping my dickhead between his tongue and the top of his mouth. As drunk as I was, it wasn't long before my legs started to shake and I was filling his mouth with spunk. I groaned out loud, not caring if we could be heard, just letting out a primal noise telling the world that I'd just cum.
Once I'd got my breath back, and not even bothering to re-dress, I turned Baz around so that he was leaning against the back wall of the bus shelter. I pressed my dripping but still hard cock against his arse, reached round and cupping his big balls in one hand, wanked him off with the other. My head was against his shoulder and back and the whole time I was whispering to him, telling him how I wanted him to suck me and fuck me. How much I wanted him to cum right now, to spray the shelter with his cum. We've always got off on stuff like that in the heat of the moment. The power of words on certain senses is almost greater than the power of skin on skin.
Just like me, he didn't take long with that sort of assault on his senses and I got my request. He started to shake, then heaved his hips forward as his lovely big cock spurted out his cum; my hand pumping like crazy as he plastered the wall with cream.
We stayed there for a while, then we re-dressed but stayed in the shelter chatting as it had started to rain while Baz was being wanked off. We actually had a major snogging session in the shelter, like a couple of love-sick teenagers. The rain eased off a bit and we walked back to the hotel. A couple of taxis passed us and we both knew that Baz would have to get one home, rather than come back to spend the night. We were both down to play in the game the following morning and we'd agreed to spend the night together on Saturday. He flagged one down just as we got back to the hotel and with a hug and a whispered "same thing tomorrow, wanker", he got in and the taxi drove off. I walked up to my room and crashed out for the night.
I'm not sure what woke me, but looking at the clock I saw it was about 5ish and I needed to piss badly. Standing up, I staggered over to the toilet door, but in the dark didn't realise the door was half ajar and managed to walk in to it. After taking a piss, I wanted to have a drink of water and splash my face as I always get very hot when I'm about to have a hang-over. The toilet flushed, but the tap in the small sink only made a gurgling noise, then spat something at me.
"Fuck this" I though to myself and decided to go to the shower room, at least there I'd be able to cool myself off.
Not bothering to put any clothes on, I grabbed a towel and opened my door, only having to go next door to the communal shower room. About the same size as my room, it was fully tiled and had a large sink, a long wooden bench and four shower stalls along one wall. It reminded me a bit of a changing room in a sports centre and I almost felt at home.
I stepped in to the nearest stall and turned the water on, letting it just run over me, cooling me down. I rubbed my forehead gingerly where I'd banged it on the door and though to myself "That's gonna bruise."
Deciding that I might as well shower properly as I hadn't since before leaving home, I began to wash down with some shower gel that was on the shelf, feeling steadily cooler and less groggy. Thinking back to the bus shelter and Baz as I was soaping my balls, I started to get hard and I began to stroke the shower gel slowly along my cockshaft, then down over my balls and underneath to the hard root between my balls and arsehole.
Lost in that awesome feeling, I was therefore startled to hear a cough from behind me and then a voice asked "So, same question as before then, do you want a hand with that?"
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Part 2 won't be too long (hopefully). If you have any comments about this story, then please e-mail me at rugbystud@hotmail.com - I appreciate the messages.