As usual, if you've accidentally found yourself here whilst looking for the website for Family and Youth Concern, please go away before your delicate mind is corrupted. Go and read a story that's less violent and brutal - my recommendations being Bible [The] by God, and Koran [The] by, well, God (He gets around you know)
No one in this story is real, and none of it has happened. Some characters are loosely based on people I've met, worked with or taught, but unfortunately in this case truth is not stranger than fiction.
It's my first attempt. I'm not a literary person, but I hope it's going to be worth reading. It starts out slowly, but it hots up quickly enough. Don't care if you don't like it. If you've nothing constructive to say, say it to someone else please.
A plea to all you fellow Brits - get writing! I'm sick of hearing about asses and dudes!
Team Sports
Chapter 1
Rob Braithwaite was bored.
Not that this was his usual state. He loved his job. Teaching PE was all that he'd wanted to do since he left school. Now aged 22, he was about one month from being fully qualified and even had a job lined up at the school where he was currently placed for his teaching practice, a middle-of-the-road school on the outskirts of a small English city.
Whilst it was a middle-of-the-road school, with not too many kids who were either exceptionally bright or particularly difficult, there were, as in all schools, a few kids that took more than the usual amount of "class management".
Hence his boredom. Because the level of difficulty increased with age, the lower-ability Year Eleven class he was teaching now was what could be described as a "select group". Ten lads, all aged sixteen, for the whole of Friday afternoon. It was a smart move on the part of the timetablers; no-one could expect these lads to sit still long enough to be taught anything in a classroom, and the workshops were not available, so giving them PE seemed like the ideal solution.
Except that there was little variety in what could be done with ten lads, especially as you could count on at least two of them to be absent on any given Friday afternoon - either they'd gone off early, been placed in the "sin-bin" for earlier misdemeanours, or with notes from parents saying they'd sprained their little fingers.
So it ended up being five-a-side football, week after week. Not exactly challenging, which is why the usual class teacher had gone off to do some "administration", otherwise known as sitting in the staff room having a laugh with the other teachers who were free at the time. Not that Rob could complain, as this was standard practice when you had a student teacher assigned to you. And at least he had the help of two sixth-form lads, Andy and Craig, who were required to do some community service as part of their course and had decided to be teaching assistants to meet this requirement. So they tended to replace the missing kids. Add a football and the lesson fairly ran itself.
Rob stood on the sidelines, wearing his almost compulsory Adidas trackie bottoms, Predator boots and - more in an effort to win favour with the lads - the shirt of a local football team. He alternated his time between glancing at his watch, shouting the occasional bit of encouragement or criticism at the players, and thinking how hot some of them looked in their PE uniform.
Not that Rob was gay - well, he didn't think he was. That would be a bit of a problem for a PE teacher, particularly if he was spotted in a local nightclub with his tongue down some bloke's throat - and nightclubs were the usual haunts of many of the students in the school. He had had girlfriends in the past, but not at the moment, and did admire good-looking, fit lads as much as the next, well, "curious" lad.
Not that he fancied them all. Some of them were definitely Third Division. Rob let his eyes wander over the field. Aside from Andy and Craig, the two older lads, who were well fit, there were two or three others that were worth a second look. Mark, a medium height lad with shaved black hair and a cheeky smile, was in goal as usual. Probably wise to keep out of tackles, given the earring he perpetually wore in his right ear. Will was very similar to Mark, except that he was a blond. Currently waiting for his trial date for a collection of crimes ranging from theft to joyriding, he too was pierced, this time in the eyebrow... Rob always liked the idea of an eyebrow ring, but it didn't really go with the job.
His daydreaming was interrupted by the ringing of the school bell, signalling the end of the day.
"Shit", he thought, "over-run again."
Rob blew his whistle and waved the lads into the changing room. Pretty soon it was full of steam from the communal showers, and the smell of Lynx deodorant spray filled the air. Rob, somewhat to his disappointment, was expected to write up his lesson evaluation immediately after the lesson so it could be checked by his mentor, so by the time he emerged from the office the lads were finished dressing and only Mark and Craig remained, chatting animatedly to each other. Strangely, they fell silent as Rob entered the room and checked the shower controls, then said
"Come on lads, its time to get off home"
"OK sir, we're going." Mark's thick accent was something else that attracted Rob to him. He was a sucker for Scots accents.
The lads left together, and Rob switched the lights off and locked the door to the changing suite behind him as he made his way over to the main school building.
Once there, he headed for the staff room. As usual on a Friday, it was all but deserted. Only Dean, the computer technician, remained. Rob didn't have much to do with Dean professionally, as there's not much call for the internet in Phys Ed, but he did tend to spend some of his free time chatting with Dean who, being a former student at the school and still only 19, was a good source of advice for how to handle the tougher students.
"Hi Rob, how's today been" Dean asked in his usual cheery manner.
"OK I suppose, that year 11 class have settled down quite well, cheers for the advice" Rob allowed his eyes to wander over Dean, who was getting his stuff together. As he bent down to pick up a CD that had dropped from his bag, Rob was treated to a nice view of his tight arse, clad in his black formal trousers that fit him very well.
"What about your day, any more trouble with the boss," Rob enquired.
"Just the usual. The useless twat keeps blaming me when things go wrong. He's the one earning four times what I am, gets to take the credit while I do the bloody work". Dean's boss, John, was a semi-retired teacher who had just been appointed IT manager. He'd been incompetent as a teacher and was living right down to expectations in his new role. Still, at least if he was in his cushy office he couldn't be causing havoc in the Physics lab.
"Never mind, not long to go now" Rob replied, referring to Dean's frequently- expressed intention to "leave this shit hole never to return". He knew it wouldn't happen, not for a while anyway. Dean was a nice enough lad but he didn't have the brains or the balls to make that sort of move.
"Fancy a drink tonight?" Dean enquired, snapping Ron out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, OK. Where at?"
"Well, I've got to drop this stuff off at home first. Let's meet at the Kingfisher, say 5 o'clock."
"Fine, see you there"
Dean left the room, laden down with his laptop case and assorted gear. Rob checked his pigeonhole for mail and found yet another memorandum from the head teacher.
"Where the fuck does he get the time to write this crap" Rob wondered out loud. It was true, there were regularly four closely-typed sheets each week, plus assorted rambling missives every other day on subjects such as the school meals contract, the increasing incidence of kids wearing trainers - not a bad thing in Rob's opinion as he had a fetish for them too - instead of regulation shoes, litter in the corridors, etc. etc. Deciding that the bulletin could wait until Monday, he turned and left the staff room and made his way to his clapped-out old car.
About 90 minutes later, Rob entered the Kingfisher, a modern-looking pub in the middle of town that was fairly quiet most of the time. He spotted Dean in one corner, chatting to Craig and Andy.
"Hey lads, what you doing here?" Rob wasn't particularly surprised to see them there, as they were both 18 and lived locally.
"We spotted Dean and came in for a quick one before we go on to a party."
Rob thought to himself that they didn't seem dressed for a party, wearing trackie bottoms and footie shirts, but then the "party" was probably just a cover for a dope-smoking beer-swilling session at one of their houses. "Can I get anyone a drink?"
"No thanks sir, we're off now" Andy drained his pint and headed off towards the door, Craig close behind him.
"See you later, lads" Dean called after them.
"A pint is it?" Rob enquired.
"Yeah, thanks mate"
Rob got served fairly quickly by the young bloke behind the bar, then carefully carried the two pints of lager back to the table. They made short work of the drinks, then Dean went off to the bar for another round whilst Rob, whose bladder was straining from the day's intake of coffee, made a trip to the toilets.
When he returned, Dean was back at the table halfway through his pint.
"Cheers, mate" Rob lifted the pint to his mouth and took a big swig. It tasted a bit odd, but then it was lager. No two pints ever tasted the same, probably a variation in the amount of water that had been added to make it last longer.
Three rounds later, Ron was feeling fairly drowsy. It was getting fairly late. Glancing at his watch, he realised that he'd missed the last bus home.
"Fuck, I've missed the bus and I don't think I've got enough for a taxi"
"No problem mate, you can crash at mine. My parents are away for the weekend" Dean's dad had been made redundant by the local factory when it closed last year, and was using his generous pay-off to re-live his "lost youth" so Dean virtually had the house to himself.
"Cheers mate. Do you think we can make a move now, I'm shagged out"
"You should be so lucky" Dean joked, as he stood and drained his glass. Rob tried to follow suit, but found himself unsteady on his feet. Dean grabbed him just in time.
"Let's go. One foot in front of the other, you remember?" Dean half-guided, half-carried his friend to the door and towards his house. Luckily it wasn't far. By the time they reached the front door, Rob was virtually unconscious, emitting inaudible whimpers now and then.
As Dean put his key in the lock, four figures stepped out of the shadows and grabbed hold of Rob, allowing Dean to get the door open.
"Any problems, sir?" Craig enquired
"No, he took his medicine like a good boy" Dean laughed, "Let's get him inside. We've a lot to get through this weekend so we need to get a move on."