Gareth Hicks had his already short dark brown hair cropped in anticipation of his England debut – an act that appeared to attempt a closure of some kind in relation to his affair with Will Brandt. It was as if he was attempting to cast aside his previous image – though in doing so, he had perhaps only likened himself to the young Dutchman even more than before (Will having always sported shorter hair than his footballing hero). As such, Freud would surely have come to the conclusion that, in attempting to finally shed his ex-lover from his life, Hicks was doing little more than subconsciously setting a reminder on what might have been and what he would dearly wish for if things were different. Indeed, if Gareth was brutally honest with himself, he would surely have had to have confessed reality. After all, there's only so much fooling yourself that you can do – even when you're a handsome, young, over-sexed soccer star with basically too much money in your bank account.
Safe to say, the fellow's hair-cut did little to abate the frustrations that he currently felt at that time – or the sense of horniness that seemed to wash over him on a continual basis. No, Gareth's hormones were very much in overdrive right now and as such it was only natural that his cock should be in a near incessant state of arousal. Not that wanking seemed to do much to relieve the condition – half an hour after spewing the contents of his balls and he was fit and ready for the next session. As such, he was almost reaching a point by the time of the England match that his shaft was bearing the brunt of overuse – his thoughts still continually obsessed with the thought of Will Brandt and his dripping knob-end paying the price for such indulgence.
These feelings and desires would pass, he thought – and what better way of trying to forget than by putting his heart and soul into the game in Amsterdam. Indeed, from the moment he stepped out onto the pitch that evening, there was a zeal about the young man's play that outstripped anything the Dutch defence could offer and it was with some manner of naturalness that the team were two goals up by half-time (both courtesy of Mr. Hicks himself). The man was at his sporting peak, it seemed – his skill with the ball disguising all the trouble and turmoil that continued to mark his existence.
And then, early in the second half – at a point in the game when it seemed nothing could go wrong – his enthusiasm exceeded itself. A very late tackle of his on Marco Van Driel sent the Dutch midfielder tumbling to the ground and brought the referee rushing to the scene with the sort of keenness that instinctively told Gareth that he was in serious trouble. To be honest, the incident looked worse than it was – the result more of youthful exuberance than malicious intent – but the official appeared to take the line that such behaviour was totally unacceptable in a friendly. As a result, he had reached for his red card even before the City striker had had chance to protest, and the look of intent on the arbiter's face was enough to make the lad quickly realise that there was little point in appeal. An early shower was on the cards – which understandably was not exactly the manner with which he had planned to mark his England debut.
It was a rather cold and lonely walk as he was escorted from the field of play, down the tunnel and back towards the changing rooms – his two goals suddenly appearing to count for precious little in the light of what had now taken place. What made Gareth really cross was the fact that he wasn't a player who was renowned for foul play – this incident being the first time that he had ever received a red card. Yet clearly the referee had felt that the tackle had been utterly unwarranted – and this despite that fact that the Dutch player had been only superficially injured in the ensuing tumble and had even joined in with the protests resulting from the dismissal. Still, the official's word was final – a sentiment that Gareth had always been taught to adhere to even from his earliest days, even when (like today) he felt that he had been cheated from the chance of scoring a hatrick.
The changing room was naturally empty as he now stepped alone through the door and crossed over to his peg – the heavy click of his muddy studs on the tiled floor appearing only to resonate the depth of his present disappointment. Seating himself down and tossing his boots to one side, he sank into something of a sudden depression – his thoughts almost immediately returning to the grief and distress that he felt beset his life. As such, it was only a matter of course that his mind gradually slipped back towards the one individual whom he had played his balls off that evening to forget.
And then, just as he was beginning to wish that he had Will beside him to hold his hand and to tell him that everything was gonna be alright, the door to the dressing room suddenly opened.
To be honest, Gareth had every expectation that it would either be one of the England coaches entering the room, ready to chat things over with him and to try and persuade him that things weren't quite as bad as they appeared – the `everyone will soon forget everything about it' approach to a very public blunder – or one of the officials come to take a statement. As a result, the lad found it hard to disguise his surprise when two young men stepped into the room – both of them very good looking, with a somewhat striking similarity that confirmed that they were brothers.
As it happened, the England forward almost immediately recognised them as the Clarijs brothers – a pair of talented young Dutch defenders, who played club football in the German league and who had each played earlier in the match before being substituted at half-time. The older of the two – Dennis, who was 23 – was fair and beefy, with the sort of short, cropped hair that Gareth himself now boasted. The younger – Natan, who had just turned 21 – was taller and lankier than his brother and a shade darker. Both, however, had the deepest denim eyes that Gareth could remember seeing in a long, long time, and there was an air about their posture that instantly suggested that they both wanted to comfort him in the most intimate way possible.
Ve just wanted to tell you how sorry ve are for vhat happened ...' Dennis began – his English clearly not as refined as Will's, but still infinitely better than Gareth's Dutch. Ve think the referee was very unfair ...'
It was a clumsy challenge,' Gareth admitted, standing up to face them, man to man. I deserved it really. I just hope that there are no hard feelings, that's all. I mean, I'm not usually a dirty player!'
Ve know,' the younger brother now acknowledged. Indeed, you have quite a reputation here in Holland already ...'
`Really?' the Englishman exclaimed.
Ve see you playing in the English league,' he continued, and ve know that you are good. Very good ...'
Forget tonight!' Dennis insisted. Your goals vill have made you hot property across Europe!'
Gareth could not stop himself from blushing. `Thanks,' he mumbled.
Now my brother and I are going in for a shower,' the elder sibling remarked, scratching the top of his muscular thigh as he did so. Ve are dirty and sweaty and ve need to wash ourselves down viz soap ...'
`Sounds good,' the English lad could not help remarking.
`Perhaps you vood be liking to join us ...' Natan suggested – the boyish grin on his face one of pure expectation (and testimony that life in Dutch football was as horny and just as much fun as that in England).
For all his present worries and concerns, Gareth did not need a further invitation. These two young lads were pretty fine specimens of manhood and it would have seemed a great pity to decline such a tremendous opportunity to get to know them better. Besides, having spurned one gorgeous Dutchman, it appeared his duty to ensure that Anglo-Dutch relations were maintained – and if that meant taking a shower with a couple of studs from Amsterdam then so be it!
He followed them back to the home changing room – his cock already stiffening at the prospect of seeing these two young hunks stripped down to their naked, tanned, rippling flesh. Indeed, by the time the three of them had reached their destination, there was a distinct bulge in Gareth's dark blue shorts, which neither brother appeared able to ignore.
The steamy showers were switched on and the lads – now as bare as nature intended – cast themselves into the streams of water. The mud and grass stains that marked their bodies disappeared amidst the soapy flux that immediately followed, and it was not long before the guys were lathering for the sheer hell of it – their hands and fingers caressing across their chests and stomachs, their muscled arms and legs, their gaping arse-holes and their clearly excitable manhoods ...
It was at this point that Gareth was finally able to examine the full credentials of the two strangers before him – neither of whom one would've kicked out of bed in a morning without serious regret. Dennis, the elder, had a broad, slightly hairy chest and a washboard of a belly. His legs were akin to tree-trunks, and in between he boasted an undeniably fat cock, which must have measured eight inches at the very least and a nice pair of hairy, low-hanging balls (which looked very capable of producing bountiful quantities of cum when called upon to do so). His brother, meanwhile, was a tad more youthful-looking, with smoother, slightly more delicate features that gave him a somewhat pretty-faced appearance. Nevertheless, there was no denying the plentiful assets that his parents had also bestowed upon him where it counted – his cock of remarkably similar dimensions to those of his older brother and his bollocks (if anything) even more appealing. No wonder, then, that a voice in the back of Gareth's mind told the Englishman that he had a very enjoyable time ahead of him!
The brothers were each on either side of him – their uncut cocks now proud and erect, waiting for the attention that the Englishman's hands, mouth and butt-hole could provide, as the water continued to pound their handsome frames. A moment or two of hesitation appeared to follow, as each one of them quivered on the brink of something very intimate, but there was little doubt that once the threshold was crossed, there would be no holding these young men back from the pleasure that their lithe, admirable bodies presently craved. A journey of discovery was about to be undertaken and each fellow would enjoy it to the full.
Gareth and Dennis' mouths fell slowly together, their tongues eager to explore the dark recesses beyond, whilst Natan, whose excitement could be visibly gauged by the slight tremble of his lip, lowered himself down to his knees to examine the truly meaty offering that the English guy had placed provocatively before him. The water from above matted his hair, making it seem darker than it perhaps really was – but that certainly didn't put him off his objective at this point. Indeed, far from it, and grasping the base of Gareth's throbbing cock, there was a glint in those deep blue eyes that betrayed his wicked determination. The England striker, meantime, was casting a slippery, soapy grasp across the older brother's torso, trailing his fingers down towards that fine, extended pole that was now jutting out from Dennis' groin. It was, after all, an organ of immense interest to the man and Gareth simply knew that he would have to delight in its fullest extent before long. For the moment, however, he had precious little choice but to endure the attention of Natan on his own crotch – for fuck's sake, how unbearable can life sometimes be for these Premiership stars? – as the youngster slipped his soft, rosy, innocent-looking lips over the head of his swollen knob, pushing the engorged member slowly across his rough tongue and as far down his hungry throat as possible.
Natan was feeding off Gareth's shaft now like a new-born at the teat – displaying the sort of agility and confidence that could only have resulted from rich experience. Clearly life in the German league was just as risqué and exciting as that on the other side of the North Sea – though until this moment the English striker had been unaware that that was the case (the secrets of the brotherhood evidently as tightly guarded in the rest of Europe than as at home). That, of course, appeared to be good news for a budding young international like Gareth Hicks, who enjoyed new `openings' wherever and whenever he encountered them, though whether he would get to savour them (given his disgrace on the pitch that evening) remained yet to be seen.
The City striker pulled himself away slightly from Dennis now, so that he could arch his back forwards to trail his searching, probing tongue across the Dutchman's chest – stretching from one dark, excited nipple to the other in the process. His ultimate aim, naturally, was to slide down towards that more prominent erection between the fellow's thighs, but just at that moment the younger brother appeared to be having such a marvellous time at the helm that it seemed almost cruel to push him out the way. In the end, however, even fraternal instincts could not stand in the way of raw, animalistic desires and Dennis demanded that his sibling move aside. After all, he wanted his shaft to get the same sort of oral manipulation as Gareth's cock had been enjoying – and knowing that the English lad was keen to provide it, was not prepared to let his brother spoil his fun.
By the time Gareth got down to investigate Dennis Clarijs' cock head-to-head, so to speak, he was already dribbling with pure excitement himself – though one could hardly tell in the showers. Only the frothy, bubbly nature of Natan's mouth (which had just spent the last few minutes lapping away on the Saxon's axle) gave any indication of the true condition of Gareth's shaft – the sweet tasting pre-cum now lingering on the youngster's taste-buds like a heady brew. No wonder, then, that the lad should lick his lips with such eager relish as he watched his brother being sucked off by the horny, brown-eyed bastard – after all, it wasn't every day that a guy like him got to fully appreciate the delights that the one-and-only Gareth Hicks had to offer! They might both be soccer-stars, but circumstances were such that their encounters were likely to be few and far between.
There was no denying the sheer scale of the older brother's shaft – a fact that was only underlined as Gareth at last opened his mouth to accommodate the beast. Admittedly, it did not boast the indescribable character of Will's member – though that in part probably had more to do with who it belonged to than any particular uniqueness on its part. Nevertheless, there was no denying the sheer pleasure that the Englishman felt from taking the solid form between his lips and to have it pump his throat with gusto. Yes, for sure, Dennis Clarijs' knob-head was just the sort of thing to take Gareth's mind off the evening's problems!
Indeed, by the time the younger brother had cast his rod before the striker, all three of them had completely forgotten the real cause for them being there at all – namely the game outside. Not that you would expect such randy cock-lovers (as they clearly were) to be thinking of anything other than their own carnal satisfaction at that present time – the copious quantities of spunk in their balls was making sure of that! These, after all, were talented young men in their very prime – their talents on the pitch with their feet only rivalled by the more intimate skills that their tongues, fingers and gaping orifices now proudly boasted.
Given the generous dimensions of both brothers, it was difficult to believe that Gareth could even possibly contemplate taking both cocks in his mouth together – and yet that was exactly what he did! Admittedly his mouth was stretched to its ultimate limits, but by grasping the bases of each shaft simultaneously, the lad discovered that he was able to guide the purple, swollen heads between his lips with almost astonishing ease. It was a move that seemed to over-excite both siblings, who had perhaps never encountered such gross wantonness, and casting a knowing glance at each other through the humid mist, they no doubt privately marvelled at the adept manner with which the English guy encompassed their pounding hardness.
Gareth's own shaft was, quite unsurprisingly, raging – his libido drawing on every cylinder available – as he literally struggled for breath amidst the fiery combination of water, steam and cock. It was a sensual blend that left him almost reeling in delight and which left him begging for the ultimate consummation of their desires – his butt-hole nigh on quivering in expectation of the buffing to come. Not that he was quite aware of what he was letting himself in for as he tripped out from the showers and lay himself prostrate on the leather benches – his legs lifted high into the air. No doubt he innocently thought that his rear would savour both brothers and that that would be that (as excellent an experience though it would be). But if that was in fact the case then he was to be very much surprised, for the match now had barely minutes to run and soon the whole Dutch team would be pouring into the dressing room – no doubt frustrated from defeat, but also feeling very, very horny (especially upon seeing Gareth Hicks laid out having his butt fucked by two of their team-mates).
Ah, no prizes for guessing where that scenario would lead!
Just at the moment, however, the two Clarijs brothers had the English goalscorer to themselves – their crimson crowns almost bursting with excitement at the glorious vision laid out before them: that of the famous boy-wonder, his muscular arms stretched upwards so that they could see the pretty wisp of dark hair in his pits, his smooth bronzed skin glistening in the glow of the lights above and his joystick aching away in his groin, just inches up from that sweet, tender pucker that was now just dying to be filled. It was a fleeting illusion of just how perfect this one young man was – and provided confirmation, if it were necessary, that he was presently one of the most wanted footballers in the world (and not just for his skills on the field!)
Natan was the first to fill that tight little ass – his sheathed member slipping past the defensive muscle with ease once the hole had been greased by his somewhat inquisitive fingers. Dennis, meantime, stood up by Gareth's head so that the English man might have something hard to suck on whilst the younger brother buffed deeper and deeper (in a manner that suggested he almost couldn't get deep enough). Hicks for his part was in seventh heaven – a cock up the arse (which in itself was still a relatively new experience for a man who had usually preferred to top) and another one down his throat. And as if to add to the perversion, the two cocks belonged to two young brothers – whose mother, no doubt, would've been perhaps forgiven for being taken aback by such fucking wonderful behaviour had she ever realised the truth behind their chosen profession.
It was just then, as the younger, sweeter-looking kid continued to thrash his wrinkly cum-stockists against the soft, pert slopes of his opponent's rump, that the door to the changing room swung opened and in began to step a whole bevy of tender yearlings – who up until then had perhaps intended to drown their team's disappointment on the pitch with a hot shower and a cold glass of Grolsch. Such thoughts were very quickly forgotten, however, when they saw who the Clarijs brothers were screwing and realised that they, too, might enjoy such pleasures for themselves. As such, the whole room was enflamed within seconds – a crowd of horny, well-hung studs pushing and jostling for position, hoping that they might be the next one to fuck the living daylights out of the English forward's shit-hole, or perhaps instead be one of the next to fill Gareth's mouth with a fresh serving of hot Dutch salami (a meaty dish that is best served hot and raw).
For the spunky guest, of course, the sight surrounding him was an orgy of pure animalistic delight – a veritable display of evolutionary fervour, as the fittest and keenest of the players almost fought for the right to mate with this wanton sex-god. Cock after cock – each one hard and sheathed, each one aching for relief – mounted that rump in almost religious succession, whilst other offerings graced the Englishman's lips, filling his mouth with salty, creamy goodness. No doubt about it, this was one post-match get-together that Gareth was going to remember for a long, long time, and it seemed utterly natural that he should grab his own flushed member so that he could tug on its pound of meat for all that it was worth.
The present frenzy, of course, could have but one singular conclusion – and it was not one that the young man at the centre of all this unbridled affection was totally sure that he wished to experience. After all, it was one thing to have a succession of nicely toned, donkey-hung strangers ravage your most excitable organs, but it was something else entirely to have your body dowsed in free-flowing quantities of jizz – which is basically what was about to happen. That said, there was little that he could do to escape, given that he was being spit-roasted like it was going out of fashion, and it was with something of a resigned but satisfied smile that he welcomed the first milky bolts of white across his body. It was the first of many, that was for sure – a blizzard of cum was about to descend from above and the winsome striker had little choice but to enjoy each and every drop!
Natan finally spewed his load in a series of almost desperate blows, then, soon after, his brother Dennis joined the fray. Finally, shaft after scarlet shaft – some cut, but most with skins intact – puked the rich, sticky contents of those manly groins, cloaking Gareth's form with a delicious blanket of juice, whilst the object of their desires continued to pull his pud with ever firmer, bolder strokes, that could result themselves in but one marvellous finale. Writhing and groaning, his brown eyes closed for fear of spunk splattering his face, the player could feel the well of his own spunk at the base of his cock, and with a final, churning rasp, he blew an initial arc of froth across his chest – that was but the start of a full show from that hot-spring of virility. Wad after gooey wad emerged – though the surroundings were now so awash with spunk that it was almost impossible to tell where it landed. Still, who cared? The encircling cum-lake was but testimony to the passion of these guys – a passion that was restrained in public to kisses and hugs after a goal, but which in private vented itself with almost demonic fury.
By the time Gareth had emptied his balls, the zenith of all their lust was quickly ebbing, and the young man slipped into the showers again to clean himself down before returning to his own dressing-room, where the exuberance of victory had all but overshadowed the striker's dismissal and his subsequent absence. As he entered, however – noting the orgy that was presently overtaking the England players (just as it had with the Dutch next door) – the young man was suddenly and unexpectedly reminded of something (or, more precisely, someone) that had given all this a meaning. Sex was sex ... and as good as it was, it meant strangely nothing without the companionship of the one person he so dearly loved and longed for.
Quite suddenly – and in spite of having stepped from one crowded room to another – Gareth Hicks felt like the loneliest human being on this whole, crazy planet!