Lying in his bed, amidst the almost impenetrable early morning darkness of his rented flat, the young man half-opened his eyes to the realisation that his cock was as stiff and unrelenting as it had possibly ever been. The truth of the matter was that he very often woke up in such a state – feeling hot and horny and generally ready for any nature of hard sexual action – although admittedly of late he had gained most physical satisfaction from his own probing stimulation. For various reasons known only to himself, this lad would prefer a good wank to a lousy fuck at present and licking his one finger, he slowly began to edge his way down across his smooth chest and rippled stomach towards the location of that most agreeable hardness.
The lad's name was Will Brandt and he came from Holland. He had lived in England now for several years, having come over shortly after his eighteenth birthday and had spent much of the intervening time trying to find gainful employment. He had, as they say, done a bit of this and a bit of that, but only in the last couple of months had he finally achieved a measure of stability, having gained a job at City's football store (the aptly-named Red Heaven), which was situated next to the Brandon Road stadium. It was, as they say, a dream come true – for Will fantasised about the players in the game on an almost continuous basis. Todd Rankin, Philippe Bourg, Lee Firth, Matt Foster, Richard Boulby, Cary Jacobs ... and now Gareth Hicks – all of them gorgeous hunks who Will wished and prayed that he could play with (both on the pitch and between the sheets). It was a totally unrealistic fantasy, of course, given that footballers are as straight as they come, but nothing would ease the frantic desire in Will's young head that might wish for things to be different.
Physically, Will was everything another hot and frisky gay man would want from life. Slim and cute-faced, with a pierced right eyebrow, the youthful Dutchman was about five-ten tall and had cropped brown hair and brimming, dark brown eyes. His smooth body was fresh and lithe, as one would expect in someone who was only twenty-one and his uncut seven-inch cock was thick and bulbous, with a full scarlet head beneath his skin, set against a backdrop of thick, curly fuzz. His balls were large and set in a heavy sac and were filled with copious quantities of spunk that appeared to need releasing on an all-too-frequent basis.
This morning was one such occasion. True, he had actually had sex the night before, but that had been with someone that he scarcely seemed able to love these days and now he was eager to clear his mind of the experience by indulging in his own exploration. As such, his wet finger finally caught hold of the end of his pulsing member, whilst his other hand grasped the base of the rod and held the shaft firm, as the said digit gently began to skim its way around the exposed head. He pulled the skin back a little and ran a trail across the piss-hole, then groaned a little as a small amount of pre-cum started to ooze from deep inside, adding only further to the sweet whispers of excitement that were presently filling his lustful mind.
He kicked the covers away from him and whilst continuing to leisurely rub his shaft with his one hand, now raised that same probing finger back towards his nipples, which were firm and erect and longing for attention. There had been a time when his lover had appeared to extend a real, affectionate interest in those most sensitive of parts, but these days his attention seemed only brutal and barbaric and it left Will longing only for genuine, loving attention. For the moment, however, he had little choice but to content himself like this – with a moist, fond finger, which played happily around each teat in turn.
All the same, it was his cock that appeared to be straining the most by this stage, as a brook of moistness dribbled its way from the head – smearing itself across the swollen knob-end, that now bobbed in and out of its tender mask of skin. Looking down through the darkness, Will could make out his hand pulling almost effortlessly up and down and it was with almost a bite to the lip that he withstood the waves of indulgence that presently washed over his thriving frame. To make matters worse, he found himself unable to dwell on anything other than the thought of the foreskin slithering back and forth over his pounding head and the actual sound of the slapping meat served only to add to his sense of frenzy. Nevertheless, he was determined not to spill his seed prematurely and lifting his hand away from the throbbing handle, he moved his attention instead to his hairy balls.
These were not unnaturally tight and cool – in marked contrast to the warmth of the rest of his young, nimble body – and he could not refrain from holding them in the palms of one of his hands and rolling them around between his fingers. It was an act that served only to heighten his present arousal and running his searching digits though the hairs on his scrotum (and cautiously pulling them in the process), he gave out a deep, guttural groan – indicative of the grave pleasure that he was now experiencing. After so much near-abusive love, it was good to feel true respect at last – even if was (literally) at his own hands. Besides, that would not always be the case. One day – one day soon, he felt quite sure – he would meet a lad who would love him for who he was and who would value him for all that he was truly worth. Then, at last, he might finally be free of the demons of his past, of chains that held him back from the brighter, happier future that he knew was his to secure.
His cock was aching more than ever at this point and he found his hand drawn almost instinctively again towards his stocky, beating flesh, which continued to ooze bountiful trickles of pre-cum. His other hand, meantime, was edging its way slowly downwards – beyond his balls, which churned and jolted in their excitement and on towards his tender ring, which was surrounded by a virile glade of hair. He rubbed his prostrate momentarily, which served merely to charge the mood yet further, then edged his searching finger around his butt-hole, flicking the pubes that sheltered safely in that precious spot. It was then that he began to imagine what it must be like to feel the tender caress of a loving tongue around that part of his hard and hungry body. Not the violation and debasement that had perhaps so often been his to bear since arriving in England, but the true warmth and desire that should surely be part and parcel of gay-love and which marks it out from anything else a young man might encounter.
His finger edged the sensitive boundary now – knocking on the very door of ecstasy. He had been fucked more times than he cared to remember in his life, but never once had he felt real worth or regard. Instead, he had had to content himself with times such as these – times spent savouring his own body in the almost merciless darkness of this leased room. And all the while, as his fingers probed that sweet, cherished slit, he cherished the possibility that his liberation was near – that a knight in shining armour (or better still, a hunky footballer in mint-pressed kit) was waiting for him, somewhere just around the corner. It was unlikely, he realised, given that soccer-stars are red-blooded womanisers to a man, but it didn't keep Will Brandt from hoping otherwise all the same.
He flipped himself over onto his front, raising his butt into the air so as to secure a more ready access, then pushed his finger back towards its goal, noting that the ring of muscle had started to give way a little. The digit circled and circled the crack, as Will's eyes flipped up in further waves of pleasure, then finally poked its way through into his guts. It was an act that only served to stiffen his cock even more (if indeed that was physically possible), as he struggled to rub his shaft against the sheets below whilst maintaining his finger's exploration. It was, if anything, a somewhat futile exercise – Will found that he could not pleasure his genitals fully without his backside slipping away from him – but for a few moments he tried it all the same. Indeed, it was only when the desire to gyrate his hips and massage his cock became too great that he finally slipped the finger from his love-tube – mounting his pillow in a mock act of fornication as he did so.
The pre-cum smeared its tasty, sticky flow upon the cushion, as the young man stroked himself up and down against the warm, sensual fabric – aware, as he was, that some manner of eruption was becoming increasingly imminent. Having produced a more than plentiful supply of spunk since his adolescent days back in Holland, Will was more than aware of the signs that pre-empted such a strike and tossing himself back onto his front, he grasped his throbbing shaft with his searching hand and started to push up and down its seven-inch length in preparation of the juicy flow that would very shortly be emerging from the flushed and gaping eyehole at its end.
It was at this particular moment – just as he was nearing the point of no return – that Will's mind suddenly began to wander onto his greatest fantasy. He had never (if he was singularly truthful with himself) held any great interest in football for football's sake and support for any given team, say Ajax Amsterdam or PSV Eindhoven, had constantly failed to ignite a hearty passion, even in childhood. But footballers – ah, well, that was a completely different matter altogether. So muscular, so athletic, so sexy, so straight, so fucking fuckable – and City's new signing, Gareth Hicks, was all of these things. As such, the young man's mind drifted to the possibility of having his cock sucked by Hicks – or if not him, then the gorgeous Todd Rankin or the long-haired Frenchman, Philippe Bourg. Just the thought of having any one of these dazzling studs in bed with him was enough to rock him into bliss and as his mind pondered the near-impossible prospect of having a soccer-star's mouth impaled upon his fat salami, he felt the first bolt of cum rising from the depths of his hairy groin.
There was a moment of almost breathless anticipation now, as Will gasped in preparation for the geyser-like flow which was about to commence. Then finally (though of course he could not see it through the darkness), he felt the first breech of salty spunk from the mouth of his cock – which shot high into the air with almost volcanic ferocity, before landing with an audible splat upon his smooth, sweet stomach. Such a bolt of thick, gummy passion was only the first in what would be a fine salvo of man-juice, however. Before a second or more had passed, another bullet fired into the air, then another – both landing in much the same place as before. As such, Will could now feel a relatively cool, gooey trail of his most private secretions rolling their way across his side – presumably falling down to the mattress below. Not that the young man had any means to tackle the flow at that present moment in time, for his cock was still bubbling away like a pan of boiling milk – squirting in almost frivolous manner and soaking his surrounding flesh in a thick paste of manly inspiration. To some, such a display might have seemed dirty and unnecessary – Will's strict Calvanist parents amongst them – but to those who understand the needs and wants of youth, the unburdening of a lad's balls was about as natural and as carefree as life can ever get.
Eventually – after what had seemed like almost an age – the glut of spunk came to a close, as the concluding dribbles trickled down the reach of his now-spent cock. Not that it would be too long before the wants and desires of his tender age once again began to dominate his consciousness, before he again craved the touch and caress of his hands on the most intimate parts of his body, but for now, as he lay in the fading darkness of his room, he showed the rich contentment that only good sex can give.
He dozed amidst the growing callings of the day, loafing between wake and sleep – the wasted cum drying on his sleek body as he did so. Inevitably, however, the world's ungrateful demands became too pressing and glancing across at the clock (noting that he was already fifteen minutes late), he finally fell from his bed in most reluctant fashion. A few moments on – and with only a towel to cover his modesty, as he crossed the landing to the bathroom – he was stepping into the shower.
Will threw his winsome face beneath the warm flow of water, then rubbed the soap so as to lather his supple frame. There was certainly nothing unappealing about his firm, young body and although he was not as muscular as many of the footballers of which he fantasised, he possessed a solidity about him that only the impotent would have found unappealing. He was, in short, a fine, fit specimen of male youthfulness – a real temptation to anyone who enjoys the truly fairer sex.
The soap foamed around his dark, curly pubes and loins, as the fellow cleaned the private quarters of his flesh – relishing the touch of his fingers around his healthily-endowed cock. He pulled back the skin to reveal the head beneath and cleaned away the last remaining stains of jizz, before groping his furry balls, which by now were already producing more than enough cum to replace that which was so pleasurably lost a short time before. The fact remained that his bollocks were amongst some of the most prolific on the planet and would remain that way for some years yet to come. As long as that was the case, you could rest assured that Will Brandt's attentions would be singularly physical – that his cock would be hard more often than not and that the desires he held for his fellow men would continue in their present unrelenting manner.
Cleaner and a shade more eager for the day in prospect than before, he finally stepped from the shower, dried himself off and then moved back across the landing to his room – managing to avoid any of his flatmates in the process. As he closed the door behind him, however, his dark eyes suddenly noted a collection of banknotes on the mantelpiece above the mock fireplace in the centre of the room – at which point his seemingly cheerful persona appeared to brutally fade. The freedoms and liberties that had so bravely conjured in his mind, now slipped all-too-easily away and stepping nearer to the offending item, he muttered something in his native tongue which seemed to indicate a certain sense of anger and frustration in his soul.
He picked the money up now and examined it with a almost fanatical eye, then took a deep breath of air before tearing it into a succession of shreds. He would not, it appeared, be a slave to Mammon any longer – though how long such determination would last remained yet to be seen. For the man who had given him that cash could be very persuasive and was clearly aware of the power that he held over the impressionable Will. Tearing up money was one thing, having the guts and balls to finally break from his past was something the Dutchman was perhaps finding a little bit harder.
All the same, he was adamant to put his past behind him and it was with an almost unnaturally bright step that he made his way out into the world that morning. What was more, he appeared more alert to the world than he had seemed for some time now and had even cause to note a selection of handsome young men who crossed his path on his way to Brandon Park. What he wouldn't give to be able to have just one of those hunks for himself – just one, that was all! Someone who was kind and loving and with whom he could spend his future with. For Will was a romantic at heart and for all the disquiet and pain that his past might have given him, he still held onto the hope that there was someone out there for him. Nor would he be truly content until he had discovered who that someone actually was.
He hoped – above all other hopes, in fact – that that person in question could be one of the footballers whose images appeared to pervade every corner of Red Heaven and who looked down on him with almost wanton calculation during the course of each and every day he worked there. It was a fact which was only underlined still further to the lad when he stepped into the shop that morning, to discover that a fine, over-sized photo of the recently-signed Gareth Hicks was being carefully erected by two of his work-colleagues (Tony and Michelle) in the middle of the store. Oh, just to be able to kiss those tender, moist lips ... to gaze into those light brown eyes ... to stroke his fingers through that short, brown hair. The mere thought of it was giving him butterflies in his stomach and was raising yet another palpable bulge within the confines of his joggers.
Will desperately wanted to tell the others that he didn't know how much longer he could continue to work at the shop with all these provocative icons littered above his head, but he knew only too well that none of them would ever understand. No-one in football has ever had so much as a homosexual thought, never mind a full-flung gay fantasy and it was in the middle of such apparent misunderstanding that the young Dutchman would pass his working day – wishing to God that somehow life could be different, but knowing only too bluntly that he lived in a straight world where being gay was simply not tolerated.
But then – as if either to rub salt into the wounds of his frustrations, or to raise him to a new level of frenzy (Will didn't know which) – who should walk into the shop around mid-morning but the god himself, accompanied by the first-team manager, Steve Rooney and several other associates whom Will did not readily recognise. The youngster had never actually seen one of the players in-store before, but then someone quietly explained that Gareth had been asked to pose for several `photos for the match-day programme and so the whole episode gained a certain reason. Yet to the Dutchman such reasoning paled into insignificance in comparison to the sheer thrill of having seen the footballer in the flesh for real – a veritable deity, whose physical prowess a man like Will could simply not fail to regard with lustful admiration. Gareth Hicks was just so spunky, so fit, so utterly irresistible, that all the youngster wanted to do was run up to him and kiss him and tell him how much he wanted to fuck him and how much he wanted to be fucked by him ... but of course, he couldn't do any of those things. Instead, he had to stand in the background and watch the photos being taken and listen to the manly laughter and (above all things) pretend that he was just a nice, handsome, straight lad, who regarded footballers as mere non-sexual heroes in a non-sexual game.
The `photo-shoot finished, the ensuing crowd dispersed and it was a case of business back to normal for Will and his colleagues. Except now the youngster was feeling oh so fucking horny again, as he desperately tried to overcome the raging hard-on that was almost threatening to burst the seams of his trousers. Had he been wearing jeans or cords his predicament would not have been quite so noticeable. As it was, however, the joggers he was wearing seemed to simply draw attention to his erection, which he felt sure everyone else in the shop would surely soon have noticed (if indeed they hadn't done so already).
It was with something of a brisk step, therefore, that he raced to the toilets – pulling down his trousers almost the moment he had stepped into the cubicle and grasping hold of his straining cock, which was already discharging a thick trail of pre-cum from its swollen end. Just seeing a real-life footballer was enough to send the young man over the edge in itself, but to actually see the one-and-only Gareth Hicks was near-orgasmic in itself. That sunshine smile, that athletic frame, that absolutely divine backside – fucking hell, Will was wanking himself silly just thinking about the man with his clothes on, never mind what he was like when the game was over and he was stripping himself off for the shower afterwards!
Such was his present state of fervent arousal, that it was pretty clear that it would be seconds rather than minutes before yet another load of ball-juice erupted from his aching tackle. Indeed, it happened almost before the lad had chance to think about it, with a fine shower of cum bursting out of its end and covering much of the toilet before him in the process. Bolt after bolt emerged with a near-furious bluster – testimony, it seemed, to the deep-seated longings of his spirit, longings which would never gain contentment (or perhaps so it seemed at that moment).
Yet Will was a born optimist and he knew that one day, perhaps even sooner than he even dared contemplate, all his present confusion and indignities would make way for true contentment. Fate demanded that it was just a matter of time.