Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2016 14:09:50 +0100
From: Christopher Hudson <christopherhudson1970@gmail.com>
Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 02

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.