Date: Sat, 05 Feb 2005 10:31:25 +0000
From: Alistair Stevenson <asjam@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Made in Sheffield Chapter 6 (Revised)

4:00PM

What was I going to do? Where was there for me to go? Looking back from
where I am now and knowing what was going to happen next, I don't feel sick
with myself for crouching in a car park crying. Any other set back - no
matter how bad for me or a side I'd been playing for - and I'd have been the
one focusing hard on finding something positive, some little thing to pull
out of the wreckage of what had gone wrong. But, remembering myself down on
my knees, eyes shut, tears dripping onto the oil stained tarmac, I don't
wish I hadn't cried. I don't wish I'd given Seb a hiding or that Sarah
hadn't left me or that I hadn't done whatever I did to have my life explode
in my face. I just wish I could go back and somehow make it less hard on the
person I was then. But there's nothing I can do now, and nothing I could do
at the time. Eventually, I got up and stumbled towards the daylight, my mind
in darkness.

Near the exit of the car park I found a standpipe. I splashed water in my
face but - even with the tears gone - I still couldn't think what step to
take next. In the mid afternoon heat of the city centre there were kids
going home from school, old women with their shopping chatting, couples with
their arms round each other. People living an ordinary day looking like
nothing could ever go as wrong for them as it had for me.

Punch drunk, I followed back streets out of town. Every direction I took
seemed wrong. My house, my mates, Uni, the gym, all the places I'd usually
go all had people in them I didn't want to see. There was nobody in my
contacts list I could ring. Manchester was out. I could still feel Seb
inside me like a knife wound and no amount of money was going to make me
forget the damage I'd done myself doing the rent thing for real.

I was getting near college now, walking like the fuckup I felt: shoulders
dropped, head down,  wincing when I thought of things like how close I'd
come to raping Colin.

"Mate! Noah, stop!"

I glanced round. It was Nick. My posture had been enough to get him worried.
When he caught up and saw my face his look flashed from concern to anger.

"Jesus, Noh! What happened? Is it Royal?"

Nick still caring - even if he was wrong about what was the matter - brought
back all the fear and confusion inside me. I felt my face crumpling again
and stumbled back against a garden wall, crashing down to the ground,
groaning, crying, ready for the end to arrive.

Nick knelt down beside me.

"Noah, listen. I don't know what that bastard told you when he hauled you
out of lectures, but he's dead meat now, mate. You got no worries, man. He's
history."

I couldn't stop myself gasping out more sobs. Nick moved to kneel facing me,
a hand gripping my shoulder.

"Please, Noh. Listen to me. All that shit he said about you at the Faculty
meeting. He didn't get halfway through before even the staff were yelling at
him to fuck off. People like you, Noah, and they loathe him. That's the
start and end of it. If he wanted to pick a battle with someone he couldn't
beat, he picked the right dude. I can't believe you gave it a second's
thought, mate...God himself could have said the shite he came out with and
no one who knows you properly would have swallowed it... but when it's
coming from him.... Atta boy, Noh. Don't cry for fuck's sake, mate. I can't
stand it."

"I'm ok."

He sighed and sat down by the side of me.

"I tell you; you'd have loved it. The football squad were one step away from
ripping him apart there and then. But this guy from the Union stood up and
basically told Royal he was busted, that the Vice Chancellor would flush him
down the pan the second he heard what Royal had said. People cheered, Noah.
They cheered! John Royal. Huh. What harm could a psycho like that do Noah
Green, eh?"

"It's not just him. Sarah and I have..."

"Yeah, yeah. I heard. I always warned you she was too much up her own ass. I
guess Colin Wright is the blue eyed baby that suits a frigid bitch like her.
She'll be back. How long is Sarah going to be happy sharing a first year's
room? And when she comes back, tell her to fuck off. That's my advice."

So Nick was pinning blame on Sarah for leaving me, instead of me for
sexually assaulting her new boyfriend. I felt hollow thinking about how
little he really knew; what shallow ground his support for me was planted
in. I'd rather have had him hating me for something real than believing in
me without knowing who I was.

He didn't know the whole truth, but he knew me well enough to see I wasn't
interested in listening to him back-stabbing my ex-girlfriend. Sarah's
strength was always being taken as offishness. She was right, women had the
worst deal of anyone. Nick glanced at his watch and got quickly to his feet.

"Shit! It's 4:30. I was late for coaching before I left. Gotta go, Noah. You
be ok?"

"Oh yeah, " I said dragging myself up.

"Tell you what you should do, mate. Go see Royally-boy. Tell him you won't
support any action the Uni takes against him for what he said about you.
He's retiring next year anyway. Let him off, and you'll have him by the
bollocks.  There's no one easier to control than someone who thinks you've
saved their skin when you could have kicked their ass. I got a 2:1 in
Psychology remember."

I should cry more often, maybe. Or value my friends better than I do,
because fifteen minutes with Nick had provided me with a full arsenal of
potentially match-winning recovery strategies.

I could prove how much I regretted what I'd done to Colin by letting him and
Sarah have the house. I could reassure Royal that I wouldn't let anyone use
me as a way of firing him. And - thank God - I could use the $200 Seb had
chucked at me to book into a hotel for the night, chill out and give myself
some room to recover from everything that had gone wrong since the night
before.

Nick gently play-punched my shoulder, waved as he turned and ran off towards
the cricket nets. I sighed a bit, made the effort to fix my posture and
began ambling back towards the Sports faculty.

I wasn't sure John would still be in his office, but I felt pretty confident
that - under pressure from the Union - he was far more likely to be on the
premises tooling up for a fight than ringing Human Resources booking a
fortnight on the sick with stress.

I came out onto the same corridor I'd last walked down thinking I'd never
see it again. It was after five and John's secretary was gone for the day.
The outer office was deserted, but I could hear his voice coming from his
room. As I stood at the inner door looking at the apparent permanence of
John's name over the words, "Faculty Dean", I realised I felt far more
nervous now than when he'd pulled me out of lectures six hours earlier.

It wasn't just that I couldn't predict how he'd react to seeing someone
who'd called him a "twat" to his face, or that I was especially bothered
what he thought of me, what he might do worried me less than what I might
do. I was too tired and hurt to hide behind lies any more. If anyone wanted
to call me a rapist or a rent boy or just a record breakingly fucked up gay
man, I wasn't confident I had the willpower to argue.

Without knocking - since John and I began drinking together I 'd never
bothered and I wasn't about to start now - I walked in on him having what
sounded like a serious phone call. He looked directly at me and didn't break
his gaze.

"...Actually, he's just walked in. Stay where you are. Wait for me to call
you."

He seemed slightly dopey. In some kind of half sleep. Not happy.

"John, I wanted to apologise for what I said to you this morning," he nodded
slightly. "Nick Davis told me about the Faculty meeting. Obviously, I'll
take no part in anything that might harm you or the Faculty." A long pause.
His eyes locked on me.

"And what if I told you that changes nothing? That you're still excluded
from the Department? That I still hold you responsible for the disappearance
of my son and that you're an enemy of me and mine?"

I shrugged slightly, honestly not that concerned. "It's your call, Boss."

He glanced down at the floor

"Very good. Wait outside please."

"So that's it, it's definite? I'm terminated? End of story?"

John held my eyes again then grinned an genuine, open smile.

"No. No, you're not leaving yet. I have made certain mistakes of
presentation. When I saw the strength of feeling in your favour this
morning, I realised this department has to change. I want us to reach out to
homosexuals like you, and to lesbians and to ethnics and to the wheelchairs
and benefit seekers. I called a meeting this morning in error. Now I wish to
correct that error and if you will wait a moment outside I will call
together some people who really care about you, Noah, in order to show them
how I feel about you and all other equal opportunity people. Sport for all.
Sport for all."

By this stage he was on his feet, out from behind the desk and ushering me
out of the door.

John Royal was using Jesus as a role model now. Some turn around! I didn't
see why he couldn't make his call in front of me, but all I wanted was to
get whatever schizo plans he had over and done with and then get some rest.
I sat at his secretary's desk and decided he was probably ringing the
football team I captained since they were the only friends of mine he was
likely to have numbers for. I was too dazed to wonder what the point of it
was, or how uncharacteristic it was of Royal to arrange a public climb-down
for my benefit. Maybe his conscience really had got the better of him and he
wanted his last year to leave people with memories of what a loveable,
huggable guy he was. He would definitely have his work cut out. I could hear
him right then raising his voice to insist to whoever was on the other end
of the line that what John Royal wanted was exactly what was going to
happen.

At least four of the team were on field trips and a large proportion of the
rest would be revising for end of year exams. They were all serious,
committed players, but none of them would be jumping for joy about extra,
out-of-season training and, anyway, some of them lived miles away. I
considered the possibility that John really had flipped his lid. I thought
about going back in and asking him not to bother with his get-together, but
I was too worn out to put up a fight. In any case, John had finished
delivering his dalek-like instructions to the lads and was at the door with
his jacket on, all smiles.

"Ok, Son. Let's go."

"I'm pretty tired, John. It's been a rough day. Can't we raincheck?"

"No."

He set off down the corridor without explaining where we were headed. I was
on the point of taking off and leaving him to make his public pledge of
allegiance on his own. I mean, what could he do to me that would be worse
than he'd already tried to do? Short, incompetent and mad as he was, John
still managed somehow to scare people twice his size. I'd seen an eighteen
stone rugby captain bricking himself at the idea of a dressing down from our
Dean, and so I guess it was fear that made me set off behind him, weary with
myself for giving into him yet again.

Still without explaining anything, he led me out the rear exit of the
Faculty building, across the a Uni car park and down a back road that I'd
sometimes used myself to get to the Sports Centre. Maybe he's been
collecting his thoughts, because once we were out of sight of anyone else,
he finally broke the silence.

"Don't concern yourself with anything, Green. I want to get this sorted."

"But the lads are going to blame me for being called in..."

"No, no. They will be happy to do as I have asked."

As we got closer to the Sports Hall, he couldn't keep the smile off his
face. I began thinking he was drunk, either that or he'd lost the plot.

"You'll enjoy it, Noah. It's just what you deserve."

"What are you going to say, John?"

"There's been enough talk. I want these boys to show you how they feel about
you. On behalf of everyone."

He stopped outside the door to the Gym. After a moment I realised he was
waiting for me to open it for him. It made me want to seize the opportunity
to get through to him.

"I need to talk to you about Alex, Dean."

"Pardon?"

"A lot of what you said this morning is true. I'm not who I've been
pretending to be."

His face changed, beady blue eyes fixed on mine. "This can wait, Green."

"No, no. It can't. It isn't true what you said about Alex. I wanted to help
him. He..."

Almost screaming, he snarled "Shutup! Open the door!."

He marched quickly ahead of me, turning off into a changing room. I
followed, finding him standing with his back to me. I waited, silently. It
was strange being in a room usually packed with mates, guys changing,
joking. John's seesaw mood had swung back to father-son.

"Well? Change, lad."

"You want me to change?"

"This is a formal event. The lads want to see you as a University Captain. I
want this to happen in University colours."

Too tired to argue, I dropped the bag I'd been carrying all day and while
John watched, I pushed off my jeans, shrugged off my shirt and did what he
wanted; pulled on the navy blue Umbros and white short-sleeved shirt,
Captain's armband, socks, boots, the whole nine yards

I must be less alert than I like to think I am not to have realised what was
going on. If I suspected anything at the time it was that the pressure of
being outed as a Nazi had totalled John Royal's sanity. Although - looking
back - I remember glancing up from lacing my Reeboks to notice that under
his herringbone strides, the old guy was sporting a stubby little hard-on.
Because he was aroused seeing a muscular young student in footie kit? No.
Because he had the mind of one of those hanging judges who shot their bolt
over sentencing someone to death? Yes. He gave me a long smile of
satisfaction, postponing the pleasure of what came next to enjoy looking at
me for the last time. He hadn't smiled as much over me since I'd lifted the
Uni 11 from mid-table to league winners inside six months.

"Ok, John?"

"Yes, lad. We're all fine aren't we? All set to restore your good name. Get
you on the road to a good career at the top level, where you can influence
important people. Even help young men like you tried to help my son. Which I
thank you for. Why, Noah, doing what I'm about to do for you isn't just a
pleasure, it's a moral duty. Fine, fine. Let's proceed."

As John led me down the empty corridor to the gym I was still wondering how
long the boys on my team would take to let me live it down. This time, he
opened the door for me. The hall was deserted. John didn't seem phased.

"Wait here, please."

He went back out, leaving me alone. Finally, deep in the exhaustion of my
head an alarm bell began clanging. I heard John lock the door behind him and
realised this wasn't going to be embarrassing, it was going to be dangerous.
I knew I didn't have the strength left to deal with anything much more than
dodging whatever was coming and sprinting for somewhere to hide.

I noticed heavy movement behind the screens at the far end of the gym. I
stood my ground, limbering up for a pasting, as Mark Escott - the bruiser
I'd lamped at lunch time - emerged from his hiding place along with Stuart
Jenks, the uppity dick-directed porn star I'd spied on at the swimming pool,
and four of their thickset rugger-playing pals.

They'd been passing the time getting pissed and it had done the trick: not
one of their faces showed anything other than an angry hunger to do harm.
Mark was still carrying a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I began
considering what other weapons they might have brought along. He swaggered
up saying nothing. I could see the swollen jaw I'd given him, still pounding
away I hoped. I wasn't scared. That shit is not for me. The adrenaline
pumping out of my glands only made me calmer, more intrigued by what their
plan might be. I'd never been beaten in a fight before so I had no nightmare
memories to make me wary of what might happen now.

I returned Escott's boiling contempt with a neutral look, sussing him out.

One of two tall blond bastards at the back was getting impatient.

"Get on with it, Mark"

"Yeah, Mark. Give it him."

Escott ignored them, keeping his eyes daggering into mine.

Silence.

"We're going to kill you, Green."

"Yeah?"

"Not right away. Not for quite a while, but when it comes it isn't going to
stop until you're dead." He turned his head towards the others. "Anyone who
feels like bottling it, it's too late. Jenks and me are going to kill him.
That's how it's going to end."

No one moved, but a couple of them gave nervous half-grins, trying to kid
themselves Escott was messing around.

"Maybe someone might notice I'm missing, Mark. You thought of that, have
you, Gobshite?"

Escott stepped up close and put his hand flat on my chest. I could feel the
heat of it through the thin nylon of my shirt, could smell the alcohol
soaked into his breath.

"We've been to your house, faggot. There's a message on your machine right
now from someone who's rented a bugger session with you out on the
Snakepass. Once we've beaten you to death we're going to leave you out
there. The police pick up your kind's corpses every night. No-one's going to
miss you."

I said nothing and a little smile broke out on Escott's face. He was about
to begin talking again, which was what I'd been waiting for. Hit the one
with the mouth. Hit the one with the mouth. I rocked back slightly. Before
Escott made his first sound, my upper body had levered back to deliver the
flat bony impact of my forehead onto the soft fleshy cartilage of his nose.

His head flew back with a crack, his hand whipping up to the bomb that had
just gone off between his eyes. He staggered backwards, blood already
splashing down onto the gym floor.

I had football boots on, not ideal for any surface except grass, so it was a
half-skid that took me over to the blond guy who'd egged Escott on earlier.
I used the half-purchase my left foot had on the varnished wood to pivot
round and swing the hardened plastic toecap of my right foot forcefully into
the vulnerable package between his legs. He made the classic fold-up
red-faced "oomph" which was a rewarding sight, but a broken nose and smashed
testicles were going to be the only damage I did. I wasn't fighting a gang
of students outside a club, the six of them were rugby boys: hard,
well-rehearsed and expecting trouble. Jenks and the other three were laying
into me almost before my boot had connected with its target.

Knocked over heavily onto my back, they weighted me down while Jenks
pistoned his fist into my stomach and groin. I struggled madly with my eyes
shut, knowing it was over now. I kept fighting because it was my best chance
of being knocked unconscious.

It was Escott who stopped them finishing their work well ahead of schedule.
Back on his feet, clutching his face he yelled at them to stop. Jenks,
furiously panting over me, pulled his knuckles back just in line with my
jaw.

"It's coming, Queen. This fist is coming home, fuckboy." He hawked deep and
gobbed the same stuff he'd used on his Russian swimmer friend's cock into my
face. Even half-senseless with the pummelling I'd taken, I could see the
ginger twat's hard-on bulging in his jeans. I knew I'd have to watch him, he
had the strongest drive to kill me of any of them since he must have knew
that I knew at some level we were both the same.

"Strip him."

Two of them heaved me to my feet and while one kept an arm-lock round my
neck Jenks leaned down to lift one of my feet up. The arm lock dude choked
me harder to hold off any temptation that I might have felt to hoof Stuart
in the head. He pulled off my boot and sock then did the same with the other
foot. Grinning in my face, he put his hand between my legs and squeezed me
there, pressing home the point that I was theirs now; there was nothing they
couldn't do. None of his mates seemed troubled that he was busy creaming
himself over the idea of owning me. Maybe Escott even knew that his best
buddy was hot for dick. I knew he took enough pleasure in violence not to
need an excuse to kill someone, that he was mad enough to bring his same-sex
oriented best mate along to a queerbashing.

Stuart stopped touching me up and pushed both my shorts and Jockey's down
while the two either side of me wrestled off my shirt. The arm-lock guy let
my neck alone and - while his assistants held them together - he roped up my
wrists.

I was naked and bound, helpless.

Jenks went straight for my nuts. He couldn't keep his hands off other guys'
cocks. He wasn't even hurting me, just holding my balls then touching up the
full flaccid length of my dick. From behind my split lip and swollen eye I
ignored the pounding in the muscle of my stomach and saw the same monster
hardon I'd seen at the pool, prodding up now under a pair of Levis. It was
as if the jerk was so cock-hungry he didn't care if his mates knew it or
not.

Watching Stuart with disbelief was Grant O'Connor  - a guy I'd kicked out of
the Uni 11. He asked why I had to be naked. Stuart - whose fingers were
lifting and stretching the limp weight of my prick turned to him.

"Because once we've wiped him out, we're going to have to wash him. Blood
and tissue evidence all over the fucker. They'll test for DNA."

Grant made eye contact with me, turned to check what the guy next to him was
thinking and looked towards Escott. It was beginning to register that this
was for real.

Mark took his hand away from his nose like he thought it might come away. A
livid green-yellow bruise was already spreading from the squashed mess
in-between his eyes.

"Get him down on his back."

Stuart shoved me hard in the abdomen, kicked my feet from under me and
landed me on my arse.

"Piss on him."

Stuart and the blond guys were pulling out their dicks without a second
thought. Grant stopped them.

"What the fuck is this?"

"O'Connor, we're going to kill him. You don't understand that?"

"What? You're serious? That's the last thing Col would want. He told me not
to touch him. He's got Green's girlfriend and she's told him to forget it.
Everyone knows he's queer now. You said we were just going to get mashed and
shake the little arse bandit up a bit..." So, it wasn't only John Royal's
revenge for what I'd supposedly done to his son that had brought this on,
they knew about Colin as well. I could just imagine Escott cruising Bar One
for people ready to wipe out Alex Royal's seducer only to hear from O'Connor
I'd also tried to force myself on his best mate. Maybe their reaction wasn't
as extreme as I'd thought. Maybe they really did have the motivation to kill
me.

Escott, though, wasn't concerned with the wrong I'd really done; "This isn't
about what he did to Colin Wright. John Royal owns this Faculty. He owns us.
He wants Green killed. So he dies. Tonight."

The big beefy blond turned back to me, laughed and let flow on my head and
chest. Stuart was having trouble getting a dick that was all fired up to
come to switch programmes and produce piss. When it came he aimed it between
my legs. I kept my head down using time to consider my options. My belief
they were serious about beating me to death was around 60%. The state my
life was in, my readiness to let them do it was around about the same level
or higher. I didn't give a fuck.

"I'm not killing anyone."

It was Grant again. He was watching Stuart, who had realised in midstream
there were even more insulting places to piss than on my cock, places like
my chest and face. The look of bewildered contempt Grant was giving him was
pretty brave for a guy who was a good foot shorter than Jenks and completely
on his own.

"I fucking knew it, " the blond guy spat. "I knew O'Connor would crap
himself."

"No-one is crapping themselves, Process." Escott went over to Grant, all of
them jumpy at the prospect of their victim finding a supporter on the team
assembled to kill him. Mark put his arm around Grant.

"There's no way you can get out of this, O'Connor. You don't have to be here
when we do him, but you can't get uninvolved. You're on this until the end.
K?"

Grant glanced at me. Naked, pissed on and beaten up, half-dead already.

"This guy raped Colin, Grant. He put a gun to the head of one of your best
mates, tied him up and then he sodomised him."

Grant looked at me again, this time angrily.

"If we don't stop him now, in a few years time he's not just going to be
forcing himself on students, he's going to be outside some school waiting to
molest toddlers. Maybe your own son, Grant. You want this piece of shit
offering sweets to your six year old, Grant?"

You could see why Escott was rated as a rugby captain. He knew just the
right buttons to hit to get even a pacifist like O'Connor ready to go to
war. All six of them had knives in their eyes when they looked down at me
now. Escott had them believing exactly what John Royal said: that it was a
moral duty to stop me breathing.

While Stuart Jenks shook his piss-wet cock over my legs, Escott struck a
deal with O'Connor and his equally murder-shy pal, Mark Miles. They could
leave before things got terminal so long as they were front and centre for
the pre-murder entertainment.

Taking steady gulps from the bottle Escott handed to him, Grant stood
staring at me dreaming up some proof for the others he was still with the
programme. He suggested the other guys hold me while he used me like a punch
bag, but they had seen that act already and Escott wanted to keep me
conscious. It was Stuart who reminded him I'd sacked him from the football
team, Stuart who suggested I should be forced to lick Grant's arse.

Jenks and one of the two blond guys - Process - heaved me to my knees and
each took an arm, locking them behind me and forcing my body forwards
towards O'Connor's crotch. The rugby team spent eighty percent of their time
mooning in pubs and out of minibus windows, so Grant had no problem turning
round and dropping his trackies. Jenks told him to stick his arse out and
the nineteen year old central defender I'd kicked out of the first eleven
for bad attitude put his tidy cotton-covered rear in my face.

The audience was split between whooping over how their plan to humiliate me
was really coming together, and encouraging O'Connor to make me taste his
arse. Stuart reached forward and yanked the back of Grants' pants down so my
face was being shoved between the bare globes of his backside.

"Let's see your tongue, homo," Jenks panted in my ear while twisting my arm
and shoulder harder forward. Waiting for one of my collarbones to pop, I
showed him what he wanted and let him force my open mouth into the crack of
O'Connor's arse.

Grant didn't want me killed, but he was serious about making me chew his
tail, pushing his butt back against my tongue in a genuine desire to get
rimmed. I could taste the tangy sweat of his buttock muscle, could feel the
hairy little circle of his teenage anus. Dabbing with the tip of my tongue
just like other guys had done to me, I felt O'Connor's ringpiece start to
open out. Even with Jenks and Process grunting behind me and my shoulder
wrenched half out of its socket, I was managing to turn O'Connor on.
Tactically, I'd made a great move because me giving him an erection was the
last thing he wanted. Almost as soon as I got my tongue inside him, he
grabbed his keks, pulled them up and moved out of reach.

When I looked up, Escott was grinning. He slapped Grant's mate, Mark Miles,
on the shoulder.

"Ok, Milo, he's yours."

Miles was a lean, dangerous looking scrum half I'd seen stirring up fights
while he was working as a Student Union security guard. Unlike Grant, I
didn't think he gave a fuck whether they killed me or not, he wanted to
leave beforehand only to protect himself from being a witness. And unlike
Grant, he knew what he was going to do with me without any prompting from
Jenks.

He came up close to put the crotch of his cheap black nylon trousers at face
level, one hand already pulling down his fly. Why was I consenting to all
this crap if I believed the chances were they were going to kill me anyway?
Partly because I didn't give a fuck what happened now. But also partly
because I was thinking about what I'd done to Colin the night before. About
how much worse it must have been for him that it was for me. I guess I was
punishing myself for attacking him by letting Escott and his mates do
whatever they wanted.

Stuart clasped one of his hands around my chin, keeping my head up while
with the other he gripped and twisted my ear.

"Open your mouth, fuckboy," he grunted. "Miles has got something for you to
get down your throat"

Miles grinned and pulled a fat limp prick out of his trousers. Jenks was
pressing his own big spear of an erection rhythmically against my back as he
drooled over the prospect of forcing one guy to gob off another.

"Rub it in his face, "Jenks panted, forcing my head up further. Miles shook
his soft prick to semi-stiffness then skinned it back and pushed it against
my cheek, under my nose and over my lips. I looked up and saw that he had
his eyes tightly shut like he was trying to imagine it was his girlfriend's
mouth rather than mine.

"Lick him," Stuart ordered.

A few of the others came closer, crowding round to get a good look at
something they were always joking about: two men having sex. With Stuart
twisting my ear I opened my mouth and pursed my lips round the uncovered
bulb of Mark's cock. I could smell his crotch, could taste the washing
powder from his underpants on his shaft. Within a couple of swabs of my spit
around the head of his dick a straight boy hard-on was banging around inside
my mouth.

Pushing my face downward between Mile's thighs, Stuart kept up his coaching
instructions, "Suck his bollocks, suck his bollocks."

Miles unbelted his trousers and dropped them then pushed down his underwear.

O'Connor was the only one of them who didn't have his eyes locked on Miles'
length. The rest were rumbling on about Miles sticking it in my face, about
what a fag I was, then about fucking me.

Less numb than I'd assumed, I realised unless Miles got his rocks off soon
there was every chance I was going to become the centre of a rugby team gang
rape.

Grant's uncertainty about being part of a murder has nearly wrecked Escott's
party, but Grant was finally out of their minds and the gloves were off.
Miles jerked off with his cock in my face, his fast-moving hand beating
against my nose and lips. I was doing what I'd been told: keeping my mouth
open and - whenever I could reach it - getting my tongue around his knob.
But Stuart was still twisting my ear ever harder, still yanking my head up
so far he was half breaking my neck.

They'd lost control. Process and the other blond were both groping the
crotch of their shorts, turned on so much by watching Miles getting his end
away they'd apparently forgotten they were straight. Escott was the calmest
but the excitement of seeing me get mine left him a lot less cool than he'd
been earlier. He was pumping up the temperature by acting like an over-keen
match pundit on FA cup final day.

"Look at that. Fuck him, Miles. Do it. Teach the dirty bastard what happens
to benders who go after our mates. Yeah, that's it. Poke the shit-stabbers
eyes out with your prick. It doesn't like that does it? Put your pole back
in its mouth. Get it to suck you off properly. Jenks will rip its head of it
is uses its teeth. Yeah, go on Green. Give Miles a blowjob to remember you
by. You're dead, faggot. We're going to kill you next so make your last gob
job your best, you stinking piece of nothing. You fucking poofter. Slap him
with it, Milo. Cave the bumboy's face in with your cock."

Hating someone can be a stronger drive than loving them and Miles didn't
have his eyes closed now. He was shagging my face with nothing in his mind
except what a turn on it was to be using his dick on someone who had no
choice about it. He pulled himself from between my lips and knocked Stuart's
hand away so he could hold my head himself. Clamping me against his nuts, he
squeezed his penis harder and faster. For the final moments his legs tensed
and he went up on tiptoes, his tight bollocks still crushed against my mouth
as his whole body got involved in spurting the content of his scrotum into
my face. The men standing around watching gritted their teeth in sympathy
with the effort Miles took to unload his hot cum directly into my face.

Once he'd finished draining his balls Miles paused, rubbing his semen into
my cheeks and across my mouth. I looked up at him and he smiled while he
continued smearing spunk across my face. Jenks had let me go. I was kneeling
with my wrists still tied behind my back, another guy's load dripping from
my chin. Paul pulled up his trousers. Escott clapped his hands together
signalling that things were about to move on.

"Ok, O'Connor, Miles, if you want to leave it's up to you. The minibus is
outside at the back. Wait there. Keep your heads down. We'll be an hour or
so."

Grant looked just as unhappy as before, "Why do we have to wait?"

Escott moved towards me; pulled me to my feet. "We're going to dump him in
the Derwent Reservoir and - like I've said - you're on board for the whole
journey. Now fuck off. Don't be noticed."

If Miles hadn't turned to leave, O'Connor would have talked more but on his
own with Escott, Jenks, Process and the other big blond guy staring him out,
he had no chance of changing anyone's mind. He sloped away to the fire exit
at the back of the gym, my last chance of finding an ally gone.

Process pushed me in the back, making me stumble forwards.

"Don't we get a turn boss?"

Escott looked surprised. Surprised and pleased. "The Gym's booked out at
eight, we have to be clear by then. You want to fuck him?"

Process' blond mate - a solid built prop I recognised from Athletics Council
socials - said, "I don't want to fuck him, I want to fuck with him. I don't
want to fuck him."

Escott treated them with more respect than he had shown to Grant or Miles,
and with reason: they were both built like Hercules.

"Ok, Matt, no problem. We got time. Do what you like. Jenks and I can go and
get something to wrap him in once we've finished him off."

Process was wearing cargo pants and a Ben Sherman shirt, Jackson jogging
pants and a running vest. Process was behind me, Jackson in front; I
couldn't predict which of them was going to hurt me first, or how. Once
Escott and Jenks were gone, the two of them stayed where they were in
silence; Jackson staring, taking no trouble to hide his contempt for me. I
thought about bouncing my knee up hard into the undefended goalmouth of his
bollocks again, but - dazed as I was - I knew provoking either one of them
wouldn't be good. In fact probably, what the three of us were waiting for
was for me to give them an excuse to beat me to death early, without
Escott's help.

"So, you think you can fuck with anyone you like do you Green?"

I said nothing. Jackson stayed quiet for a second then, with a crack I heard
even before I felt the impact, he smashed his hand flat against my face.

"I don't hear you, fairy. Answer."

I steadied myself, turned my head to face him.

"You're bent aren't you?"

Behind me, Process gripped the cropped hair at the back of my neck and,
despite the pain altering my expression caused my injured face, he tugged my
head back sharp enough to make me wince. Rugby had taught him what hurt
most.

Muffled by my swollen bloody mouth I heard my own voice say. "Yes, that's
true."

Process released the pinch he had on the scruff of my neck and cannoned his
left fist into my lower back. The pain that exploded in one of my kidneys
didn't get the attention it deserved because before I could register the
damage, Jackson had me by the throat. Holding my neck tight enough not to
choke but do a dangerous amount of pressure on my jugular, he put a faceful
of angry hatred into mine.

"And you tried to fuck one of Grant's mates last night, didn't you?"

I couldn't answer because I couldn't breathe. Jackson's teeth were gritted
as he squeezed harder on my windpipe. I could feel myself starting to pass
out, which was exactly when he released my neck.

"Yeah, you raped him. You can't keep your hands off our mates and we're
gonna punish you for it old school." I was bent double, gasping for air.
Process pushed me from behind and then the two of them were hauling me over
to the corner of the hall where the gymnastics equipment was kept.

Process dragged out a vaulting horse and - once it was in front of me -
Jackson pushed me over onto it.

The fight was beaten out of me, my wrists were still tied and the two of
them were built like gladiators, so between them they were going to have no
problem doing what they liked. Process pulled me by my armpits so my head
was down near the floor and my arse was in the air.

Jackson asked Process for his belt. While he was taking it off and handing
it over it was explained to me what was about to happen.

"At my school, Noah, you were either part of the pack or against it and no
fucker lasted long if he wasn't one of us. Once a man separates himself from
the pack, he's joined the other side and there's no mercy." He came round
the front of the horse, showing me he'd wrapped half of Process's wide black
leather belt around his fist leaving the other half, including the buckle
dangling close to my face.

"You're not one of us are you? You've been pretending that you are, but
you're not and now we've found it out."

He moved off again, circling round until he was back behind me. At some
signal I didn't see, Process squatted down so our faces were very close. It
was weirdly intimate and it seemed natural when he lifted his hand to softly
stroke the back of my head

"Are you one of us?" His tone was gentle, but he couldn't hide his pleasure
in knowing nothing I could say was going to save me. He coaxed me to reply,
our faces almost touching now, his voice a whisper,  "Tell us if you're one
of us."

"No, I'm not one of you" I said, and tensed the broad round muscle of my
butt, uselessly bracing myself for whatever was going to come.

It didn't arrive quickly and it didn't arrive as a single event. First I
heard the tumble of trainers on wood as Jackson took his run up. Then I
heard the belt cut the air as he drew his arm back; then a second whoosh,
but this one interrupted by an ear-splitting crack as the thick length of
hide kissed my ass with the force of a gun. And it was then I felt the pain.

My whole body reacted with the shock of the blow. As I went rigid with
reaction, Process gripped my neck like he was trying to help me through it.
The immediate sting was agony but then as I relaxed from it, it radiated
firey waves of muscle damage down my thighs and far up my back. A thick,
nauseous taste surged into my mouth and I suddenly remembered hearing
floggings in the navy sometimes used to kill a man.

Stepped up with adrenaline, my mind sped through information about corporal
punishment, but stronger than any of that was the deep basic desire not to
have Jackson repeat the howling nightmare he'd just inflicted on my exposed
rear.

For the first time since Royal had locked me in the gym I felt properly
fearful. Process watched me closely, loosening his hold and stroking the
back of my head again. For some reason I found myself imagining that he'd
had thrashings from his mates at school, knew what I was going through and
felt sorry for me. But he didn't, because once he'd had enough of watching
me grimacing and lip biting, he stopped ruffling my hair, glanced up at
Jackson and nodded, "again."

I'd taken the first one silently but I gasped instinctively this time even
before the strap landed. Finding his aim, Jackson targeted both untouched
and badly wounded bits of butt-flesh, making the suffering different and
even stronger. I panted with the effort of absorbing the throbbing
furnace-load of torture darting through my bones.

Seeing me with my face on fire and tears squeezing out the corners of my
eyes, Process's sadism released itself. He dropped the act of concern and
jumped up, "Jackson, that belt is not enough".

Each second I had before any more punishment arrived felt like a lucky break
in a football match - pure good fortune - so I didn't give the development
immediate attention, just feeling relieved that Process was now busy back in
the equipment store. But when I heard him come out and glanced up to see him
swinging a cricket bat with a look of dark excitement on his face and a
prominent hardon at his crotch, I felt helpless panic and desperation, only
just holding back from pleading "no".

Using a bat with the force Jackson had used the belt would have permanently
fucked my spine and Process surely knew that and would have done it anyway.
But as he and his buddy started switching positions and I lowered my head
ready for the end, I heard the gym doors crashing open and felt hope sweep
through me again.

It was Jenks, breathless with urgent need. "Lads, Escott's having problems
with O'Connor. We need you out there before he does a runner." He rushed
across to us, taking in my position and his friends' intentions. "You can do
this later, we'll make time for it, but O'Connor's gonna bolt. I'll look
after this, he isn't going anywhere is he?"

There was a hesitation in which I could feel my chances teeter on the brink
but then Escott and Process were speeding off and it was just Jenks and me.

Still draped double over the horse, I couldn't see Jenks and for a while I
couldn't hear him, but then a movement of air on my pounding, undefended ass
told me he was close. I realised the soft breeze over my buttocks was
Stuart's breath.

As well as playing rugby he studied medicine but it wasn't professional
interest that had him down on his haunches examining the cheeks of my ass.
Just like with his Russian fuckchum in the pool that morning, Jenks was
letting his hunger for men corrupt his judgement. With at least three
murderously homophobic friends a few metres away, now wasn't the moment for
him to be grabbing face time with my crack, but there he was anyway.

I could not only sense him but actually feel him, his nose brushing down the
valley of my buns, his lips close to kissing my hole. He suddenly stood up
and there was another pause, like he was debating with himself how much to
risk in order to satisfy his dick. While he thought it over, he leaned
forward and ran his hands down the broad pads of muscle over my back.

Carefully avoiding contact with the livid bruises striped into my glutes, he
leaned over me, getting his cheek against mine. Quietly, kind of
apologetically he said,

"I'm not going to let this chance go by."

His warm hand slid down my side and round to between my legs where he gently
held and squeezed my nuts. "I've wanted you since I first saw you. You're
injured, but I've got to have you, I've got to have you right now."

His mounting appetite made him careless and where before he'd avoided the
angry welts on my ass now he started rubbing his denim covered dick up
against them. I'd seen him gush a flood of spunk that morning but now, it
seemed, his rod was ready for another ride.

He humped against me, turning his face so his lips were searching out my
own. His rough jeans were rasping against the wounds across my backside but
that wasn't a problem for long because, oblivious to the fact Escott could
be back at any second, he began fumbling with his fly, opening up his pants
and pulling out his cock.

Lodging the thickness of his bench between the cushions of my ass set
something off in him. "Yeah, oh yeah, fuck yeah" he panted into my ear. He
gripped my shoulders and let his beefy spear find its own way home as it
jabbed and prodded at my slot. Losing it completely, Jenks found and licked
the parts of my face where his mate Miles had blasted me with come.

I'd seen this kind of wild appetite in fuck-starved freshers getting their
first shot at sex, but Stuart's drive was stronger by a whole other level.

Not bothered by anything he could do to me sexually, I knew I could use it
to control him. I trampled on the pain he was causing my freshly belted
behind and began moaning and grunting back at him. It had the effect I
wanted, pushing him further.

"Let me fuck you, I need to fuck you, I gotta fuck you." I turned my head
away. "No."

Maybe scrumming down had damaged the muppet's brain but for every new
development Stuart seemed to need a moment's thinking time. I could almost
hear him weighing up the odds between threatening or begging for what he
wanted. I waited and when he'd made his mind up it came out in my favour.

"Please, give it up to me and I'll fix it so the we leave you at the
reservoir while you're still alive."

Very slowly I turned my head back towards his worried, begging face. I
licked my lips and, switching down my pain reception, pushed back against
him so the cleft of my butt was skinning back the hood of his big wet cock.
I could see he felt he was close to winning but he didn't know the game he
was in and I hadn't finished haggling yet.

"I've never been fucked, Stuart, never. I'd rather die."

He put his big paw on my shoulder, closed his eyes for another session of
wrestling with his thoughts and finally delivered: "let me in and I'll let
you go"

My wrists were still bound together with a length of climbing rope but the
knot was steadily weakening, allowing my hands as far down as the small of
my back. I combined moving myself to a better position on the horse -
getting my feet back on the floor and my head up - with wrapping my fingers
around Stuart's fat nine inches and making out it was all done to ease the
pain of his boiling balls.

If Seb hadn't already broken me in at the hotel, I would still have let
Jenks have me but would have been worried by the size of him; as it was, so
long as he was lightening quick about it, being fucked by him would be no
problem.

He had his mouth open against my neck, his hands moulding the muscled curves
of my upper chest and abdomen. "We gotta be fast, Stu." I said, subtly
planting the idea that I was in control now.

"Jesus, yeah".

"Fuck me good mate. Make my first good."

The jerk grinned at me, reached down for his jeans and, finding then tossing
aside his wallet, produced, opened and whipped on a condom. He'd obviously
had speedy back alley-style dick action on other occasions. I turned round
again and put the beef of my ass back on offer to him. For a second time I
felt his overweight knob nudge between my cheeks. He slid his hands round my
hips and pressed his flared cockhead against the Seb-greased lips of my
anus. Pulling me back toward his body he pressed his groin forwards. My
asslips stretched and parted under pressure. His cockhead entered me and he
didn't stop pushing until he was buried full-length inside me.

"Oh man, your sweet fucking ass".

Stuart was even better hung than Seb but this time there was no pain. Having
such a piece of meat inside me felt so good I almost lost my focus. One beat
less interested in getting away and I would have given in to the total body
satisfaction of being filled with Jenks' length. He pushed me further
forward and began sweating away at getting his rocks off.

As his excitement mounted so did the rhythm of his thrusts in and out my
ass. He fucked roughly, his weight bearing down on me, deep rugby player
grunts coming up from the pit of his hairy chest.

In another second, he was out of control. He moaned and swore as his cock
stabbed deep and hard into me. With one concluding lunge he sank his
throbbing cock to the root, spurting out a fat load of fresh come.

I knew that for few seconds Jenks might be stupid with post-splooge
satisfaction but that straight after that he'd retract any deals we'd made
and get me back on track for a trip to the reservoir, so I had no time to
waste.

With him still a panting dead weight on top of me and his big dick softening
inside, I began easing myself off the horse. Stuart mumbled a protest but,
too quick to be resisted, I pushed my bound wrists down on his cock, forcing
him to pull out of my ass. Without pausing for thought I continued dropping
to the floor where I stepped through the circle of my arms bringing my hands
in front of myself and grabbing a fistful of Jenks' jeans where they'd
fallen round his ankles. Now all I had to do was tug hard while heaving
upwards.

Stuart was already off balance because he was too dumb to anticipate
anything, I'd suddenly backed into him and he was still hazy with the effort
of fucking me. In a loud painful crash he tipped over on his ass, the air
exploding out his lungs leaving him sprawling backward choking. Even if I'd
hung around he wouldn't have been able to regain dominance but I could hear
the noise of running feet approaching so one thing I wasn't doing was
stopping to say goodbye.

Ignoring the explosions of pain igniting all over my body and leaving my
football kit in the pool of piss and spunk the lads had splashed around
earlier, I bounded across the gym to the fire door.

No bolt or padlock would have stopped me busting through it but all I had to
do was boot the bar release and suddenly the warm freshness of early evening
replaced the stale stink and fear of the last hour.

Still in fast forward, I glanced over my shoulder. It was Jackson who'd
burst in and instead of chasing me he was down seeing to Stuart. He threw a
look of deadly hate at me.

"You fucked him! You're fucking DEAD." But it carried no conviction.
Presumably he'd already noticed that a heavily filled condom was on his
buddy's cock not mine. There was enough space between us and I had enough
confidence in my running to turn and watch them. Jackson was heaving Jenks
up. "Get on your feet, Jenks, O'Connor's called the fuzz. What the fuck you
been up to?"

Patience pays and it was nice to know the boys were as hot to hit the road
as I was, since I wasn't up for being chased through the streets naked. But
I was no keener for police involvement than they were so I crossed the
threshold of the gym and, to the welcome sound of birdsong and the laughter
of lads soccer training, I limped out into the summer air.


Copyright 2005 Alistair Stevenson