Home Goal and My Goal: Two Gay Footballers Stories

by H J Perry

  The best kept secret in England, how did Scott know Jason was gay?

  Jason had no problem hooking up with a stranger, one that did not recognize him, but this stranger knew where he regularly hung out with his team and knew his real name, albeit just the first name. The risk of hooking up with somebody who knew his name, who socialized in the same venues, was too much. Not one Jason was willing to take. No way would he call that number, no matter how curious. No matter how much he thought about that guy. Scott. He had a name now.

  He should chuck the piece of paper, shred it.

  Jason slipped it into his wallet, picked up his iPad and found his reliable dating site of choice. The need for discretion didn’t mean giving up men altogether. It did mean getting laid took some planning. He searched for the guys seeking for “something casual” but more importantly a man who would not out him. A man who wouldn’t recognize him.

  It took a lot of work. There was no hookup app or gay dating site that facilitated an easy search on the key data of men who do not follow any sport, whatsoever. There were check-boxes for no smoking, for age and height. For physical build and hobbies. Even for preferred sexual activities.

  Jason had to resort to reading the wordy profiles and work back from there. Anyone who liked any sport was ruled out. Even if they weren’t football fans, they might recognize Jason from sports’ news reports. Ideally, he sought men who specifically said they didn’t follow sport or perhaps left it unmentioned.

  And didn’t own a TV.

  And lived like a hermit, in a cave.

  If the media, the fans and football managers at large discovered he was gay, his career would be propelled onto a fast track of decline. He’d been told this in no uncertain terms on many occasions. The opposition fans would hate him. The taunts from the terraces would be intolerable and unstoppable. And this would be enough to ruin the game for his team and make him less valuable as a player. There are no queers in professional football; it’s a man’s game. A real man’s game.

  Fuck it. It was a man Jason wanted, a real man.

  Jason pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contact list, and his finger remained poised over Dan’s number. It would all be all too easy to call Dan. Always available. The friend with benefits. Discretion assured and a good time guaranteed for all. But since Jason transferred to the Birmingham-based football club, the three hours round trip for encounters with Dan took more planning.

  Thinking about a cute guy in a nightclub was pointless. He wasn’t going to do anything about it, and he didn’t know why he still had that damn phone number. He should’ve got rid of it already.

  Good_time_boy_85 had a fit body that was worth checking out. Jason pushed his fingers apart on the touch screen to check out a bigger version of that torso. He licked his lips, someone like that. He could imagine Scott looked like that, without a shirt. Good_time_boy_85 didn’t have glittering nails. Jason wondered whether Scott might have a profile set up on this dating website. What a coincidence that would be if the two of them met via this site. Jason put his hand on his crotch as he felt a stirring of lust throughout his body. Scott was attractive, no two ways about it, exactly the kind of man Jason hoped to meet and wanted to fuck.

  Among his interests, Good_time_boy_85 listed rugby. Not football, but Jason couldn’t take the risk. A fan of one sport may well follow other sports or at least pay attention to sports’ news. Jason’s ideal hook up was with someone who definitely would not recognize him, as a star in the Premiership and on the England football team. Someone like Scott.

  Callum sounded promising. Said he liked opera and musicals. Didn’t mention sport. Didn’t even mention working out in the gym, unlike most of the guys on these sites who most often exaggerated all of their physical attributes. Opera buffs and footie fans were different groups of people, at least Jason hoped, so Callum could be perfect.

  Within thirty minutes Jason was standing outside the red brick Victorian building, a pub in the older suburbs of Handsworth.

  Callum had described this as being his local. Jason didn’t know whether he meant local to Callum’s home or his local gay bar. He hoped it wasn’t a gay bar, and the Red Lion didn’t have any rainbow flags hanging at the front, so Jason thought it was probably pretty safe.

  “Dave?”

  “Callum?” It’s David; Jason mentally corrected the corruption of his pseudonym. Dave just seemed wrong, but not worth discussing when meeting for a onetime shag. Without any subtlety, the guys looked at each other over.

  “Call me Cal.” Six foot at least. Broad, chiseled jaw. Short dark hair. Blue eyes. He was handsome, rugged and manly.

  “You look every bit as hot as your photo.” Jason knew flattery helped oil the wheels; it always helped to get the vehicle moving in the right direction. It wasn’t a lie. Callum, Cal, was at least as tall as Jason and slim. Jason couldn’t access any further as they were wrapped up warm against the winter chill. With a handsome face, Cal was tall, masculine, and wouldn’t turn any heads of people who’d wonder if he was gay.

  Unlike Scott, this didn’t look like the sort of man to wear lip gloss. This was no Scott (damn for even thinking about that nightclub dancer again), but Callum was fuckable for the night. There was no reason to waste time going in for a drink and Jason wouldn’t consume alcohol anyway.

  One hour, he’d estimated, for this excursion, and hoped Callum lived nearby.

  “You want to go in for a drink?”

  “Sure,” replied Jason. “But I’ll never concentrate on drinking and chatting when I’ve got something else on my mind.” He put his hand on his own crotch. Callum didn’t miss it, gave an understanding smile. The meaning was clear.

  “I live just down here. I was at home when we were messaging.”

  Perfect. If he’d have been any distance, they could have jumped in a cab. Cab drivers often recognized footballers, so there was another potential problem, but Jason had a hat and a hoodie.

  Callum lived in a tiny bedsit. A sink, microwave, and fridge in one area along with a table denoted the kitchen corner. It wasn’t at all obvious where the bathroom would be. Jason could have asked if he needed it but he didn’t.

  Callum pulled Jason into a kiss within moments of entering the single room dwelling. Jason had just assessed the layout of the single living room and they’d removed their coats, hanging them on hooks on the back of the door. Together they stumbled toward the bed.

  A sloppy, wet tongue seemed to be everywhere over his face. Hands touched him, roughly, squeezed him tightly, Jason couldn’t ignore those hands. He knew they were there, gripping his arse.

  Jason could barely breathe. Callum suffocated him with his huge mouth, sucking the air from Jason and not allowing him access to more. There was no opportunity to respond, merely to survive. Either Callum had a truncheon in his pocket, or an impressive erection pushed against Jason.

  Jason felt the low bed against one leg; Callum pushed Jason back onto the bed, and they moved on top of it as one. Callum on top. His strong hands moving up Jason’s body and grasping at him with a vice-like, bruising grip.

  It was all progressing a little faster, and rougher than Jason was used to but, hell, yes. Why not?

  Callum’s cock rubbed against Jason’s growing bulge, and that was what they were both there for. Jason pushed back, grinding into the guy. This is what he was here for, and Jason was on the way to painfully hard. This was going to be fast and fucking hot, even if Callum lacked a little finesse and was the world's worst at snogging.

  As if he’d suddenly realized clothes were in the way Callum sprung up off the bed and started to undo his belt. “Do you want to get undressed?” It was more of a statement than a question.

  I’ll bet it wouldn’t be like this with… fuck. I’m with this fucking dude now. Callum. Cal. Concentrate on Callum.

  The body revealed was as good as it appeared in the undressed gallery on the website. Fit and defined. Callum was a six-foot-tall hunk who knew his way around a
gym, with the confidence to go with it. And Jason couldn’t wait to suck that long dick, which he watched spring from the constraining underwear. Undressed and back on the bed lying down side-by-side, reaching for each other. Callum was good-looking, with a sexy body and a cock that looked delicious and felt wonderful to hold.

  A shame Callum’s kisses were off-putting, his tongue seemed too wet and all over Jason’s face, but nothing is perfect. A bit like this bedsit, Jason could put up with a few of these minor inconveniences for an hour of man on man action.

  Needs must.

  “Fuckin hell.” Callum growled. “Turn over.”

  “Why?” Jason was in no mind to change position just yet.

  “Turn over so that I can fuck you.”

  Inside, Jason froze, but he hoped he didn’t show it on the outside.

  “I don't,” he said. “Not that way.” Not with a guy I just met.

  Callum’s hand stopped its movement up and down Jason's shaft. He did freeze, but his grip tightened. “What do you mean? You don’t bottom?”

  “I only top,” replied Jason.

  Callum released a long breath. “You contacted me, not the other way around. And you saw my profile. It says top.”

  Mine doesn’t say bottom either, Jason thought but decided against the comment.

  Most guys were happy with whatever took place; Callum obviously had a one-track agenda. Encounters rarely went like this; most casual hookups were easy going in Jason’s experience, but it was not the first time Jason had encountered this kind of attitude. Jason didn't tell him that he hadn’t even glanced at that part of the profile because he had his own priorities so only looked at the hobbies and interests to make sure the guy didn't follow sport. The irony.

  Jason didn’t like the direction the situation was heading. Things were in danger of turning unpleasant.

  Neither of them wanted that. Turned on. Teased.

  “You looked good in your profile. I thought it'd be okay if we just did other things.”

  “I guess we’ll have to. Do you want to suck me then? Or are you afraid to take jizz in your mouth, too?”

  The hostile tone of the strange question should have been enough to encourage Jason to leave. He wanted to get up and walk out, but in an instant, he weighed up the pros and cons of the situation. He didn’t like Callum, but he never intended to meet him again whether he liked him or not. However, Jason liked sucking cock and touching naked men and seeing them come, making them come. It was so much effort and risk to get into this position in the first place. He may as well finish what he came here to do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  January 2012

  Scott

  Apart from smoking outside, for those who smoked, there wasn’t much to do. Scott went out the back and sat on the single stool in the tiny staffroom, with a cup of tea. If the room was any smaller, it could have fitted in a corner of Harry Potter’s under-the-stairs bedroom. The break from work was supposed to only last ten minutes, not long enough for anything. He pulled out his phone; it had been buzzing cheerfully in his pocket but there was rarely time to check it, work behind the bar was so busy, especially after nine on a Saturday night when most students and people his age were out having fun.

  Friday and Saturday night paid well, that’s why Scott had this job. It was fun mixing with the clients and kept him from going out and spending money that he didn't have.

  Just a number, no identifying name. Messages from a stranger: Hi. What you up to?

  Next message, from the same number: It’s Jason. You gave me your number

  Third message: At the club

  Fourth message: Maybe you gave your number to loads of Jasons this week

  Four messages. He’s keen. Scott smiled thinking, what took you so long to get in touch, Jason? And typed his reply: I’m in a bar

  He didn’t want to explain about his job on a Saturday night, not by text message: What about you?

  The phone reply was immediate: I’m home alone

  And as Scott read it, another came in

  Sorry to interrupt you with your friends

  Sweet.

  I'm at work in a bar. And Scott's turn to send another: Until 11

  What possessed Scott to tell Jason when he finished? Why would Jason need to know he finished work at eleven o’clock at night? Scott sipped his tea and smiled to himself. He hadn't had any fun flirting with a cute guy in ages, weeks perhaps, and Jason was cute.

  You want to meet after work?

  Scott wasn’t expecting that. He thought it’d end at text flirting. Fuck yes. It is a Saturday night after all.

  Yes

  As he hit send another message arrived in his inbox; Jason obviously hasn't waited for a reply.

  Where do you work? I'll meet you

  Scott enjoyed the privacy of the kitchen. He knew he had a big grin on his face as he sipped more tea.

  Scott typed out the name of the pub, the city center location. It was a fairly well-known bar at the heart of the gay village, frequented mostly by a queer crowd and their friends so there was every chance Jason would know it. All gay men knew it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  January 2012

  Jason

  Scott worked in a bar in the Hurst Street area of Birmingham, the gay village; it had to be a gay bar. A place that, since he’d moved to the city, Jason was both drawn to and steered clear of. And now he was planning to meet a man there. Had he taken leave of his senses? Was it the consequence of too much alcohol when he drank with his teammates earlier or had his dick finally won the battle it waged against the logic of his brain?

  “Jason Tant, I thought it must be you.” The flat vowels and nasal delivery distinct to the broad Brummie accent indicated the taxi driver must be a local man. He recognized Jason immediately. “It’s a bit late to be going to the Hippodrome.”

  Either Jason was that recognizable even in layers of winter clothes, hat and hoodie, or the driver recognized him as the footballer because he picked Jason up from his home. The cab firm knew his full name and address.

  Nearly all his clothes were designer labels. He wanted to wear something nice but anonymous to avoid drawing attention to himself and yet make a positive impression on Scott.

  “You’re right. I don’t think they’ve started putting on late night shows. I’m meeting someone there.” And the gay village was a short walk from the Hippodrome Theater.

  Jason didn’t owe the taxi driver an explanation, but people liked to chat.

  “Are you pleased to get Mark Wright on the team?”

  “Yes, he’s a good player.” The stock answer for any question about any player, regardless of the team he played for. Diplomacy was one of many off the pitch footballing skills required in Jason’s line of work. “He’ll be a good addition to the defense.”

  “Hoping to get anyone else before the transfer window closes?”

  “Management doesn’t let me in on those discussions, so I have no idea.”

  “I hope you’re not going anywhere. To another club I mean.”

  “Thanks. I only just arrived here in Birmingham at the start of the season so I hope not either.”

  “Not with the money they paid for you. It’s still the club record, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure.” Jason knew they’d paid more for him than any other player in the history of the club at the close of the summer transfer window. And he got a ridiculous sum from his old club, so they could sell him before the end of that contract. Now, at twenty-three, if he invested wisely, he could probably retire. In the dressing room, the team members bantered about their wealth in a “my dick is bigger than your dick” kind of way, but Jason never liked talking money with the public. It was a conversation that was most likely to go sour due to the incomprehensible number of zeros on a top player’s monthly wage. And Jason was in that elite group, taking home more each month than most people earned in a year.

  “Bit of traffic along here. I don’t know what the holdup is,
at this time of night. Drunks in the road probably.”

  “I’ll jump out here and walk. I’m early.” Jason waved a note that was far larger than the fare.

  “Have you got a minute to sign something for my kid?” asked the driver. “I’ll pull over.”

  With the taxi safely on the side of the street, Jason obliged with an autograph and handed over his money. “Keep the change.”

  Taxi drivers frequently recognized Jason, but Scott clearly didn’t. It gave Jason a strange thrill to think that really cute guy found him attractive when Scott clearly didn’t know who Jason was. Scott wasn’t like the young women and teenage girls who hung around with aspirations to become footballers’ wives and girlfriends, chasing the fame and the money, but he had the confidence to flirt with a guy in a straight club, give out his number and wear those crazy clothes, nail color, and lip gloss

  Jason’s upbringing had filled him with self-confidence. He could go anywhere, do anything, speak to anyone and achieve anything. But another part of his life experience had taught him he couldn’t approach a good-looking guy in a nightclub; he simply couldn’t do it.

  Jason avoided gay bars; he’d ventured in on very rare occasions, mostly when he was much younger, too young to buy a drink, and unknown. Nowadays, he couldn’t afford to be recognized in one. Sure enough, as he approached the bar, the rainbow flag was clearly evident, though the outside wasn’t as bright or brash as many other gay bars that Jason had passed but avoided over the past few years.

  One of the wonderful things about being famous in England, mostly the public politely ignore you, but they can still snap pictures. However, if you are a famous footballer, you can also attract trouble from drunken men at night. It meant going out to bars and clubs was potentially full of trouble and danger at the best of times and going alone only escalated the risk. Jason was well aware that he should turn around and go home but too much alcohol earlier when drinking with the team had given him some courage as well as shutting down his usual degree of cautiousness.