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