mmc9 – the rain
I keep thinking of your face in the rain. Dripping, mud-streaked, flushed on the rugger pitch. Do you remember my hand in the scrum, that afternoon just before I charged you and wound up in the San with my arm in a sling? Everyone knows what goes on when the ref’s not looking, but I’ve always wondered if you knew it was me. I remember how your cock felt inside your shorts. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of it since.
Who was the one to show you what cocks are for? As our changing rooms are worlds apart, you never got to appraise mine. One doesn’t like to boast, but it’s worthwhile I’m told. Some rather incendiary reading material has come my way of late. I can’t seem to stop thinking of it, and you, and what would happen if the two were combined.
I watched you and Rees the afternoon before that night, though you didn’t know it. I still can’t believe it – not what you did, but that you did it with him. I never got to ask you what you saw in him. He’s such a dreary cold shower. The perverseness of it (if you’ll forgive my choice of words) has, since then, driven me slightly mad.
I want to forget your body when they carried you back that morning. I want to forget everything about you. It’s hopeless when I’m asleep, like now. Dreams are the most unforgiving of traitors.
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September 2nd, 2009 at 10:23 pm
young unrequited love is just as painful among your lads, it would seem. “Everyone knows what goes on when the ref’s not looking” – usually an undetected foul… Had to chuckle at that one.