Read Online Sexy Gay Stories - Volume Four - three m/m short stories by Michael Bracken, Elizabeth Coldwell, Sommer Marsden - Free Book Online Page A
Ads: Link
‘Come up,’ I barked into the phone, pressing the door release button.
Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t the man who knocked on the door to my apartment. Soberly dressed in a charcoal grey suit, Callum was maybe a couple of years younger than my own twenty-seven. His dirty-blond fringe fell into his brown eyes, his lips were set in a sensual pout and he had the broad-shouldered build of a swimmer, rather than the flabby physique of someone who spent all day behind a steering wheel. He couldn’t have been more designed to push all my buttons if I’d given the woman at Executive Driving Services a photo-fit of my ideal man.
Not that Callum knew I was gay. No one did. Keeping my true sexuality secret was a constant battle, but I knew there was no way I could come out; not to my team-mates and certainly not to the press. The abuse I’d get from rival fans would be horrific, and I’d always be living with the thought that some of the lads in the changing room viewed me differently from then on, expecting me to jump their bones in the shower. So I kept as low a profile as I could when it came to matters of my personal life – appearances in court for driving offences notwithstanding – and hoped no one would pay too much attention to the fact I very rarely appeared in public with a girl hanging off my arm.
‘Callum?’ I said, even though he couldn’t possibly be anyone else. ‘Just let me get my kit bag and I’ll be right with you.’
The journey to the training ground passed in virtual silence. Callum tried to strike up a conversation a couple of times, but I just grunted in response, making it clear I wasn’t interested. It was rude of me, I knew, especially as Callum seemed like a nice guy, but the truth was I was dreading the reaction I’d get when we arrived in the car park. The lads never missed an opportunity to take the piss, and I was sure I was going to get it royally ripped from me.
As I’d feared several of them were hanging round, waiting for my Beamer to pull up. Deano had his camera-phone trained on the passenger door, capturing my grand entrance for posterity – or to send for showing on Soccer AM, more likely. I decided the only thing I could do was man up and take their taunting with good grace – then Callum popped open the glove compartment, produced a peaked cap he must have stashed in there while I was stowing my kit bag in the boot and put it on before getting out of the car and walking round to open my door. The lads were wetting themselves at Callum’s show of deference, and I felt myself blushing furiously. Show me more respect in future, Callum’s look seemed to say, because I can make life very difficult for you.
Throughout training, the lads didn’t let up for a minute. It was Jonesy who came up with the idea of calling me Lady Penelope, and of course the name stuck really quickly. They only cooled it a bit when DJ yelled, ‘Yus, m’lady,’ at me once too often and I crunched him with a tackle that left stud marks down his shin. I hadn’t intended to hurt him, but the red mist had come down and I’d lost control of my actions. The gaffer sent me off to the showers to cool down, training over for me for the day.
There were a few sheepish faces when the rest of the lads wandered in from the training pitch, but I knew I’d get more of the same every day until I was back driving myself around. I’d just have to ride it out.
Callum didn’t help. He’d been waiting for me in the car, reading a dog-eared crime thriller. ‘You made me look really stupid back there,’ I told him, as we drove away.
‘No, you made yourself look stupid,’ he replied unrepentantly.
I came very close to ringing the chauffeur firm and asking them to send someone different the next day. Then I realised that would just make me look petty, and give the lads something else to wind me up about. Looked like Callum’s snotty attitude was yet another thing I would have to grin and
Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t the man who knocked on the door to my apartment. Soberly dressed in a charcoal grey suit, Callum was maybe a couple of years younger than my own twenty-seven. His dirty-blond fringe fell into his brown eyes, his lips were set in a sensual pout and he had the broad-shouldered build of a swimmer, rather than the flabby physique of someone who spent all day behind a steering wheel. He couldn’t have been more designed to push all my buttons if I’d given the woman at Executive Driving Services a photo-fit of my ideal man.
Not that Callum knew I was gay. No one did. Keeping my true sexuality secret was a constant battle, but I knew there was no way I could come out; not to my team-mates and certainly not to the press. The abuse I’d get from rival fans would be horrific, and I’d always be living with the thought that some of the lads in the changing room viewed me differently from then on, expecting me to jump their bones in the shower. So I kept as low a profile as I could when it came to matters of my personal life – appearances in court for driving offences notwithstanding – and hoped no one would pay too much attention to the fact I very rarely appeared in public with a girl hanging off my arm.
‘Callum?’ I said, even though he couldn’t possibly be anyone else. ‘Just let me get my kit bag and I’ll be right with you.’
The journey to the training ground passed in virtual silence. Callum tried to strike up a conversation a couple of times, but I just grunted in response, making it clear I wasn’t interested. It was rude of me, I knew, especially as Callum seemed like a nice guy, but the truth was I was dreading the reaction I’d get when we arrived in the car park. The lads never missed an opportunity to take the piss, and I was sure I was going to get it royally ripped from me.
As I’d feared several of them were hanging round, waiting for my Beamer to pull up. Deano had his camera-phone trained on the passenger door, capturing my grand entrance for posterity – or to send for showing on Soccer AM, more likely. I decided the only thing I could do was man up and take their taunting with good grace – then Callum popped open the glove compartment, produced a peaked cap he must have stashed in there while I was stowing my kit bag in the boot and put it on before getting out of the car and walking round to open my door. The lads were wetting themselves at Callum’s show of deference, and I felt myself blushing furiously. Show me more respect in future, Callum’s look seemed to say, because I can make life very difficult for you.
Throughout training, the lads didn’t let up for a minute. It was Jonesy who came up with the idea of calling me Lady Penelope, and of course the name stuck really quickly. They only cooled it a bit when DJ yelled, ‘Yus, m’lady,’ at me once too often and I crunched him with a tackle that left stud marks down his shin. I hadn’t intended to hurt him, but the red mist had come down and I’d lost control of my actions. The gaffer sent me off to the showers to cool down, training over for me for the day.
There were a few sheepish faces when the rest of the lads wandered in from the training pitch, but I knew I’d get more of the same every day until I was back driving myself around. I’d just have to ride it out.
Callum didn’t help. He’d been waiting for me in the car, reading a dog-eared crime thriller. ‘You made me look really stupid back there,’ I told him, as we drove away.
‘No, you made yourself look stupid,’ he replied unrepentantly.
I came very close to ringing the chauffeur firm and asking them to send someone different the next day. Then I realised that would just make me look petty, and give the lads something else to wind me up about. Looked like Callum’s snotty attitude was yet another thing I would have to grin and
Similar Books
