Chapter 20: In London

My re-run of the race with Betty was broadcast as “extra-time” and while in the white heat of lust I knew what I was doing, I hadn’t realised just how much attention it would garner. I was on the front page of GaySportsTV and Betty linked to the video from her Twitter feed, including my teasing jibe about her not getting off.

Indeed, she was clever in that she offered her fans a “help get Betty off” appeal and the offer for five of her fans to “join her in her studio” caused a furore around Twitter.

But Marc ‘The Cocksucker’ Lowton had become big news. And I wasn’t sure if I liked the notoriety. Indeed, Emit teased Ryan and myself in the office, and it wasn’t until I threatened to withdraw oral privileges from my cocky work colleague did he relent.

The training that week was buoyant; we had a cup final to look forward to when we would play top-of-the-league, and arrogant FC Kerlon.

Ironically FC Kerlon would also be the team’s next league match, but a few days before the game I was asked to do some work at the weekend in London. I moaned about it a bit to Anna, but my fiancée and I had an expensive wedding to fund and the overtime would be a welcome boost to our sagging savings account. Expensive bridesmaids dresses didn’t come cheap.

I, therefore, accepted, planning the work for one of our biggest clients without objecting, especially when Emit and Ryan were also persuaded to give up their weekend for welcome moolah.

We rented a small holiday apartment on the south side of the Thames; the flash two-bedroom apartment had one king size bed and two twin beds and we arrived on Thursday evening, having fought our way through the sweaty and claustrophobic Underground network.

We tossed a coin for the big bedroom; Emit won and so Ryan and I shared the smaller room with twin beds. It was a strange feeling to be sharing a flat with work colleagues but I had seen everyone naked many times and I know Emit was hankering for some sexual relief.

That evening, Ryan happily serviced him; the two of them slipped subtly into the master bedroom while Betty and I tweeted flirtatious comments and I phoned Anna.

Anna and I teased each other with phone sex; I heard her vibrating wand pressed against her cunt deliver groans and squeals as my fingers blurred over my erect cock. It was strangely clinical; a fake sensuality that sated the arousal rather than enriched the soul.

We were busy on Friday, ripping up the original plans when we met the client and spoke at length about their project. Several assumptions previously made were flawed and we came close to abandoning the weekend work. If it was up to me, I would have done, and planned a second attempt when I was not due to play football, but Emit was the senior consultant and we worked an alternative strategy.

It meant I got to start work at midnight, and after the briefest of sleeps at the apartment walked through the cold, unforgiving streets of London. The mist gave it an eerie feel, as shouting in the distance and the constant scream of sirens drew my self-consciousness into a deep state of unease. I wasn’t used to the big city.

There was already a state of energy in the vast room, and three members of the client’s technical support team and I began work on their software upgrade as the rest of the city partied or drifted into a slumber.

I was knackered by the time Emit and Ryan arrived at 9am to start the bulk of the serious work. I slipped into the busy streets to return to the apartment and retire into a well-deserved sleep.

I was at the offices again by 4pm, and as Saturday evening drew into a twilight, I started my shift again to finish the migration.

It was hard work, and I’d earn my overtime. We finished at 2am on Sunday morning and by three, I was tucked up in bed alone. Ryan and Emit were either sharing in the master bedroom or clubbing.

I woke up at 10am to the smell of fried breakfast. An almost naked Emit, wearing just a frilly pink apron he’d found in the cupboard, swanned around the kitchen like a TV cook on crack cocaine. A chef, he was not.

I surveyed my phone as I sat down at the breakfast bar and reached for the tea. I had a message from the captain. “Dmitri and Lee ill. You and Ryan absent. Hugh red card. Lost 9-0.” I felt guiltier than ever as I wrote an apology in return, but work had to come first.

And then I replied to tweets directed onto my Twitter feed. I had some fans grumble about my absence from the team, some salacious messages from strangers and plenty of filth from Betty. I told her I was in London, and she messaged back.

“Guys,” I asked as the poorly dressed Delia broke another yolk in the frying pan. “Fancy going to a porn shoot?”

My friendship with Betty had elicited the unusual and tempting offer; she had sent me the tongue-in-cheek offer over Twitter and I had checked privately if she had meant it. She did.

I had no intention of appearing in the pornography shoot with her, but I enjoyed the bubbly enthusiasm of the erotic superstar, and the playful teasing and banter between us was fun.

Emit’s breakfast was not inedible, but his smothering of my meal with lashings of tomato ketchup meant that I got red sauce down my only T-Shit and I had to get dressed in a navy polo shirt bearing my employer’s logo instead. The garment was a little itchy.

The film studios were located in Surrey. We had a twenty minute train journey to the South side of London, before a five minute taxi ride to a converted barn on the outside of the town. Emit was excited, Ryan was quiet; they both slightly irritated me for opposing reasons.

The car park was busy; a multitude of rusting cars filled the gravel drive, along with a couple of expensive super-marques. I guessed Betty’s car from the personalised number plate on a glistening Aston Martin.

She whistled at me as I peered through the window of her luxury vehicle. “You’ll need to suck a lot of cock to be able to afford that.” Her grin was welcoming as the busty wench stood seductively dressed. She leant against the wooden beam of the building, licking her lips. “I can provide the cock. I have loads of young men who’d happily...”

“I’m not here to suck cock!”

She pouted. “You better come in.”

The dreary outside gave way to a brightly lit interior; original wooden beams crossed through the roof that gave the building an impressive aura of old world charm, while barely clothed men and women criss-crossed the room in a hive of activity.