Chapter 18: Payback?

Although Julia and her Estonian friends had, quite fantastically shown, that they wanted me to “piss off,” it was done in good humour. Julia asked me to come back soon, and she gave me a big hug before I left for the airport to return to Britain.

She also tweeted Betty Maxx a couple of pictures from my golden shower, “look what we did to @woodfordmarc” and her message got retweeted around the world!

The UK porn star responded gleefully, promising me no end of pee if I wanted it! I had found the act deeply humiliating to be receiving several streams of urine, yet intensely rewarding as I had sunk into my submission. At that moment, I had felt worthless yet sexually charged.

I arrived home and Anna greeted me warmly, eager to show pictures of bridesmaid dresses and an itchingly desperate clit for me to go down on. She squealed as my tongue swirled over her sensitive button, sending my gorgeous fiancée into a spiral of powerful orgasms that soaked my face.

My scheme to avoid wedding planning by being away in Estonia was a flawed plan; Anna spent Monday evening recounting all the different fabrics and styles and colours of her bridesmaids dresses while using her tablet to show me the endless numbers of garments on her short-list.

In truth, I was desperately relieved to go to training the following day to escape the relentless wedding chatter. I’d always been told that it was the “bride’s big day” and that she would get her own way completely, but Anna seemed intent on asking for my opinion. Whatever I thought, Anna had already decided on “rose blush” or someother vague description of pink and no matter how long she spent deliberating between that and other hues of feint red, she kept coming back to a particular shade.

She wanted my approval and I was more than happy to give it, until she told me the price for three bridesmaids dresses. “Can’t we just go to Debenhams?” I asked, causing her to scowl. The dozens of brochures from wedding fayres told me that she had looked everywhere and had decided; I just needed to pay for her extravagance.

The lads teased me when I arrived; for missing my kick in the Estonia game and for receiving the golden showers. The Captain threatened to make it a repeat occurrence if I missed such an easy chance in the forthcoming match, but I wasn’t entirely certain if I disliked his proposed forfeit.

I saw Lucy at the corner of our ground with an excited looking man; he was easily 6 foot in height and had a muscular, slender body. With his strawberry-blonde hair and cheeky smile, I could see why he was a stripper.

I had arranged with the coach for “Leo” to join us for the session, and I showed him to the changing rooms. He smiled, and chattered, as he got changed; he was relaxed at being naked in the company of the two dozen men, and I noticed his delightfully large and well-veined cock.

He wasn’t particularly good at playing football; his passes were wayward too often, but he had stamina and kept up with the training. Lucy watched him from the sidelines: this was her present to him, although I wasn’t quite sure what her payment to us was to pay for it!

We enjoyed having visitors in truth; Woodford Wanderers were hospitable and we all gleefully signed some ManLube posters, as well as posing naked with our guest for Lucy to take several pictures of.

He had a good evening, and I did wonder if “guests” would become a feature. We could hardly offer corporate boxes and prawn sandwiches but training sessions and showers with naked men was more within our reach.

Lucy e-mailed me her thanks the day after. Betty and I continued our long-distance very public flirting over social media throughout the week. A cynic would deem that both of us were using our public profiles to generate chatter as we exchanged salacious photographs and messages, but there was more to it than relentless self-promotion. She was smart and fun, and our chat left people smiling and laughing.

It was dirty and good natured.

Our match at the weekend wasn’t.

Sunnyside Cross FC was our very first competitive match when I got buggered by a small-dicked self-important tosser. It was later the team where I got buggered by an arrogant prick in front of my fiancée as he tried to seduce her with chauvinistic nastiness. We were ripe for revenge.

The pre-match atmosphere for our cup semi-final was as tense as I could remember; focused minds and driven players yelled angrily as the coach barely needed to motivate us. We were motivated.

I never felt a drop of rain as I took to the field; torrential downpour had turned our muddy pitch into a quagmire and my boots sank in the soft mud as we lined up to face our Orange-shirted opponents.

They sneered and they laughed. Their captain sought to remind us for humiliations past, yet we needed no prompting. It was foremost in our minds.

I ignored the television camera or the league’s representative skidding on the slippery pitch. I ignored the cheering and jeering crowd and the freezing cold swirling wind. It was us versus our nemeses.

Payback time.

Only we were too focused on getting revenge and to fired up, our gameplan was immediately forgotten. We had endless enthusiasm and anger but little focus on how to play our football.

Tackles from us flew in on the skiddy pitch but their players stuck to their pre-match tactics, taking the lead when our captain brought down their player on the edge of the box.

They doubled it a few moments later when we charged upfield and left ourselves vulnerable to the counter attack and just before half-time, a sliced clearance from our left back nestled in the far corner of our goal.

Suddenly, it was cold on the pitch. Pre-match adrenaline had faded into reality. Optimism had given way to realism. We couldn’t win a match on spirit.

Our manager reminded us at half-time; he calmly went over his tactics again and made us listen. I said he screwed our heads on, but it was much more than that. He gave us hope and purpose. He gave us desire to win again and a belief we could do it.

It was better; it had to be. It couldn’t have been any worse. We returned to the field with focused minds and pushed forward, eager to find a route into the match. The ball wasn’t running true on the muddy football pitch, hitting bobbles all over the field and it made it difficult to pass to team-mates.

Our first goal was a stroke of luck, Dmitri’s volley bounced off a divot and wrong-footed their goalkeeper. Our second goal was masterful as Lee flicked the ball over their stopper with the deftest flick of his boot.

And for twenty minutes we relentlessly pressed for an equaliser; Ryan came on for a defender and we tossed the ball repeatedly into their area. Lee hit the post, Dmitri hit the bar. I scuffed a shot wide of the upright and Wayne missed an open goal. It was edging towards a third loss against the same team inside six months as the clock nestled past the 90^th minute.

Injury time. That was all we had.

Sixty seconds to find a goal. Sunnyside had all eleven players inside their box as we pressed for an equaliser. Tackles and blocks tried to stop us, as the mud-caked players gave everything.