Chapter 27: The Next Season

In the days and weeks that followed my début with Betty on her own Internet TV channel, I got used to transitioning to becoming a pornography star as my main vocation. I did talks with bloggers and magazine articles, as well as two more photo shoots with my new employer.

Betty was astute. We had teamed up together to produce a couple more films, and as they continued to sell, we made more. Betty and I worked apart too: she had a huge heterosexual following that wanted to see her at the centre of a gangbang and other such debauched activities. She said she was adored by people of all sexualities.

“Did you know,” she informed me over my kitchen table, sipping delicate elderflower tea and munching on a croissant, “that less than half of all young people identify as completely straight. It’s around 55% of men and women who want to and are prepared to experiment with their own gender in the bedroom. It’s like being in Ancient Greece or Rome.” The naked coquette giggled as she brushed flaked pastry from her bosom. “Quite fantastic really!”

Of course it was. I was encouraged, explicitly by Betty and implicitly by Anna, to hit the gym and beef up somewhat. I wanted to be in better shape than I was, and a few more muscles wouldn’t do my sales any harm.

I was in no doubt that while Betty was a multi-millionaire, I would never reach her heights. I hoped to make an income from my activities, if not my fortune.

My first cheque paid off my debts from not working and paid for a big chunk of our wedding. It was exciting times.

The following day, I met up with my team for the first day of pre-season training. They joked with me, and we had numerous new faces eager to try out for the squad.

We also had a decision to make; the league had convened a special conference and each club was told to elect two members to attend, and vote on the team’s behalf. I attended with Ralph and the first motion put to us was whether to continue with the forfeits and sign up for an exclusive deal with GaySportsTV.

Ralph’s pen hovered over the voting slip; we chatted in hushed tones. I had made no secret of wishing to maintain the status quo. I enjoyed the winning and in the right circumstances didn’t object to the losing. The dares and forfeits made the games more intense and I would find it a regressive step to abandon them.

I whispered my intentions to Ralph and he passed me the voting slip. “I can’t do it,” he muttered. “I’d want to abstain.”

The two options didn’t give an abstention. The league had promised to review the new rules when they were introduced the previous Summer and they were seeking our consent to continue with their sex-crazed ideals.

I gave it to them. Ralph watched in silence as I confidently ticked the box to continue and strode towards the ballot box. Many of the players had expressed concerns from the first moment the forfeits had been written into the league rules. Many of the players had continued to do them under duress, complaining that they “weren’t gay so they shouldn’t have to suck cock!” But they stayed. They stayed and became better players.

I expected the league’s motion to fail. I expected Woodford Wanderers to be a lone voice in a sea of conservatism.

Only, it wasn’t.

Across all three divisions, twenty-four of the thirty-nine teams opted to continue with the rules, and all but one of the top flight. I saw the representatives from the other teams looking around the hall, not making eye contact. We’d all chosen to continue with the homosexual fucking.

In the days that followed, I’d hear from six of the representatives who’d claim that they were the lone voice, but it didn’t matter.

Woodford Wanderers would be back sucking cock, fucking losers, being taken and exploited, and being the most debauched bunch of footballing fuckers the country had ever seen.

Except, before the new season I’d have a wedding.

And a stag do. Dmitri had an idea that involved Emit. And Betty. And twenty sex-crazed individuals.

And a video camera.

I couldn’t wait.

And neither could the fans.