I came across a photo and had to imagine what the story behind it could be!
She never really asked, wondered or enquired with me, she commanded me although she never knew it. Her voice cut through any concerns, or limits I had; she had told me. She had demanded that I do something to make her happy. I had no choice.
Only in reality, she did ask, politely and slightly embarrassed, as she twirled her red hair around her fingers and eyed my response with a grin. But this was Paula: the most beautiful, charming, elegant, fantastic woman I had ever met: how could I refuse?
I had never refused any of her requests: the loan at Christmas, being the designated driver to her works party, the Sunday lunches or running with her as she trained for the London Marathon. I did all of this, without question, just as I would play football in the Rainbow Cup that following weekend.
It was for charity: Paula had lost her elder brother to AIDS and a team was entering the local football competition to raise funds. It was for a good cause, undeniably. But it was also for openly gay, bisexual and transgender men and I was not one of those three. But that didn’t matter, she assured me; her friends’ team were a man short, and the cup competition was there to raise money, not query every competitors sexual antics in the bedroom.
But Paula withheld a vital piece of information: the organisers attracted many paying spectators because for each match, the teams were either topless, or near-bottomless. And I wasn’t allowed to wear boxer shorts for the first match.
I wore a thong, a tight black thong, as I ran around the pitch. I tried not to feel self-conscious, but had hundreds of people watching as my cock bobbed obscenely in the minimalist underwear. Our right winger wore a white tutu and pink boots, while our goalkeeper was wearing something see-through.
But it was fun. I didn’t think I’d like it, but I did. There was laughter, there was teasing, there was camaraderie and there was a palpable air of sexual tension. There was thousands of pounds raised for charity. And I wasn’t the only straight man admiring the naked streaker with her bobbling boobs running past me.
We placed third, capturing a small amount in prize money that we donated to the charity; my muddy legs proof that I had been an active part in the team’s success. Paula smiled when she saw the trophy, hovering outside our dressing room with her friends and myself; the feint sounds of buggery coming from the dressing room adjacent.
“That’s cool,” she muttered. “But what I really want to see is two men having sex,” she asked, twirling her hair around her finger, as her eyelids fluttered. “I want to see you on your knees.” She smiled at me as she leant against the wall, sensing my discomfort. “I love bisexual men. Come back to my place later … with Julian! We’ll have some fun.”
I had no choice, I had been commanded.
Images used under a CC-license from here.