than any number of words. Sometimes they watch football on TV, Daniël’s head on his lap, his fingers

playing with the boy’s hair, as happy as...

If there’s anything happier than him and Daniël watching a footy match, he’d like to hear about

it, so they could try it too. It’s a quiet sort of happiness, but it makes him think beyond the moment.

He’s not ready yet to dismiss himself as ultimately irrelevant, a nice experience at best, in comparison

with the much more important career that lies ahead for a player as talented and dedicated to the sport

as Daniël Borghart. He thinks he can still manage a couple of good years with those legs of his.

Although when it comes to staying with Kinbridge Town, he acknowledges some of it is likely wishful

thinking on his part. By the end of the season, he’ll be thirty-two, with young guys like Miller and

Borghart breathing down his neck. And there’s more on the way, with the owners allowing manager

Degaré a very healthy budget. Still, every club, no matter how much in love they are with their new

stars, need the dependable players; the older guys who can be overlooked all too easily and still make

the difference between a team and eleven high earning guys who just happen to be on the same pitch at

the same time. But it’s becoming less the alpha and omega of his existence. He wouldn’t go as far as

saying it’s just a game, and things like privacy and what the papers would write or the songs the

Kinbridge Kings would sing don’t matter, but something is shifting.

And whatever that something is, it makes him smile and swagger a bit like he’s drunk,

although he’s almost never drunk, and think about his future in a way that’s new to him. He’s no

longer young enough to have any grand illusions; the world is what it is and people are what they are,

but that doesn’t mean nothing’s ever going to change. If one day Daniël looks him in the eye and tells

him it’s all over, that he’s no longer as important as the beautiful game, he will bow his head and try

to keep his dignity while walking away. Until that day, he will keep on searching for a solution to

reconcile the irreconcilables. He’s not the one to start the revolution, but he’s willing to try and jump

over his own shadow to prevent Daniël from being unhappy.

He walks and walks to get rid of the abundance of energy. Dan is getting his parents from the

airport and as much as he understands that Mr and Mrs Borghart want to spend some time with their

son, he almost wishes they could welcome them in their home together. But no matter how many

hours of the day they’re spending with each other, there is no their home. Daniël had shown him

pictures of his parents and his younger sister Naomi, and Steve in return had shown pictures of his

mother and grandmother, or nan, as he would always remember her. He guesses Daniël’s parents

wouldn’t be too bad about it, but something shared between a few is likely to become something

shared between many. And they are not ready yet to share this with others.

So he keeps on walking, Daniël in his head, with a smile and a swagger and the knowledge that

within a few days he’ll have his arms full of one sexy Dutchman starving for attention of the nonparental

kind. He’s almost certain that by that time, he’ll be ready to invite Daniël to top him again. If

not out of curiosity, he wants to know if the second time will be easier, then because much of the

pleasure he had felt the first time came from the absolute joy Danny had radiated. He has to see that

look in his lover’s eyes again. Perhaps they could try out another position and see how that works out

for both of them. He loves it when Daniël straddles him, showing him that having a cock up your arse

doesn’t mean you can’t be dominant, even aggressively so. Once or twice, things like that should be

savoured like exclusive delicacies, he had been ordered to grip the headboard of his bed and let them

stay there unless ordered otherwise. It had been an extremely educational way of learning that yes, you

could be milked dry and still beg for more of the same.

The city is quiet and at rest, the streets all but deserted. Not that he’s paying much attention,

being happy with the thoughts in his head. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in this particular part of the

city before, but he’s sure he’ll see something recognisable when he turns the next corner, and there’s

always a taxi if not.

A taxi to bring him to the nearest place where he can pee with some dignity would be nice, but

after waiting a few more minutes he’s ready to admit defeat: he’s lost. It’s obvious he’s in one of the

city parks and while he’s not unfamiliar with many parts of Kinbridge’s greener areas, this is

definitely a place he has never visited before. It can’t be helped: a tree is getting watered one extra

time. He opens the zipper of his jeans and for a few seconds stares, oh sweet release, into nothingness.

But no, the eyes that stare right back at him, and then at his penis, couldn’t be called

nothingness. They have that is that, no it couldn’t be, yes it is him, look. The look changes into a

blatant stare, and the stare into sexual invitation.

Steve feels uncertain of how he’s supposed to react. It’s not that he’s even remotely interested

in the man, who must be somewhere in his forties, with an attractive face and, from what Steve can

see, an acceptable enough body, he just doesn’t know how to end this awkward situation without

looking the spoiled and overpaid football star who can’t be bothered to exchange a few friendly words

with a fan.

Perhaps he should start with putting his penis back again. It feels a lot less silly now Daniël’s

favourite toy is safely tucked away, even though he can appreciate the great story it will make on the

next birthday party the man visits. Not that they’re going to believe he saw Steve Gavan, yes, the

Kinbridge Town right-back, I’m not pulling your leg, with his you-know-what in his hand.

The man smiles reassuringly while he stretches his hand out to touch Steve’s crotch; his

fingers starting to stroke. For a few seconds Steve’s too flabbergasted to slap the hand away.

“Your secret is safe with me.” The voice is soft and reassuring, like the man tries to calm a

frightened animal.

Steve knows how to react to the tricks of a striker during a match. He can handle just about any

kind of prank in the dressing room. Losing an important game is just as much part of his trade as the

ecstatic feeling of having assisted in a brilliant goal. The sadness of knowing that hard work will not

be enough to prevent him from being sent away from the place where he wants to stay until his bones

become brittle. He simply deals with it. But this leaves him with his mouth open and his brain

working overtime. It should be simple, really: no one touches this part of his body unless he’s called

Daniël Borghart, central defender at KTFC.

But it’s not that straightforward. It’s easy enough to slap the hand away, tell the man he’s not

interested, and none of it would be a lie. That man takes too many liberties, but he’s also the first

human being who sees Steve in a different light. He wants to say: “Hey, you look a nice enough bloke.

I’m not keen on having sex with a stranger in a park, but if things were different we could perhaps

grab a pint and see what happens. But you know, there’s this wonderful, funny, talented, kind hearted,

sexy guy and I love him so much I sometimes feel like I’m going to burst if I can’t say it loud enough

for the whole world to hear. But I can’t say it, because it would destroy his career, and that’s so much