Future Queens of England (14 page)

“But…” Tony started.

“But nothing,” Louise interrupted gently, “what matters here today is that you appear to be a natural.  Have you ever played before?”

“Err, no, never,” he replied.

“Wow, then that’s all the more impressive,” she stated heaping on the compliments.

“Ah, well, erm thanks Louise,” he said shyly, conscious of this tender moment surrounded by so many gay men.

“Ooohhh, Tony’s got a girlfriend,” mocked Bruce to a chorus of wolf whistles.

Embarrassed, Louise stepped back and removed her hands from Tony’s chest.  She coughed, “I’m in charge of the facilities here and I don’t
want
you lot smashing up the place.  The paperwork would be horrendous.  Okay, Ben, I really must be getting back to my duties now.”  She turned and walked back across the field to the main building.

“Aren’t you going to kiss her goodbye, Tony?” ribbed Keenan.

“Shut up,” Tony said.

“You’re blushing, Tony,” Keenan said, pointing at his face.

“Okay, okay, break it up.  Enough’s enough,” Ben ordered clapping his hands together.  “It’s time to talk business.  So line up, please!” 

They lined up accordingly but before Ben had a chance to speak, Hugh started to address them all, “Hey everyone, what about me?” Hugh whined.  “The bloody ball hit me in the head and almost knocked me out,” he added dramatically.

“Sorry Hugh, in the kerfuffle I forgot about that,” Ben apologised.  “You should really go and see the school nurse and get it looked at just in case.”

“Thank you for your sympathy, Ben,” Hugh said, “and as captain I would like to make my first decree…softer balls.”  He stood grandly as he went on, “We shall use softer balls from now on, perhaps something like a tennis ball.” 

“Err, Hugh, we can’t change the balls,” Ben said awkwardly.  “Maybe you’re not cut out to be the team captain.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Hugh softly and dejectedly.

“Perhaps Tony is better suited to this role,” Ben added tentatively.

Hugh looked despondent for a moment as he studied his shoes, “You know what, Ben?  Perhaps you’re right.  I agree to relinquish my captaincy to Tony for the good of the game,” he declared magnanimously.

“Oh, how gracious of you Hugh,” joked Ben.  “Good decision though I think, though you’ve still made the team.” 

“Have I really?” Hugh asked incredulously.

Then an idea struck Ben, “Maybe you could captain the design of the hockey kits?  What do you think to that?”

Hugh clapped his hands together, “Fantastic!” he squealed, jumping up and down on the spot.

“Good, then we’ll speak about this later and put a team of designers together,” Ben said before moving on to Tony.  “You really have a flair for this game and I’d really like to see you enter the team, so to speak.” 

Tony winced slightly at the thought. 

“Sorry Tony, force of habit.  Perhaps you’d like to captain the team and help me train them?” Ben asked.

Tony’s chest swelled with pride, “Yeah alright Ben.  I reckon we can soon whip them into shape.”

“Kinky!” Bruce shouted out before Tony cut him off.

“Shut it Bruce…too obvious,” Tony said tersely as the cheeky smile disappeared from Bruce’s face.

“One thing though Tony.  I still want Uwe to join the team; he’s got a lot of talent, but he’s also got a lot of attitude.  Do you think you can handle him…without coming to blows?” Ben asked nervously unsure of what the answer might be.

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Tony replied confidently and without too much malice.

Ben’s face brightened.  “Great news!  We’ll make him vice-captain then.  We’ve got our first game coming up really soon, so we need to start work immediately.”

“No problem Ben,” Tony said.  “It’ll be the first manly thing that I’ve done since arriving here.”

“Err, quite,” Ben added with disapproval.  “Okay, right, let’s move on quickly.”  Ben then worked his way down the line of hopefuls.  “We need sixteen players to form a hockey squad and since there are only fifteen people here today, I am delighted to inform you that you’ve all made the team.” 

The team cheered and waved their hockey sticks in celebration. 

“Don’t get too excited though, since only eleven can play at any time, but we’ll rotate our substitutes so you all get a game.  Does that sound fair?”  Ben asked. 

The team nodded in agreement. 

“Wonderful.  Okay, that’s enough for today then, time to hit the showers!” Ben concluded.

The team whooped and hollered at this and rushed towards the changing rooms leaving Tony and Ben on the pitch. 

“I think I might stay out here and practise for a while longer,” Tony said seriously.

“Completely understandable Tony,” Ben said warmly, “I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but I am sure you’ll fit in here in your own special way.”

Tony made a noncommittal noise and tapped his hockey stick against hit foot.

“Anyway, practise makes perfect,” Ben said as he walked away, “I’ll speak to you later to discuss tactics.”

Tony waved goodbye then weaved across the field hitting the ball and trying to get comfortable with his hockey stick.

Later that evening when it started to get too dark to practise Tony made his way back to the Larry Grayson boudoir.  The changing rooms were closed so he kept his hockey stick and the ball with him.  The group were sat around gossiping about Tony and Uwe’s run in during the hockey try-outs.  The door creaked as Tony pushed it open and the group fell conspicuously silent.  Tony looked at them and noticed Uwe wasn’t there.

“Talking about me and Uwe were you?” he said as he walked towards his bed and sat down, wincing slightly at the pinch of his hot pants.  He slid the hockey stick under the bed and put the ball in his bedside cabinet drawer. 

Hugh coughed and tried to change the subject.  ”Have you been out there practising all this time Tony?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was just trying to get a feel for the game,” Tony replied kicking off his trainers onto the floor.  “I’ve never played hockey before; football’s my game as I told you before.”

Bruce pondered this statement for a moment before speaking up.  “Tony, I have never quite understood football, really,” Bruce admitted, “which is very odd when you think about how gay football actually is.”

Tony almost choked as his brain digested these words, “Gay!” he exclaimed loudly.  “What do you mean, gay?”

“Well,” Bruce started to explain, “from what I’ve seen, as soon as these men get on the pitch they all start slapping each others’ bottoms.  True?”

Tony was lost for words for a moment before he admitted, “Err, well, yes, but there’s nothing in that.  That’s just for encouragement.”

Bruce scratched his head again before speaking, “And then when a goal is scored every man on his team rushes as fast as they can to the player who scored and they throw their arms around him, cuddle him and then shower him in kisses!”

The group nodded in agreement, as if this had only just occurred to them.

“He’s got a good point, hasn’t he?” Keenan chipped in.

“Are you seeing a pattern here?” Bruce asked Tony.

Tony started to look incredibly uncomfortable and it was obvious he was trying to think of plausible explanations for these things.  But unable to find the words to defend the beautiful game and articulate a counterargument he muttered feebly, “Look it’s not like that, honestly.”

But Bruce had Tony against the ropes and launched his final assault:  “Oh and then after the game you all go back to the changing rooms, strip off so you are completely naked, whip each others’ arses with wound up towels and then you all get into a great big bath tub together and drink champagne.  It seems to me like football is an outlet for latent homosexual outpourings.”

Tony’s mouth hung open flabbergasted for a moment.  “But that’s only if we win,” he said finally.

“What is?” asked Bruce confused.

“We only have champagne if we’ve won a big game,” Tony stated weakly. 

“But regardless of winning or losing, you still indulge in the kissing, cuddling, towel whipping and the naked communal bath,” Bruce enquired, “don’t you?”

Tony’s body hung limply as if his whole world had been shattered as he spoke quietly, “Yes Bruce, we still do all that.”

Above the titters from the rest of the group Bruce concluded with a camp flick of his wrist, “Oh just ignore me Tony, it’s probably just my big, gay, overactive imagination.”

Slowly, Tony laid down on his bed and lowered his head onto the pillow.  His face enjoyed that momentarily coolness of the fabric against his skin. 

Gareth walked over to Tony with a glass of red wine, “Here Tony,” he offered kindly, “they’re only pulling your leg.”

“Cheers Gareth,” Tony said as he sat up and took the wine, “what is it?”

“It’s red wine, the grape is called Shiraz and I think you’ll like it,” Gareth said gently.

Tony sniffed the liquid and took a small sip, “Hmmm, yeah, that’s alright,” he said sounding surprised.   Gareth smiled and went back to join the others.

Tony looked down at the clothes he was wearing - the sweat stained football shirt and then at the tight, pink hot pants.  Then he started to reflect on his day.  He’d chatted up a woman, played a bit of sport, scored a goal, been made captain of the team, looked at semi-naked women in magazines, had a wank, been involved in a fight, engaged in a bit of banter and drunk some alcohol.  All things considered it was pretty much a perfect day, he admitted to himself regardless of the circumstances.  He thought very carefully about this for a moment before he necked his wine, leapt out of bed and walked across to join the others, empty wine glass in hand “Hey guys, do you want to hear a filthy joke?”

“Sure,” Bruce said eagerly.

“Okay.  What’s the difference between Clint Eastwood and anal sex?” Tony said bawdily already laughing at the punchline yet to come.

“I don’t know, what?” said Bruce grinning from ear to ear.

“Give me a top up and I’ll tell you,” Tony said cheekily holding his glass out to Gareth.

Gareth smiled and duly topped up Tony’s glass.  “Go on tell us then!” he ordered. 

Marc snatched the bottle from Gareth, held it up to the light to see how much was left and drank directly from it, “Yeah tell us Tony,” he slurred loudly.

Outside the room Uwe skulked.  He couldn’t make out the words but he recognised the low sound of Tony’s voice followed by shrieks of laughter. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his fists into balls before silently descending the stairs.  He walked across the foyer, through the main doors and stood on the steps outside the building.  He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the text inscribed in stone above the doorway, ‘
Ad
augusta per angusta.
’ He repeated these words softly, like a mantra, as he gazed at the night sky for a few moments.  Finally he took a deep breath before making his way back up to their room to join the party.  It felt like the longest journey he’d been on in a long time. 

Chapter
Nine

The group awoke the next morning relatively early considering antics of the night before.  As usual Uwe was the first to the bathroom to prepare for the day.  Tony got up and stretched.  He was still wearing yesterday’s football top and one of the socks, though he’d removed the hot pants and they lay next to his bed in a heap.  He took off his football shirt and threw it onto the floor; the movement wafted the smell of Tony’s body odour towards Hugh.

“Phew, Tony you stink,” said Hugh holding his nose.  “You can use the shower next if you like.”

Tony lifted his arm up to reveal a mass of hair.  He sniffed at his armpit, inhaling a lungful, “What are you talking about?  It hums but it doesn’t stink.”

“It stinks Tony.  Seriously,” Hugh said looking Tony in the eye.

“You woofters are so bleeding sensitive.  Look, throw me your deodorant if it bothers you that much,” Tony suggested.