Confessions of a Gay Rugby Player (Charlie Harding Presents) (2 page)

Sean and I hunt in packs with Captain. Today will be no different. The next breakdown is twenty meters to the left, and there is a ruck. San Fran tries to counter ruck us off the ball. Mickey O' Toole, our number nine, sees what is happening and orders in reinforcements. Sean and I get in there to secure the ball. Sean is struggling as his shoulders meet theirs. They're big fuckers and strong, each of them broad shouldered and buffed up. I charge in behind Sean, bind onto him and secure a clean ball for Mickey to distribute.

This is going to be a hard game, and they are up for the fight.

Our turn to test them out as, Cian, our little right wing, decides to run straight at them. Why are the little fellas so completely nuts? You have to hand it to him. Everyone knows he is a complete power bottom and as fearless as they come. With a swerve of his hips, he beats their number eight, but there is no more space and two props right in front of him. He introduces himself by running straight at the first one at full pelt; he positively bounces off him, knocking the big prop onto his ass, but he’s nabbed by the second one. I can't help but think these lads are going to be pounding the hole off him at some stage this weekend.
Fearless.

Sean and I charge in to clear the breakdown. These lads are bigger than we are, but we are crazier. We have them rattled. I know what they are asking themselves, “How can these wee men be so fucking crazy in the contact?” Because we are Irish, and we love the fight. So front up, you big Marys.

A knock-on brings the first scrum of the game, and it’s Green ball. Let’s see what they got.

"Crouch, pause, engage." The ref gets the game restarted. I'd say their pack is, by the man, an average of two to three stone heavier than our guys. They are as strong as bulls, and we struggle to hold them off our 'put in'. Hardly surprising, all of them having huge legs and huge power asses. Impressive, really. The kind of butts that you break rocks off of. I have to confess that I am a sucker for a hot ass. Who would not want to bite and pound a powerful man ass? Fuck yeah!

Focus, Conor. Think with your head, not with your dick!

From my position at flanker, I look straight across at the opposition flanker. He is one hot fucker and has the look of concentration on his face. Furrowed brow and everything, cute,
really
cute
.
Is this the most important moment in his life? Maybe it is. He certainly looks a ride and doesn't seem like he wants to take any prisoners today.

We secure our ball from the scrum and shift it to the right as the packs break. Spreading out in the direction of the play, I clip the hot flanker’s heel, which sends him sprawling to the ground and lets me get to the break down first. Hot, but dumb. Just how I like them.

I can see he is pissed off. Hopefully, it will put him off his game. To show him that there are no hard feelings, I blow him a kiss. He really does not like that and grabs the neck of my jersey and starts mouthing off at me. The ref is unimpressed and tells San Fran's captain to get his team in order. Sometimes, this game is too easy.

As the first half wears on, it becomes a contest of our tackling against their big runners. They want to soften us up. We can see the runners lining up. As much as I like big, hot men running at me, the tackle count is notching up, and I know we will be suffering for it come the second half. We decide to tackle them two on one, stopping them from off-loading the ball in the tackle, and trying to slow their momentum. Trouble is the scrum. Their front five are as big and ugly a front five as we have played all season. Picture three hairy, leather doms from the Eagle, and you have an idea about what I'm seeing in front of me. We're having trouble holding our own scrum, feeding shit ball to the backs and inviting pressure.

Captain brings us into a huddle. "Forwards, crazy horse." 'Crazy horse' is our code phrase for playing cute and upsetting their players by any means possible.

The scrum is set, and the ball fed in by us. Cormac quickly takes it up and is cut down by “The Tonio.” As Tonio looks up, I bid him hello with a hard chest height tackle. Legal, but only just. Sean re-introduces himself by head butting him in the groin as he clears the ruck.

Tonio is left clutching his balls as the play moves on. Well, a place in the final is at stake. We can see that we have them rattled. They don't know if we are being clumsy in the tackle or deliberately fucking with them. From being on the back foot in our twenty-two, we now have them pushed back to halfway, dazed and bedazzled.

At the next break down, I go charging in to clear the ruck, which I do, but I make sure to slip a hand into the ruck and grab a player’s balls, giving them a playful squeeze. There is a scream from deep inside the ruck. 'Crazy horse' is a total head fuck.

These Yankee boys don't know what to do with us.

Half time comes, and we huddle in and hydrate. Captain gives his pep talk: more tackling, more crazy, put a few digs in, upset them, let’s get a quick turnover ball and hit them hard on the break. This is pretty much the same speech he gives every game. Basically, let’s go out there and fuck them up. Now, that is something I could do to quite a few of them.

The second half begins with them punting the ball down field to us and straight to my pod. I take the ball cleanly and decide to have a straight run at the San Fran number nine. He is a bit of a short arse. Looks Polynesian. So he gets the Maori side step.
Bish, bash, bosh
, and I run right over him. There is no better feeling then running over a hot, little thing. I'll be sure to give him a hug after the game. Tonio, the hot flanker, comes running towards me and lines me up in the tackle, but I snarl at him and give him a big hand off, right in his handsome face. He won't like that. Eventually I'm 'scragged' down, a ruck is formed, and we kick the ball in to touch.

Nothing is guaranteed to piss a player off more than a handoff to the face. It's pretty embarrassing to get bitch-slapped like that. But it serves him right for trying to go high on me. Get your tackling right, son!

The proceeding line out is deep in their half. My line out pod goes up to context the ball, but we are taken out in the air. Thankfully, I manage to land without breaking my neck, but I'm furious. Lo and behold, it's Tonio's pod that takes us out. Captain grabs one of the San Fran lifters by the scruff of the neck and shakes him about like a rag doll. All hell breaks loose, and a fight breaks out. Really? You want to fight the Irish? Bring it on! We tear into them. Full on 'handbags.' Tonio has grabbed our Mickey! Pick on someone your own size. I tackle him to the ground and mount him. He might be a big, strong fucker, but I'm just as big and have him pinned. The pair of us snarl at each other and jostle, but he won’t budge me, as I'm sitting on him. I can feel his cup at my ass, and I can feel my cock hardening in my own cup. I could fuck him right here, right now. Fuck him so hard that he won't walk right for a week.

Eventually, Cian of all people pulls me off him. The 'backs' are always ruining the forwards' fun. Now that Tonio and I have been properly introduced, I'm going to make the rest of this game hell for him. No doubt, he feels the same.

Tonio and I are given a thorough telling off by the referee. Captain tells the ref that we were just having a bit of 'craic' and no harm was done. The Yankee ref has no idea what Captain is saying to him.

I love this game!

Scores will need to be settled after that little tussle.

"Did ye enjoy having his dick up your ass?” Trust Sean to lower the tone.

"Where the fuck were you?" So much for the back row union!

"Ah sure, ye looked like yous was having such a good time riding him, I didn't want to be gooseberry boy."

Enough talk. There is a game to be won.

The clock is running down, and it’s do or die for both teams. We are all going to have to take some risks. San Fran underestimated us, and thought this would be a walk in the park. Size isn't everything, unless we are talking about cock. There are five minutes left, and we have a good scrum position after a San Fran knock-on. The nerves are getting to them. These big men are the cup favorites, but they are being held scoreless by the little diddy men from Ireland.

Captain picks and goes off the back of the scrum, then charges forward. I'm on his shoulder, my thick, powerful legs pumping hard to keep up with him. A little off-load to me, my attention is on the ball, and I don't see Tonio until it’s too late. He cuts me clean in half with a tackle from the blind side. The motherfucker!

Sean gets over the ball, but they charge in to counter ruck us off the ball. We desperately smother it and rightly get pinged for killing the ball. I'm going to feel that in the morning. I look up to see Tonio grinning at me. Fair play, that was a good tackle. I'd be fairly impressed with myself, too. I bet he's been storing that up the whole game. Pay back is indeed a bitch.

They decide to kick at goal. It must be forty meters out. An easy kick for a pro, but for an amateur, the last kick of the game, and all that pressure?

Would you believe it? He makes the kick, and that sends us home. Fucking US football kickers. Three to nothing in the end, a tight bitch of a game. No one likes losing in that way. The cure is to get drunk, sing some songs, and get laid.

It was from that moment onwards that I knew I had to hunt Tonio down and pay him back. Yeah, he can tackle hard, but can he fuck hard too?

Which brings me back to the moment and the hunt. Tonio is chatting away to one of the London lads when we make eye contact across the room. He's not going to forget me in a hurry.

I imagine what I'm going to say to him.
Hi Tonio, I'm the Paddy who was a total bollix to you this morning. You remember, don't you? Yes, that's right. We had a hot wrestle, and you tried to bum me on the pitch.

Somehow, I don't think that's going to work.

How about,
Hey man,
just wondering what you would like for breakfast tomorrow morning?

Do these chat up lines work on anyone? Actually, no they don't. Then, why the fuck have I been using them all my life? Oh yeah, they sound great when you're drunk back in Dublin.

I decide less is more, so I just keep his gaze for a moment. There is s
o much that can be said without words. Right now, my body is saying, 'I want your ass, Tonio,' and his body is saying, 'Ah jeas'uz, will you shut up ‘n’ ride me
.'
Well maybe, but not in so many words. His body is all tongue-tied. Tonio just needs to have his tongue put to better use, and I can think of many things to do with it.

That’s enough daydreaming. I'm just about to head over in his direction when I receive a pat to the back. Well, well, what do we have here? Possibly the sexiest cowboy I have ever seen in my entire life is standing before me with a seductive smile on his face. Even in the dim light, I can see this man is damned fine.

He leans in and says, “Howdy there, pardner!” I can’t help but burst out laughing. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Well howdy do there, pardner.” My eyes dart up and down his body. We stand there for a moment taking each other in. Fuck me, he's hot. He’s my height, very lean but muscular, and not a hair on him. The temperature in the club has thankfully forced this hottie to shed his cowboy shirt and opt for the half-naked ranch hand look. He has on the tightest pair of jeans I have ever seen, brown cowboy boots and a big, white cowboy hat with blonde hair poking out from under it.

“I saw you in the hotel earlier on today. There sure are a lot of you rugby boys in town. How y’all enjoying New York so far?”

“We’re having a great time. New York is a great city; our hosts have been great.” I realize my mind has become very one-track, when the only answer I can produce for everything is “great.” The sweat running down his smooth, sexy chest is distracting me, and I can’t help but want to lick it off him. “It’s pretty hot in here,” I tell him.
And you are one hot ride.

“Why, thank you! Chad, by the way.” Cute. He doesn’t seem to mind my inability to string a sentence together, and his smile is downright wicked. I don’t think he can be more than thirty. The perfect age for a gay man. There are no cowboys in Ireland—lots of cattle and lots of flat cap wearing 'bogger' farmers, but definitely no cowboys.

“Nice to meet you, Chad!” I’ve never hooked up with a cowboy before, and it would be mighty fun, but I can’t help but think about Tonio. There is a score to be settled. I have a quick scan behind me, but he’s gone.

“Someone you’re looking for?”

“Just a friend I wanted to say hello to.” I put disappointment to the side and direct my attention back to Chad. “I’ll catch up with him later. So Chad, you a legit cowboy?” His belt catches my attention; it’s one of those huge buckle types. The thick leather would be great for giving a naughty cowboy six of the best across his ass before a serious hole pounding.

“Sure am. I work as a ranch hand down in Texas. Just up here for the dance comp. Now, it’s kind of rude to be staring at another man’s crotch... are you listening to me?” Damn. I must have been staring. No point in denying that, so I run with it.

“Yeah, I was just looking at your... belt, yes your belt. It’s mighty big. Must be something powerful in there you need to keep locked up.” Yeah, like a big nine-inch dick, I'm hoping.

The look on my face must say it all. I'm a man who really needs to get off.