(Note for you guys of the American persuasion, for 'football' read 'soccer' throughout.)
Jason White was a petty thief. Coming from the heart of Londons traditional East End meant that a life of crime was a valid career move for someone like him, a young guy totally lacking in academic qualifications, whose only true passion was football. Not that he was stupid. Far from it, he was smart enough to see that money was important in this life and he meant to have his share. He was young, healthy, good looking and presentable. So walking confidently through any of Londons smarter hotels drew little or no adverse attention, and today he was in one of the smartest.
He made his way up to the top floor, where the richer guests tended to stay. It was mid evening and the corridors were empty. Carefully he listened at the first door, no sound. With all the quiet skill of a seasoned professional he unlocked the door with the little metal lockpick he always carried. Cautiously he looked in, the room was empty, but as he stepped inside he heard the nearby lift doors start to open, a group of guys were inside having a friendly argument about football. Swiftly he closed the door behind him and waited.
He heard the sound of a key in the lock. Like lightning he was in the nearby bathroom, squeezing behind the open door, holding his breath. What rotten luck! He could hear someone open the door and walk into the room, another voice from outside was speaking "Hey, Michael. You partying tonight?".
"Nope" The guy in the room replied "I'm having an early night".
"Boring!" laughed the guy outside, as 'Michael' closed the door.
Jason stood as rigidly as he could, still holding his breath. "Shit", he thought. The guy was staying, and he would probably use the bathroom before going to bed. He looked around desperately, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was trapped.
He could hear the guy moving about in the room. Carefully Jason slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out a slim, heavy leather, weighted blackjack. No alternative, he told himself. After all, he couldn't risk going to jail, it was the big England v Argentina football match tomorrow and he just couldn't miss that. He smiled briefly at his own, strained logic, and tensed himself ready for action.
He stepped silently around the bathroom door and took a peek into the room. A slim, broad shouldered, young guy in white shirt and grey trousers had his back to him as he looked through an open suitcase. Jason stepped out onto the carpet and moved up gently behind the guy. He was slightly shorter than Jason, with brown hair cut fashionably short. Jason raised the blackjack and bounced it hard across the side of the guys head.
The guy's head jerked sideways and he started to fall. Jason slid his hands under the guys arms, he didn't want anyone to hear the sound of a falling body, nor did he want to risk his victim knocking something over on his way to the floor. For a moment he stood there, tightly holding the unconscious guy, listening for any sound of discovery. He was aware of people talking, out in the corridor, laughing, joking, like they were having the party right there!
Gently he hoisted up the limp form for a better hold, and half carried, half dragged him onto the bed. As the guy rolled over onto his back Jason got a look at his victim's face for the first time and gasped.
"Jesus Christ, it's Michael bloody Owen!" He had only gone and slugged out his hero, Englands star football player! His own risky situation was forgotten as he looked in horrified amazement at the baby faced youth lying on the bed. If Owen missed tomorrows match, the Argies would win! And it would be his fault!
"Oh shit, Michael. I'm sorry" Jason sat heavily on the bed and rested the palm of his hand against the smooth cheek of the slumbering football star. An age seemed to pass, only the sound of Owen's regular breathing and the party in the corridor broke the silence. Jason shook his head, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even leave the room now, the guys in the corridor would be bound to see him.
In fact the guys outside must be the rest of the team, so they would be going to bed pretty early with such an important match tomorrow. He decided that the only course of action was to wait until the coast was clear. In the meantime, he would attend to his unconscious hero as best he could, removing his tie, opening the top of his shirt, moving his body further up the bed until his head rested on the pillow. Through the crisp white shirt and thin grey cotton pants he felt the tight, lean musculature of a sporting phenomenon. They were very much the same age and build, and although Jason had never worked out in his life, he had outrun the cops more than once and he knew he was in good shape because when he got really desperate for cash he would charge older guys for sex, and he never had problems finding customers.
He leant over and kissed Owen gently on the forehead. "I'm sorry Michael, I'll be out of here as soon as the party stops, I'm sure you'll be OK when you wake up". The last comment was more of a prayer than a certainty, but he truly meant it.
After a while he went to the door and listened, already he could hear the party winding down, a gruff, older man's voice was 'suggesting' that the players start to head for bed. There were some good-natured protests that 'it was still too early' but the older man was insisting. Jason would soon be free, he just had to wait a little while longer.
He heard a sound in the room and turned round. Michael was struggling up onto his elbows and looking at Jason all bleary-eyed. The guy should have been out cold for hours yet!
"Wha..., what happened, where am I, who are you?" he asked in a weak voice. Jason moved quickly to his side. "You OK?, you..., er, you fell and hit your head, I was just going to call the doctor" he lied.
"Oh, er, right" Michael blinked slowly and looked around "But..., where am I?" he paused and looked at the wall mirror opposite. "And who am I?" Jason suddenly realised, Michael had amnesia! Instinctively he put his arm around the confused guy. "Er, your names Michael. You're in a hotel room".
"A hotel room? What am I doing in your hotel room?" Michael was confused but otherwise quite alert now and Jason could still hear the sound of people outside. He needed some excuses, something believable, and fast. If Michael called out he was done for. And he couldn't slug him again, not the guy whose picture adorned every wall of his bedroom.
"Er, you were visiting me. Yeah, that's right, you were visiting me".
Michael looked at the nearby alarm clock "Oh, I guess I'd better go then. It's getting late", he started to move off the bed.
"No, no, er, not yet" said Jason hurriedly pushing him back onto the bed again. "Oh, why?" asked Michael looking even more confused. "Er, because you, er, said you wanted to spend the night with me!"
Jason suddenly realised what he had said. Maybe in his subconscious that's what he wanted, but he knew that Michael was straight, he had a steady girlfriend, there had been a picture of them together in the papers only yesterday. In his hurry to find an excuse he had tripped himself up. In despair, he buried his head in his hands. Then he was aware of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Michael's beautiful eyes looking straight into his. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I can't seem to remember anything at the moment" said Michael. The next thing Jason knew was that he and Michael were kissing. A gentle loving kiss. His arms embraced the young football star sitting on the bed next to him and Michael embraced him back Slowly they drifted sideways onto the bed until they were lying face to face, arms entwined about each others bodies, mouths gently locked together.
As Jason came up for air he realised how relaxed and happy he felt. He had kissed his hero, and his hero had kissed him back. Then he suddenly felt Michael go limp. He looked down in alarm. Michael was lying in his arms, eyes closed, breathing gently, and totally unconscious.
"Michael, Michael!" he whispered with growing urgency. But his new found lover was out cold again. Outside, the corridor had fallen silent, but he didn't care, all that mattered was making sure his hero was all right. As soon as he moved, Michaels embracing arms fell away, lying oustretched and motionless on the bed. Jason felt his world collapse about him. He thought hard, if he put Michael to bed now, hopefully he would wake up tomorrow with just a headache and the memory of a strange encounter, probably dismissing it as a dream, in fact he might not remember it at all. Jason felt a pang of sadness at that thought.
Pulling himself together, Jason set to work, first he unbuttoned the white shirt and sat Michael up as he pulled it down his arms and tossed it aside exposing a superb, young, athlete's torso. The shoes, socks and trousers went next, until Michael was wearing nothing but his shorts. Jason hesitated, then gently stroked his hand across the big, cute bulge in the white cotton. "White boxer shorts. From now on I will only wear white boxer shorts" he said.
"Kinda kinky, don't you think?" said a voice. Startled, he looked around, Michael was looking up at him with a smile on his face. What a smile! In an instant Jason was embracing his hero again. "Oh Jeez Michael, you passed out again. Don't keep doing that."
"Hey, I'm OK. Why don't you take your stuff off. It's going to be lonely in this bed by myself". Jason didn't need a second invitation, in seconds his nude body slid into the bed next to Michael's even as his hero tossed the white boxer shorts onto the floor.
For the next few hours the two young men explored every corner of pleasure in each others bodies that they could possibly find. Eventually Michael drifted away into a deep, contented slumber and Jason slipped out of the bed, pausing only to tuck the sheets up around his hero's sleeping, angelic face.
Sadly he slipped his own clothes back on, knowing that he had to go now, while night was at its darkest. To stay would invite disaster, though to stay here with the young god in the bed would be worth it. He shook his head. No, in the morning Michael would probably remember everything and Jason would be in jail, not just for burglary, but for sexual assault, or worse.
Jason made sure he had everything. There must be no evidence that he had ever been here. Well, apart from several damp patches on the sheets, but they would be dry by morning. He stepped up to the door, listening for any residual sound. All the rooms in the corridor would be taken up with the England team and they should all be tucked up in bed by now, it should be safe to leave.
He made sure all the lights were off, then he quietly opened the door, only to be confronted with a tall, blond, impossibly handsome guy with fist raised, just about to knock lightly on the door. Instinctively Jason backed into the darkest shadow behind him, desperately avoiding the light spilling in from the corridor. His hand clutched at the blackjack, getting ready for action.
The tall figure moved forward, whispering "Oh hi Michael, just wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow" Jason recognized the intruder, David Beckham, England's star midfielder, wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. Jason hesitated then nodded, he couldn't say anything without giving the game away. And in the shadows he could just about pass for Michael.
Beckham moved slowly forward into the darkness that surrounded them until he was pressing Jason back against the wall. "Really... really... good... luck" he whispered in a slow, deep, sexual voice, and bent down to place his lips against Jason's. Jason responded fully to the kiss, but he also raised his hands until his palms were resting flat on Beckham's chest, his thumbs nestling in the grooves below the hard pectorals. It was a silent signal that said, kissing yes, sex no, not tonight.
After a kiss that seemed to last forever Beckham moved back. "See you at breakfast Michael" he whispered with a smile, then he was gone. Jason stood for a moment gasping for air. He heard the slight click of Beckhams door closing nearby and furtively he looked out into the empty corridor.
He closed the door behind him, adjusted his clothing (even after a night of sex with Owen, Beckham's kiss had still given him a raging hard on), and strolled off down the corridor, resisting the urge to swing Tarzan-like from every light fitting.
The next day Jason settled into his usual corner in his usual pub. His mates were all there ready for the big match and a cheer went up as the landlord switched on the big TV set on the wall in time for the pre-match banter. Jason had to endure an endless round of sports commentators talking about England's prospects before there was any specific mention of his hero. He had dreaded the news that Michael might have had to miss the match, but no, he was playing! Michael was OK!
The commentators noted that Owen was off form to begin with, he seemed 'preoccupied' they said, but soon he was back in the swing and just before half time he scored the first of what would be a hat trick of goals, all set up by the wizard midfielder David Beckham.
Jason wildly cheered the goal along with his mates and watched in awe as once again his smiling, angelic hero raised his arms in salute to the crowd. Suddenly Owen was enveloped in the embrace of a tall, blonde player, and Jason smiled knowingly to himself as Beckham gave Owen a big, 'well-done', manly kiss on the cheek. Already the rest of the team were surrounding and hugging the two stars, and Jason felt at one with the world. As he watched the celebrations, Jason slipped a single finger inside his jeans, touching the top of the stolen, white boxer shorts he was now wearing.
An older man sitting nearby tutted. "Why do they have to kiss each other all the time?" he said disapprovingly.
"Tradition, Dad" said Jason proudly. "Tradition"