Ağu 23, 2022 // By:analsex // No Comment
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Subject: Premiership Lads part 17: The 20:33 Dublin to Gatwick Part seventeen: The 20:33 Dublin to Gatwick Dublin Airport was loud, busy, brash, as airports always were, and the flight back to England and London was a fairly late one, already well delayed past the original plans. But Troy Parrott didn’t particularly care. He sauntered through the clumps of stressed travellers with a weekend bag slung over his broad young shoulders, whistling to himself. It had been a good break, last night especially good, and he was vaguely optimistic that he might get recognised by some Irish fans for his brief spots in the national team this year. But nope, everyone here was too busy faffing about worrying about delayed or cancelled flights, far too distracted to spot a minor (but widely acclaimed!) new national hero in the making (some newspaper’s words, not Troy’s). But Troy was too pleased with himself to be at all worried by the evening’s travel, because Troy Parrott was no longer a virgin. Partly because he was under 18 still, and partly because the prowess of Harry Kane didn’t always leave so much room for a promising spare striker in the Spurs squad, he’d been allowed a wee holiday back to the family in Dublin, who he’d barely managed to see in 2019. When he first came out to London for the youth teams at Tottenham, they had visited loads, made extended stays, but now he was 17 and had his professional contract, a lot more independence was expected of him. But being home had been great: he’d been spoiled and celebrated by everyone in his tiny suburb of Dublin, a local hero to all. And the trip had ended beautifully. Last night he had finally properly slept with his high school sweetheart, fuelled with the confidence of his recent exploits, and it had been amazing. Like all teenage lads after their first real conquest, he now felt like an unbeatable lothario, walking on air: surely every woman in Dublin Airport wanted a piece of him? It was as he wandered around in the vague hope that a) a fan of the Irish national team would recognise him and attract everyone’s attention the presence of a bona fide star or b) a pack of cock-hungry MILFs would pounce on him having heard tell of his legendary shagging experience, that he actually did get recognised, and someone hissed his name in a loud stage whisper. `Oi, Troy.’ It was a bloke in big sunglasses and a low-tugged baseball cap, a big fur-lined denim jacket over his clothes, in the midst of a conversation with some smartly dressed member of airport staff who was looking something up on a tablet. The mystery man waved beckoningly at him, and Troy hesitantly headed his way, briefly almost imbalanced by the weight of his weekend bag. `Huh, thought it was you,’ came the thickly accented voice of a fellow Irishman, and the sunglasses tilted down a straight handsome nose a little, and Troy instantly recognised the bloke. `Shane,’ he gasped quietly in recognition, but the man held a finger to his lips instantly and returned to his conversation with the airport staff, leaving Troy to stand awkwardly by. Shane fucking Long, he thought. Pretty much his biggest role model. Fellow Ireland player, fellow striker, fellow expat slogging away in the English Premier League. Shitting hell. He’d followed the dark-haired Tipperary footballer for much of his childhood, and he’d met the 32-year-old a few times in the past couple of years through the national squad. Essentially, Troy had realised at some point, Shane Long was both his icon and his rival: just like Harry Kane, there was rarely room for more than one special goal-scorer on a winning side. Or so the ego-driven psychology of the forward-playing footballer always claimed. `Hey lad,’ Shane said, after a few moments, `follow us.’ So he did. It turned out Long was a bit less patient with airport chaos, like most customers here, and had played the don’t-you-know-who-I-am card to full advantage, and was now being escorted to a tiny but luxurious business class waiting room with deep leather seats and some of Ireland’s biggest whiskey brands handing out freebies. As the two footballers trolled through, Shane dug an elbow in Troy’s side and mumbled to him: `You’re near enough 18, right, kiddo?’ `Few weeks,’ Parrott responded honestly. Shane just nodded and smiled, and they took their free tumblers of scotch and settled into two armchairs by the window, with a view of the chaotic-seeming runways stretching out into the winter night. `Fancy bumping into you,’ chuckled the heroic striker, slipping off his anonymous cap and shades, visibly relaxing. He was dressed in a thick woollen jumper and close-fitting tailored chinos, looking every bit the respectable family man that he was. Nowadays. `Yeah,’ Troy replied excitedly. `You been home for Christmas too? That’s cool.’ `Just a quick one � see my old ma and that. The wife and the wee uns are still down in Southampton, but I took advantage of a couple of days’ rest. Guiness just don’t taste the same in England, hey kid?’ Troy laughed softly. `I wouldn’t really know, yet,’ he said quietly, and enjoyed a sip of the powerful whiskey. Of course he drank plenty out here, where legal ages for drinking were largely scoffed at, but in London he had to be on his best behaviour, so he was still finding enough thrill in the illegal snifter in an airport waiting room. And of course, in the company of an Irish icon. Shane, who had been very kind and welcoming to him on the national side trips, questioned him about how things were going at Tottenham. Troy danced about the one major bit of gossip he had to share, talking instead about the excitements of his debut, the quality in the squad, the great coaching and so on. Shane looked like he was feigning interest a bit, of course. Why should a hero like him give a fuck about Troy’s experiences? He’d been through it all himself. `Reckon we’ll ever get in the air?’ Shane eventually asked. The handsome older Irishman sprawled back in his seat and scratched at the thin strap of his bear on his chiselled jawline. Troy watched him and thought how similar they were in features, this was like looking at an older, more filled-out version of himself, though he suspected he was already an inch or so taller than the Tipperary lad. Talk turned to the dull mechanics of transport, the usual whinges of regular flyers between Ireland and the UK. Then Long quizzed him about his Christmas, his celebrations, his enjoyment of being a bit of a celebrity, and then… his love life. Troy’s excitement radiated from his face with all the earnestness of his age. `Aye, we’ve been going out a few years, right before I took up my youth place at Spurs,’ Troy told him, mersin escort and it felt like every word he said was just a cover-up for what he wanted to scream: I finally got my dick wet! And not in Eric Dier’s gob! `That’s sweet. But distance never lasts,’ Shane informed him with a cynical lift of an eyebrow. `No? Well � we’re pretty good, I think. And we…’ He stopped. Of course it wasn’t appropriate to start banging on about last night, not to someone nearly twice his age, or who he’d only really met three or four times, or… Was this bloody whiskey going to his head already? `You slept with her yet?’ Shane questioned in a sharp but quiet voice, giving him a smirk. Troy’s blatant yes took the form of a nervous laugh, and he realised he was being shy for no reason. `Just last night,’ he shared giddily. `First time. We were waiting til she felt totally ready. It was great,’ he added lamely, and realised how tragic this might all sound to the much-experienced 32-year-old. His cheeks burned a little crimson beneath his dark stubble and he leant back in his seat. But Shane was leaning forward and sticking out a hand his way. `Well done you little wolf,’ chuckled the Southampton striker, and his handshake was tight and manly. `From boy to man.’ `Aye, something like that,’ Troy mumbled sheepishly, then another nervous giggle. Had he actually just told a serious football hero that he’d lost his virginity? God, how embarrassing. Texting Eric last night had seemed silly enough, but he felt pretty sure Dier would delight in knowing, perhaps not for the same reasons. `Here you are at the start of your career,’ Shane was laughing idly to himself, and it took Troy a moment to read the older man’s expression and see he did NOT mean football any more. Shane twisted the wedding ring on his finger thoughtfully. `Well enjoy the years of freedom while they last, laddie. These manacles come along before you know it.’ Quickly adding, `Fucking love her, and cherish the bloody kids, but… you know. Freedom is freedom.’ Troy nodded as if he could even vaguely relate, and they were interrupted by the overhead announcement. Aha, finally, the Gatwick flight was back in action � about an hour and a half later than scheduled. There was still a bit of waiting time, though, so Long got up and fetched them some more complimentary booze, and Troy self-consciously changed the topic, quizzing his hero a bit on his varied career in England. Moving to Reading at about Troy’s age, working his way through West Brom and Hull, ending up in the last five years as a big part of the Southampton squad… of course, the harsh truth that hung in the conversation, and in both men’s mind, was that Troy was already doing better, in a way. Spurs were a far bigger side than anywhere Shane’s skills and hard work had taken him, for all his adoration in Ireland as a big hitter. Troy brushed aside the thought humbly, but he wondered if it was the source of any resentment or bitterness for Shane, as they compared notes on dealing with the pressures of English footy. And then they were being ushered out of the waiting room. Shane had upgraded them with a bit of sweet talk, and Troy had his cheapo ordinary ticket snatched off him and replaced with first class. He grinned gratefully at his travel companion as they made their way on. Okay, it was a tiny fucking plane, and first class on these sorts of flights was very different to longer haul, but it was still cool, as they were led into the roomier, curtained off front section whilst the other passengers, miserable with impatience, filed down the length of the plane. Troy smirked triumphantly to himself as he got comfortable in his window seat, Shane settling down next to him. Both men tugged off their jumpers in the warmth of the cabin, Troy just in a worn old Ireland top from well before his time, and a comfy pair of black joggers that made him feel a bit scruffy and chavvy next to Shane’s smarter attire of a crisp white shirt and the pale grey chinos. It seemed to emphasise their age difference too. Troy always got a bit nervous during take-off, not a great flyer, but Shane seemed totally relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, he was having a great time chatting to their air hostess, a petite blond girl from a village near his roots, who was too distracted by the good-looking footballer to even do her job, and soon got scolded by the crew manager. `God, she was so into you,’ Troy hissed at his senior teammate, once they were comfortably in the air. `I wish I had your… confidence.’ Shane half-turned his head, smirking. `You will do, when you realise your looks and status,’ he said dismissively. It was sort of a compliment, but it hardly sounded like one. Shane oozed confidence, he really did. A stereotypical Irish charmer. `Drink?’ This time they were less successful. Of course, the staff knew Troy’s ID details and that he wasn’t 18, it was in fucking large bold print on their documents for the trip, so only a soda water for him, and another glass of overpriced Irish whiskey for his companion. The same air hostess served them, and she was giggly with apology to Troy, but her eyes were more serious and intense when dealing with Shane. Once she’d gone, the Southampton player let out a long, frustrated sigh. `Ten out of ten?’ he chuckled sideways, nudging Troy with an elbow. `Surely,’ Parrott agreed very eagerly, feeling a twinge of excitement. Another sigh from Shane and then � what was he up to? � fiddling with his knuckles, and sliding off his wedding ring. `Here,’ he muttered mysteriously, `look after this a minute, will ya?’ And he was unbuckling his belt and up out of his seat. Troy watched in first confusion and then suspicion as Shane stretched, flexed, and paced the aisle forward into the little kitchenette bit where their stewardess had vanished into. He heard the click of a door, and bit his lip: surely fucking not? He sat there, sipping his soda, turning the other man’s wedding ring over in his palm, the hint of a semi in his joggers. Surely Shane wasn’t… was he? A minute passed, an air steward came nosing by, as if in search of the blond girl, and then vanished back through the curtains again. Then the sound of a flush, the clicking of those funny folding doors, a few moments, and here was Shane, returning to his seat. Troy stared up at him open-mouthed, but Long just let out a sleazy laugh as he dropped comfortably into his seat, and he stuck a hand in Parrott’s face, holding his two fingers up firmly beneath the nose. `Have a sniff on that,’ he clucked smugly. Troy momentarily inhaled the unmistakable odour and leant back in shock, suppressing a hoot of laughter. `You dirty escort mersin dog!’ he hissed. `Smells good, huh,’ Shane teased, keeping his hand there, `do you want a taste? No? Oh well…’ And he leaned back in his seat, put the fingers to his mouth, and slid them into his lips, tasting her cunt openly for Troy’s entertainment or discomfort, it was unclear, then took a long sip on his alcoholic drink. Both tastes seemingly barred to Troy right now in the claustrophobic cabin of the flight. Fuck! `Fingering ain’t cheating, sure enough,’ Shane remarked quietly to himself. The air hostess came hurrying out of the passageway ahead, looking flustered, adjusting her skirt: she barely shot them a smile on her way past, too self-conscious. Troy let out another confused and awestruck laugh, then looked at his hero again. `Wow,’ was all he could say. There was definitely a semi in his joggers now, for sure. He couldn’t help but looking, and sure enough, the bulging front of the older guy’s chinos looked a wee bit swollen too, with the excitement of what he’d been up to in there. `Not exactly the mile high club,’ Shane said, `but she enjoyed it. What you think, should I fuck her?’ `Up here?’ Troy asked, matching the other guy’s secretive whisper. `Man, I don’t know…’ He realised he was still holding the wedding ring, so he slipped that in the pocket: handing it back now seemed like a moral judgement. `You reckon you can get away with it?’ `Sure,’ Long claimed confidently, `I reckon we can both do her if we want. She seems up for it.’ Troy bit his lip in nervous excitement. `Really?’ Shane just grinned, nodded, elbowed him gently, took another drink. And there she was, returning through the curtain, carrying some trays. With a graceful jerk of his arm, Shane caressed her pert behind in passing, and she turned to give him a smile. The other few customers in these front, so-called first-class rows, were paying no attention. `Up you get,’ Shane hissed at Troy, and the teenager quickly got to it. He undid his belt and clambered up, needing to drag his legs past Shane to get into the aisle � as he did so, he was sure his butt briefly dragged over the older guy’s crotch, but it could have just been a belt buckle. Hopefully! He glanced back at Long for reassurance then into the passage, and there she was, sliding open the toilet door with a wink, and disappearing into the cramped box of a loo. Troy followed her in a hurry, almost startled when she grasped him in a snog. He worked fast and clumsily, kissing nervously at her pouting lips and reaching his hand under her skirt as Shane must have done. Finding the lace of her knickers, sliding into her warmth, fingering her with the jerky motions he had tried on his girlfriend last night. The minute of excitement felt like time completely suspended, but also like a flashing instant, and she made it clear it was over by breaking the kiss. `I’ll get the sack,’ was all she giggled, and before she slipped out of the loo, she grabbed the crotch of his black joggers, and the surprise and admiration on her face was clear and arousing. `Big boy,’ she murmured, and ducked out into the passage. Troy awkwardly adjusted his boxer shorts to try and make the bulging package less obvious, and picked his way back to his seat: Shane had shuffled along one into the window seat to make it easier, or was it because he HAD accidentally brushed the Irishman’s semi on his way out? Troy sat down, shaking with nervous energy, and gave Shane a wild-eyed grin. The man’s face was an open question, and Troy nodded affirmation. Shane seemed to need more proof. He grabbed Troy’s ankle, held up his hand and then, just as the air hostess passed by them with a grin and a drinks menu, for her eyes only, he slapped his lips to Troy’s two forefingers and gave them a good, long lick. Troy tingled with excitement at both the sensual touch and the knowledge of their shared adventure. The stewardess grinned, licked her devil-red lips, and giggled at Shane’s dirty behaviour, clearly as turned on by it as Troy was. And then they were interrupted. Again, the crew manager, an aged harridan, totally unimpressed. It was hard to tell how much she suspected what had happened, but she could tell her underling was flirting with the two soccer players. The two women disappeared forwards in hushed conference, and the two Ireland players shared a guilty grimace. Then the blond stalked past them without even a glance, and the older, shrewish stewardess took her place. `More drinks, gentleman?’ she asked them two minutes later, standing there and managing to project stern disapproval in every word. Shane just frowned at her, refused the offer, and scowled across to his young companion. Troy realised he was probably red in the face, with the initial excitement of the adventure, then with the shame of possible discovery. Imagine if this got back to his managers. `Fuck it,’ Shane sighed after a few moments of silence. `Fun while it lasted.’ `Aye,’ Troy agreed earnestly. `Dunno about you,’ the stocky Irishman murmured, leaning his way a bit, `but I am definitely gonna have to toss one off thinking about her. Be right back, pal.’ He slapped a hand momentarily to Troy’s thigh, then got up to move � his turn to do the awkward clamber over, and Troy knew with excruciating certainty how obvious his own excitement was in the soft cotton of his joggers, feeling Long’s bulky backside drag over it on the way out. Shane paused, stood over him in the aisle, and shot him an amused glance. `There’s two toilet cubicles,’ he pointed out quietly. Dazed with arousal, Troy got up from his seat, and followed. Yeah, there were two of the tiny cubicles right opposite each other in the shady passage, and Shane dipped into one, leaving the other to- Oh, no, occupied. Troy hovered there in the narrow passage, dimly realising that no, the other loo wasn’t occupied, there was an out of order sign above the door, but here he was, right outside the thin door of the other one and… Could he actually hear Shane’s grunts and gasps? No, surely he was imagining… The manly noises, on top of everything else, were too much for him. His cock was rock hard and tenting his joggers ridiculously. He couldn’t feasibly return to his seat without this being insanely obvious: and the stern-faced older stewardess was out there again too, right in the way. Shit. He leant closer to the door. `Shane,’ he hissed in a panic, `I need in…’ `Huh?’ Muffled exasperation through the thin folding screen. `Please, I’m gonna…’ Another muffled noise, a couple of clicks of a lock, and the door slid aside a bit. Troy half darted in, half was pulled by the mersin escort bayan green nylon his 90s Ireland shirt, squashing into Shane in the tiny space: both lads pushed the folding door shut behind him a rush and slapped the lock on it. Troy’s panicked face turned to meet Shane’s red-cheeked sweaty mask of enjoyment, quizzical eyes. `The other one was locked,’ Troy mumbled weakly, `and I was gonna…’ He glanced down, and so did Shane. The tented pole was ridiculous in the taut black fabric, and Shane let out a dirty chuckle of understanding. Both lads’ eyes shifted from the covered pole to the exposed one: Shane was tanding with his chinos about his knees, bottom few shirt buttons undone, and one hand clasped about the veiny length of his thick nob. `Well,’ Shane breathed, `you weren’t getting back to the seat safely with THAT weapon down there… Fuckin’ hell, kid…’ Troy was too uncomfortable to really take the compliment, feeling their toned bodies jammed together in the limited space: it was like the fucking sauna all over again, except, somehow, worse! Half one wall was a mirror and that just exaggerated it: whichever way he looked, he was right up against the handsome older bloke, their bodies and their crotches almost on top of each other, and the manly smell of sweat and pre-cum filling the room. But there was only one way to solve the problem protruding in his pants, of course… `Get on with it,’ Shaned urged, him almost irritably, and did the same himself, tugging rapidly on his dick, which was frothing pre-cum around the foreskin as he did. He threw back his head in a muffled groan, his other arm stretched out behind Troy’s neck to steady himself. Troy leant his head back a little against those strong arm muscles as he reached down and with both hands lowered his joggers and boxers, and tugged out his rigid member. He spat in his right palm and began to tug. He couldn’t help but look again at Shane’s trembling cock: it was similar to Eric’s, which he’d tentatively pulled on that day for a bit. Big, veiny, thick, but… not quite matching up to his own strong piece, shockingly. Was he really so well-endowed? `Hey,’ Shane grunted then, `give us those fingers again to sniff…’ Troy was confused for a second, but then did as told… taking his cock in his left hand instead, he lifted his right up to Shane’s lips and nostrils, hoping the odour of the girl’s fanny juice was still on them, and taking Shane’s deep groaning breath as a yes. And then it wasn’t just sniffing: dirty Shane Long was lapping them with his tongue in memory of the brief encounter with the stewardess. Troy watched this doubly: the side-on view of the chiselled jaw and darting tongue against his own sticky digits, and another perspective glaring at them in the mirror. Fucking hell this was so insanely hot… And then quite suddenly, Shane was returning the favour, shoving his own right hand and two fingers under Troy’s nose, as he had done just then in the seats, letting the teen inhale the musty, sexual scent of a woman… The tangled men continued like this, breathing deeply and yanking powerfully on their cocks, and then Troy tentatively copied the older, more experienced bloke’s behaviour, and lapped a tongue over the rough skin of Shane’s two long fingers, tasting both him and their shared female target… jesus… Shane came first, struggling to hold in his panting groan as he did so, firing his load across the closed toilet seat and the safety signs on the wall behind it. Troy gasped his own pleasure at the sounds his travel companion made, and the reflected sight of the older man’s open-mouthed face, eyes squeezed shut in delight, and the quivering dick in his hand: he looked at the white streaks and thought about that dodgy moment Eric had made him try his own seed. God, why did he really really wanna lick Shane’s juice up?! Hold on to yourself, mate… But then Shane was throwing an arm tightly about his shoulders and panting into his ear. `Go on mate,’ the seasoned pro slurred, `wank that big fat cock… go on lad… think of her cunt on your fingers…’ Rubbing his fingers under Troy’s nose and over his lips, so that the teenager could barely suppress his excited moans, and then with a last pull on his long meat, he blew. His spunk mingled with Long’s, streaking the toilet cubicle wall. Was there even a speck of it on the mirror floating over their reflection? Troy panted wildly and leant his weight on Shane, and slowly the two Irishmen caught their breaths and calmed down. Minutes later, back in their seats, the lights of London coming into view through the window. Troy wiped his face a bit more on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and adjusted his sitting position again, prickly hot in the cabin, and paranoid with the certainty everyone in first class must surely have heard their groans. An announcement called the beginning of the landing procedure. It really was a quick flight. `Well,’ Shane said, after long minutes of silence between them, `that was quite a fucking laugh, wasn’t it?’ He grinned over at Troy from his aisle seat, and Troy returned the smile awkwardly. They both laughed a bit, and set about doing their belts as per the flight instructions. Shane leaned over a bit closer. `What the fuck even is that thing in your pants?’ he demanded with a tone of mock jealousy, giving Troy a nod. `Jesus. Surprised you were allowed to smuggle that onto the flight.’ Troy giggled but squirmed a bit and tried to shrug despite the belt holding his frame in place. `Huh… is it… er, is it really that big?’ Shane raised both eyebrows and slowly slid back into his own seat, adjusting his belt. `Mate,’ he said, but didn’t elaborate on that. The landing took a while, and Troy’s usual flight anxiety was rather curtailed by the hot, confused sensation of what had gone on. His second wanking off with another bloke, and in theory this one had been less… queer, but still… His excitement at the older bloke, his thrill at the seediness of it all, was a surprise and maybe a worry to him. But… fucking hell, it had felt good. Phew. Goodbye with Shane at the luggage carousel was a bit odd, a brief hug and vague comments on seeing each other again soon, whenever the next Ireland call-up brought them to training… Some vague invites from Long for the youngster to join his family for dinner sometime, but all Troy could think was how fucking awkward that might be, sitting across a table from his wife! He laughed and nodded and made some more respectful comments on how much he’d always looked up to Shane Long, and they parted. It was only half an hour later, sitting in the taxi back to his lodgings, that he reached into his pocket, and his finger slid into a band of metal, and he pulled out the Irish striker’s wedding rung. `Oh, fuck…’ **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KIND EMAILS OF FEEDBACK & SUGGESTIONS… ALWAYS GREAT TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE ARE ENJOYING.
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