They may not mean to, but they do - 21. Twenty-One

On Saturdays Fags for Football borrowed a pitch and facilities at a local college (in fact, where Gerard worked) which meant, as one of the guys chatting to Keith beforehand explained, they had proper facilities with working showers. For Tuesdays, however, the borrowed pitch was a lot humbler, and the old clubhouse was little more than a room with a toilet.

Still, Keith had received a friendly welcome with Gerard greeting him warmly, which made Keith a bit regretful that he’d not come earlier. He’d been rather nervous and was pleased that almost the first face he recognised was Thomas, who looked almost more of a fish out of water than Keith felt.

Keith’s feeling didn’t last long. There was a round of greetings, and questions about where he came from, what he did etc, then one guy pointed out Thomas (referring to him as the tall, rangy looking guy) and said, ‘He’s with you?’. Keith admitted that Thomas was his boyfriend and didn’t play but had come along to support. Which prompted a few grins, but mainly comments along the lines of ‘I wish mine was supportive like that’. They were friendly, and no-one asked awkward questions. At least at first, you were taken on sight. Keith had dreaded explaining everything, and as a gay man felt a bit of a fraud sometimes. No-one was particularly shy, and as with the charity match most guys were quite uninhibited, there was plenty of naked flesh on display. Keith made sure he didn’t stare, but he admitted to himself that he did rather enjoy the sights even though many of the guys didn’t particularly attract him. Did he have a type that attracted him? That was a relatively new train of thought, interrupted by Gerard’s call to business.

The training was busy, and energetic with no sign of the friendliness of earlier and Keith soon found himself absorbed in the logistics of things, the challenge of working with new people, being part of a new team. The language was just as colourful as his mates’, though Keith doubted that any of his mates would use phrases like ‘Get your arse into gear you great fairy’.

It was also immense fun. By the end of the session, Keith was feeling pretty knackered, and he was starting to get a handle on who everyone was. Danny was one of the big, burly rugby types but he proved to have a Scouse accent and a dry wit. Patrick was another who was quickly placed, he was slight and nippy with a bright pink streak in his hair.

It was Patrick who, in the pub afterwards, came up to Keith and Thomas and leaned forward confidingly, but with a gleam in his eye, “I’ll ask because all the other fuckers are too polite to do so, but they’re dying to know. How long have you two been together?”

Keith’s answer was erm, whilst Thomas said, “A month or two, depends on what you mean by together”, and grinned at Patrick.

“Touché. Well, I couldn’t resist asking.”

Keith managed to find his tongue, “Could hardly be longer. I’ve not been out long. A bit of a slow learner.”

Patrick smiled, “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it fast. You from round here?” and the conversation moved on to more mundane matters. Keith felt comforted in the way that everyone took things as read. Towards the end of the chat, as Patrick moved back to the bar, a sandy-haired, slightly older guy came up. He introduced himself as Toby, “Did you used to work for Tashbrook?”

Keith nodded, it turned out that they’d worked on jobs together, Toby was a joiner. Keith recognised him, but couldn’t place him whereas rather embarrassingly, Toby seemed to have a strong memory of Keith. Thomas, meanwhile, had found someone whose work intersected with his enough that they had work colleagues in common. Keith found him chatting away, but the company started to move on, and Gerard came over. He was keen for Keith to continue and whilst Keith was reluctant to commit to playing matches yet, he would be along for Tuesday kickabouts.

Keith had wondered whether he could or should keep Tuesdays separate from his kickabouts with his mates, but after the scratch game on Thursday, Hughie had asked him whether he’d done any more with the Fags for Football. So, Keith said he’d delayed somewhat, but had been along and enjoyed it and would be playing more with them.

It was little Joe who piped up, “What happens at a gay football team.”

And Hughie responded quick as anything, “Same things as a straight one except the guys moan about their boyfriends rather than their girlfriends!” Everyone laughed, and that was it.

Thomas came and joined them in the pub, he’d arranged to work from home on Friday so that they could leave promptly to go for the weekend with Alison, and home was going to be Keith’s flat. They didn’t stay long, but it was the first time that he’d had a proper drink with Keith’s mates, and beyond a bit of curiosity Keith was pleased to see that Thomas slotted into the banter.

When they got back to the flat, Thomas produced a package and gave it to Keith. He wasn’t expecting anything, and Thomas did not say what it was. Ripping off the wrapping it was apparent that it was a jigsaw, quite a big one, and the subject was a group of naked men, proudly displaying everything. Keith’s eyes rather popped.

“Is it OK?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it, where’d you get it?”

“Ages ago, I read about a firm who does custom jigsaws; I’d thought it might be good for work, but we never managed to use the idea. I contacted them and checked they were OK with the nudity, sorted a picture and there we are. The only one of its kind, just waiting for you to get your hands on the goods!”

They both grinned. They were both thinking the same thoughts when there was a knock on the door. It was Greg and Bart, both grinning from ear to ear and with a bottle, a fizzy bottle. They’d seen Keith and Thomas return and felt that it wasn’t too late. Did they fancy a nightcap, there were things to celebrate?

It turned out that Greg had just landed a big new contract, a high-profile private one rather than another corporate building. And Bart had news that his proposal for a book was going to be accepted. There was a long way to go with both projects, but there was much to celebrate. And there was talk about Keith’s gay football activities, and when Greg caught sight of Keith’s print from the exhibition, they started talking about that, about African art, about all sorts of things. A second bottle was opened, and it was late before Thomas and Keith retired.

By this time, thoughts of sex had rather evaporated, and it was nice to go to sleep cuddled together. Almost all Keith’s final thought was to wonder what it would be like to do this every night.