CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Szabos—Milena and her husband—left shortly after the incident. Apparently it was separate: Milena left her husband and rumor had it she moved to Berlin, and Gustaf returned back to Hungary a week or two later. I was glad they left though I was still puzzled about why they both had behaved toward me.

The season was coming to an end and the team wasn’t doing as well as we expected. There had been hope that we’d get promoted to the top division, but instead it was lagging in fourth or fifth. There was obviously some tension, particularly among the coaches, as the expectations and investment by the owners wasn’t being met. I started training with the first team once or twice a week.

The head coach was from the Balkans who had a thick accent so I barely understood. Usually these sessions ended with him giving me a bollocking for not following instructions while I grinned in ignorance. So it did come as a surprise when I didn’t find my name on the normal training rosters for the youth and reserve teams.

I went to the coach in charge of development, a friendly Dutchman called Robby, and asked what was going on.

“The big boss wants to see you,” he laughed, “guess he’s got your walking papers.”

He walked me over to the administrative offices and waited with me until the head coach was ready. I was squirming; suddenly it seemed that the whole move to Germany was a busted opportunity. What would I do now? Go back to England or the States?

When I finally got in the head coach and, luckily, his German assistant laid out the plan. The season had been a disappointment. There would have to be changes and players let go. It was time to find out who was committed. Younger players would be given an opportunity to be blooded on the first team. I was seen as promising and would now train solely with the first team and would get some playing time.

My head was in the clouds. Robby was waiting for me when I left the office.

“Congratulations!” he roared, clapping an arm over my shoulder.

* * *

There were major differences being on the first team squad. Training was pretty much the same though the players were much more talented. Diet was a lot more controlled and when we traveled to away games we got first-class treatment in transport and accommodations. The older treated me badly initially and the two other players brought up with some speculation and ribbing, but once they saw we could hold our, we were ok.

For a couple of games I sat on the bench, and then was put in as a substitute for the last ten or fifteen minutes. I played conservatively, did my job and didn’t goof up. It was an away game and it was late evening when we got back home.

“We should go out and celebrate your first game,” my roommate Frank suggested.

I was tired and it was about nine-thirty, and the only thing I was thinking about was my warm bed and sleeping in since we had no training after a game day. I explained that but Frank was insistent:

“You’re on the first team. We should go to town. I show you some of the prizes you get.”

We changed and Frank drove us downtown to the red-light district. It wasn’t that extensive, a couple of blocks of bars, sex shops and the like. At the first bar Frank brought a couple of beers and scanned the crowd.

I haven’t said much about Frank. He was an extrovert and jolly fellow. Since he had being playing on the first team all season our schedules didn’t match, but he had been a good bloke and friendly. Yet he’d never asked me to go out with him before. He socialized pretty regularly and sometimes stayed out all night. While I was seeing Beate he’d occasionally bring home this girl I assumed he was seeing. She was tall, over six feet, thin, and had jet-black long hair. Frank had never introduced her, but I found her a couple of times in the bathroom or kitchen early in the morning.

People came up to Frank to talk football and he introduced them to me. Someone brought us another round of beers, and when we finished them Frank said it was time to go to another bar. I wasn’t much of a drinker and was reluctant, but since Frank was my transportation home I didn’t have much choice to follow.

The next place was down an alley off the main drag in a basement. It was a lot less lit than the first place, cloudy with smoke and rather dank. As the barmaid pulled our beers Frank scrutinized the clientele.

“There they are,” he said, indicating a back corner with a flick of the head. I couldn’t see anything but vague shapes of people.

“Who?”

“I don’t know the English word… in German we say ‘groupies’.”

“Groupies?”

“Ja… girls who like to fuck big stars,” he laughed.

Frank dragged me to the back of the bar. Around the table were five women. I recognized the tall black-haired girl that Frank had brought home, and he pulled up chair and squeezed it in next to her.

“Wer haben wir hier?” asked an older woman with a brusque voice who seemed to command the table. She was pointing at me. I was still standing.

Frank explained I was an American who had just made it into the first team. The woman looked me over, uncertain, but then pulled a chair up to the table and patted it for me to sit down.

The woman asked me some questions, first in German and then English, about me. She was in her early thirties with short brown hair, and wore a brown business suit—jacked and skirt—that looked as though she’d worn it all day. It was clear that at least a couple of others round the table didn’t understand the conversation and pretty soon everyone was talking in twos and threes. Another player showed up and I dropped from being the center of any attention.

I sipped my beer and studied the social circle. Gerda, the woman in brown, was the oldest of the group. Frank’s girlfriend, who I found was called Elsa, didn’t speak in English and seemed occupied by his hand rubbing her thigh. She seemed to be in her early twenties.

There seemed to be a miniature version of her. This girl had the same jet-black dyed hair but was much shorter even sitting. At first I thought she was Elsa’s sister, but the shape of their faces were too different for there to be a family connection. I didn’t catch her name. The last two around the table looked like teenagers. Nixie had cropped peroxide hair and a nose-ring. Her face was plump and squarish, but she had a nice smile and spoke some English. So did Chris, who was much prettier with dark-brown hair and was sitting next to me.

I made some small talk with Chris and found out she worked as a clerk in a large downtown department store. She was twenty and had left school three years earlier. I told her about playing in England and moving over to Germany. By that time my bladder was getting fill—I was on my fourth beer—and went to find the men’s room that was out back.

It was stinky with lakes of piss around the floor. I held my breath as I relieved myself. Frank had called the women groupies. They didn’t seem like it. Pretty normal people having a night on the town, perhaps overdoing the hair dye.

When I got back Chris had moved so I sat between Gerda and Nixie. Frank had disappeared along with Elsa. Another woman, a smart looking redhead called Johanna who worked with Gerda, had joined the table. Nixie asked me the same questions as Chris—it was getting tiresome—and I found out she was a legal assistant for a small law firm. Gerda was in deep conversation with her workmate, while Andreas—the other player who’d joined us—started making out with the other black-haired girl.

The redhead left and Gerda started to preside business-like over a meeting. Andreas and his date were pretty occupied sucking face, so it was just the four of us—me, Gerda, Chris and Nixie.

“So…” began Gerda, “Frank says you are now with the first team. This is true?”

“Yes. They promoted me a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good! You have played yet?”

“I played today.”

“This is true? You started the game?”

I shook my head. “No, I was a substitute.”

“How many minutes did you play?”

“I don’t know… maybe ten or twelve.”

“This is true?”

I nodded.

Gerda stood up. She was tall but carried herself impressively. I reckoned she was about five-five but large boned and broadly built. Gerda wasn’t beautiful but she was a handsome woman. She looked through the smoke and then saw someone she was looking for.

“Karl! Kommen Sie hier!” she yelled. A rather drunken guy in his twenties stumbled over to the table. He wore a long scarf in the team’s colors.

“Wissen Sie wer dies ist?” Gerda asked, pointing at me. Karl totted and looked me over. He shook his head.

“Er ist ein Amerikaner. Er sagt, daß er heute gespielt hat.”

Karl looked at me more closely. I was feeling a little sheepish, as if I’d been caught in lie. But I had played.

“Ja. Ein Verteidiger. In der zweiten Hälfte.” Yes, a defender, in the second half.

“Hat er gut gespielt?”

“Ja. Er hat den Ort von Sammy genommen.” I had played well, taking Sammy’s place.

“Danke.” Gerda’s tone was clear and through his alcohol fog Karl realized he was to have no more part in the conversation, and wandered off.

“So…” Gerda said for a second time. “We shall talk about a prize plan for you.” The other two girls nodded. I was a little slower than Karl in getting the message.

“Perhaps you should have another drink at the bar.”

I finished my beer and walked away slowly. I got another and stood at the bar. I tried to avoid looking over my shoulder but every time I glanced over the three women seemed in deep conversation. Gerda caught me glancing once and glared, warningly, at me.

Luckily Frank came back with Elsa and they joined me at the bar. Frank, who normally was so dapper, looked a little disheveled and had a shirt-tail hanging out of his pants.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“The women are planning.”

“What are they planning?”

“Planning an incentive plan.”

“Incentive?” I had to explain the word. Frank smiled broadly when he got it.

I had a need to piss again so headed back to the courtyard with the smelly bathroom. I held my breath as the beer gushed out of me. When I was finished I went outside and cleared my head in the cool night air for a couple of minutes.

As I headed back inside someone grasped my arm and pulled me into the shadows behind the bar’s back door.

“Kommen Sie hier.” There was a little niche between trashcans and crates of spent bottles. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust. I recognized the bleached blonde hair and glint at the center of her face. It was Nixie.

She stretched up and started kissing my face. One armed wrapped around my neck pulling our heads together. Her other hand was grappling with my belt buckle. When she released it she expertly unbuttoned my jeans. Still kissing me she groped in my under shorts and gripped my penis. Blood was flowing into it and was already getting taut. Nixie wrestled it out through the fly of my shorts.

A couple of drunks came out of the bar, slamming the heavy iron door against the stacked crates. Nixie kept kissing me undisturbed by the company that broke out into song. My prick was quickly getting hard in her hand. When the men went into the pissoir she knelt before me and hungrily gobbled me up.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, savoring me. Then she released me and spat.

“You did not make yourself all clean,” she judged before nibbling the tip of my stiff sausage. She ate up half the length and started sucking it hard, pulling the foreskin over the rotund tip. Gripping the skin with her teeth she drew the skin back, impaling her mouth, stretching taut my cock. In the bad light I could see one of Nixie’s cheeks strain against the force of my cock. She started pumping half the length of my cock in and out of her mouth. It made a loud slurping sound and some spit drooped onto her lips and chin.

The guys came back out of the bathroom, joking loudly. Nixie stopped and wiped her wrist across her face. When they went back inside the bar, slamming the door again, she started sucking me off again. Her mouth pumped me hard, but when she started folding her tongue around the underside of my prick my urgency to come peaked.

The first explosion took Nixie by surprise, but she quickly siphoned off the succession of gushes into her mouth. All time she looked up at me and held me with her stare, with my meat almost tearing her sheet.

Finally I stopped coming. Nixie released my prick. I could tell she was swirling my come in her mouth. She spat it out on the concrete.

“Hmmm,” she mused. “You have thick cream.”

Still kneeling Nixie carefully placed my softening penis in my boxers, buttoned my jeans, and buckled my belt. Then she stood up and kissed my cheek.

“And a big dick.” She kissed my other cheek. “Come,” she said taking my hand and leading me back inside the bar.

* * *

Backs inside the remnants of the circle round the table were grinning broadly: Frank and Elsa, Chris, Gerda and a new pixie-like woman introduced later as Ulka.

“Haben Sie eine gute Zeit gehabt?” asked Gerda, smiling broadly. Dumb and embarrassed I nodded that I had had a good time, and sat down.

Nixie bent over and whispered something in the older woman’s ear. She roared with laughter. “Er ist ein großes Ein.” He’s got a bid one.

Gerda grasped my thigh, which was already pressed against her in the confines around the table, and ran the palm over my crotch. “But it is not so big now, eh Nixie?”

The whole table guffawed.

The lights flickered, indicating the bar was shutting down for the night. We started putting on our coats. I was still red-faced and glad to get out of there.

“So…” Gerda asked grabbing my arm, “do you like the reward program?”

Densely I nodded again.