I decided to publish this story in the Novels and Novellas category rather than breaking it up into separate chapters. It's about sex but it isn't simply one sex scene after another so bear that in mind when reading and commenting.
I hope you enjoy it and please leave me feedback. All rights reserved, © Northern_One, 2014.
Chapter One
"Am I boring you, Weston?" The voice boomed around the changing room, snapping Will to his senses.
"No, sir. Not at all," said Will, which wasn't strictly true.
"Good. Then you won't mind telling us all what formation we're going to be using this afternoon then, will you?"
Will looked at the squiggles on the whiteboard on the far wall of the shabby room. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stuffy, sweaty air. It smelled of socks, damp and Deep Heat. "Umm, four-four-three, sir?" he said. It was a guess. The strategies and mechanics of football had never excited him. Mr Fiddler, his PE teacher knew it was a guess. Everyone in the room knew it was a guess.
"Jesus, boy. Can't you even add up? Just how many players do you think make up a football team?" said the man the entire student body knew as 'Kiddy', by virtue of his name, despite the lack of any evidence to support the slander.
Will saw his error. "Twelve, sir?" he said. If he was getting a detention he might as well get a laugh out of it at the very least. The groans from his team mates told him he'd failed.
"Dickhead," someone muttered.
"Dickhead, indeed," said Kiddy. "Clever little shit, aren't you, Weston?"
It was true. Will was a clever little shit. He was also a cheeky little shit, a cocky little shit and a lucky little shit, if various teachers and prefects were to be believed. It seemed, however, as the track-suited bulk of the PE teacher loomed in front of him, that the last of these descriptive little shits had finally run out.
"You lot get out there and warm up," Kiddy told the others, who duly trooped out of the door towards the freezing quagmire that passed for playing fields at the well-regarded but woefully under-funded school. "You, stand up," he told Will.
Kiddy Fiddler towered over Will. The teacher was a freakish man mountain compared to Will who these days was finding it harder and harder to make the skills he was born with count on the pitch when everyone else had got so much bigger than him.
"I don't like your attitude these days, Weston," Kiddy said. "You're not a team player. And there's no place in my teams for someone who doesn't want to play."
Will, who was having to tilt his head back to make eye contact with the older man glanced towards the open door and the rain-lashed pitches beyond.
"Look at me, boy," Kiddy said. "I know you want to be out there, showing off, getting laughs, making lads with less talent than you look stupid, but not anymore."
Will looked back at old Kiddy. The teacher couldn't have been further from the truth. Not long before PE had been the highlight of his week, his playground, his theatre even, now Will dreaded Wednesday afternoons and the freezing cold, the merciless tackles from the lads now much bigger than him, the clumsy challenges from the unskilled oafs and the relentless bellowing from the man in front of him.
"I've tried discipline. I've tried coaching. Nothing seems to work with you, lad. You're a waster," Kiddy said. Will could see thick grey hairs on his upper lip where he'd missed with the razor. His breath smelled of coffee and cigarettes. There was a faint waft of body odour, too, that the cheap deodorant was failing to mask. Kiddy didn't seem to expect a response so Will didn't offer one.
"I've had it up to here," Kiddy said, gesturing really quite high up. "Now, if all you want to do is ponce about and get laughs then we're going to take your audience away. If encouragement and good old fashioned bollockings won't make you think, then we need to try something different. Maybe it's time you were humiliated into applying yourself."
Something lurched in Will's stomach. He didn't like the sound of humiliation. "Sorry, sir," he began.
"Enough," Kiddy said, holding up his hand. "It's too late for you to talk your way out of this. I've been talking to Miss Cookson and she agrees. If you don't respect me, the game and your team mates then we'll take them all away and teach you a proper lesson," he said sternly. "From now on you'll be playing netball with the girls."
Silence filled the changing room. Will wondered if he'd heard correctly. "With the girls, sir? In the sports hall?"
Kiddy had a triumphant smile on his blotchy face. "Ha," he said. "Not so cocky now, are you, stripped of your precious football. Playing netball with girls should take you down a peg or two. What do you think your smart friends will think of that?"
Will bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. Blood rushed in his ears. He felt his face redden. His body began to shake as he held the laughter in. Surely this had to be some kind of joke. Kiddy was looking at him with a concerned expression.
"Come on, lad. Pull yourself together," he said. "It'll probably only be for a few weeks."
Will realised the teacher thought he was going to burst into tears. He looked Kiddy in the eye again and nodded. "Yes, sir. Okay, sir," he said quietly.
Kiddy stepped back and Will sat on the bench. He looked down at his football boots, hoping Kiddy would think he was contemplating the end of his serious sporting career. After a pause Will looked up at Kiddy. "So should I go now, sir?" he asked.
"That's right, lad. Miss Cookson's waiting for you in the sports hall. Now get over there, sharpish".
Will untied his laces and slipped off his boots. "Yes, sir," he said, barely able to conceal his smirk.
"And I hope you bloody learn something," Kiddy said as he marched towards the greyness outside.
"Me too, sir," Will said. "In fact I'm sure I will."
Will left the changing rooms and began to make his way down the path to the location of his humiliating punishment and paused to zip up his waterproof coat. He peered at the football pitches through the rain but the gloom was too murky and he could only hear Kiddy Fiddler instructing his erstwhile team mates to set off on a stamina-building run round the fields. Shaking his head in disbelief Will pulled his hood up and walked towards the sports hall. He pushed open the door and paused in the foyer, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he soaked up the warmth. Trying very hard not to grin too much he set off to find Miss Cookson and report for his punishment.
"Ahh, Mr Weston," the girls' PE teacher said. "Mr Fiddler suggested you might be joining us today. Let's hope playing with the girls for a while teaches you something while you're missing out on your precious football, hmm?"
Asking himself just how stupid these people really were, Will tried to look contrite. "Yes, ma'am, I hope so too." He looked around the hall. The three netball courts were filled with girls from his year. Girls of all shapes and sizes. Girls wearing short pleated skirts and clingy blouses. Girls perspiring gently in the warmth of the hall. Girls.
Miss Cookson blew her whistle and the games stopped. "Now then ladies. Will here will be joining us for a few weeks until he can show he's earned the right to play in the football team. I trust you'll show him the ropes and teach him what you can."
Will heard more than a few giggles which were cut short by a stern look from Miss Cookson. "Enough of that," she barked. "I'm sure you've seen a boy before. He's here to learn a lesson, not for your amusement." She looked around the hall until she found the girl she wanted. "Julia," she said to a tall blonde Will had seen before but never spoken to. "You can explain the rules to Will and show him the ropes."
"Yes, ma'am," said Julia, appearing before Will and giving him a friendly smile. She had a southern accent. Not a cockney one, just from down south. Will assumed she must be posh.
"And Will," Miss Cookson said. "I'll be reporting back to Mr Fiddler so I don't want any funny business."
"Of course not, ma'am," said Will, finding it all the harder to keep a straight face when Julia winked at him.
