He jogged round the table, through the living room and into the hall. As he took the stairs two at a time he could hardly believe what was about to happen. Finally, after years of suggesting, cajoling, and downright begging, Danny’s dad was going to make love to him.

It was the morning of Gary’s eighteenth birthday and the only gift he wanted was behind the closed door at the end of the landing. Reaching the top step he paused, suddenly nervous. He tried to calm his racing heart and slow his breathing. His stomach also felt funny, like a flock of doves -- or were they lovebirds -- flying around in there. Gary didn’t want Raw to see him like this, so he stepped into the bathroom. After washing his face and drying it on Raw’s towel -- taking a big sniff of the man’s unique scent -- Gary tried to do something with his unruly tangle of red hair. Frowning at the blackhead that was starting to sprout on his freckled, too-big-for-his-face nose, Gary thought about squeezing the zit, but that’d only make it look worse. He knew he was too thin, too gangly and uncoordinated, nothing like the strong, powerfully-muscled god who was waiting for him.

“Fuck!” he said under his breath, his hands nervously picking at the pockets of his jeans. He’d agonised that morning about what to wear. What did you put on when you were going to be made love to by the man of your dreams?

He’d quickly rejected one of the Leopards’ rugby shirts. Gary had narrow, rounded shoulders; the shirts just looked stupid on him, although that didn’t stop him from getting the replica kits -- both home and away -- each season. And of course they had Rawlings as well as 13 on the backs.

Eventually Gary had decided on his best -- and tightest -- pair of Wranglers and the white T-shirt with the broad blue horizontal stripe across the chest that Raw had gotten him the previous Christmas.

Realising he was wasting time, time he should be spending with Raw, Gary looked at the unopened box of Tums in the medicine chest, decided he could do without, and turned for the landing.

“For what I’m about to receive,” Gary mumbled, “may the Lord know I’m truly thankful.”

Crossing the landing, wincing at the creek of every floorboard, Gary knocked on the door to Raw’s bedroom, a room he’d only glimpsed the interior of once before.

“Come in.”

This is it, Gary thought, turning the handle. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open. “Sorry I’m earlier than I said I’d ...” His mouth fell open at the vision standing in the centre of the room. “Oh, God.” He felt his knees weakening. Goddamn it, he’d wanted to prove to Raw he wasn’t the infatuated fanboy he suspected Raw saw him as. And what did he do the second he laid eyes on the man? “Fuck!” he added under his breath.

“You just gonna stand there?” Raw’s question was delivered in his usual deep -- and to Gary -- sexy timbre, but the man was smiling, the dimple in his chin in full ... dimple. This did nothing for the floppy feeling in Gary’s belly, but judging by the painful tightness a little further down, his dick was far from floppy. “Come in, if you’re staying.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Gary stepped inside and closed the door.

Raw’s room was awesome. All glass and chrome with dark wood flooring. In the far corner was the Nautilus machine Gary had advised Raw to buy a couple of seasons earlier to help the man stay in peak shape. A huge bed was against another wall, the sheets were black and to Gary’s untrained eye, satin. Gary swallowed, his mouth had gone dry. But what dominated the room, kept drawing his gaze, was Raw himself. Raw was decked out in the Littleborough Leopard’s 2008 black away strip with its classic two V’s -- one above the other -- in thin white piping across the chest. Although Raw looked awesome in whatever strip the team chose ... the black and white was Gary’s absolute favourite. He’d wanked off in his own copy several times, but that was a secret only known to him and the washing machine. It was around 2008 that he’d insisted to his mother he do his own laundry.

“God,” Gary said again. He remained rooted to the spot, just inside the room.

Raw smiled and held out his arms. “Not exactly, but I knew you liked this kit. I’m surprised I managed to fit into it.”

Gary shook his head. “You’re still the same size you were three years ago.”

Raw had remained a steady one hundred and ten kilograms for the past three seasons, and probably before that, too. Gary knew this because he’d built and still maintained Raw’s website which contained every possible statistic about Littleborough’s loose forward and goal kicker. Gary could quote every one of those statistics when asked, and tried hard not to when he wasn’t.

Raw tilted his head to one side and regarded Gary quizzically. “You’re quiet.”

Swallowing yet again -- maybe he should have had one of those Tums after all -- Gary said, “You’re ... you’re ...” He wanted to say ‘You’re a god, but for once he was shy. So he shut his mouth.

“Gar?” Raw approached the newly-minted eighteen-year-old and put a huge hand on his shoulder. “You okay? We don’t have to do this if you don’t --”

“Kiss me!” Now and again Gary had sneaked a kiss to Raw’s cheek, but Raw would never reciprocate, not even on birthdays or at Christmas, saying it wasn’t appropriate.

Raw smiled, showing off his dimple again. As soon as he cupped Gary’s face, Gary stopped breathing. When their faces grew to within centimetres of each other Gary found himself closing his eyes, even though he wanted to keep a visual record of every second of the encounter.

A waft of warm minty breath was almost immediately followed by soft but firm lips touching his. The kiss only lasted a second, but it was the most wonderful second of Gary’s short life.