TITLE : All on a Summer's Day - Part One
AUTHOR : Dave
PAIRINGS : Emile Heskey solo with references to Jamie Carragher, Steven Gerrard, Michael Owen and Danny Murphy
RATING : NC-17
DISCLAIMER : This is a work of pure fantasy and not a true indication of the sexuality of those involved in the story. I hope it works for you as it does for me.

It was summertime and the weather had turned exceptionally warm. Emile Heskey, like the rest of his Liverpool team mates, had spent the morning training for Saturday's clash with Chelsea at Anfield but now the afternoon stretched ahead with hours of free time to fill. The training that morning had been particularly strenuous but the super fit Heskey wasn't the type, especially on a hot summer's day, to sit around watching the deplorable excuses which passed for daytime t.v. (Richard and Carol on "Countdown" - oh, please!), nor was he inclined to read a book unless it was about Liverpool F.C. After a quick lunch of healthy chicken Caesar salad, washed down by a couple of glasses of fresh orange juice, Heskey therefore decided to go for a run in the woods a short drive from his home.

Heskey went into his bedroom and rummaged around in his chest of drawers for a clean white vest and a pair of neatly pressed dark blue shorts. After he had changed into them, the big black man surveyed himself in the full length mirror opposite his bed. He was satisfied with his appearance, the vest and shorts exemplified his figure just as enticingly as the famous red kit of Liverpool, the sleeveless vest showing off his sturdy shoulders and the skimpy shorts drawing attention to both the bulge of his cock and the firm meaty cheeks of his tight curvaceous buttocks.
Through all the training that he did and all the matches he played in, Heskey had honed his body to perfection, small wonder then that he had females and gay men swooning over him from the moment he emerged from the tunnel at the start of a game to the moment he disappeared back down it when, with any luck, he would be returning to the changing room with his team mates basking in the glory of another victorious win.

Heskey got in his car and drove off to the woods, listening to one of his favourite Patsy Cline CDs as he bowled along through the Liverpool suburbs and out into the green leaf cosiness of the Merseyside meadows. As he approached the car park by the woods, Heskey saw two other cars already sitting there but minus their owners. It wasn't until he had pulled up alongside that he recognised the cars as belonging to his team mates Jamie Carragher and Steven Gerrard. They were probably out jogging somewhere in the woods as well, great minds think alike, Heskey smiled to himself, as he got out his car and locked up, thinking how great it would be to accidentally "bump into" them.

There was a small gents' toilet at the entrance to the woods and as Heskey walked towards it, he suddenly realised he was bursting for a pee. (Must have been all that orange juice he had swallowed before setting out.) He pushed open the door of the dank, unsalubrious cottage and went inside. Discarded condoms floating in small pools of water which puddled the floor bore witness to the fact that the toilet was used for gay sex but, at that moment, apart from Heskey, there was nobody else there at all. The two doors to the lock-ups swung eerily open and the whole place had a strong whiff of men about it. Heskey tried to close his mind to the acrid scent as he went over to stand in front of one of the urinals.

Heskey reached inside the right leg of his shorts and took out his huge, uncut and semi-erect black cock. He was immensely proud with what nature had bestowed on him, as well he might, since it was a cock to die for and one which gave Heskey infinite amounts of pleasure, every day of his life. It had a mind of its own, too, and always seemed to be in a state of semi-arousal, never completely flaccid.

Heskey poured forth his salty piss, pointing and splashing it into the overfilling tray of the urinal, until he thought he would never stop. Eventually, however, as always, the long flowing stream of hot pee came to an end and Heskey shook the last drops away, preparatory to returning his cock to the confines of his shorts.

But instead of doing so, Heskey found himself stroking his cock so that, before he even realised, it had swelled rapidly into its usual ten inch hard-on, the boner standing out rigidly from his shorts and already with a small amount of pre-cum emerging around the glans. Heskey let his massive sweaty balls dangle freely as well, cupping them with his left hand while, unable to resist the temptation, he began to wank his cock with his right.

Heskey had gone clubbing the night before and pulled some bird he wasn't the least bit interested in but he'd gone with Michael Owen and Danny Murphy, both insufferably straight, and it wouldn't have done to let them get even an inkling that he would have preferred to get it off with either of them, preferably both at the same time.

Now, though, the thought that those two other lovely boys Gerrard and Carragher were somewhere in the woods, was adding to Heskey's excitement. Just as with Owen and Murphy, it would be too much to expect anything remotely sexual happening with Carragher and Gerrard, but Heskey could always fantasise.

"Fucking hell," Heskey said to himself, as his fantasy took hold, "what I'd give for a nice suck of little Stevie's dick."

An image of Gerrard's cock, which, like all those belonging to the rest of the Liverpool team Heskey had seen hundreds of times in the changing room and showers, came into his mind. Gerrard also had a nice firm arse and thighs and long sexy legs, all perfectly proportioned on his young muscular frame.

The thought of giving Gerrard a blow job meant that Heskey was really turned on now. It didn't look like he was going to be disturbed and, slowly, he dropped his shorts so that his cock and balls stood out rigidly in front of him. Heskey continued to wank his cock with his right hand while reaching round with his left to feel his own bare coal-black arse cheeks. Little beads of sweat were seeping into the central line of his arse cleft which, every now and then, Heskey fingered before inserting his finger into his mouth and savouring the taste of his bumhole.

Thoroughly absorbed in what he was doing with his mind full of the joy of male sex, it took only a few minutes for Heskey to reach orgasm, shooting a load of hot cum into the tray of the urinal where it swirled with the water from the pipe and slowly began to float towards the plughole.

"Phew, I needed that," Heskey said aloud, as he adjusted himself, pulling up his shorts and tucking his cock back inside, the bulge of his cock and balls still apparent, and looked around for somewhere to wash his hands. Miraculously, the taps at the cracked washbasin were working and, meticulously, Heskey ran his hands under the cold water. But the air dryer was kaput so he wiped his hands on his vest instead.

Then, feeling ready for his run now, Heskey stepped out of the evil smelling loo into the glistening sunshine. The yellow sun was like a huge duster, beating down through the trees from an azure blue sky, complemented by scudding white clouds and casting dappled shadows over the wild untamed greenery of the tree-filled landscape. Everywhere seemed still and silent in the shimmering summer heat, apart from the occasional cries of the crickets.

Heskey set off at a steady trot along the main path of the woods. In spite of his wank, he still felt horny and as he increased his pace, he kept an eye out for Carragher and Gerrard. They were there in the woods somewhere and who knows what they were getting up to in such a deserted place?

"After all," thought Heskey to himself, "you never know your luck ..."

On to Part 2