I had been working at the hotel for a couple of weeks and so far had been enjoying it. It's one of those boutique hotels in the city centre, pretty high-end – we get a few celebs and politicians in.
I run the front desk and double as night manager sometimes. Even though hotel work can be a bit anti-social and I don't see as much of my girlfriend as she'd like, we were making it work and I'm a fairly satisfied 29 year old straight guy.
This particular shift I was starting to get stressed out – my boss had taken the night off so I was in charge. We had a couple of big names in so I wanted to ensure there were no complaints tonight, especially from the VIPs. Everything was under control but I was nervous for another reason one of the guests was a hero of mine – Andy Mills.
Andy is one of the top strikers for the football team I've supported since I was a little kid living up north, he's only a couple of years older than me but ever since he was 21 I'd had his name on the back of my home strip replica top and me, my brothers and my mates pretty much worshipped the guy.
Now he also played for the national team and was married to a smoking hot popstar who most guys would trade their right arm to get into bed with. In short, he's one of those blokes who every guy wants to be and every girl wants to fuck. Tall, dark, handsome with rugged good looks, and a ton of money – it was no wonder that I'd read countless stories in the papers about him banging Page Three models and soap actresses over the years.
He'd arrived 10 minutes before my night shift had started, and been shown to one of the best rooms we had. So I hadn't seen him yet, I was hoping to get chance before my shift finished in the morning.
It was about 10.30pm, pretty quiet when Andy called down to reception to ask for an extra towel and toothbrush (he'd forgotten his). I couldn't resist taking them up personally and getting to meet him, plus, since he was an important guest – it was my job to check everything was to his satisfaction.
Andy was still in his training gear when he opened the door, football shirt, training jacket, jogging bottoms and football sock – he'd kicked his trainers off by the door. Looked like he'd eaten some food, watch TV and made a few calls – I introduced myself as the duty manager, told him what a massive fan I was and how I'd be watching the game tomorrow, finally asking if everything was to his satisfaction and needed anything else from the hotel.
He was friendly and relaxed – by the end of our chat we were talking like old mates. He was more like one of the blokes in my five-a-side team than a living legend.
In fact he was so at ease, that as we talked he took the towel I'd brought up and started to take off his jogging shorts in front of me. I tried not to look and thought this was a bit unusual but figured he was just getting ready to shower before taking an early night and maybe was trying to subtly signal for me to leave.
But he kept the conversation going while he did it. So I couldn't get away.
Like most pro footballers he was in top shape, I couldn't help noticing his muscular legs as he stripped down his shorts – a little bit hairy, but probably insured for a fortune.
Underneath he was wearing a lace-up white jock strap and I noticed his arse was pert and firm and had barely any hair, peachy like the way my girlfriend's looked. I avoided looking as he carried on taking the jock off and wrapped the towel round his waist, still wearing his football shirt and socks. He started:
"I do need a favour actually, mate. See - I need to get a good nights sleep before a big game, and usually me and the wife have a special routine that helps me be totally relax and keep focussed during the match. It's kind of my lucky charm, never fails."
He gave me a cheeky grin and continued:
"The gaffer has a sex-ban on us the night before a match – worried about us being worn out or getting injured – so to make sure I don't have sex on the brain or spring a boner during the match the missus gets down and sucks me off good and proper the night before – best thing to help me relax and be focussed the next day".
He said it very casually, I smirked, I was a bit embarrassed but was secretly getting a massive kick out of having "guy talk" with Andy Mills.
"But she's away on a tour in the US at the moment, so I've been getting a bit pent up..."
"...you'd like me to get the concierge to organise some company for you?" I delicately filled in the silence.
He laughed: "no, no, one of those bitches would be selling the story to the tabloids before I've got my boxers back on".
He continued: "I figure I need someone who understands how important the game is tomorrow, and will be discreet about helping me out. So, I wondered if you'd do it".
He was totally casual, and with that he dropped the towel onto the bed and showed me his cock.
I was stunned, not just at what he said, but also at his cock.
Now, I've seen guys cocks before – in the changing rooms, in pornos and stuff – but I've got to admit I've never seen a hard-on in the flesh (other than my own) and Andy's was pretty impressive.
Must have been at least eight inches (maybe bigger since it was still soft) uncut thick and straight – he wouldn't have been out of place in a porno, actually.
His low-hanging balls were trimmed and we nervously laughed at his suggestion his semi-hard package bounced up and down.
