Everyone knows Stan in our town. 30 odd years ago he played for our local football team. A real character who always had a pint in the bar before the game and still gave his all for 90 minutes on the pitch And then, after the game, well he was rarely home before midnight. When you look back you wonder what his wife made of it all, and, lovely man that he was, she let him in the end. What else was she to do?
But even as his personal life was falling apart he was a hero for us kids. I can remember well his little tricks, the dummies and shimmies, that goal at Brentford the one and only time we got to the FA Cup First Round. I am not exaggerating believe me, high ball into the box and there was Stan, took it on his right, back onto his left, a swivel and back into hs right and bang! A crisp volley into Brentford’s net to put us one up. Brentford’s defenders had been completely mesmerised by Stan’s genius. We lost 6-1 in the end but Stan’s status as a local hero was sealed. This had been the biggest day out in our club’s history and Stan’s goal had made it special.
And then he packed up playing, probably a year or two early because of the drink. Not knowing what to do with himself, he did the only other thing he knew. He drank.
He still does. Stan spends his days on a bench in a secluded corner of our local park drinking beer from cans. I never knew what he did for food so I used to take him a sandwich, a pork pie, sometimes a take away coffee. And I would sit and chat. His eyes always lit up at the mention of the Brentford game, some 40 years ago now but still the highlight of his life. And how many if us with our steady jobs and mortgages and so on, have ever, in one moment of inspiration, sent 4,000 of oir fellow human beings into rapture? Stan had and the knowledge of that clearly gave him the feeling that his life had been worth living.
One day as we chatted Stan said he had a favour to ask. It was years since he had had sex and well as he didn’t feel right approaching a woman and while he wasn’t gay would I mind? Well I would probably have done anything for Stan. He unzipped his flies and pulled out a still impressive cock. I dropped to my knees on the gravel path, took his cock in my hand, pulled back the foreskin and took him into my mouth. I had always thought of myself as a straight guy and this was a really new experience to me. But I found myself enjoying the sensation of a cock hardening and swelling in my mouth, enjoying the groans of pleasure that Stan was making. When he came into my mouth I knew what to do. I swallowed a bit , I had never known it was salty, and kept a bit in my mouth. I moved my mouth towards his. I kissed him and transferred the remaining come into his mouth. He smiled.
I stood up, brushed the gravel from my knees, and walked off without giving Stan a second glance.
I never saw him again. Whether he had left our town for good, or whether something bad had happened I will probably never know. But when I think of the happiness he brought me or even the fleeting happiness I brought him he will forever be Happiness Stan.
