****Notes*****

Thanks to a UMD member, who doesn't want to be named, who asked if I could write a story around his two favourite things, straight rugby players and gunge.
Part one here, sets the scene of how a group of straight rugby players, end up starring in a gunge quiz show. The shows itself is part 2 onwards.
Hope you enjoy

********


The figures swam before him, negative, red, vicious and damaging. He threw the sheet aside, it landed face up, taunting him. He turned it over, slamming it down on his desk, the figures out of sight, but far from out of mind. He pinched the top of his nose, in the corners of his eyes, the root of a headache taking hold. Something had to be done, something radical, something quick, some easy money, just to take the pressure off temporarily. He knew the money troubles would come back, they always did, especially to businessmen like him, but he just needed to kick the problem into the long grass for now, a bit of breathing space. Give him six months he'd be back in the groove.
A gentle tap at the door broke his thoughts, he looked up as the door opened. A blonde head appeared through the gap, fingers grasping the side of the door.

"You alright, Pete?" the visitor enquired, "you left the team meeting pretty quickly and some of the lads are a bit worried"

Pete smiled, at least his lips tried, his eyes weren't really feeling it, but the warm, concerned voice of Sam Richards, the Rugby club captain forced him from his somber thoughts and raised his mood slightly. Sam always had that knack. A born joker, but heart of gold, a guy who would banter with the best, then cross rivers for you. He could switch from clown, to the best mate in the world in a flash. His wife, Karen was a lucky girl.

"Yeah, yeah, come on in" Pete said, and beckoned towards a leather chair opposite his oak desk. If all else fails I could sell this, he thought wryly, should get a few quid. Not enough though.
Sam closed the door behind him, and sat opposite his boss, his rugby top, and training bottoms doing nothing to hide his shape, the long hours in the gym paying off, the trendily cut blond hair atop a head that rested on a thick neck that complimented the mountainous chest, and the barrel thick legs. The tools of his particular trade. The chair squeaked protest as he lowered his bulk.

"Basically Sam, the club is fucked, unless we can raise fifty grand, quickly. We are in danger of losing the club." Pete picked up the sheet of numbers and slid it across to Sam.

Sam picked it up, rotated it up the right way, his eyes dropping from his boss to the sheets. Numbers swam before his eyes, a litany of pluses and minuses. Many more minuses than positive. He studied it for a moment, and placed it back on the polished desk surface, "Sorry Pete, I'm not a accountant, I play rugby for you, all this means nothing to me. From the red I'm guessing it's not good though."

Pete reached down to a side drawer, pulled out a half full bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured himself a large measure and hovered the bottle over the second glass, "Join me?"

Sam shook his head. Pete screwed the lid firmly on and it joined the unused glass back into the bottom drawer.

"I've got money tied up in projects, loans, and loans on those loans", Pete said, and took a sip of his drink, "I'm in debt up to my eyes. I'm behind on my payments, and this place", he waved his hand around the room, "is held against the loans. I am about to default, which means, the club will go into administration. We will be thrown out the league, and the ground will be sold to pay off debts. Just to keep afloat I need to get fifty grand soon as, just to make this months payment, and keep them off our back. I've got a few projects close to coming good, I'm sure of it , I just need to get through the next few months. I can't move money from one business to the other either, as it's either tied up or wouldn't be legal"

Pete took another sip, the silence that lapsed heavy, circling. "So now you know", he said quietly. He reached for a cigar, clipping the end off.

Sam nodded, slowly, taking in the news. He watched his boss upend the glass, taking the remainder of the whiskey in one gulp, grimacing as the spirit burnt his throat. He placed the tumbler down, the clink echoing in the silent room. Sam had always considered Pete a bit of a spiv, sailing close to the wind sometimes, but always able to close out enough deals or pull something out of a hat to keep the suits smart, the cars new and high end. A succession of trophy girlfriends hung off his arm, dripping in jewellery, the shapely and invariably younger women slightly at odds with the portly, rosy cheeked, balding, middle aged businessman. Forty years as a businessman, the small hotel and restaurant chain, the expansion into sports club ownership followed, the fashionable accessory for the successful businessman that for so many transforms eventually into the millstone around their neck. For moderately successful businessmen, sports club ownership was often a stretch too far, the ambition not met by finite financial backing. Since he bought the club five years ago, the seeds had been sown, a gentle sapping of wealth, the slow drip-drip of costs mounting.

"Look, Pete, me and the lads think the world of you. You are the reason why most of us are here. If we can help in anyway, just let us know". Sam said, blue eyes showing genuine concern. Despite the Jack the lad image, the cigars, the Rolex, the crystal decanters hidden in drawers he felt a real loyalty to the club owner. Plus for all his faults, he did like him. He has been an amateur rugby union player, holding down a job as a plumber while training, match practise and fitting in the dedication of hours in the gym. Pete, despite his selfish reasons had pulled him up by his boot straps, buying the club and turning his coffee break dreams of being a professional sportsman to fruition. Now it was in danger of a premature end, he felt he owed Pete enough to at least try to enlist the lads to help out in any way they could. He just had to think. A way to raise money would come to him.

*******

Www.castmenow.com 14th June

Classified ads

Agency require male sports team, or members of, minimum of six participants to take part in slap-stick game show style video for online release for adult audience. Top rates of pay. Previous video experience not necessary

Click HERE for application


********


Sitting at my desk, it was just another day. My day job was going well, research assistant for the 'Tony Talks Show', the pinnacle of light entertainment, a few guests, nothing too heavy, no tales of adultery, addiction, debauchery or crime, just a vehicle for the B and C rated celebs to plug their latest book, show, or new CD. Three nights a week of good clean family entertainment. We leave the heavy stuff to Oprah.

Compare this to my other business, where, if truth be told, I made more money than my 'official job' - the one I didn't talk about during dinner parties, and on my mortgage application form. Behind the bespectacled respectable research assistant lay the brains, the owner of 'Messy Mayhem' the subscription or one off purchase (the choice is yours) site for the discerning splosh fan. Yes siree, no ropey hand held solo videos, these were productions. If you could see me now, you'd see me puffing my chest out with pride. In the olden days when the internet was the juvenile, unregulated, renegade device of chaos, the content for us splosh fans was, to say the least basic. I am on my one man mission to draw the niche into mainstream, make the esoteric not so mystical, drag it kicking and screaming into the light.
If my trajectory continues I will be able to resign from the drudgery of researching guests for Tony to schmooze to, and go full time producing high quality video, no, let's call them productions, that are more than just wank videos. Where for just twenty pounds per month, plus tax, you could enjoy seeing hot guys in hot situations.

I broke from my thoughts as I checked my emails, three from the agent of that incredibly annoying 'Carly K' (so famous she needs no second name) who's career was on the plummet, each song placing lower than the previous one on the chart, the last one reaching the heady heights of number 69 (no giggling please). If the appearance on Tony Talks didn't rescue her career you'd most likely see her pouting her surgically enhanced lips on some God-awful reality show, dancing, baking stuff or one of those confessional bare your soul, while checking out your best angle for the hidden camera type reality shows. No wonder her agent was bombarding me with emails.
A few more from other agents checking how many times Tony would name check their client's latest book, or had we agreed that the magazine expose of the latest extra marital affair would NOT (the word underlined and in bold) be mentioned by Tony. Of course it wouldn't, we leave the heavy stuff to Oprah. Have they never seen the show?

Switching email accounts I checked out the Messy Mayhem account. The notification that I had received new applications from one of my castmenow adverts appeared and I clicked through, interest piqued. I took a few sips from my coffee, as the screen flipped, and I logged onto the castmenow account.

I regularly seek models via castmenow, and had been using them for a while, just after I launched Messy Mayhem and found out how difficult it was to get guys willing to appear. My contacts in the splosh world were pretty good, Jesus, I had been in the scene since my teenage years (ok, you want some context, that was twenty two years ago, I'm thirty eight if you really need to know), but finding suitable men willing to appear on film was becoming problematic. As the quality grew and the productions became more grand, I needed a type of guy. One that was not readily available through my gunge contacts. That's where castmenow came in, a steady stream of men, wanting to get into the 'adult industry', some gay, most straight, a few confused. I was always up front with them, straight forward. This was the site. This was the kink. It was role play, fantasy videos to cater for the vastly overwhelming male clientele who, to be honest, wanted to get off watching guys of any persuasion getting gunged. For some, the straighter the hotter. Yeah we did sex videos too, with a gunge element, of course, but the online analytics showed the more fantasy based sploshing productions were the biggest draw.

Some replies were from cranks, apparently Mickey Mouse wanted to apply, as did Donald Trump. We had religious people, damning me to hell and back for peddling such filth. I had a few from guys wanting to join the cast as a 'Dom' dishing out the gunge over the models. I chased these up periodically and have a spreadsheet of men on standby in case I needed a large cast for a production. Check out 'Dinner Service Dudes' on the site, where I used eight of them to act as dinner party guests where two models acting as waiters ended up naked and gunged while the dinner party guests watched on. I think it's on special offer at the moment. Hunt around on the net, I'm sure there are some discount codes you could use. Don't tell your friends though, I'm not made of money. Unless they pay full price in which case, come on over.

I doubled clicked on the flashing new messages, and a new window appeared. I entered my password again, the guys at castmenow like their security, must be why they charge me so much per month. Three messages. A good day. I scrolled through them, Mickey Mouse had obviously told a few of his Disney friends of the ad, as now Donald Duck is applying. I hit delete and paused for another sip of coffee. I may treat myself to a biscuit too, I think I have some in the staff kitchen. That is of course if Brenda, the personal assistant of Tony (he of talk show fame) hasn't been at them.
Anyway, I digress. The message icon whizzed into the trash can, a tinny whooshing noise crackling my speakers.
Message two. A guy called Jordan, who wasn't a member of a sports team, but would happy to be considered for any forthcoming roles. Jordan, I like your style, putting your name out there for future productions. I clicked on his attached jpg file. Oh yes Jordan, will keep you on file. Young, straight out of college, big white smile, smooth tanned skin. Being straight out of college is probably the only straight thing about him. I bet you a tenner he's as queer as a glittery glitterball. Cute though, if I wasn't married to my Vince I probably would do him. My eyes moved to the framed photo of Vince and me, on honeymoon in Venice. You're safe Vince I wouldn't swap you for Jordan, even with that smile.
Talking of smiles, why do people submit, in the main, such rubbish application photos? It's almost like the are applying for a passport or driving license. Po faced, head and shoulders shot. They should take a leaf out of Jordan's book. The epitome of smooth, just emerging from the waves, surf board under arm, the sun glistening off his tanned toned chest. Make an impression, get a call back.
I flagged the message for actioning later on and moved on to the final message. I could see there was no picture attachment icon. Probably another crank. I opened it up and stared at the screen.

Colehampton Rugby Club....

***********

"Absolutely not!" Mark shouted, "no fucking way!" He smashed the rugby ball down. It bounced up, careering away towards a team mate, who was quietly undressing, pulling his muddy rugby top off. He ducked out the way to miss the spinning odd shaped ball.

Sam lifted his arms in mock surrender, fingers splayed, trying to placate his team mate. "Calm down! It was only a thought. You know as well as I do, if we don't do something to raise some money, we may lose the club. I'm the club captain, so was just saying we needed to do something"

"By doing something, you mean we get our cocks out on the telly?" Mark shouted, the appeasement not working. Laughter from his teammates ripped through the changing room. Angry Mark often meant funny Mark, at least to the lads who enjoyed a wind up.

"It's not the telly, it's a pay subscription website, and you don't have to get your cock out" Sam reasoned, using his hands in a calm down gesture towards Mark who had slammed open his locker and was roughly pulling his sports bag out. He banged it down on the bench.

"Although if you're the only one who doesn't get his cock out, everyone will think you got a tiny one. Plus anyway, you're always getting yours out. Your cock is always getting spun around, 'for a laugh' " Jon, the left winger, said, grinning around his words, making speech quotation marks in the air. He fully expecting another flying missile, as he threw his top on the floor. He started to undo the draw string of his shorts, enjoying winding his teammates up, of which Mark was an easy target. Flying off the handle was his preset reaction and Jon was one of many who enjoyed seeing the fireworks as often as he could.

"Fuck off!" yelled Mark, turning to Jon. He launched his deodorant can at his teammate, who was slow to dodge it. It hit him just below his shorts, on the top of his hairy thighs, muddy from training. Mark pulled off his rugby top and also launched that towards his laughing teammate. It missed and landed on the floor in a sweaty heap.

Chris, the team fly half, six foot one of lean tanned muscle, was stood next to Jon, one foot up on the bench, unlacing his boots, "I don't see a problem fella, it's only a cock. We all got one". His broad muscular back juddering as he tried to keep in a laugh that would threaten to push Mark over the edge, "And anyway Jon is right, your cock is barely ever in your pants. Not sure why you're getting so precious"

Sam strode into the middle of the changing room, taking control before the piss takes and wind ups ended in something more dangerous than thrown deodorants and tops. He loved his guys, they were a tight unit, but sometimes they didn't know when to draw a line under the banter, before it blew up.
He turned slowly, taking in his team. Mark, the usual team Exhibitionist, the first one naked in pubs when pissed. Jon, who's purpose in life was scoring tries and winding up Mark. Chris the fly half, who was Jon's understudy in the wind-up-Mark game. Joe, fullback, the quiet one, was undressing, letting the chaos wash over him like it always does. Kevin and Jez, scrum members, hookers and front row, mountains of muscle, a bit worn and wounded after years of battle on the pitch. The cauliflower ears a badge of honour from the wrestle of the scrums. A great team. His team, his lads. The rest were already in the showers.

"As I said just now, before you flew off the handle" Sam said, glaring at Mark, "it's a website that does slapstick videos. You remember Tiswas, Noel's house party, Get Your Own Back. That kind of stuff."

He saw nods around his team. Mark sat down on the bench, taking his socks off, "And they want to film us lot, messing about with custard pies, and all that?"

"Yes, exactly" Sam said, pleased that hothead Mark was seemingly calming down, "we need to do something fast to raise money to help save the club. It's not like this is a new thing, we did the nude calendar the year before last, and if I remember correctly Mark, it was YOU who got his cock out on the behind the scenes video"

"That was a mistake, it was the cameraman's fault, he told me you couldn't see it as the ball was supposed to cover it."

Jon laughed, pulling his shorts down, stepping out of them, "You could've got it edited out. But didn't as you wanted to show it off AGAIN. I've never met a bloke so proud of his knob."
He pulled the front of his jock strap down, spinning his cock in a helicopter motion, "I'm Mark, look at my Willy everyone!"

The whole changing room erupted in laughter, even Mark joined in.

**
The communal showers were old school, a large square room, plain white tiled walls, shower heads spaced four feet apart around three sides. The fourth side a row of pegs, and a drying area. The rest of the team wandered in, hooking their towels on the free pegs and heading for any spare showers. Fifteen players, fifteen shower heads. The noise of banter, laughter, the water of the showers pattering on the tiled floor mixing with the soundtrack of the post match or post training session.
Team morale, a deep bond of comradeship forged in the battle on the pitch, the sweetness of a win, the hollow feeling of defeat, celebrated or lamented in this room. Friendships made, then cemented amid the steam of hot water, beneath the bubbles of shower gel.

Jon, hairy chest covered in lather and bubbles threw the shower gel bottle across the shower room into the waiting arms of Mark, who squirted some gel into his palm before lathering it over his, by comparison, smooth chest. Water ran down over his head, down over the stubble that highlighted his square jaw, washing the lather down from his chiselled chest, over his cock, down his legs before running away into the centre drain, the floor being at an angle that all fifteen players bubbles ran together, mixing, as one, before being washed away into the drain.

Talk of the financial crisis and the possible lifeline that the online video company offered filled the air, mingling with the steam from the showers. Beneath the billowing steam, the players, skin glistening, water cascading over them, shared laughs, a few lewd comments, several wank mimes, pulling at soft cocks. The banter was back, this time not at Mark's expense. Sam smiled, this was what made captaining the side such an honour. What a team, he thought, drop a bombshell about the precarious nature of the clubs finance, introduce the idea of making an adult video, yet wIthin minutes of introducing the concept, (Mark's blow up aside), it had settled down into the normal banter, the jokes, the bad taste and very unpolitically correct comments. Not meant to offend, and no offence taken by anyone. He looked around taking in the fun and games his team was having. The two scrum monsters, Kevin and Jez were mock fucking each other, Kevin bent over, both hands holding onto the water dial of the showers, Jez behind him, comedy grunting as he pounded away behind his team mate, thrusting his massive thighs back and forth as he role played penetrating his friend. The only inaccuracies was that he was flaccid and the thrusts were in mid air, missing his team mates ass by a good 10 inches, maybe more. Kevin didn't seem to notice his virginity was still in tact as he threw his head back, shouting "fuck me, fuck me, yeah baby".
Such foul language seemed to dampen Jez's mock ardour and they both collapsed in laughter. Applause from the team mingled with the laughter.
Sam moved his head back, under the water jets, bubbles cascaded down his body. He ran his fingers through his blond hair enjoying the warmth of both the water and the warmth from his team. Life has been good to him, turning pro at twenty four, a late bloomer for the sport, given a leg up by Pete when he bought the club, realising his dream to play sport for a living, the plumbing left behind. He could always pick that up at the end of his career. He wasn't on top wages, the team languished in the second division, so he couldn't command a huge salary. But it was fine, it beat any other occupation, and the love of the game and being paid to play it was reward enough. Being a minor celebrity around his home town was a bonus, a magnet of sorts on nights out. Girls wanted to date him, guys wanted to be him, or his mate, or fight him if they were drunk, showing off to their equally as inebriated mates. Sam only had eyes for Karen despite the attention of girls flitting around him on nights out, like moths around flames. He met Karen at his gym. Chance encounters at the water fountain, bumping into each other as they left the gym at the same time, friendship blossomed, a relationship soon after. Married in under two years, Sam was thinking about an addition to the family. A boy would be amazing, or a girl, as long as it was healthy and happy, he would be content. That would make his life perfect. The only fly in the ointment was Pete, and his money worries. This was the first danger he had felt, that his very satisfying life could come to an abrupt end with a quick career change following. Back to drains and blocked toilets.
He twisted the water flow off and headed for the drying area. Mark has already there, facing the wall, the towel behind his back, arms moving to-and-fro drying his back. Sam slapped his muscular ass prompting Mark to step aside to let Sam get to his towel.

"You alright, buddy? Calmed down? Not seen you that angry in a while" Sam asked Mark as he unhooked his towel from its peg and started to dry his hair. He rubbed roughly, blond hair standing up. He smoothed it down.

"Yeah I'm good, man, you just caught me at a bad time"

Sam had moved on to drying his chest, "Why's that? Everything at home ok? Nikki has not been messing about with that guy again? I thought you had sorted that out?"

By sorting out, Mark style, meant breaking a few things, a punched hole in the wall, followed by breaking the nose of the guy who had moved in on Nikki. He had arrived at training his hand wrapped in a bandage, swollen and painful from the collision with Nikki's suitors face.

"Apparently he's been sniffing around her at work again. They work in the same fucking department. She is keeping him at arms length and has applied for a transfer to a different department. She swears she's told him it's over. At least she's telling me about it this time" Mark said, keeping his voice low as other players joined them in the drying area. Others sufficiently dry padded their way to the dressing area, leaving wet footprints along the length of corridor to the main changing room

"Exactly, she's talking to you this time, that's a good thing. That prick knows you won't stand for a repeat of last time either. Nikki loves you, anyone can see that. You got over it last time together, she won't want to risk losing you permanently. If you need to miss a game or two to work on it with her, that's fine. Your relationship is more important than us." Sam said. He squeezed the shoulder of his teammate. In other circumstances, not being naked in the middle of the drying area, he would have offered a man-hug. A shoulder squeeze would have to do.
Mark smiled thinly, "Cheers Sam, thanks. I'm sure we will work it out."
Sam thought he saw Mark's eyes glisten, he loved that girl, and the affair had nearly broken him as a husband and also a man. He had spent a few nights on Sam's sofa, who had pretended he couldn't hear the hushed but angry calls as Mark tried to work things out. He pretended he didn't hear Mark crying at night, and pretended he really didn't need to see Karen that night. Karen had understood, knowing Sam would always support his friends. Typical Sam, built like a bulldog, heart of gold. Six foot, of solid muscle, but not one bad bone in his body.
Mark changed the subject, aware his veneer of tough man was in danger of slipping, "so what's happening with this video?"

"The bloke who runs it spoke to Pete last week. Typical Pete, he only told me about it yesterday. He's coming up to meet us one day next week", Sam said throwing his towel over his shoulder, and heading for the dressing room

*********

Well, I thought the reply was another crank. There was a contact number, a name, a quick google search confirmed the club existed, and the numbers matched. It may still be a crank, someone just filling out the ad, and using numbers from a quick google search, as a laugh. But nothing ventured nothing gained and all that. Looking at their site I shuddered a bit. Row upon row of pictures of massive men, all bulging biceps, huge chests, and legs that were just, well, intimidating. Not my type, give me my Vince any day. At least he knew one end of a styling brush from the other, and could tell designer shoes from high street fashion. These guys looked like guys you see brawling outside pubs. I shuddered again. These guys were far from what I would choose but you have to give the audience what they want, darling. And if they want to see some thugs getting gunged who am I to deny that? As long as they pay to view it I'm good.

I made the call and was surprised to find it was legit, eventually. At first the he didn't seem to know who I was or where I was calling from. I suppose things get hectic in the sports world and things slip your mind. Pete, the guy I spoke to left me on edge a bit, seemed too smarmy, too market trader. I was expecting him to start shouting about getting my 'luverly apples and pears here, roll up, roll up'. Once he realised who I was, he went from suspicion to fully signed up in seconds. Talk about abrupt turns.
He was the chairman and seemed a little too eager to offer up his team for a production, like they were his commodity. Perhaps they were, perhaps that's how you roll in the rugby world. Sounded a little too BDSM for me though. I made arrangements to drive up the following week.
When I had just started the site I used to get nervous meeting potential models. Sometimes I sat opposite a very nervous man, trying to make his first moves into the adult industry and I don't know who was shitting themselves most. Auditions had been awkward to start, quick chat about motivations, why they wanted to appear in a production, what they expected, what they would do, what they WOULDN'T do. Quick check out of the goods, normally a strip, and a wank if they had ticked that particular box on the application form we filled in together at audition. I didn't gunge them at audition, I guessed the Holiday Inn I often booked for meetings would have objected to gunge on their carpets.
Fifty seven productions later (ok, early videos were just guys being gunged, but the last ten or so had been full on productions) and I had it down to a fine art. I actually looked professional now, I was running a business and didn't go all goofy when the guy in front of me, naked and wanking was hot.
I wasn't looking forward to this meeting though, I didn't do hairy, thuggish, brutish rugby players.
Yes I know you will scoff, that's what the ad had asked for, a sports team, but it was more of a punt, I was expecting fittish guys to apply solo, certainly not rugby players, so I could match them up and create an illusion of a team for my production. Did you watch Dinner Party Dudes I told you about? Please don't tell me you think that was a real dinner party. Or that 'The Butlers of Sir John' featured real butlers and a real Lord? The butlers were applications, from castmenow. The dark one Hugo (not his real name) was a musician in real life. 'Sir John' was a guy from my 'Dom' standby list. His name was Colin and the closest he got to 'sir' was during his role plays with his subby friends.

The castmenow ad didn't divulge the name of my website, but I gave people who were applying a free time limited access code to see for themselves what they were letting themselves in for. I didn't want a repeat of a guy I auditioned who genuinely thought I was setting up a straight porn flick and all he had to do was turn up and screw woman. The explanation that, no, I would want him to sit naked on a stool wanking while another man poured gunge over him didn't go down well. Apparently I was a 'queer, weirdo poof' (guilty as charged) and he left with his dreams of being the next big porn star shattering around him. Lessons learnt I sent links, access codes to prospective models. I wondered how this had gone down at the rugby club?

I pulled up in the car park and killed the engine and reached round to the back seat to fetch my man bag, holding model release agreements and contract forms, all the standard stuff I needed to progress from audition to agreement. The ground was reasonably compact, one newish large stand dwarfing three other older stands bordering each side of the pitch. Flags bearing the clubs crest fluttered proudly form the top of the main stand. According to my research it could hold just short of ten thousand people. The average attendance was just over half of the capacity, which for a club in the second tier was pretty healthy. Tracksuited staff went about the business and my presence was largely ignored as I made my way into the main stand, following the sign to reception. Pauline greeted me, a homely woman, who, if aware of who I was didn't let on, and I was shown into the director's office. Pretty plush, nice quality desk, the walls decorated with actions shots of players mid game. Centre of the wall hung a larger picture, showing the moment when a cup was presented, alarms aloft, cup held high, the mouth of the player wide in a shout of joy. Streamers shot from cannons behind him were captured mid flight, frozen in time. My contact sat at his desk, suited up, phone in one hand, cigar in the other. He beckoned me to sit with his cigar and wrapped the call up. Our conversation was brief. Pete (call me Pete, all my friends do) seemed keen to sign his players up for a video, knew nothing about the site, didn't mention a thing about the content, and seemed keen to hear more about the fees I would pay, and not much else. Usually the norm is a talk about the industry, the route into porn, whether a fetish site is a stepping stone or a hurdle, what is expected of the model, and the sometimes awkward transition from talking, to the actual audition itself. In my younger years I would be intimated by people like Pete, a loud brash businessman with, I suspected, a tendency to bully. In my day job I met people like him all the time. Nowadays I had learnt to control the conversation, turning the potential awkward nature of the site into a business conversation, making something a bit off kilter for some, a bit freaky for others more normal. I asked to meet the team, as it would be them after all who would be gunged, and if they wanted a higher rate, end up naked.

**

"This is Sam, club captain" Pete said leading me towards a hulk of a man, who was putting rugby balls into a large sack net, clearing up after a training session. I was on the pitch, the stands empty and silent bearing down on us. I had only been in a stadium once before, and that was to see The Scissor Sisters, so this felt alien.
Sam turned and extended his hand. I took it and he gripped firmly. Not as a show of manly power, a power grip, just firm, welcoming. I'm a pretty tall guy, just about six foot so we were almost eye to eye. He was so wide though, the broadest man I've ever seen. Every part of him seemed to be developed, large rippling muscles all over. His shorts were, well, short. Doing nothing to hide two massive tree trunk legs. Being blonde, his body hair was fine, standing out in contrast to tanned skin. He was obscenely masculine, but not in a threatening way. He had a very open face, some would call him attractive, with gorgeous blue eyes, and the warmth I felt from his smile seemed at odds with his strong developed features.

We talked briefly, Sam asking me about the trip down, did I find it ok, did I want a drink. We moved as we spoke, hopping out the way of a groundsman who was clipping the grass, making long neat patterned lines in the turf. Then the curveball arrived, Pete had done everything to avoid talking about my site and what it stood for. By contrast Sam was keen to hear more, how long had I owned it for, what kind of productions we did (he obviously hadn't received my access pass). He told me about the nude calendar they had done, and then did I want to meet the team? The three of us wandered towards the changing rooms. I found myself warming to the big man with every step.

I had done some research beforehand, googling the nude calendar and watching the behind the scene video. The site was clunky, with poor presentation, and even worse navigational functionality. As I entered in my credit card number to gain access I mused how much more money they could've made if I had done their site and their marketing. Working in the TV industry and running the site I was keenly aware how amateurish their platform was.
As the introductions flowed I recognised many of the players from the calendar and the video. Sam did a good job introducing me to the players, brief handshakes and puzzling explanations of what positions they played. Sensing my confusion at the seemingly unfathomable position names, Sam gave a brief explanation of their role, where they were on the pitch during play and so on. I tried not to glaze over. Truth be told I am still none the wiser what tight ends, props, flankers, wingers, and hookers mean. Well, I know what a hooker is on the streets, but on the rugby pitch, no idea.

I settled down on a bench, surrounded by players, mostly in shorts, some in tracksuits. They settled on benches, some sat on the floor, or leaning against walls. I felt like teacher, addressing a class.

"So, what makes you guys want to do a production?" The standard opening question, in far from usual surroundings. I saw glances between Sam and the owner. There was an obvious finance issue, Pete had unwittingly shown a bit of desperation with his constant money questions in his office. I wondered how much the team knew.

"For money, mainly" said the guy I had been introduced to as Mark. He was the one who had shown his cock on the behind the scenes video. I had him down as a definite nude participant should we agree to do a production. If I remember from the video he was massively stacked, a chiselled chest akin to a Greek statue. Unlike the statues his cock had been big too. No wonder the rugby ball he held in front of it for the calendar and video didn't cover it. "We did the naked calendar thing few years back, and we need to do something different, a bit more daring, I guess" he added.

Most of the players asked questions. Hesitantly at first, then gaining confidence. Only one, I think he was introduced as Joe, the fullback, whatever that is, was silent throughout. His leg was encased in a plaster cast, Sam explaining a training ground injury the week before. He just sat, leg outstretched, toes poking out from the cast, crutches leant against the lockers behind him. Silent, eyes alive and aware, taking in the questions of the team, and my answers.
Did they all need to appear (no but I need at least six to agree). Would they have to get naked (yes). Would they have to show their cocks (most would, yes). If they show their cock can they wear mask or hide their face (no). What is gunge (having goo poured over you, custard pies). Did people get off on this (some people do). Will the video be widely available (no, it's copyrighted and pay per view, and I take a firm stance on unauthorised uploading or sharing). Is the site for men (my analytics show ninety four percent of buyers are men. If the audience shifts I will create more videos aimed at women, probably on a new site). Will they be expected to have sex (not with each other as they are straight but I may call them back for future sex scenes with females for other types of video, should they wish. I work with other studios sharing resources where possible). Do they need to get erect (not necessarily but pay will increase if they do). Can they do that on their own, away from the group (this is a fantasy game show, so no, not this time, but maybe in the future they may want to do a solo wank video). Did they have to come (again, not necessarily, but money will increase if they do. They don't call it the money shot for nothing) Did I join in (no).
Some answers were met with laughter, other just nods. I sensed a close knit team, and felt myself loosening up. I was starting to enjoy the warmth within the group and also the warmth they sent to me. It felt casual, inclusive, non judgemental. I didn't fancy any of them but found myself having a pang of jealousy. My circles were way camper, way cattier, some more shallow and I was surprised and to be honest, humbled by this group of men. All straight, but open to an obviously guy guy (I think my man bag gives it away) talking openly and positively about participating in a production.

Talk turned to the game show format I had in mind. I don't think any of them were shocked by the content, as we had moved past the initial embarrassment and confusion of gunge and splosh. I got the impression they were surprised of the complexity of the production. Some segments would be recorded separately, on location, and slotted in after as it would help with continuity and flow. To their surprise, I explained it wasn't me running round with my iPhone recording, we would use a team of camera operators, running four, possibly five units to get angles. We would use our usual design company for set, costume etcetera. Post production would be done and music and effects would be added. This was a proper production I kept reminding them.
Water bottles were thrown around between players as I talked, each taking on water after their earlier training session. I could smell their workout efforts. It wasn't the cliched sweaty, body odour you expect from a training room. Sure there was a smell, but it was more an aroma of old deodorant, and muscle rub gel. The vibe in the room was shifting, I knew we were finishing up.
Coming to the end of my presentation I got the feeling they were waiting for me to ask to see them in the showers, the final act in the meeting. I'm not sure if it was the relaxed atmosphere they managed to create, or my tension of meeting them dissipating, but it felt like they actually wanted to shower in front me, to prove that they were happy to be naked around a gay guy, as if it was a test. Normally the audition would end in nudity from the prospective model. In this instance I felt there was no need. I could see from the shapes of their bodies bulging out from shorts and tops the all had great bodies. There were a couple of larger guys, Sam explaining they were part of the scrum (?) and needed to be heavier than the rest. I wasn't worried how hung they were or not. I had seen Mark's cock earlier and I knew he was packing a lot down there, but the others it didn't matter. The potential of a real actual rugby team appearing in a video would be the draw here. I was certain if I could get this lot on the site, I would have the most successful production to date.
I wrapped up the meeting, six signed the offered model release forms immediately, only plaster cast Joe, and a guy who name escapes me refused outright. The rest said they would get back to me as they wanted to think it over. Sam, the club captain was first to sign, the rest of the agreeable players following his lead by joining him at the table where signatures were scratched onto papers, hands shaken. Pete look relieved, I could see him visibly relax as each player signed the contract. He loosened his tie and blew out a breath. He smiled warmly at Sam and patted him on the back as he passed to get the contracts photo copied, along with the players ID's that I needed to make it legal. It seemed the players were unaware of the pressure release on Pete, as the meeting casually dissolved into banter, boots and socks removed, and jerseys thrown into kit baskets. I left the changing room before shorts started to fall.

Sam was coming back across the car park, clutching the photocopies. It was still warm, the sun starting to set, low in the sky, casting long shadows. A breeze stirred his hair and he hand combed it back to place as he met me.
"We done?" he asked, squinting into the sun, setting behind me. The golden glow of the sun accentuated his skin. In this light he looked like a model, and by signing the contract he now actually was one. I found myself thinking, this boy could go far, not just a skin flick, he could actually be a model. Moreover, the radiance of his personality shone through just as strong as his beauty. You could feel him, strength and calmness. I could see why he was the captain. I told myself again, I didn't fancy him.

"Yep, all done" I extended my hand, he shook it warmly his spare hand on my shoulder, doubling down on the gesture. We were committed now. "We will arrange filming dates for the week after your season ends which was" I paused, wracking my brains for information given earlier, "three months away?

"Yeah, me and the lads will hit the gym to get camera ready. We will make sure we look our best for you" he said, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I think you're already there" I said smiling back. He handed me my paperwork and copies of the teams ID. "Thanks" I said, tucking them into my bag, "I'll touch base with you over the next few weeks just to make sure everything is ok. I have a good feeling about this project"

We said our goodbyes and I headed back to my car, pressing the door release button, hazard lights flashing twice as the locks popped open.
I turned back, "Sam, is it ok if I email you with more ideas about the shoot? Ideas of other things we can do may come to me during the week"

"Sure, you got me email address on your model release form thingy" he said.

*******

To: Sam Richards {samrichards@colehamptonrugby.co.uk}
From : Gary McNeil {garymcneil@messymayhem.com}
Subject: Gunge Production

Hi Sam

Was great to meet you and the other players last month. You seem a great bunch. I'm still far from 'getting rugby' but I see you won your game on Saturday 24 - 13. Well done on the victory!

I've had a few thoughts about changing the format up a bit, and have given the production a larger budget so that we can do a proper game show feel. I really don't want some half assed low budget crap. I think having a real rugby team allows me to push the boat out somewhat and can justify a bigger budget, I'm sure we will recoup it in extra revenue from views.

Let me know what you think on the following...

Rather than you guys being the game contestants I thought it would be fun to arrange two guys from my contacts who could act as the contestants. Each contestant has a team (you lot, spilt into teams) who play the games on behalf of the contestant. They earn points based on your success or failure. For example, the contestant picks 4 of you from his team to do a tug of war contest. Your team try to pull the opposing team into a gunge pit. If you win, you get your contestant 5 points, if you fail, he gets nothing and you've been gunged.

I was thinking of hiring a venue where we can get a proper set put up, maybe an audience. I get a lot of guys (sorry) who want to watch a production being made, or want to participate in a non sexual way, like dishing out gunge etc.

Let me know if I am going way off what you guys would be happy with?

Speak soon

Gary

Ps. I hope the gym work is paying off. I want you looking your best lol


******

To: Gary McNeil {gartmcneil@messymayhem.com}
From : Sam Richards {samrichards@colehamptonrugby.co.uk}
Subject: Re: Gunge Production

Afternoon Gary

Sorry I've not been back in touch quickly, been one of those weeks. Nearly at end of season now, and can't wait for it to be over. It's been a long tough season. Looks like we will finish 5th which is not great. Pete's not happy ! Means we miss out on revenue from the play offs.

With regards to your plans, we are fine with everything you've said so far. I've spoken to the lads and they thought it was really funny. Sounds like it's going to be a good laugh.

Audience, no problem, we play infront of thousands week in week out.

I like the idea of the teams, with us lot being the ones to play the games on behalf of the contestant. Nice touch...

Cheers

Sam

Ps. Gym work going well, we are going to look solid on your film.

************
Two months later.

I flopped down in the chair, next to Chas, the post production manager. He and his team worked freelance and did any project. Nature shows, documentaries, music video, gunge productions, a company of many talents. His work console was a complex series of screens, keyboards and other equipment with more buttons and dials than I'd ever understand. Two studio quality speakers stood on stands either side of the console. An open pizza box looked precariously balanced on the desk. Grease streaked cardboard and it's contents wafting the aroma of pepperoni and cheese towards us.
It had been a long day. I was juggling my research job role for Tony Talks, chasing up the rest of the researches to put the finishing touches to the next series guests while cutting myself in two, trying to get the Messy Mayhem video signed off and ready for release.
I needed a shave, a shower and a drink. I could feel the weariness in my eyes. I looked up at the clock. It was only seven pm. It felt more like midnight. I rubbed my eyes, willing them to wake up.

"Ian says he's happy with the final cut." Chas said, demolishing a slice of pizza. Ian was the principal producer of my productions. He was the visionary, seeing the finished scene way before anyone else.
The early videos had been basic, single camera on lock off, catching the model being gunged. As the scale, scope and ambition of the productions grew so did the team. So did the budgets. Thankfully the audience grew too.

"I've put the decals in, and the indents. I've polished up the edit and balanced the sound a bit. The audience on the original mix was too low, and it was only a smallish amount of people so it didn't sound right. Plus, they sounded miles away. I've ramped it up, sounds more alive and raucous now. I've added a bit of canned applause and cheering to boost it up. Doesn't sound fake though." he paused for another slice. Speaking around a mouthful he continued, "the VT between the scenes works well now. I think we had a scaling or compression issue as the resolution of the VT is lower than the studio camera. I think you were right about not cropping the video to their faces during the interviews though. The full frontal nudity works well. Impactful. Good call"

"So we ready to launch?" I asked, glad we were nearly there.

"Think so. We can fiddle around some more, but I think it's messing with it for messing with its sake"

"Good, I'll let the club know we are ready to go. Give them the heads up first"

*********

"So it's on the site now?" Pete asked. I knew he was smoking a cigar, I could hear it, the draw in, the hold, the exhale.

"Not yet, just giving you notice it's been uploaded but the main menu isn't updated so people can't click through yet. We've been running teasers for a while now. I'm thinking it will take off". I said, listening to the regular breaths in and out from Pete.

"Good, good. So when do the royalties arrive?"

I smiled. Royalties! Pete had negotiated additional payments as the number of pay per views rose, but the term royalties showed his age. Royalties were an antiquity of records and CD's, not streaming payments. I let it pass.

"You'll have access to the online analytics for that film and each threshold reached will trigger payments" I said, then moved the conversation on, "will you let the team know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I will. So how often do I get the reports?"

I answered his questions and the call petered out. I hung up and immediately dialled Sam. I didn't believe that Pete would let the team know. He was too interested in his 'royalties' and I didn't want the video going live without the stars being aware.

"Alright Gary?" Sam chimed when he heard my voice, "let me guess, you didn't think I was embarrassed enough in the video and you want to reshoot?"

I laughed. I liked Sam, my initial reservation that his bulk equated to a lack of intelligence or a degree of thuggery was well off the mark. I felt bad for pre judging him. I had seen a different side to him, in fact I had seen more of him that most people had up to this point. That would change when the video went live, but for now I was in an exclusive club. Sam's wife, his team mates and me, had seen pretty much all he had to offer. That would change soon as my two hundred and ninety five thousand subscribers were about to see a little more of him too. The numbers were rising daily, the teasers I had been running had created a lot of new traffic to the site.

"No, no, nothing like that, just a call to let you know we're launching tomorrow"

"Ok great" he said. There was no shock or horror, or conversely no over excited proclamations. This was Sam all over, everything in his stride, calm, even after everything he had done on video. I was getting used to him now. It was like I had asked him if he wanted to try out a new pair of rugby boots, or if steak was ok for his dinner.

"I will text you over a link now. It's not live yet, but this link will take you to it, and you won't have to pay either" I said, hearing him chuckle.

"Thanks, I'll watch it later on"

"Yeah please do, you should be proud of it, you and the lads were amazing" I said, "perhaps you could drop me some thoughts on email or something, after you've watched it? I'd like to use them on a blog or marketing if I can"

"Sure thing. No worries. Speak later"

I hung up, and felt an odd sensation of a moment passing, an end of an era almost. This production had taught me a lot, especially about my preconceptions of people. I had approached the team with trepidation, a pinch of scepticism, and a whole bunch of stereotypes. I would have bet my sparkly waist coat that this team was a bunch of knuckle dragging, homophobic, narrow minded, wife beating Neanderthals. I was wrong, and I have no shame in telling you, I'm pretty embarrassed by that.

*********

First and foremost I am a splosh fan. Gunge, custard, mud, pies, natrosol, you name it I like it. I started the site for that several reason, to provide material for like minded enthusiasts, and also to make money. The extra income is great, and as I said to you ages ago, I may be able to leave my day job and concentrate on Messy Mayhem full time. But first and foremost I am a fan of all things messy.

So forgive me, while I settle down, unzip my jeans, get comfortable and press play...

***