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Marathon Man by JohnnoAllthwaite
Fiction, Boys/Teen Female, Cheating, Reluctance
Weatherfield England, Summer 2012, the London Olympics year.
We all had Olympic fever, well that's my excuse.
We was down the Flying Horse one night having a few bevvies Al and me when this bloke in a tracksuit with a clipboard and stopwatch walks in.
"Hey, no trainers allowed in here," some clever dick twat in a roll neck sweater pipes up.
"Very funny," the guy says, and he turns to this group of posh twats sat there and asks,"And what exactly are you doing here?" he enquires.
"Training!" the guy joked and his mates thought it was the funniest thing since we put cling film over the bogs.
"Jesus christ you're all drunk!" the bloke exclaimed.
"Drunk?" Big Yin the five foot two anorexic Scotsman that was behind the bar protested, "They've barely wetted their lips, a half each is all they had!"
"Then where have they been drinking?" the guy asks.
"It ain't drink mate," I said.
"They been snorting coke in the bogs," Al added.
"Wankers!" we agreed and laughed because that's what you do when you've had ten pints of Stella (Artois) down your neck.
"Oh no!" the guy said, "You're joking right?"
"Don't think so," I told him, "You want a pint?"
"Ah, no, I don't have my wallet." he admitted, "You idiots do know you have a test at nine tomorrow morning?"
"You're ding right?" the prat in the roll neck gasped, "Oh fuck!"
"Yes, you're fucked all right." he said, "The College take a dim view of drugs, not to mention the Athletics Association, you idiots could be banned for life."
"You're all right," Al says, "We'll take the test for you!"
"Oh great!" he said, "You're about three times the limit!"
"But we ain't up are we squire?" Al asked, "Look we're offering Ok."
"Thanks but no thanks," he said, "God knows what a pair of skivers like you have been taking."
"Oi," I said, "I been helping Al on the bins while Jib-bob Harrogate's off with the lurgy."
"That's hardly the point," he said, "These are trained Athletes, their physiques honed," he looked at me, "What's so funny?"
"They are?" I laughed, "Fucking Athletes, snorting coke and taking it up ech other's asses round the bogs, who you ding?"
His gob just flopped open like a goldfish, "Well what you expect when you ban them from having girlfriends?" I asked, "Stands to reason you'll end up with a bunch of queers."
He looked like he been smacked across the face with a wet Haddock, "Oh hell!" he said, "Oh y hell."
"Didn't you realise?" I asked.
"Jesus you wee idiot," Big Yin says, "Surely you must have knowed?"
"It all makes sense, they don't seem to get any faster," he said, "We have an Olympic trial on Saturday, Ilkley marathon."
"You're fucked then," I said.
"Ah you know you offered?" he said.
"Fucking test," I said, "Not a fucking ten mile run!"
"Twenty five more like," Al agreed.
"Ah, Twenty Six miles, three hundred and eighty five yards," the bloke said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning at the University refectory," he said, "The cafe?" he added, "I'm Lionel, chief athletics coach?"
"We only meant the test," Al said pleading like.
"I'm Johnno Allthwaite," I said, "And this is Al," I added, "I always fancied me self as an athlete, keep it up for ages me!"
Al laughed and so I got another round in before we went round the bogs for a smoke.
Next morning we persuaded old Ted to have a tea break outside the Uni part way round our bin round and we wandered in to find Lionel.
"Oh my god!" he whined when he saw us, "You might have tried to look like Athletes," he said.
I didn't see his problem, me bright orange coveralls weren't that dirty considering I'd had them on all week, "Find some kit ok?" he said and he showed us the changing room where the blokes from the previous was all kitted up in Adidas and Nike and stood around all nervous like.
I found some shorts and I held a towel for Al so that bunch of queers couldn't get a butchers of his tackle, not that there's much to see, he wouldn't make eight inches even if you stuck
a rocket up his ass, and he done the same for me.
"Ok," Lionel says, "Lose the sock Allthwaite," he says.
"What sock," I says.
"That's not a sock that's his cock," says Al who was still a bit hung over.
"Oh, ah right." he says, "I just hope you two idiots are clean drugs wise!" he says, "Anyway the tester is Mr Graythwaite and you are both studying Sociology, if he asks."
"Engineering," I says, "I ain't no shirtlifter!"
"No," Al says, "Sociology is what the dumb blondes do."
"So you fucking do it," I said, "I'll be the next Adrian Newry and you can be fucking forgotten."
"Gentlemen," Lionel says forgetting himself, "I mean Lads, Sociology and Engineering, its fine," he said because he thought we would be fucking crap at running.
They took some from us, some bloke in a white coat took samples from us and the the blokes from the Flying Horse and some girls who looked real fit in their sports kit, too fit, I like a bit more tit myself, well some tit at least.
We stood around afterwards, "I say," one girl tittered, in upper class speak, she was real fit, not fanciable but a six pack, almost flat chested you know but I wouldn't kick her out of bed if I was short of the price of a tart, "The old sock down the shorts thing is so passe!"
"That's no sock," I said.
"Really?" she said, "Show me!"
"No way Johnno!" Al cautioned, "Hey some of these jokers are on sports scholarships and that,"
Johnno said, "Could be a nice little earner."
We had to fuck off, Ted was playing the Titanic theme on the Dustcart's horn so we got stuck in and was finished by dinner.
She was called Suzanne, it turned out, and there we were ready for Ilkley Marathon.
"Where the fuck does it say we can't run in a fucking council boiler suit?" I asked.
"Don't be a prat all your life Allthwaite," this Suzanne bird said, "It's all a big joke to you!"
"Some fucking joke," I said, "You fucking watch out, you only got ten minutes head start and the moor's pretty lonely!" It was more like twenty minutes actually but nobody told me.
"Promises, promises," she said, how was I to know she hadn't had it for months on account of the training and was desperate for some action.
Anyway we got stripped down and was fucking shivering by The Angel, so I had me debit card and got a four pack of Four X in for Al and me and we felt a bit better.
We wasn't far from "The Bombay Duck," so I sneaked off and got some pork balls and a bag of chips each which went down a treat but Lionel did his nut and grabbed me fags off me when I went to light up.
"Oi!" he said, "Where were you, didn't you hear the gun?"
"What?" I says, "Oh fuck!" they was right up the end of the road, we took off after them and it wasn't hard to catch them but then it got fucking boring jogging along, "Fuck this," I said to Al, "I'm getting fucking cold."
"Not the same without a bin to carry," Al said, "Shall we get a move on, maybe stop for a bevvy?"
"Right oh," I said and we sort of fucked off and left the other fuckers what wasn't used to a hard days work chasing a bin lorry wheezing along behind us.
The old pub I had in mind was shut so we kept going and then we was catching up the birds what started before us, y shattered most of them.
"Hey," Al says, "Reckon you can catch that mouthy bitch?"
"Dunno," I said, thinking.
"Wipe the fucking smile off her stupid face wouldn't it!" Al said.
"Might put one on it!" I said, "Come on!"
We got a bit of a move on, some old biddy in her Minor Thousand got a shock when we overtook her as she drove along and then we could see the fit bints waggling their tight little asses as the jogged along, "There she is!" Al said but when we caught up it weren't her.
"Where's that Suzanne," I asked.
"She's," gasp, "About," wheeze, "There look," the girl wheezed and pointed, fuck she was about a mile ahead.
"Bollocks!" I shouted, "Come on Al," I said.
"No you're all right," Al said, "You from round here love?" he asked, "You want to lay off the fags wheezing like that," he said, producing a pack of Woodbines, "Got a light Johnno?"
"Where do you think I carry a lighter?" I asked, then I remembered I had a box of Swan Vestas in me shorts so I chucked him the matches and fucked off.
That Suzanne was a lovely little mover and I just caught her before we got back to Ilkley, "Come here you!" I said as I grabbed her round the tits.
"Nooo!" she wailed, "I'm on for a PB leave me alone!"
Sweat was pouring out of her and her legs was buckling as I pushed me hand down her shorts and poked a finger in her hairless snatch, but she suddenly found the energy to smack me round the face and put a sprint on.
She was across the line before I could get to her again
Lionel was doing his nut by the finish line, "Allthwaite!" he stormed, "Leave her alone!" she was sprinting away now, "Damn she couldn't have been trying!" he said as she ran away.
"What? I asked as I stopped.
"She's just done a PB!" he snapped, "What did you do, come on the bus?"
"No, jogged round why?" I asked.
"Bollocks," he said, "That time would have got you a bronze medal in Beijing."
"The 'Tap on't Moor was shut," I said, "We was going to have a Bevvy but Suzanne said I was on for a fuck if I caught her!"
"I say!" a Military type said, "That sir is my daughter!"
"He's a rough diamond sir, Mr Allthwaite," Lionel said, "This is Brigadier General Sir Algenon Foukes Knightly."
"Archibald Foukes-Bryce actually," he said, "Now understand this Allthwaite, my daughter is off limits!"
"Then why's me finger got her cunt juice on it?" I asked, "She got the hots for me!"
"I say," he said.
"y hell," Lionel said as he listened to his phone, "You went through all the checkpoints Allthwaite!" he said, "y hell! that was Bronze medal pace in Beijing!"
"Daddy, did he say Bronze medal pace in Beijing!" Suzanne said excitedly as she trotted back fingering herself absent mindedly.
"Oh, then he did very well," her father said, "Good breeding stock, don't bring him to dinner but feel free," he said, "Could have a gold medalist for a grand!"
"Fuck!" I said, "You can't use me like a fucking prize bull!"
"Why not, it's your patriotic duty man!" the Brigadier insisted.
"I suppose," I said.
"Oh don't sound so enthusiastic!" Suzanne insisted.
"No you're all right," I said, "You got a room, only our mam gets funny about shagging in the afternoon."
"You're not even sweating!" Suzanne exclaimed, "Look, my car's round the back," she said.
I got me stuff out of Lionel's car and Suzanne drove me to her dads gaff, it must have had thirteen bedrooms or so and stood on a hillside looking west, she reckoned you could see Blackpool Tower on a clear day.
Her mother was there, "Suzanne, who is that awful boy?" her mother asked.
"John, he's just run the fastest Ilkley Marathon ever," Suzanne explained.
"But darling, he wears cheap shoes," her mother says, "And he has a sock down his trousers."
"No he hasn't Mummy!" Suzanne insisted.
"Well you're not to take him upstairs," she said.
"Oi, I ain't fucking fucking her in the fucking car am I?" I says, "Fucking Brigadier says fuck away so make up your fucking mind ok?"
"Mummy!" Suzanne protested, "You know I haven't had it for weeks!"
"But dear," her mother said.
"But nothing, come along John!" Suzanne insisted and she just about dragged me upstairs and chucked her shorts and panties on the floor and lay back to let me at her.
Christ did she need it poor bitch, "Oh god that's so good!" she said, so I porked her for a quarter hour or so and than she started snoring, poor bitch was all in so as soon as I cum in her I tucked her in the bed and snuck downstairs.
"Just one moment," Mrs Foukes-Bryce insisted, "Turn out your pockets, I don't trust you!"
"Chill out!" I replied, "I aint nicked nothing!"
"Show me," she said and she shoved her hand in my trouser pocket and took a good grip on my cock.
"Oi!" I said as he swelled, "You want a portion or something?" she looked guilty, "You want a portion don't you!" I declared.
"No, really, we mustn't," she said.
"Why not, fucking Suzanne went a kip when I was in fucking mid fuck," I explained.
"You have such a way with words Mr Allthwaite," Mrs Foules-Bryce agreed.
"Yeah take the piss," I said,"You'll be laughing the other side of your face when you got Percy up you."
"Percy?" she asked.
"Thomas the tank engine, Porky the pig, Percy the penis," I explained.
"Oh," she said as I unzipped and let him loose, "Oh god it's huge!"
"On your back bitch!" I insisted.
"No, the kitchen unit!" she said and she hauled her panties down and sat on the kitchen unit, hardly hygienic as you're supposed to keep hot meat and cold meat separate but it was pretty good for height and I slid in real easy and started humping away.
"Not a bad gaff you got here," I said appreciatively.
"Shut up and fuck me," she replied.
"Ok," I agreed, "Don't go sleep on me," I said.
"What?" she asked absent mindedly, "Oh, no." she agreed but I reckon she would if I hadn't grabbed her tits, that woke her up all right. I carried on banging her and then another woman turns up as I'm humping away.
"Got a new boyfriend again Mummy?" the woman asked.
She was flabbier than Suzanne with some decent tit on her but she had a nose ring and spiky hair like a dyke.
"You a Lib Dem?" I asked, "Left hander, bat for the other team?"
"And what do you expect when we have to put up with awful people like you," she snapped, "If we want straight sex."
"I'll fucking poke you in a minute!" I said and she just blanked me so I pulled out of her mother and grabbed her round the waist, she tried to chuck me off but I pushed her over the end of the dining table and dragged her Jeans and pants down and rammed my cock deep in her.
It was a bit stiff for a start off but got easier, "Christ she's tight!" I explained.
"It's because she's been a dyke ever since ever," the mother added, "She needs a decent man and in the absence you'll have to do!"
The door opened, Suzanne appeared, "I am totally totally fucked!" she said "Mummy," she protested, "Anna's fucking my boyfriend!"
'Mummy' sighed, "Oh, sorry dear but Anna really does need to have a real man occasionally if she is ever going to out grow this silly Lesbian phase.
"I'm surprised he hasn't fucked you," Suzanne added, "Oh my god he has, hasn't he!"
"Sorry darling, but he is very persuasive," she said.
"Fuck anything in a skirt me," I said between thrusts, "Except a Scotsman."
That usually got a laugh but they just stared, so I shot me load up Anna and pulled out.
"Any coffee?" I asked.
They chucked me out, "Look just because HRH arranged selective breeding and bred Sara doesn't mean," they was arguing as I found me self outside in the rain with no transport.
I was feeling a bit knackered so I jogged off down the road, a couple of bevvies in the Kings Head and that and a fag sorted me out and I caught a train back home.
Our Mam was waiting, "What you been doing our John because this coach been round."
"Coach, in our street, how'd it get past bollards?" I asked.
"Not that sort of coach!" Dad said.
"Oh, well I hope someone got the horse shit for their rhubarb," I replied.
"Oh give me strength," Dad said, "Not a fifty four seater Bedford Duple, not a coach and horses a y athletics coach!"
"Right," I says.
"Only want's to sign you up as an Athlete!" Dad says.
"Right," I says, "What's in it for me?"
"Gold medals lad!" he says, "Honour of the country!"
"Right," I says, "Sod all then."
"I don't know," Mum says, "That Saddam Hussein did alright for himself."
"She means Hussein Bolt," Dad says getting it wrong as well.
"Sprinter," I says, "Right."
"Or that Nigel Phelps," Mum added.
"He's a swimmer Mum," I says, "Give me ing strength!" and I went up to bed for a lie down and I was so knackered I didn't wake up till Suzanne called round Sunday teatime.
There was this y row, "How was I to know you were his girlfriend!" Suzanne was saying.
I legged it downstairs, Sandra was going at Suzanne like she was some guard dog or some such.
"Leave him alone!" she said.
"Is she your girlfriend?" Suzanne asked.
"Was," I said, "Al's sort of took her on, I just pokes her now and again."
"You said you loved me!" Sandra said.
"I was pissed, you still charged me though," I reminded her.
"Mates rates," she said, "And you had a blow job."
"Ugh!" Suzanne sneered.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Sandra snapped and she swung at Suzanne, Suzanne dodged smacked Sandra in the nose and flipped her on her back Judo style.
"Or what?" Suzanne asked.
"Nothing," Sandra agreed, "You're welcome, you won't be so chuffed when you're trying to get some kip and he want's it again, he's fucking insatiable!"
"Oh," says Suzanne, "Goody, you should let him screw you sister and mummy like he screws mine!"
Sandra thought about it, "I ain't got no sister," she says.
Suzanne looks at me, "Come on down the Club, Lionel would like you to try out for fifteen hundred meters." she said.
"I don't know," I said, but she was very persuasive, and when I said I'd go if Al did we went round and picked him up.
The club was fantastic, like a gymnasium and everything, "Where's the bar?" I asked.
There weren't one, nor a fag machine.
"Roger is regional champion at the snatch and jerk!" Suzanne said as this great gorilla of a bloke walks past.
I couldn't help it, I just about pissed myself laughing.
"What's funny," he said all menacing like.
"Nothing," I said, "No, I never meant anything," I said.
He was carrying some weights on a bar, "Hang on," I said, "I'll give you a hand,"
He put the bar down and glared at me, "Look, it just sounds funny," I said, and I picked up the bar with me left hand, "Where do you want them."
There was this crump when he fainted.
"What the fuck?" I asked.
Suzanne went white, "Oh, lets go outside," she said, "That was really rotten!" she said.
"What?" I asked.
"You, lifting his weights one handed!" she said, "Making him look stupid."
"I thought it was a bit heavy," I said, "I never thought really."
"Well just don't show off!" Suzanne ordered.
"Who put you in fucking charge?" I asked.
"Somebody has to look after you," she said, "Anyway Daddy has had a word and you're on the shortlist for London 2012.
"Right," I said, "I'll watch it on telly if that's all right."
"Running!" she said, "Daddy pulled a few strings."
"Fuck!" I said.
"Lionel wants to discuss your training schedule," she said, "Thats why he asked you to come."
I waited for the prat, "Look, ah, John." he said, "I'll understand if you don't want to." he said.
"Don't want to do what?" I asked.
"It's a long hard slog training," he said.
"And a total fucking waste of time," I said, "Look at them weedy prats." I said and pointed.
"Its Portugal," he said, "Altitude training."
"Fuck that," I said, "I ain't got no passport."
"But you need to train hard if you're going to win!" he insisted.
"Look," I said, "A few bevvies and a decent curry of a night and a bit of hard work of a morning is what keeps you fit!"
"There's a bit more to it than that," Suzanne chirped.
"And a decent fuck to help you kip," I said, she blushed bright red.
"That's ridiculous!" he said.
"So, why was them other wankers so fucking useless," I pointed out, "They're shagged out with fucking training."
"For gods sake won't you take this seriously?" Lionel asked.
"Nope," I said, "Fuck the Olympics!"
That should have been that really, they all fucked off to Portugal and that and then suddenly part way through the London Olympics there was a copper busting our door down, "Oi Johnno!" Pc Tony Mulholland who was a mate of mine, yelled.
"Fuck off," I said.
"Fucking Olympic team needs you!" he said, "Some dopy twat forgot to take your name off the list and you're out number three Marathon entry.
"Fuck off!" I said, "It's four in the morning, I only had two hours kip."
"Come on!" he ordered, "We got the Subaru WRC outside, I ent passing up the chance of a ton up bash down the M1 just because you don't fancy it." he said.
I tried to kip in the car but the screaming of the siren kept me awake and then we was down the smoke and these fuckers was doing their nuts finding me some accreditation and some kit and al that what should have been done weeks before.
Almost before I knew it I was kitted out in Team GB kit and freezing me bollocks off at the Marathon start, god, I got the y cold shoulder treatment from everyone, obviously the other teams saw me as a threat, either that or a joke, but our lot cold shouldered me too, nobody wanted to share me fags, and to put the tin hat on it the ponce with the drinks sidled up and asked what I wanted in my bottle.
"Stella Artois mate," I said.
"You have got to be joking!" he said.
"No a can of Stella,"I said, "Savvy?"
Lionel was there, "Oh no, he'll want a ciggy break halfway as well."
"Now you mention it," I said, "Is there a chip shop anywhere about?" I asked.
They just fucked off, the BBC bloke interviewed the bloke as said I nicked his place, the other Brits ignored me and I was pretty pissed off.
Anyway we set off, the crowd cheered and me team mates led for the first hundred yards until all that training kicked in and their knees buckled and they slowed down to jog with the other fuckers, and still the fuckers cheered and waved the fucking Chinese made Union Jack flags, thousands of fuckers there were cheering and that lining the street ten deep or so, anyway no one wanted a chat so I jogged around on me own, there was a black bloke I thought I recognised but he reckoned he never been to Weatherfield, so I jogged along with him and his mates for a bit.
I had a bit of an up and downer when they hadn't got a tin of Stella for me at the drinks place, anyway the found me can of 4X after a couple of minutes but by then I was fucking last, and I was pissed off because its fucking awful being last so I got a move on and caught up a bit, there was a chip shop open but with folk about ten deep at the roadside it was obvious I wouldn't get served so I legged it a bit and then there was the drinks station again and all these cunts throwing their bottles on the road.
"Oi," I said, "Some poor fucker's got to clear those up!" and they looked at me like I was a piece of shit, pissed me off it did.
"You're," gasp, "A fucking," gasp, "Joke Allthwaite," this Brit bloke said as I caught him up.
"You want to smoke some of these," I said as I chucked him a Woodbine, "Help your breathing!"
He shook his head, it was fucking boring as we went round again, this time they had some Stella for me, went down a treat it did and then before I knew there was just me and these black lads jogging along, couple from Ethiopia and a couple of Kenyans, not bad blokes, bit scrawny, needed feeding up really, we went round Buckingham Palace and I remembered I left me camera phone at home.
"Any idea who's leading," I asked and they looked at me like I was a dickhead, "Fuck you then," I said and then it started raining.
"Fuck this for a game of soldiers," I said, "Too fucking cold for pratting about, see you down the pub after?" I said and I legged it.
There was this wanker on a motorbike who was pissing me off, he was sat backwards on the pillion and he was filming me as his mate rode, it's all very well but he was spraying me with water off of his back tyre and fucking laughing, "Don't you fucking laugh at me!" I said and I went to lay one on him, except his mate give it some welly and buggered off.
I stopped for a ciggy and the black lads caught up, puffing and blowing, running in single file they were, some bloke was doing his nut when I stopped at the drinks station again and had me another couple of cans of Stella and after a quick smoke I jogged off eventually.
Them black blokes was taking the piss, it weren't what I call running, sort of loping along instead of getting stuck in so it weren't long before I caught up and then there was such a fucking big gap in front we couldn't even see the other fuckers, I just stuck with the bunch of lads until I got bored, "Fuck it," I said and gave it a bit of welly.
It was really chucking it down with rain now with the rain landing and jumping back in the air again when I come round the last bend, all I wanted was me coat so I really legged it and jumped over this ribbon some twat had across the road, "Where's me fucking coat?" I asked when this cunt off of TV shoved a microphone in me gob.
"John Allthwaite, Olympic Gold Medalist!" he said, "How does that sound?"
"Uh, what?" I asked.
"You won!" he said, "You won Gold at the twenty twelve London Olympics!"
"Fucking hell," I said, "I never realised!"
"Is there anyone you want to thank, your trainer?" he asked.
"Yeah, Weatherfield Council for giving me the job on the bins what got me fit," I suggested, "The Lads down the Flying Horse, the." I couldn't really think,"Sandra for letting me fuck her half price."
The TV bloke looked really worried, "So to what do you ascribe your outstanding performance to," he asked, "Training, diet perhaps?"
"Ten pints of Stella most nights," I said, "And fags to steady the nerves," I added, "Woodbines mainly!"
"Was the altitude training a key component?" the bloke asked.
"Oh yeah, if shagging Suzanne on Ilkley Moor is altitude training!" I agreed, "It's bollocks really ent it," I said, "All this training!"
The TV director bloke was doing his nut, making cut signs, "Concentrate on the fucking second and third battle," he said.
"I can't they're fucking knackered," the interviewer said on live TV to about six zillion fuckers as the two poor sods lay on their backs on the road too knackered to stand.
"There a chip shop round here?" I asked, "I could use a curry me." and then I saw Suzanne.
"Oi let me bird through,"I said as she fought her way through.
"So. ah Miss, ah Suzanne," the bloke asked reading her name badge, because the other fuckers was still too knackered to talk, "What are your plans now."
"Olympics, twenty sixteen," Suzanne declared, "I'm hoping to do the Heptathlon!" she lied.
"And I need a fuck," I said and pulled down her pants in front of a TV audience of about five zillion fuckers as China TV desperately tried to pull the plug.
"Johnno!" Suzanne wailed as I hauled Percy out of me and rammed it firmly up her chuff, "Oh Johnno!" she wailed.
Fucking TV pulled into a close up shot so they couldn't see we was fucking as we bounced around, "Are you looking forward to the medal ceremony later, he asked.
"To be fucking honest," I said, "The fucking national anthem is crap and either you uses a brass band playing it or I'll fuck off home."
"Absolutely," Suzanne's father agreed, as he joined us "I said all along that we should have the Royal Marines play it!"
And then the bloke who came second sat up looked at the times and y fainted. Seemed we had totally fucked the World record and all.
That's when I woke up.
That's what happens when you watch the Olympics instead of going down the pub, you dream.
.
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