Fifty Shades of Graeme

We gathered in a group of 22 in a London suburb. All willing participants performing before thousands of animated onlookers and we loved it. The Belgians brought a different, austere continental angle to the affair and their dour behaviour only served to arouse us all the more. We tussled for an hour or so until it all boiled over to the climax.

The Belgian phalanx was standing proud, firm, steely, only serving to make us redouble our efforts. I saw an opportunity to breach their resolve and getting in between them, they crumbled as the deft touch of first me and then Kenny left them completely stripped bare. Jensen lay down in the middle of the jousting area, completely dominated by the delicate caress of first my and then Kenny's balls into his now-vulnerable gaping sanctuary.

Kenny set off and sought us to follow him. We all wanted a piece but having been room-mates for a while, we celebrated but clearly only had eyes for each other. After thirty more minutes, we repaired to the dressing lounge, spent, all-conquering and wearied but ecstatic. We undressed and bathed raucously then returned to our temporary lodgings, not speaking of the later events to our wives.

That night we made love with a fury that could not be described as I reached new heights of animalism as I sated myself on the body of a beautiful woman while constantly recalling that one ultimately cathartic, penetrative moment earlier in the evening among all the other heaving, thrusting bodies. She responded frenetically. I loved it. And I was to go away to South America soon with Kenny. I doubted business would be all that was on our minds...

I would never forget it. Liverpool 1-0 FC Bruges (Dalglish, 64') Att 92,000

My time in Turkey was memorable. A hotbed of passion, I recall one occasion as I visited a neighbour's home, I destroyed him completely by entering his turf and planting my flagpole in the sacred middle that was for his eyes only. The onlookers were a mixture of bawdy rejoicing and sheer outrage. Riotous behaviour followed but replete, I slunk away.

The highly charged atmosphere only served to fuel me later that evening when I returned to my wife and made love with a fury that could not be described as I reached new heights of animalism as I sated myself on the body of a beautiful woman while constantly recalling that one ultimately cathartic, penetrative moment earlier in the evening among all the other heaving, thrusting bodies. She responded frenetically. I loved it.

"You haven't been like that since Bruges" she purred in afterglow. "It's not every day you drink from the Turkish Cup and do it right under your neighbour's nose and there isn't a fucking thing he can do about it, it makes you fly." I responded. And fly I did. I had to leave Turkey soon after for my own safety with a sense of achievement and the recollection of my day where my exhibition stunned them all.

I would never forget it. Fenerbahce 1-1 Galatasaray AET (Agg 1:2) Att 26,420

I roomed with Kenny at Liverpool for a reason. We were kindred Scots, we joined the club at the same time almost but what few knew was we shared the same sense of sexual adventure. Early in our tenure we realised this and between us drew up a contract based on forfeits dependent on the behaviour of the other party. I was given the name "Champagne Charlie" early at Liverpool, Kenny got "King". I always feel quite smug that they weren't just reflections of public perception but also our offstage horseplay.

Mine was an easy test. On-field discipline is something I have always relished, the conflict with the opponent, the stern admonishment of the referee, the heated argument of dissent that on one occasion happened so late on and was so stern which fulminated to the degree that I ended up having Keith Hackett jump me in the tunnel (not a euphemism!) and pin me against a wall while he tongued me deeply. We explored each others mouths and bodies, then suddenly he left me bereft and aching as he walked away softly laughing, saying "By God, Charlie, one day, one day. Possibly at Ipswich next month". I was wounded, spurned and I loved it. My forfeit was every time I was booked or sent off, or even given an excessively long talking-to, Kenny had to make sexual advances to a stranger within an hour of leaving the stadium. So keen would we be to discharge the contract that on occasion we never even left the stadium; at one memorable League Cup tie (booked, fistfight, 47mins), Kenny ended up spanking a man who actually changed into leathers at the stadium. We weren't aware of who he was but it turned out later he was the chairman of Exeter City and had his kit on standby for when the "cleaner" came in on Fridays.

Kenny's was a secret we've never revealed until today. The king is of course famous for his unaltered Scottish brogue over the years despite nearly forty years on Merseyside. Well, it's all an act. He speaks perfectly clear BBC English with a faint Prestonian twang that makes me weak at the knees whenever he does it as we know we're in private sharing our own secret known to so few. However, every time he would be interviewed before or after a game for whatever reason and he affected "Glasgie", I had an hour to get to a public place of my choosing, strip naked and take a polaroid of my taut, naked body with the stipulation that I be erect. That was never a problem. There was huge scope for embarrassment in this of course, down to the day I was passing Rumbelows and he was on the displays saying "Ah, wey se fry ma hoops na kick ye watter" to confuse the twats in the English press. I had to find a changing room in Habitat and take the photo. The flash drew the attention of the manager and an assistant who took me into a back room to dress me down verbally and, in a massive state of arousal, literally as we embarked on a torrid threesome all over the Winter Collection. I loved it. We all ended up as matted as the cream and blue 4' by 6' rug that was to retail at £29.99, marvellous twill density.

I couldn't play that night, I was destroyed. I'd have got booked for Kenny that night if I could...

Later on, the highly charged atmosphere only served to restore me later that evening when I returned to my wife and made love with a fury that could not be described as I reached new heights of animalism as I sated myself on the body of a beautiful woman while constantly recalling that one ultimately cathartic, penetrative moment earlier in the day among all the other heaving, thrusting bodies. She responded frenetically. I loved it.

I would never forget it. Liverpool 3-0 Watford (Rush 10, Nicol 41, Whelan 45) Att 20,745

We found ourselves in a position of complete submission. We had been ordered to attend at the host's private address for our ultimate showdown, gladiators in the den of Caesar, blood red uniforms and a script we were determined to rewrite. We were in Rome but we would fight like demons before we "did as the Romans did". The prospect of entering the chamber of a hostile host and bearding him in his den was too much for me - I was intensely aroused and I told the same to Big Bruce. He said the same. We had a quick fumble before the off but that only excited us all the more. By the time we entered the arena, we were both primed and ready to go. To make matters worse, the only non-Italians we would be facing would be equally-passionate Brazilians. The anticipation was unbearable. I loved it.

After the preliminaries, we found some frenetic action where we dominated an unprepared host. A few of us got together to push home aggressively after a quarter of an hour and I almost doubled it but my efforts were chastised for my being too forward - this did nothing to dampen my ardour. Predictably, this started the host's retaliation and a half an hour later, we were as equals again. We would continue thus for another hour and a half, toing and froing, young Steve nearly finding himself leading the parade at one point. He was suitably unnerved by this, whereas I fulminated with jealousy, a ball of erotic energy waiting to discharge.

In stalemate, we found ourselves in one on one situations. Young Steve stepped up first and his nerves were obvious as he missed his chance. The leader of the host consolidated their position and one of our old hands stepped up and did himself proud, which is more than can be said for their grizzled old warhorse who would follow. All square, I found myself in front, centre and next to exhibit myself. I was so aroused that I stepped up and performed to perfection - I recall jumping as my effort reached climax and as I saw the fruits of my efforts, I came with all the fury of the Amazon in full spate. I told Big Bruce and he went weak at the knees as he faced the remaining participants. A handful of jousts later and our hosts were defeated - we had taken them on in their own boudoir and given them a round spanking. Big Bruce and I both did our bit and in the bath afterwards, he showed that it wasn't for pissing out of as we were all over each other like marinara sauce and linguini or more accurately, white sauce spread on sheets. Of lasagne.

Later on, the highly charged atmosphere only served to restore me that evening when I returned to my wife and made love with a fury that could not be described as I reached new heights of animalism as I sated myself on the body of a beautiful woman while constantly recalling that one ultimately cathartic, penetrative moment earlier in the day among all the other heaving, thrusting bodies. She responded frenetically. I loved it. As she gazed on my naked body, reflected in the patina of the immense trophy we liberated, she purred "Oh Graeme, you're my European Champion, I can't recall the last time you put me to the gladiatorial sword like that". "I don't know, my love. Forest, maybe?" I replied. I lay back and grinned to myself. Big Brucie and the wife. Had the first one counted, I'd have scored four times in as many hours. And yet I was not yet sated...

I would never forget it. Liverpool 1-1 AS Roma (Neal 13'), Liverpool win 4-2 on penalties. Att 69,693