St. Gilbert's Sports Academy Pt. 05

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*****

St. Gilberts is a scholarship Sports Academy for young men 18-22years from deprived backgrounds around the UK, providing excellence in coaching and tutorship in both Team Sports and Athletics, with the special goal of creating professional Sportsmen of all our graduates.

Established: 1908

Principal: R. Stevens

Part 5: Man of the Match Student Zine

Issue 75: 29th October 2021

Editor's Letter:

Man of the Match was in desperate need of a shake up. It was redundant. School league tables are chalked up online, and we all watch Sports news on telly - But life at St. G's is more daring, more virile, more lusty than ever, and we want a zine that captures it.

I'm proud to be taking control as Editor on the Student Newspaper's 25th anniversary, and I'm stoked to spearhead sweeping changes that will transform this dusty periodical into a sexy new webzine that will make your dick drip. Packed with hot photos and sarcastic text, MOTM will now be sent straight to your inbox, so every Lad can read it on his phone.

Kicking off with the Cover Star we ALL wanted to see: Bradley Stevens - St. G's iconic Man of the Match himself, fully exposed in steamy pictures and audacious interview. Look out for the pin-up posters we've printed to celebrate the revamp, and put Bradley up on your wall. Every dorm is getting one, find them your pigeonholes.

Next we covered the totally fucking awesome and comprehensive dick measuring contest that proved once and for all - who's the smallest and who's the biggest at st. G's? And we've compiled a fearless exposé of Hazing in St. Gilbert's most prestigious frats.

Cheers Sportsmen, Bullies and fags, here's to the bright future of MOTM,

Harry Adkin, Editor

3rd year, Rugby Specialist.

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PRINCE OF THE PITCH - BRADLEY STEVENS

Words: Shane Willingly

Photos: Grant Landow

When Harry asked me to do an interview for the new MOTM, I knew immediately who I wanted to speak to - St Gilbert's very own Prince of Pitch, Bradley Stevens.

The Golden Boy smirks when I run this epithet by him, buttoning his shirt and threading his School tie in a brilliant block of morning sunshine,

"I AM the Prince of St. G's, because my Dad's the King."

His Father, Principal Stevens, took the reigns of of power ten years ago, when Bradley was only eleven - but from that day forward it seemed assured that he would go on to become it's most celebrated Student.

"I'd be letting the side down if I don't come top of the class," he agrees, as if it outperforming a whole College of preeminent athletes is easy.

"Do you get preferential treatment?" I tease, but Bradley is unashamed of his privilege,

"Yeh! I get away with murder, mate."

It's exactly this kind of cocksure arrogance that's made him such a Hero for so many boys at the School. I tell him we're printing pin-ups of his nude shoot for every dorm. He's unsurprised, mumbling,

"Nice one," checking the knot in his school tie is quite fat enough.

Just then his fag brings socks, having been sure to warm them ahead of time. Bradley slaps the boy on his arse before drawing the heated socks over his lordly feet.

"You know how many boys would kill to be your fag?' I wonder aloud.

"All of them, I reckon," comes Brad's predictable rejoinder with a smile, and who could contradict him? (we all know the kind of perks those busy little helpers enjoy).

Because it's not just the famous narcissism of St. G's Champions that makes Bradley so popular. He's also got the sweetheart likability to back it all up. His presence on the pitch ignites a crowd, his participation in class elevates the esprit de corps, his smile brightens a room. He's patient and friendly with everyone he meets, easy-going and gregarious, if soft-spoken and a Man of few words. He's the Blonde Prince Charming of every gay boy's dreams.

But I want to understand the Man behind the myth. What's his thoughts on masculinity in the modern era?

"Should Real Men take it up the arse?" I blurt clumsily.

He stops to give his reply the consideration it deserves.

"Nah... Men should be love MAKERS, not takers."

But how does he see his future, out in the World after St. G's? Surely he wants a wife and kids?

"Yeah, of course. All Real Men should be breeding."

So he'll graduate and drop his fags? Take up the normcore life and leave St. G's behind?

"My Dad taught me all about Rome. Back then Men had wives for breeding, and fags for fucking. People liked to see a Champion putting his dick away like that. We need to bring that back."

"Wishful thinking?" I query.

Bradley doesn't think so,

"Mate, the Lads graduating this school are Elite. We go on to fill the top positions in our field - World-class Sportsmen, working in business and competition. We're the next generation of influencers. If we say it's normal for a Big Man to be married with kids AND be busy banging batty-boys on the side - then it's normal. If we say it's cool for a Champ to breed his wife AND choke his twinks - then it's cool."

"You choking this one?" I grin, nodding at the fag bringing him his Air Jordans.

"Choke him with my dick. Don't I?"

"...yeah," the boy blushes, hurrying to fulfil his other sundry duties to his Master.

But will Bradley find a wife to go along with his Roman lifestyle and radical new household?

"It's the 21st Century, Bud," he sniffs, "I'll put it in my Tinder profile."

Listening to such a Boss explain his vision for the future is nothing short of inspirational. I don't doubt for a second that he'll do everything he says. And if we love St. G's, we should follow Bradley's lead and try to make it happen in our lives too. I know could do with a boy about the house when I get my own place. Get that Bradley Stevens pin-up on your wall and start manifesting the future you want to see. Peace.

*

KING SIZE

Text: Harry Adkin

Photos: Ben Downs

We've all wondered, throwing sly glances round the locker room, and in the showers. Which of your mates has the fattest cock? We've also noticed the choadies, cracking our meanest jokes. But it took a true genius to set up the unprecedented and comprehensive head-count that would answer the biggest question of all - who has the biggest dick at St. G's?

Noted Heartthrob and general Legend Conner Denbury (3rd year Prefect) was confident his fag boy, little Jonny Ward, would come last in the contest, and that was exactly his reason for doing it.

"Dinky loves it when I'm mean about his silly micropenis," Conner scoffs, "Why not let everyone in on the joke?"

Fair enough. Jonny's shortcomings were hardly a secret. Everyone knows him as Dinky. But when the figures were counted, there in black and white, his distinction was set in stone. I've not seen a smaller penis anywhere, and I've been scouring the web in preparation for this write-up.

Dinky keeps his pubic mound closely shaved. The rolls of his foreskin are more prominent than the actual meat of his button-like bellend, cuddled in it's burrow. Too small even to sensibly measure, and far below the next smallest in Conner's great survey (2nd Year Martin Sherwood with an adorable 2 inches flaccid, 3 inches hard).

But if you were expecting St. Gilbert's tiniest willy to be bashful or shy, you got another thing coming. Jonny Ward is a half-pint with spunk, flexing his guns for Ben's photos like he won the contest, and not come absolute last.

"I like the attention," he trills defiantly, taking the brunt of St. G's banter on the chin, "All these Lads thinking about my willy - they're madferit!"

"It doesn't impeded your sex life?"

"Mate, it did! Didn't have no sex life before coming to St. G's. But well..."

"You got one now?"

"Gilbert's is sex life, Mate."

Not wrong there. Dinky's cute Mancs accent is spellbinding. I'm thinking we should make him a School mascot for away games. Imagine parading his willy in pre-match cheerleads, and selling Plushies of his choad.

"No hard feelings towards your Fag Master Conner?" I dig, hoping to uncover a bit of drama, but Dinky's chill,

"Nah, we're cool. It was a dick move for sure, but Real Men should be a bit of a dick."

"Have you got a crush on him?" I push, still holding out for a scoop.

"Um... well yeah, a bit," he bites his lip, throwing a look over his shoulder and asking me not to print that confession.

"No, I'll leave it out," I lie, returning to his previous comment, "There's always a lot of talk about Real Men at St. G's. Why do you say Real Men should be a dick?"

"Real Men are winners, you know? Dick swingers."

"Something you'll just have to try to imagine."

"Mate, when I want a wank I have to rub me glans like a clit! Maybe it's like evolution or summat, when nature makes little boys like me to keep the Real Men happy? Not a bad place to be..." he grins.

Jonny Ward seems content with his lot. We could probably all learn from his attitude about accepting failure, making the most of what we have, and taking pleasure in the little things.

And now you've had your dirty fix, bullying the pipsqueak, we turn to the real Man of the Match - 3rd year football Champion Germaine Smith.

Packing a mighty foot-long wanger, Germaine does nothing to debunk the stereotype of well-endowed Black Men. He spins it like a windmill for Ben's camera in celebration of his win. Literal dick swinging, which I'm just quick enough to capture on my phone so I can send it to Dinky later and rub his face in it.

"It's fucking amazing," I gawk.

"Yeah Man," Germaine grins.

"Did anyone ever tell you it was TOO big?"

"All the time," he nods, "That's when I push harder!"

I catch myself salivating. Like dinky before him, Germaine's prestige comes as no surprise to anyone who knows him. We've been ogling him for years. He famously shuns underwear, letting his lumber hang down the leg of his football shorts to make startling appearances throughout the match.

"Dinky said his micropenis excludes him from being Man. Do you agree?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. Remember, the Lord made ALL Men is his image!"

I wasn't anticipating a sermon from Gilbert's longest dong, but I'm here for it.

"Is God a big part of your life?"

"Yes sir!"

"You don't think religion is incompatible with any aspect of St. G's life?"

"Nah Blud!" he avows, pulling his shirt back on after our shoot, "The Bible tells us to love one another. And I got a lot of love to give!"

Damn right.

"You got any love for me, Germaine?" I dare to ask, still transfixed by the magnificent extra limb thumping his thighs.

He strokes his chin and sucks his teeth before beating me up with his penis - battered and bruised at both ends by the biggest dick on record. It was devastating, but totally awesome.

Special mentions in the contest overall: Mason Young (Final Year), who has the most pronounced curve in his boner, and Scott Bentley (2nd Year), who has the fattest penis circumference - a gobstopping 5.4 inches flaccid, 5.8 inches hard.

*

HAZING - The Secret Initiations of St. Gilbert's Frat Houses.

Text: Matt Kingsley

Sexy Artwork: Ben Crick

Behind the gleaming trophies and accolades, its brilliant Sportsmen and adoring crowds, there lurks a mean shadow at St. G's. Hazing is a rite of passage that has existed for centuries. College Fraternities the world over have enjoyed the custom of brutal initiations, but in an elite institution like Gilbert's, higher stakes demand ever more punishing humiliations. Is Hazing wrong, or is it nice?

I wanted to know more, so I put the word out I was looking for Frat House rookies to share their stories. Interviewees only came forward with the guarantee of anonymity - divulging Fraternity secrets would result in immediate expulsion if their identities were revealed. All names have been changed, and the Fraternities concerned unspecified.

"Mate it was sick!" My first informant boasts, snapping his fingers (we'll call him Billy X).

All the Lads I spoke to expressed the same level of enthusiasm for the beasting they received, seeming to have withstood the test. Billy X was pledged into one of the biggest Fraternities at St. G's - a Frat with enough Prefects in its ranks to stage an epic, night-long, fuck-off great party without exciting any investigations or repercussions for its attendees.

"We show up, and fucking everything's on offer - beers, spliffs, charlie - the lot mate. And the older Lads are all getting involved, but we're told - Nah - we can't touch a thing! They keep saying we'll get our turn, all laughing like cunts, but we never seem to get a look-in. And we're keen to be good like, and make a good impression and that, but it's odd just watching them get wrecked and we're trying to fit in and keep up."

Billy and his mates had been expecting a trick one way or another, but the full extent of their initiation was soon made clear.

"We got the hint when Prefects started pissing in their pint glasses, filling them up. If one Lad didn't manage to fill a whole glass, his Mate would top it up, till they had a proper pint's worth. Then we had to drink. And not just a sip. We had to down the whole pint. Mine had two Lad's piss in it."

The big idea was to get the new recruits fucked on recycled highs.

"I didn't think you could actually get wasted on piss, but you totally can. Booze, weed, pills. We got smashed on everything the Prefects were taking, drinking it down in their stinky piss. Came on like smack, bruv. Lethal. I was munted on two pints. Fucking wicked party, mate."

My next source (alias Joey X), was inducted into a smaller Fraternity, but still one you'll have heard of. Their illicit welcoming party was held in the Billiard Room. Rookies were stripped down to their whities and tied to the tables, legs spread.

"The Older Lads just kept smoking and cracking shots at our nuts. All night long, it was fucking relentless," he chuckles.

"Fuck, what a nightmare," I pretend to sympathise, actually wishing I'd been there to practice my break-shot too.

but Joey doesn't need sympathy,

"A wet dream more like - Listening to my mates yelp and whimper as the Bullies gave each other homie-handshakes, laughing through their fag smoke? It was sexy AF! I nutted twice, blud! Hands-free! Just getting my balls bashed by those sexy cunts!"

By this point in the investigation I was beginning to question the received authority on Hazing - that it's some sort of blight on the institutions, eroding trust and destroying moral. The Lad's at St. G's can't get enough of it.

My final informer (Benny X) even competed for a chance to be Hazed.

"Who wouldn't jump at the offer?" he shrugs, explaining that prospective members of his chosen Frat House had to compete in a special race.

Recruits were cuffed with their fly pulled open, and made subject to excruciating cock-teases at the mercy of their Superiors. Vibrators and practiced hands were used to breach ejaculation, and the new-boy who could hold-off the longest was awarded membership to the Fraternity. Benny lost.

"I didn't stand a chance. Those 3rd years Lads are just so fucking hot - all jeering and placing bets on me! I creamed like a girl."

I ask if he's disappointed he didn't make the grade?

"Gutted, mate. The loser of each race gets made to suck the winner off tho, which was a small consolation," he smiles, "I lost to my best mate - He's my sister's boyfriend! Felt so wrong with his cock in my mouth, but I loved it. Just imagine what else they get up to at future Frat parties?"

Benny's too cute to be left in the corner long. The clever Boys St. G's will find all manner of other ways to include him in their games. But it goes to show that in our School, Hazing is valued, sought after, and dead cool. It's a proud tradition that proves commitment, builds character, establishes camaraderie, and teaches respect (as well as being nice, and sexy AF).

If put to the vote, I know St. G's would unanimously safeguard the practice, and God bless this place for upholding (and indulging) this most honourable an ancient rite.

*

We're always on the look out for neat contributions. If you've got a story idea, or you're any good with a camera, get in touch to work on the next issue of MOTM.