cards & custard

Ce sera sera sexy. Or whatever. I was never that good at French, I just couldn’t think of a better opening. They say that the start is the most important part of a story, and that makes it the hardest bit to write.

Really ballsed this one up, haven’t I?

Once you get a good start, things tend to flow from there. In a way it’s like hiking – the trick is just not to stop, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you stop, it’s twice as hard to start again.

I’m told that’s how you’re meant to hike anyway. I always did swimming at school because the teacher doing hiking was this crazy Latin tutor.

That and I liked boys wearing speedos.

This whole… escapade if you will, is based on a fantasy Matt wrote down about three or four years back. He showed it to Danny who liked it, and showed the rest of us, who just liked the idea of a big orgy.

That’s really what being a popstar is about – sex. Preferably lots of it with as many people as possible for as long as possible. Oh, and as kinky as possible. Kinky is always good.

Except kinky involving blood. That’s not nice. I actually got sent some fanmail with a story in it about sex in the blood of someone whose throat I just cut. I didn’t get why I wanted to kill them or why I’d want to fuck in the blood afterwards.

Our fans are weird.

I should introduce myself. I’m still a bit new to this, so I occasionally forget things like that. I’m Tom. You may remember me from such music videos as 5 Colours In Her Hair, That Girl, and Please, Please.

Sorry, that was lame. If you’re reading this you probably know who I am anyway. If you don’t, then all you really need to know is that I’m blonde, male, and have a star tattoo on my chest.

Those are the important bits for this story anyway.

The people I’m writing about are my friends in public, my sex partners in private, and the new Chippendales on stage. Well, three of them in the last category anyway. The others aren’t for the simple reason that they’re not actually in McFly. That is, they’re not members of the band. They’re frequently in us.

Anyway, if you’re a fan of McFly, you’ll recognise most of the people in this – that is, me, Danny, Dougie and Harry. You’d also recognise one other guy I expect. The only one would wouldn’t know is Matt, who is Danny’s “boyfriend”. Quite what sort of relationship they have is beyond me, since neither is exactly faithful to the other (though they do keep it to the McFly intimate circle). But you usually find one sitting on the other or sleeping together. That is actually sleeping. I don’t really like sleeping in the same bed as anyone else – I tend to wriggle a lot, and if there’s someone else there I can’t get as comfortable.

Oh, and I don’t like trying to sleep with someone breathing on the back of my neck.

I expect you’ve had enough of my waffle by now, so I’ll try to actually get onto the story. It was another of those hot days that seemed endless around the end of July, and the six of us (oh yeah, forgot about Dave from Son of Dork – Harry invited him apparently. I think he spends more time with that band than us) were in my flat, sitting in suits round a table I’d had to go and buy specially because god knows the crap you get at Ikea wouldn’t survive the afternoon. Oh, and the floor was covered in a clear plastic sheet that squeaked annoyingly when we walked on it.

I guess I should explain the why a bit better. Matt’s fantasy (called Cards & Custard – hence the title of this) was set back when he was at a school where they had to swear suits as a school uniform. Poor bastard? Maybe, but suits are kind of cool, in an odd way. They’re also a bit hot on a hot day, but that’s why we had a load of fans. Besides, we’d be getting naked soon enough.

The fantasy was about a game. Not really a game of cards like poker or anything, though it did involve cards. The idea was that every person got dealt a card, and the person with the highest card went out of the room and concealed the card somewhere on their person. Then the next highest went, and so on. Then, you’d take turns rifling through one piece of clothing to try and find it. And that’s where the custard comes in – if you found the card, then you got to dump a bucket of custard over their head. Cool, eh?

Well I think that’s cool anyway.

If you didn’t find it, then the person (shall we say victim?) had to take off the piece of clothing, and you’d then give attention to the skin uncovered, and give the victim a kiss to apologise for accusing them falsely. Then the victim got to choose someone else to accuse, as long as everyone was picked on once before anyone got done twice. Of course, if you missed the card where you looked then you got the bucket over your head.

Now, I’d like to think that we were more… mature… than the people Matt originally wrote about. After all, they were still at school, we’re men who sing about mature things – like sex, girls, booze and… well… sex.

So of course the first argument was whether aces should be counted as higher than kings.

Not that any of us actually drew an ace…

Danny got a two and tried to argue that it was wild – the rest of us just ignored him, and he went out of the room last.

It was Harry who picked the high card – eight of diamonds – not exactly high numerically, but better than anything the rest of us drew. Still, when we were all sitting back down in our chairs (or on Matt’s lap in Danny’s case), he was up on the table first, deciding who to pick on.

He chose me. Lovely.

I climbed up onto the table and stood there next to him feeling a bit stupid. I also saw that my pot plant in the corner needed watering (and for those of you of a nasty mind set, it’s a plant in a pot – a spider plant if you must know). It was, I should mention, a fairly large table, so six people could easily sit around it, and it was big enough to lie down on if you wanted. Just so you don’t have to worry about someone falling off it and hurting themselves.

No boybands were harmed in the making of this sex scene.

There was a quick clarifying of the rules before Harry (after an overly dramatic monologue that was lifted straight from the original story) searched my jacket and failed to find the card (would anyone put it in their jacket? It’s the most obvious place). I shrugged it off and chucked it over Dougie’s head in the direction of the spider plant. The rules said that Harry had to kiss any skin exposed, but… there wasn’t any. In the original story that was apparently never a problem because everyone was wearing short-sleeved shirts. Matt claimed that anyway. Just makes me think he never thought it through fully. I just settled for Harry licking my hands, though I made sure to wipe them on his arse before he got down.

Harry’s arse makes a great towel.

So, there I was (in this hallway, right? Right? Sorry, I’m such a geek), standing on the table, feeling more and more stupid by the moment. It’s fine in an arena, but surrounded by five (horny) people? Then I had to decide who to pick. Dougie had moved around the table and was snuggling up next to Dave, Danny and Matt were deaf to the world, and I couldn’t exactly pick Harry. I chose Dave.

I should point out that since I can’t remember most of it, I’m leaving out a lot of the conversations going on. I remember beckoning Dave up and puckering my lips in his direction. I checked his blazer pockets for the card, didn’t find it, so licked his arms (he was wearing a brilliantly white short-sleeved shirt). We kissed and I got down.

The first round of this game really is rather dull. You don’t want to skip it as it’s just a way to get in to things, but as a writer it’s deathly boring. We all chose to search jackets, we all failed to find a card. If you care, Dave picked Dougie who chose Danny who frisked Matt who searched Harry.

So, Harry started off round two, with us all pretty much where we started, just with one round’s less grace. We’d decided earlier that you were only allowed to pick on each person once, unless you had no choice. This game is like Poker in a way – loads of stupid rules that you can never remember at first. The important part is getting naked and messy, it just takes so damn long.

The game’s a cock-tease.

Harry spent quite a while deciding between Dave and Dougie for his next pick, eventually choosing Dave, probably because he was openly rubbing himself through his trousers. He chose to check Dave’s shoes. Well, footwear – another rule said that shoes and socks counted as one item. A chair was lifted onto the table for Dave to sit on. Not as if we actually needed seven chairs anyway, since someone would always be on the table. Harry started pushing his hands inside Dave’s shoes, and I noticed Dougie edging slowly away from the table. As Harry undid the laces on Dave’s trainers (yeah… he let us all down…), James seemed to cower. When the first shoe came off, we knew why. Harry jerked back and fell onto his arse, exclaiming “fuck!” It wasn’t exactly long before I could smell them either – rather… it smelt like something died. White sock, sweat-stained… I had to wonder if he’d gone out running in them specially, or if all his socks smelt that bad. Harry gingerly patted down the socks, looking for the card. He didn’t find it. As he pulled the socks off, Dave’s grin was threatening to split his face.

“Do I have to?” Harry asked.

“Yes!” Dougie shouted back. He took a deep breath (from the side), then screwed his face up, and bent down towards the bare feet.

Dave’s socks had disappeared off the table. Odd.

“Harry, wait.” Matt. Harry’s tongue was an inch from Dave’s skin.

Close one.

“Tell you what, if you do something for us, we,” (he said, indicating to Danny,) “will clean his feet for you.”

He would. He loved that sort of thing. The time he spent licking my foot star when we were in bed once… Actually I think he just likes my stars. Says they’re nice and easy to lick. Unlike Danny’s leg or Dougie’s chest – while kind of hot (except the hand holding the guitar on Danny’s leg, or the gecko on Dougie’s arm – those freak me out), they aren’t exactly easy to trace with your tongue.

And what’s the point of a tattoo if you can’t do that?

Harry had backed off a few feet (hmm… that wasn’t good, sorry. I swear, it was unintentional) and asked the question.

“What do you want?”

It was Danny who jumped in to answer.

“You to sing I’m A Little Teapot.”

“With the actions.” (Matt)

“With the actions.” (Danny)

Dougie fell out of his chair laughing, ending up a giggling ball under the table. Harry hadn’t even started singing yet. He stood and gravely placed one hand on his hip, the other making a very gay spout. Limp-wristed. Then he danced. Dougie managed to pull his head up above the table, but when he saw Harry “pouring”, collapsed back to the floor. I was… giggling, I admit it. Laughter is infectious, so it’s Dougie’s e Hfault!

Or Harry’s for being the most camp teapot in the history of teapottiness.

So, when I’d managed to blink away the tears from my eyes, Harry had got off the table and slunk back to his chair, and Dave was sitting with a big grin (not that that’s unusual). Dougie had just about managed to crawl back out from under the table and had disappeared off to the kitchen to get a drink. Danny and Matt were… enjoying themselves. Like dogs actually, lapping happily. Dave leant down and lifted Matt’s chin to face him.

“Mattie-choo, I choose you.”

Matt’s expression… it was caught somewhere between lust and “he actually watched that crap?” Or it looked like that anyway. Maybe it was just gas. Now I come to think of it, Dave was really rather sweet. I’m trying to remember if those two had ever slept together before. I don’t keep tabs really, just it’s usually hard to avoid. Most of the time we leave doors open so anyone else can join in. I remember Dave with Danny… that was a fun afternoon. Leather all the way baby.

Aaaanyways, Danny got down from the table, patting Matt on the ass as he did so. They’re cute at times, a bit like a fluffy bunny but without the fluffy or the bunny. So maybe not like a fluffy bunny at all. I suck at this.