A Love Story

This story starts much the same as any; at the start.
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I am in love with a man. But not just any ten-a-penny-man, I am in love with a gentleman named Nicklas Bendtner. Aul' Bender has filled my days like you wouldn't believe. I'm not talking an actual loving relationship with another human being, or a Brokeback scenario, if you prefer being coarse, but it is a genuine passion for a man I have never known. The way he makes me feel, is, well, unreal.

But first, a preamble. Nicklas Bendtner is a professional footballer, who currently plys his trade at Arsenal Football Club of London. I am neither a professional footballer, nor live in London, but I know this man. He is a Denmark International Player (a Dip, if you like), and a man who has had a lot of press recently. Far from being a media whore (as I am more refined than that), my affinity with him goes back further than recent travails. Not for me, a bandwagon jumping rush of gushing emotive. Hell no. Anyone who knows me can vouch for the fact that I've stuck by him through thick, thin, and thinner.

...Realising that after starting with the start, and then kicking to a preamble, I've obviously blown the start by going back before that instance, I apologise to Dr. Emmet Brown for testing his space/time continuum theory to the max, and wonder when CERN will actually fix the machine of scary physics that kills us all.

Before they do, here we go. My relationship with Bendy began a few years ago. He first came to life in my eyes as nothing more than an extra, a peripheral figure, when he moved to my town from Copenhagen. When he first moved over I didn't even pay any attention, he was the next in a line of potential suitors, just another pup. I caught his name, but neither of us moved in the same circles. Me and my friends used to giggle about the cool kids in town, like Thierry (you should see how he moved, so graceful), and Paddy (a rough gem, but you knew he'd look after you). I started hearing good things about him though, and his name stuck in my head.

Sure as I was that he wanted my attention, and once I started getting a good vibe about him, he was gone. Before I could even react, he'd moved to Birmingham. Ships in the night, and the floozy hade left.

I knew it wasn't really his choice, it just had to be done, so I got on with things. But never forgot. Time passed, we both carried on. He played away, but I didn't care. Things were good at home, and away, for me. I heard that he was doing well where he was, but I was doing better, so why should I care? We both got on with things, each in each others mind, and I'm pretty sure we both knew he'd be back in town, sooner or later. Maybe I just had to let him fly, for a while.

Fly, he did, and home he came, where we finally got to start a real relationship. It started off the same as all the others did, a few tentative moves, here and there. For every good thing he did, there were ten worse. A simple opportunity would arise, and he'd find the best way to fuck it up. Bless him, he stuck in there, even after some initial disinterest. I could tell he was trying too hard though, the nerves were clear to see. Well, they were to me, but everyone else thought he was a blowhard, a preening showpony. I could see where they were coming from, he did have a bad habit of chewwing gum, everywhere he went. He couldn't score in a brothel during Happy Hour. He was shorn of the instant class that Thierry had, that je ne sais quio, but had his own thing going on.

I had faith in the good of him though, that braggadochio was just a front. True to my faith he started repaying my trust in him. The day I actually had a proper conversation with him, he had had a bad day. Missing shots and shanking wide all game, he was in for some derision all match and after. I had even starting listening to the anti-hype myself building upto the game, to the point where I bought his press photo in the club shop afterwards in shameful mockery. Everyone who knew me, knew that I was crushed by how much he didn't turn up.

I met him after the game, accosting him at the traffic lights as he tried to speed off, and demanded that he leave me a token, something to repay my faith in him. I proferred the ironic photo for him to sign. He did, and my heart melted again. It was back on. After a patience testing relationship, and after this day, he got his head back in gear. He went on to do what he was meant to do the whole time, and that was make me feel good.

And now, when I tape that picture to the back of my girlfriends head, and ask to do her doggy, I remember our relationship, mine and Bendy's. But as I do, a thought creeps in. Will he shank my balls into Row Z, or will he stroke them home?

He'll stroke all night, cos he's a changed man.