Pimms and lemonade, strawberries and cream, picnics and al fresco sex. This was SLB's London in Summer. Fresh from sunning himself in Brighton all week, SLB had got a group of his friends together to celebrate the hot weather and...being gay. It was all frightfully frightful. They'd all been to watch the gay pride parade process down Oxford Street, then congregated in Trafalgar Square for more gay frolics and drunken fun. There were 10 foot tall trannies, poppers for Africa, and representatives from the smallest of the smallest of gay minorities. SLB thought he saw a float advocating the rights of gay, Korean, Presbytarian, bears but he couldn't be sure. The day threatened to sour when he was elbowed out of the drinks queue by an angry lesbian with blue hair (It all turned so terribly un-British at Pride sometimes) but SLB was too high on the spirit of gays everywhere to care. International gay, SLB had taken it upon himself to organise a little trip to the campest show in town to allow his friends some well-deserved respite from the maddening crowds but not from the theme of the day, or the spectacle that is Priscilla: Queen of the Desert.
Once back out in the warm evening air, SLB was being groped left, right and centre. And loving every minute of it. He was well and truly in his element here. Amidst the crowd, he even managed to score a photo with a woman wearing what looked to be giant fallopian tubes on her head. Of course.
Sucked up into the heaving masses, he was separated from his friends momentarily, but didn't care in the slightest. He knew every second boy in the crowd and had slept with every other one. Naturally.
Then it hit him. A searing pain that just about knocked him over. A blinding, hot, heavy weight that pressed down on his chest, pulled at his legs and stabbed at his heart. It was the headache from the worst hangover he'd ever had. It was the dull, guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach from the biggest lie he'd ever told. It was butterflies from his first kiss and later, from when he came out to his parents. SLB couldn't breathe. He was burning up. He was about to faint. He was choking back the tears as darkness closed in, and all he could smell was the stench of a hundred men's sweat around him. Just before it all turned black, he saw a face in the distance and realised what was happening.
It was Joe with a Flute. He was still in love with him and he HAD to get him back.
Monday 2 November 2009
Mahiki of Mayfair
Gays. Remnants of Renaissance Men. Educated, well-spoken, fashionable individuals who were interested in classical music and knitted ski wear. Gays were like children: quick to detach, but just as quick to warm to someone new. Gays were hilarious. They always had a gay 'air' about them so you could spot them a mile away. They even minced when they ate.
SLB noticed this while out to dinner at London's closest imitation of a New York cabaret bar – Pizza on the Park at Hyde Park Corner. He was dining with Boring Caleb. Formerly Curly-haired Caleb, Caleb's boringness far outweighed his curly-hairedness, so his epithet had to be changed. Boring Caleb was someone who SLB confided in quite regularly on matters of the heart simply because conversation was generally so dull that SLB could afford to talk about himself for the entire evening and get away with it. However, SLB would rather inject his own eyeballs with vodka than spend an entire evening with Boring Caleb, so once he was done with dinner (If he'd seen one 'New York' style cabaret, he'd seen them all) he minced his way over to the marginally more metrosexual Mahiki in Mayfair for a drink with Mitzi. It was some sort of annual-summer-tropical-Island-evening-of-fun-something-or-another and Mitzi had the excited pleasure of introducing SLB to her friend Ricardo, Spanish/Italian hybrid of hotness. SLB in turn had the pleasure of introducing this newly adopted arm-candy to Guy Pelly (club promoter to the stars), Henry Conway (general gay-about-town and knitwear extraordinaire), and Peaches Geldoff (who can do no wrong in SLB's eyes) fresh from Glastonbury. SLB thought he saw Prince Harry knocking about somewhere too, but didn't have a chance to send his regards. Summer was an awfully hectic time for the Royals.
It has been said that some cultures are more aesthetically pleasing than others. SLB can vouch for that being true. Typically Latin cultures have been at the centre of these rumours. SLB can also vouch for that being true. But SLB also had a penchant for the Scandinavians, Australians, South Africans, German and anyone Eurasian. Why limit yourself? However, there would also be a special place in his heart for his own kind though. That certain breed of English public schoolboy was a type that would always win SLB over. Now though, Ricardo was pulling him into a taxi so there were more...pressing matters to attend to.
SLB hadn't had such a good night since he went to the fireworks display at Muswell Hill last November where he'd pulled a guy called Andy, snogged his face off in the bushes and taken advantage of him behind the Crazy Mouse roller coaster. Extraordinary. Tonight, he'd down about twenty vodkas, been to Fiji and back and just about conga-ed his way into a coma.
SLB woke up feeling like Michael Jackson the next morning though. But it was worth it. Beside him was the shining face of Ricardo, morning glory in tow. Italian stallions. Hot.
SLB noticed this while out to dinner at London's closest imitation of a New York cabaret bar – Pizza on the Park at Hyde Park Corner. He was dining with Boring Caleb. Formerly Curly-haired Caleb, Caleb's boringness far outweighed his curly-hairedness, so his epithet had to be changed. Boring Caleb was someone who SLB confided in quite regularly on matters of the heart simply because conversation was generally so dull that SLB could afford to talk about himself for the entire evening and get away with it. However, SLB would rather inject his own eyeballs with vodka than spend an entire evening with Boring Caleb, so once he was done with dinner (If he'd seen one 'New York' style cabaret, he'd seen them all) he minced his way over to the marginally more metrosexual Mahiki in Mayfair for a drink with Mitzi. It was some sort of annual-summer-tropical-Island-evening-of-fun-something-or-another and Mitzi had the excited pleasure of introducing SLB to her friend Ricardo, Spanish/Italian hybrid of hotness. SLB in turn had the pleasure of introducing this newly adopted arm-candy to Guy Pelly (club promoter to the stars), Henry Conway (general gay-about-town and knitwear extraordinaire), and Peaches Geldoff (who can do no wrong in SLB's eyes) fresh from Glastonbury. SLB thought he saw Prince Harry knocking about somewhere too, but didn't have a chance to send his regards. Summer was an awfully hectic time for the Royals.
It has been said that some cultures are more aesthetically pleasing than others. SLB can vouch for that being true. Typically Latin cultures have been at the centre of these rumours. SLB can also vouch for that being true. But SLB also had a penchant for the Scandinavians, Australians, South Africans, German and anyone Eurasian. Why limit yourself? However, there would also be a special place in his heart for his own kind though. That certain breed of English public schoolboy was a type that would always win SLB over. Now though, Ricardo was pulling him into a taxi so there were more...pressing matters to attend to.
SLB hadn't had such a good night since he went to the fireworks display at Muswell Hill last November where he'd pulled a guy called Andy, snogged his face off in the bushes and taken advantage of him behind the Crazy Mouse roller coaster. Extraordinary. Tonight, he'd down about twenty vodkas, been to Fiji and back and just about conga-ed his way into a coma.
SLB woke up feeling like Michael Jackson the next morning though. But it was worth it. Beside him was the shining face of Ricardo, morning glory in tow. Italian stallions. Hot.
Bruce/David
SLB found out the hard way that he didn't like anal sex last night. Literally.
He'd got a bad vibe from Bruce/David the first time they'd met. To the extent where, on their first encounter at a pub in Angel, a group of girls thought SLB looked like he was about to spike his own drink he looked so desperate to leave, that when Bruce/David went to the little boys' room, they asked whether he was OK or if he needed 'saving'.
Bruce/David was so called because he had started exhibiting rather odd behaviour in so much as it appeared that one man was actually two. This later turned out to be, not split personality disorder as SLB initially thought (but maybe would have coped better with) but an interesting character trait where Bruce/David was David to his family, who didn't know he was out, but Bruce to his friends, who did. Sadly, David, along with so many gay men, had body issues, so was often moody, sometimes sharp and frequently cutting. He would often disengage from conversation, and he avoided eye contact. And yet, Bruce (as he was known to SLB for the majority of time) was lovely. He was endearing and charming and contrary to David's opinion, had an amazing body in SLB's eyes. But it was only because SLB really fancied the Bruce component of the double act that SLB pursued him.
Well, he pursed him up until last night. The two (three) of them were sitting around a table at Box on Seven Dials (SLB ignoring the advances of a pukey French guy who was trying sleaze as a method of attraction. Unsuccessfully) talking about SLB's writing when he opened a can of worms about sexuality and the fact that his family did not know he was out. Unfortunately Bruce/David brought with him all sorts of issues about leading a double life, alter egos, and the life one leads before they come out compared with the life they lead after. All issues SLB didn't really fancy exploring at that particular moment with Bruce/David over a bottle of red. SLB was many things to men. He was not a counsellor.
SLB decided there and then to pursue Bruce/David solely as a shag. But as SLB later found out, Bruce was a bottom whereas David was a top. It was one of life's many disappointments. Like queuing for Lady Gaga at Heaven for three hours in the rain and not getting in to see her. Unfortunately it was David who SLB bed for the first (and only) time last night.
In terms of sexual practices, SLB had either encountered or heard of a number of oddities among the sexually active of London. There were those who couldn't get it up, those who cried when they came, those who spoke in tongues during sex, those with fetishes for feet or snails, those with involuntary spasms of sound or movement and so many others who demonstrated similarly odd behaviour.
David, it seemed was one of those people. As they undressed, he started acting strangely. The same sort of strange that is on a par with the way straight boys try to over compensate with how “OK” they are with homosexuality by talking about it all the time. His strangeness later translated into a bizarre strain of aggression in the bedroom which equally made for the most disappointingly painful and painfully disappointing sex SLB had ever had. Ever.
SLB didn't mind though. He would just abstain from sex for a while. A week would do it. He preferred to be a top anyway.
He'd got a bad vibe from Bruce/David the first time they'd met. To the extent where, on their first encounter at a pub in Angel, a group of girls thought SLB looked like he was about to spike his own drink he looked so desperate to leave, that when Bruce/David went to the little boys' room, they asked whether he was OK or if he needed 'saving'.
Bruce/David was so called because he had started exhibiting rather odd behaviour in so much as it appeared that one man was actually two. This later turned out to be, not split personality disorder as SLB initially thought (but maybe would have coped better with) but an interesting character trait where Bruce/David was David to his family, who didn't know he was out, but Bruce to his friends, who did. Sadly, David, along with so many gay men, had body issues, so was often moody, sometimes sharp and frequently cutting. He would often disengage from conversation, and he avoided eye contact. And yet, Bruce (as he was known to SLB for the majority of time) was lovely. He was endearing and charming and contrary to David's opinion, had an amazing body in SLB's eyes. But it was only because SLB really fancied the Bruce component of the double act that SLB pursued him.
Well, he pursed him up until last night. The two (three) of them were sitting around a table at Box on Seven Dials (SLB ignoring the advances of a pukey French guy who was trying sleaze as a method of attraction. Unsuccessfully) talking about SLB's writing when he opened a can of worms about sexuality and the fact that his family did not know he was out. Unfortunately Bruce/David brought with him all sorts of issues about leading a double life, alter egos, and the life one leads before they come out compared with the life they lead after. All issues SLB didn't really fancy exploring at that particular moment with Bruce/David over a bottle of red. SLB was many things to men. He was not a counsellor.
SLB decided there and then to pursue Bruce/David solely as a shag. But as SLB later found out, Bruce was a bottom whereas David was a top. It was one of life's many disappointments. Like queuing for Lady Gaga at Heaven for three hours in the rain and not getting in to see her. Unfortunately it was David who SLB bed for the first (and only) time last night.
In terms of sexual practices, SLB had either encountered or heard of a number of oddities among the sexually active of London. There were those who couldn't get it up, those who cried when they came, those who spoke in tongues during sex, those with fetishes for feet or snails, those with involuntary spasms of sound or movement and so many others who demonstrated similarly odd behaviour.
David, it seemed was one of those people. As they undressed, he started acting strangely. The same sort of strange that is on a par with the way straight boys try to over compensate with how “OK” they are with homosexuality by talking about it all the time. His strangeness later translated into a bizarre strain of aggression in the bedroom which equally made for the most disappointingly painful and painfully disappointing sex SLB had ever had. Ever.
SLB didn't mind though. He would just abstain from sex for a while. A week would do it. He preferred to be a top anyway.
The 'Ex' Thing (Part II)
SLB had forgotten how good it was. A throbbing, heaving mass of men. A gaggle of gays, topless and sweating amongst a blur of boys writhing around on the floor in an entangled mass of limbs. It was heaven. No, it was literally Heaven. The club. And SLB would definitely be calling in sick to work tomorrow. Some sort of Vogue fashion show was taking place, so the contrast between the fit male models and the regular putrid punters at Heaven was particularly stark tonight.
It's funny how the perception of how 'gay' you are can become an attractive (or unattractive) quality in another person. From the preened, make-up laden, heroin chic, pretty boy, lady gay (if I was attracted to women, I wouldn't be gay!) right through to that walking oxymoron, the homophobic gay (of which Joe with a flute was a living example), the rainbow spectrum was broad.
SLB was at Heaven with Rob. Rob was a friend of a friend, and the loveliest guy SLB had met in a long time. Through these mutual friends, SLB knew that Joe with a flute had a massive crush on Rob. He also knew that, because of this fact, he had to sleep with Rob. Tonight. This was Sexual Politics 101...and SLB was writing his dissertation. SLB was not unfamiliar with love triangles (In fact, it was a little known fact that in the incestuous world of gay London, SLB's worst nightmare would be Joe with a flute and Kaleb with a K getting together). Rob, like SLB, had recently come out of a relationship, but of course, getting involved with someone to spite someone else would just be troublesome, so the two boys mutually agreed to be fuck buddies. SLB had never had such a 'buddy' before. He'd slept with a lot of men, that was true, but they were never usually recurring events. This, SLB thought, could become a habit he might rather enjoy. This looked promising. The hard part of course would be not to fall for fuck buddy Rob. But who did that anyway?...
SLB had recently found a small sense of closure on Joe with a flute in the most unlikely of places. It took the form of a Facebook message from another of Joe with a flute's exes who, by way of a freak social anomaly, he was virtual friends with. His message said that SLB would be better off without this ex of theirs anyway and not to worry about the break-up. In sleeping with Rob tonight, he found more closure, and after a not inconsiderable amount of time, SLB thought he might finally be able to move on from Joe with a flute. Huzzah.
It's funny how the perception of how 'gay' you are can become an attractive (or unattractive) quality in another person. From the preened, make-up laden, heroin chic, pretty boy, lady gay (if I was attracted to women, I wouldn't be gay!) right through to that walking oxymoron, the homophobic gay (of which Joe with a flute was a living example), the rainbow spectrum was broad.
SLB was at Heaven with Rob. Rob was a friend of a friend, and the loveliest guy SLB had met in a long time. Through these mutual friends, SLB knew that Joe with a flute had a massive crush on Rob. He also knew that, because of this fact, he had to sleep with Rob. Tonight. This was Sexual Politics 101...and SLB was writing his dissertation. SLB was not unfamiliar with love triangles (In fact, it was a little known fact that in the incestuous world of gay London, SLB's worst nightmare would be Joe with a flute and Kaleb with a K getting together). Rob, like SLB, had recently come out of a relationship, but of course, getting involved with someone to spite someone else would just be troublesome, so the two boys mutually agreed to be fuck buddies. SLB had never had such a 'buddy' before. He'd slept with a lot of men, that was true, but they were never usually recurring events. This, SLB thought, could become a habit he might rather enjoy. This looked promising. The hard part of course would be not to fall for fuck buddy Rob. But who did that anyway?...
SLB had recently found a small sense of closure on Joe with a flute in the most unlikely of places. It took the form of a Facebook message from another of Joe with a flute's exes who, by way of a freak social anomaly, he was virtual friends with. His message said that SLB would be better off without this ex of theirs anyway and not to worry about the break-up. In sleeping with Rob tonight, he found more closure, and after a not inconsiderable amount of time, SLB thought he might finally be able to move on from Joe with a flute. Huzzah.
The 'Ex' Thing (Part I)
SLB used to think it was all or nothing. That once you'd broken up with someone, that was it. You were either in love, or you didn't speak. No blurred lines.
Joe with a flute polarised SLB. SLB had taken to bursting into tears on the Northern line thinking about Joe, and yet when they met up for the obligatory post-relationship drunken night out and ended up going home together, SLB was the happiest he'd been in months...
In a vain attempt to drown this sentimental behaviour, SLB and friends went out to the Vauxhall Tavern. Everyone loves cheap and cheerful once in a while. And SLB's celebrity status wasn't elevated too high not to allow him a certain degree of anonymity whilst on a night out with friends. Everyone doesn't love a night that turns to shit because people are feeling tired, there are no fit men in sight and only 3 people on the dance floor. Was it just too much to ask to be at home with your multi-talented, multi-lingual, Oxbridge educated, tall, handsome, musical, open-minded, well-travelled, popular boyfriend who would come to be your best friend and partner for life? Essentially, this was just a combination of Joe with a flute and Will, but why shouldn't he shoot for the stars?
Coming back through central London, the girls in the group suggested going to CXR in an eleventh hour bid for some semblance of 'gay clubbing', not realising that they had dragged SLB into what is probably the lowest of the low of gay venues in greater London. Staines included. SLB sensed a bad vibe as he walked in. Lecherous men from all walks of life were doing a good job in compounding SLB's fear that only 40 year old men found him attractive. These were the sort of men you would expect to masturbate in public or pull each other off in public toilets. Well, SLB was forced to both beat them and join them. And since he had been handed a bunch of lemons, he was simply making lemonade – on his knees in cubicle 4. Toilets. Hardly the most glamorous of places, but exhilarating all the same.
The whole evening had left him feeling blue again though. But that's the good thing about SLB: he would only feel blue until someone else came along. It's just that no one else had come along for quite a while...
Report
Joe with a flute polarised SLB. SLB had taken to bursting into tears on the Northern line thinking about Joe, and yet when they met up for the obligatory post-relationship drunken night out and ended up going home together, SLB was the happiest he'd been in months...
In a vain attempt to drown this sentimental behaviour, SLB and friends went out to the Vauxhall Tavern. Everyone loves cheap and cheerful once in a while. And SLB's celebrity status wasn't elevated too high not to allow him a certain degree of anonymity whilst on a night out with friends. Everyone doesn't love a night that turns to shit because people are feeling tired, there are no fit men in sight and only 3 people on the dance floor. Was it just too much to ask to be at home with your multi-talented, multi-lingual, Oxbridge educated, tall, handsome, musical, open-minded, well-travelled, popular boyfriend who would come to be your best friend and partner for life? Essentially, this was just a combination of Joe with a flute and Will, but why shouldn't he shoot for the stars?
Coming back through central London, the girls in the group suggested going to CXR in an eleventh hour bid for some semblance of 'gay clubbing', not realising that they had dragged SLB into what is probably the lowest of the low of gay venues in greater London. Staines included. SLB sensed a bad vibe as he walked in. Lecherous men from all walks of life were doing a good job in compounding SLB's fear that only 40 year old men found him attractive. These were the sort of men you would expect to masturbate in public or pull each other off in public toilets. Well, SLB was forced to both beat them and join them. And since he had been handed a bunch of lemons, he was simply making lemonade – on his knees in cubicle 4. Toilets. Hardly the most glamorous of places, but exhilarating all the same.
The whole evening had left him feeling blue again though. But that's the good thing about SLB: he would only feel blue until someone else came along. It's just that no one else had come along for quite a while...
Report
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A Weekend in the Country
SLB would like to take this opportunity to make it clear that he is not a home wrecker or a husband stealer, contrary to popular belief. SLB feels the need to precede this column with such a disclaimer after the events that occurred over the bank holiday weekend.
As per tradition, Mitzi Vabere and SLB had decided to check out of London for the long weekend and go to Cornwall for a few days. Not to do anything silly like camping or hunting. Don't be ridiculous. But for a spot of lunch, a shop or two and supper in a stately home.
Mitzi, fabulous as ever in a delightful, coral pink kaftan, was intent on introducing SLB to a lovely gay couple who she knew from university. Afterall, a wise man did once say that if you are gay you will, nay must, get along with all others of your kind. Naturally, SLB was excited at the prospect of meeting fellow gays and minced down the street alongside Mitzi in bright red jeans, sequinned vest and a houndstooth waistcoat. The good people of humble Truro didn't quite know what had hit them.
Tim and Tom were hosting opening night drinks for a exhibition at the art gallery they jointly curated. SLB and Mitzi breezed in fashionably late to a welcome of smoked salmon canapes and two glasses of Bollinger each. Pretty soon, through the druken haze of the Bolly, the sexual chemistry between Tim and SLB became apparent.
It's not that SLB has no scruples. It's just that morals are for the dull and curious, so when SLB reached for Tim's hand in a dark corner of the room, he knew very well he was in dangerous proximity to Tom, just metres away. And although it would not be a new addition to SLB's repertoire (SLB had recently enjoyed a lovely threesome with a Spanish couple over the new year) he wouldn't have minded a quick jaunt with one or both of Tim and Tom that evening. Afterall, we must always keep our options and our legs open. But when it was made quite clear that Tom wasn't interested (it was always the ugly ones that were the most picky) things turned slightly sour. Apparently, men in relationships don't appreciate it when other men make sexual advances on their boyfriends.
Hilariously, neither ended up with SLB that evening. SLB copped off with the cute, young receptionist in the supply cupboard, much to Tim's consternation , no doubt causing further reason for gossip in the office next week.
SLB and Mitzi left Cornwall on the Monday, leaving a devastating wake of relationship destruction behind them. Mitzi no doubt was secretly horrified by the whole debacle, but SLB, true to form, took it all in his stride. He'd certainly started Summer off with a bang.
As per tradition, Mitzi Vabere and SLB had decided to check out of London for the long weekend and go to Cornwall for a few days. Not to do anything silly like camping or hunting. Don't be ridiculous. But for a spot of lunch, a shop or two and supper in a stately home.
Mitzi, fabulous as ever in a delightful, coral pink kaftan, was intent on introducing SLB to a lovely gay couple who she knew from university. Afterall, a wise man did once say that if you are gay you will, nay must, get along with all others of your kind. Naturally, SLB was excited at the prospect of meeting fellow gays and minced down the street alongside Mitzi in bright red jeans, sequinned vest and a houndstooth waistcoat. The good people of humble Truro didn't quite know what had hit them.
Tim and Tom were hosting opening night drinks for a exhibition at the art gallery they jointly curated. SLB and Mitzi breezed in fashionably late to a welcome of smoked salmon canapes and two glasses of Bollinger each. Pretty soon, through the druken haze of the Bolly, the sexual chemistry between Tim and SLB became apparent.
It's not that SLB has no scruples. It's just that morals are for the dull and curious, so when SLB reached for Tim's hand in a dark corner of the room, he knew very well he was in dangerous proximity to Tom, just metres away. And although it would not be a new addition to SLB's repertoire (SLB had recently enjoyed a lovely threesome with a Spanish couple over the new year) he wouldn't have minded a quick jaunt with one or both of Tim and Tom that evening. Afterall, we must always keep our options and our legs open. But when it was made quite clear that Tom wasn't interested (it was always the ugly ones that were the most picky) things turned slightly sour. Apparently, men in relationships don't appreciate it when other men make sexual advances on their boyfriends.
Hilariously, neither ended up with SLB that evening. SLB copped off with the cute, young receptionist in the supply cupboard, much to Tim's consternation , no doubt causing further reason for gossip in the office next week.
SLB and Mitzi left Cornwall on the Monday, leaving a devastating wake of relationship destruction behind them. Mitzi no doubt was secretly horrified by the whole debacle, but SLB, true to form, took it all in his stride. He'd certainly started Summer off with a bang.
Co-incidence Central
After all these years, you would think SLB would learn not to sleep around. That burning sensation, those morning after sheets, the needy text messages that inevitably ensue are enough to put one off for life, and yet somehow, the thrill of the chase and potential for satisfaction manage to lure SLB back into a life of debauchery and mischief. When will he learn? He was pondering precisely this over a cringy morning after brunch with Fergus from the night before, when suddenly he felt someone's gaze on him. A vision in black skinny jeans and fur-collared Armani shirt stropped over to him. With a coy smile and in chocolatey tones, he began to speak. SLB felt his mood lift. Perhaps this one was different. The vision ever so meekly enquired as to whether SLB knew of a Mitzi Vabere so he could get in touch with her. Turns out, the vision (devastatingly straight) had once dated Mitzi for a spell and remembered seeing SLB with her at Jaeger's 125th anniversary book launch the other month. Co-incidence number one.
It should be noted here that Mitzi Vabere, part-time actress/full-time glamour-puss, is SLB's newest Bender Friender now that Zoey had moved to Australia. It should also go on the record that it was the very same Mitzi Vabere who was instrumental in helping SLB court Joe with a Flute earlier this year after it transpired that she was a mutual friend of theirs. Not that SLB needed much help courting these days, but credit where it's due and all that. It was also Mitzi who advised Joe as to exactly where he could put his flute once he'd finally moved out from SLB's last week.
The co-incidences didn't end there though. That night, Mitzi and SLB were out at the Soho Hotel, reluctantly imbibing the most acidic South African chardonnay they had ever tasted (life was too short for bad wine) when SLB clapped eyes on Fergus from last night as he was working the room. He was about to sally forth with a mouthful of idle banter when he unwittingly bumped into Ryan from the other week. Worse still, the two knew each other! Well, SLB was all a fluster from being confronted with not one but two previous frissons and as it was close to 3 in the morning anyway, promptly edited himself from the situation in order to forgo anymore irreparable social damage. Mitzi on one arm and, keen for a second innings, Fergus on the other. Wonders never cease.
Of course, no night would be complete without the dreadful night bus experience. Projectile vomit free of charge. And of course, being the kind of night it was, SLB boarded the same bus as Joe with a Flute. Boy in tow. Great. SLB, with a disgruntled smile and a spurious flick of his hair merely acknowledged him as he minced past, then returned to Mitzi and Fergus, secretly satisfied that he had also been seen with another man. Beige though he was by comparison.
The perils of sleeping around.
It should be noted here that Mitzi Vabere, part-time actress/full-time glamour-puss, is SLB's newest Bender Friender now that Zoey had moved to Australia. It should also go on the record that it was the very same Mitzi Vabere who was instrumental in helping SLB court Joe with a Flute earlier this year after it transpired that she was a mutual friend of theirs. Not that SLB needed much help courting these days, but credit where it's due and all that. It was also Mitzi who advised Joe as to exactly where he could put his flute once he'd finally moved out from SLB's last week.
The co-incidences didn't end there though. That night, Mitzi and SLB were out at the Soho Hotel, reluctantly imbibing the most acidic South African chardonnay they had ever tasted (life was too short for bad wine) when SLB clapped eyes on Fergus from last night as he was working the room. He was about to sally forth with a mouthful of idle banter when he unwittingly bumped into Ryan from the other week. Worse still, the two knew each other! Well, SLB was all a fluster from being confronted with not one but two previous frissons and as it was close to 3 in the morning anyway, promptly edited himself from the situation in order to forgo anymore irreparable social damage. Mitzi on one arm and, keen for a second innings, Fergus on the other. Wonders never cease.
Of course, no night would be complete without the dreadful night bus experience. Projectile vomit free of charge. And of course, being the kind of night it was, SLB boarded the same bus as Joe with a Flute. Boy in tow. Great. SLB, with a disgruntled smile and a spurious flick of his hair merely acknowledged him as he minced past, then returned to Mitzi and Fergus, secretly satisfied that he had also been seen with another man. Beige though he was by comparison.
The perils of sleeping around.
Back in the Habit
Single and fancy free again, SLB was putting his post break-up, 3 day drinking binge behind him as he minced his was through a sea of West End Wendy's at last week's Sister Act opening night partyt. Lee Mead was on hand smiling daftly, as was present incumbent of the worst show in town since Thalidomide – The Musical, Gareth Gates. All SLB will say is that Joseph's amazing coat was rainbow coloured for a reason. Denise van Who? As the proceedings wrapped up, taxis full of half-pissed B-Grade wankers who had made it to the top of their profession (and didn't we all know about it) trailed off into the distance to a chorus of “See you later, darling” and “Let's do lunch soon, babe”. SLB eventually made his way to a certain up-and-coming director's house whose name shall remain unknown. Probably forever.
SLB scanned the room of loved-up luvvies and resigned himself to the fact that no one present would be a potential bed friend that evening. Proceedings were about as dull as the last London Gay Man's Chorus concert SLB went to, so SLB headed upstairs to make what turned out to be a rather fateful phonecall to Will. You see, SLB was followed by Dave. Average looking Dave was a leading man in a certain West End show that involved a lot of marching, and a lot of flag waving. Dave, at 20 years SLB's senior, could have been his Father. Dave discreetly slipped into the room after SLB and shut the door behind him. He had a suggestive look in his eyes. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time SLB had got into what one might call a “sticky” situation: SLB remembers being invited back to a well-respected London City architect's house to “look at some plans”. London's persistent rain that night met with the persistent strains of “Let's get you out of those wet clothes” Enough said.
However, tonight, this was a situation he'd prefer not to be stuck in. SLB was forced to say his goodbyes to Will on the phone due to the simple fact that Dave was pulling SLB's shirt up over his head! This unsolicited undressing continued with SLB's belt buckle and jeans. Dave then proceeded to start biting SLB's nipples and “Would you like to be the meat in my sandwich?”. Well, SLB promptly pulled his jeans up, re-fastened his belt, pulled his shirt back down and “No, I would not!” Nor would he like to be referred to as “meat” for that matter. David then outdid himself by waving his own little flag of revolution at full mast asking if SLB wanted to 'wrap his lips around this'. Well, it's not often that SLB turns down a cheeky gob job on a Wednesday night but honestly!
As SLB fled downstairs he was stunned to hear Dave calling behind him, asking if he'd like to me home with him. Well, SLB had been mistaken for a rent boy before, but surely he was dressing differently these days.
When Dave was preparing to leave with the rest of the Desperate Debbie's in tow, another round of “Gotta run” and “Let's have lunch” ensued, and SLB bore the brunt of two rather awkward pecks on the cheek. Let's hope Dave hadn't been to Mexico recently.
Riding the tube was never the same again. Never again could SLB look at posters of a young girl draped in rags without feeling red with rage at what had happened, green with envy at Will, who was sipping cocktails by a pool in Spain at the time, and blue at the fact Dave had a partner. Shame.
SLB scanned the room of loved-up luvvies and resigned himself to the fact that no one present would be a potential bed friend that evening. Proceedings were about as dull as the last London Gay Man's Chorus concert SLB went to, so SLB headed upstairs to make what turned out to be a rather fateful phonecall to Will. You see, SLB was followed by Dave. Average looking Dave was a leading man in a certain West End show that involved a lot of marching, and a lot of flag waving. Dave, at 20 years SLB's senior, could have been his Father. Dave discreetly slipped into the room after SLB and shut the door behind him. He had a suggestive look in his eyes. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time SLB had got into what one might call a “sticky” situation: SLB remembers being invited back to a well-respected London City architect's house to “look at some plans”. London's persistent rain that night met with the persistent strains of “Let's get you out of those wet clothes” Enough said.
However, tonight, this was a situation he'd prefer not to be stuck in. SLB was forced to say his goodbyes to Will on the phone due to the simple fact that Dave was pulling SLB's shirt up over his head! This unsolicited undressing continued with SLB's belt buckle and jeans. Dave then proceeded to start biting SLB's nipples and “Would you like to be the meat in my sandwich?”. Well, SLB promptly pulled his jeans up, re-fastened his belt, pulled his shirt back down and “No, I would not!” Nor would he like to be referred to as “meat” for that matter. David then outdid himself by waving his own little flag of revolution at full mast asking if SLB wanted to 'wrap his lips around this'. Well, it's not often that SLB turns down a cheeky gob job on a Wednesday night but honestly!
As SLB fled downstairs he was stunned to hear Dave calling behind him, asking if he'd like to me home with him. Well, SLB had been mistaken for a rent boy before, but surely he was dressing differently these days.
When Dave was preparing to leave with the rest of the Desperate Debbie's in tow, another round of “Gotta run” and “Let's have lunch” ensued, and SLB bore the brunt of two rather awkward pecks on the cheek. Let's hope Dave hadn't been to Mexico recently.
Riding the tube was never the same again. Never again could SLB look at posters of a young girl draped in rags without feeling red with rage at what had happened, green with envy at Will, who was sipping cocktails by a pool in Spain at the time, and blue at the fact Dave had a partner. Shame.
The Joe Experience
It was like sliding his willy into heaven. Knowing that he was experiencing the closest form of intimacy with another human was amazing. The feeling was intense. SLB was struggling to control the volume of his expressions of pleasure though, and, wanting to make the experience last as long as possible, was varying the speed of the 'intimacy' between positively pounding and more delicately dancing. It was exhilarating, given the nature of the situation...
SLB should probably mention that the guy he writes here about is not Joe of 'three languages' fame, but Ryan...of 'met three hours ago' fame. You see, things with Joe had moved so quickly, exponentially so, that the entire 2 month relationship had somewhat imploded before it even had the chance to get off the ground. Life with Joe was amazing, but had been rather intense since Joe had needed to move into SLB's two bedroom flat, three weeks into the relationship. So, when the inevitable break-up occured last week (as these things always do when you rush into them) SLB was left with a messy situation, and awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, and an unwanted house guest.
Re-winding to Friday night finds SLB out with friends at Green Carnation, and Joe at home, still staying in SLB's master bedroom, SLB being gracious enough to take the spare room until Joe sorted himself out, inconvenient as it was. While not explicitly on the pull, boys presented themselves to SLB in all sorts of situations, and in these situations, SLB is just a boy who can't say no really, break-up or no break-up. Ryan was an 18 year old who modelled for Chanel. But when it transpired that Ryan still lived at home, SLB did what any self-respecting gay would do, and invited him back to his. SLB didn't have the heart to tell Ryan about his less than desirable living situation, and so, creeping in at 4 in the morning, feigned some long-winded story about his bedroom currently being painted as to why they were heading straight for the guest room and why SLB couldn't offer Ryan so much as a cup of tea. As SLB slid it in, he prayed Joe wouldn't hear them from the room next door...
The next morning, SLB engineered the situation so that Joe and Ryan's paths would never cross. SLB manoeuvred Ryan quickly and quietly out of the house (Sans shower) before Joe even stirred, thus avoiding what would presumably be the most awkward love triangle in existence.
'Joe with a flute' as he would now be known (purely for identification purposes rather than a reference to anything remotely sexual in nature) was now just another boy of the past and had moved out (flute in tow) this weekend just as quickly as he had moved in.
Goodbye Joe. Hello Summer.
SLB should probably mention that the guy he writes here about is not Joe of 'three languages' fame, but Ryan...of 'met three hours ago' fame. You see, things with Joe had moved so quickly, exponentially so, that the entire 2 month relationship had somewhat imploded before it even had the chance to get off the ground. Life with Joe was amazing, but had been rather intense since Joe had needed to move into SLB's two bedroom flat, three weeks into the relationship. So, when the inevitable break-up occured last week (as these things always do when you rush into them) SLB was left with a messy situation, and awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, and an unwanted house guest.
Re-winding to Friday night finds SLB out with friends at Green Carnation, and Joe at home, still staying in SLB's master bedroom, SLB being gracious enough to take the spare room until Joe sorted himself out, inconvenient as it was. While not explicitly on the pull, boys presented themselves to SLB in all sorts of situations, and in these situations, SLB is just a boy who can't say no really, break-up or no break-up. Ryan was an 18 year old who modelled for Chanel. But when it transpired that Ryan still lived at home, SLB did what any self-respecting gay would do, and invited him back to his. SLB didn't have the heart to tell Ryan about his less than desirable living situation, and so, creeping in at 4 in the morning, feigned some long-winded story about his bedroom currently being painted as to why they were heading straight for the guest room and why SLB couldn't offer Ryan so much as a cup of tea. As SLB slid it in, he prayed Joe wouldn't hear them from the room next door...
The next morning, SLB engineered the situation so that Joe and Ryan's paths would never cross. SLB manoeuvred Ryan quickly and quietly out of the house (Sans shower) before Joe even stirred, thus avoiding what would presumably be the most awkward love triangle in existence.
'Joe with a flute' as he would now be known (purely for identification purposes rather than a reference to anything remotely sexual in nature) was now just another boy of the past and had moved out (flute in tow) this weekend just as quickly as he had moved in.
Goodbye Joe. Hello Summer.
Wednesday 7 October 2009
The Ins and Outs
So many things we do, we do out of compulsion. Paying tax for one. Or having to put up with painful sex with those who insist on using saliva as lubricant. Or having to take rail replacement buses because the Victoria line can't deal with weekends.
The early stages of a relationship are a bit like taking the rail replacement bus actually: Full of bumps and stops along the way and you never do really know exactly where you are going or if you will ever get there. Stage One involves a lot of flirting, a lot of text messaging, a lot of phone calls and a lot of perfunctory dating. Stage Two involves a lot of sexual intercourse. You know, being shagged 9 ways to Sunday and back again. Stage Three involves a lot of emotional intercourse: The first 'I love you', joy, passion, trust, devotion. Jealousy. You know, if some fat slag tries to squeeze Joe's arse in a bar, then SLB is inclined to spike their drink with a healthy dose of horse tranquilliser. In the straight world this usually equates to some form of physical fight. Women call it chivalry, SLB calls it pugilism.
Anyway, it was all very exciting; SLB had been through all these stages (and more) with Joe in a very short space of time, despite thoughts of Kaleb with a K troubling him recently and potentially blocking SLB from realising how truly perfect Joe was for him. But, SLB knew it was time to leave thoughts of old flames behind (who spelt Kaleb with a K anyway?) and leap out of the frying pan and into the fire again. He felt compelled to do so. Not forced to do so, but compelled. In the good way. And who said that was a bad thing anyway? 'Moving too fast' is an urban myth for those too scared to explore an amazing connection with someone you have a lot in common with. And after another 10 weeks of unfulfilling romps and one-night stands, SLB felt drawn to Joe in a way that transcended even sex. Yes, SLB would venture into a relationship with Joe. His first official, adult, monogamous and mutually exclusive relationship! How darling. SLB would finally be a premiere gay! It was perfect: he could go for brunch every Saturday morning with Joe and they could pay on their joint account. Then they could lie in bed all day Sunday and have sex, and SLB would call it 'Sex Sundays' and Joe would laugh. They could adopt an African baby. And they could have dogs! One each: Liza and Beyonce after their own hearts. They could get a civil union, a mortgage, a house in Highgate, a holiday home in Costa del Sol and a pool boy!
The sky really was the limit. And SLB, full of the joys of Spring, was ready to fly.
The early stages of a relationship are a bit like taking the rail replacement bus actually: Full of bumps and stops along the way and you never do really know exactly where you are going or if you will ever get there. Stage One involves a lot of flirting, a lot of text messaging, a lot of phone calls and a lot of perfunctory dating. Stage Two involves a lot of sexual intercourse. You know, being shagged 9 ways to Sunday and back again. Stage Three involves a lot of emotional intercourse: The first 'I love you', joy, passion, trust, devotion. Jealousy. You know, if some fat slag tries to squeeze Joe's arse in a bar, then SLB is inclined to spike their drink with a healthy dose of horse tranquilliser. In the straight world this usually equates to some form of physical fight. Women call it chivalry, SLB calls it pugilism.
Anyway, it was all very exciting; SLB had been through all these stages (and more) with Joe in a very short space of time, despite thoughts of Kaleb with a K troubling him recently and potentially blocking SLB from realising how truly perfect Joe was for him. But, SLB knew it was time to leave thoughts of old flames behind (who spelt Kaleb with a K anyway?) and leap out of the frying pan and into the fire again. He felt compelled to do so. Not forced to do so, but compelled. In the good way. And who said that was a bad thing anyway? 'Moving too fast' is an urban myth for those too scared to explore an amazing connection with someone you have a lot in common with. And after another 10 weeks of unfulfilling romps and one-night stands, SLB felt drawn to Joe in a way that transcended even sex. Yes, SLB would venture into a relationship with Joe. His first official, adult, monogamous and mutually exclusive relationship! How darling. SLB would finally be a premiere gay! It was perfect: he could go for brunch every Saturday morning with Joe and they could pay on their joint account. Then they could lie in bed all day Sunday and have sex, and SLB would call it 'Sex Sundays' and Joe would laugh. They could adopt an African baby. And they could have dogs! One each: Liza and Beyonce after their own hearts. They could get a civil union, a mortgage, a house in Highgate, a holiday home in Costa del Sol and a pool boy!
The sky really was the limit. And SLB, full of the joys of Spring, was ready to fly.
Compatability and Pretense
SLB modelled for a life art class this week. He also went for his first date with Joe – an early dinner before Joe had to jet off into the sunset. One ended with nudity. One did not. The point SLB is trying to make here is this: it is not so much what someone does or doesn't do in a relationship (be it sexual or otherwise; long-term or short) but rather their mode of intention and how they execute those intentions. Unrequited love is one thing, but it is an entirely different scenario to say, expect sex on the first date; or lead someone to believe you love them, when you don't; or to convince someone to move across the world for you only to reveal that you were sending mixed messages about the nature of the relationship and hadn't actually fallen for them at all. Hypothetically speaking.
SLB has many admirers for whom he has absolutely no attraction to, but at least he doesn't lead these poor, deluded boys to believe otherwise. There's skanky David, boring Michael, Marc (with his penchant for feet...and stalking), creepy, creepy Jamie, Brandon Flowers, the list goes on...
Aforementioned Joe (of tri-lingual fame), also plays four musical instruments, sings like an angel, has a masters degree, is 6 foot 2 and has eyes that make you forget the time of day. For perfect Joe, SLB has unlimited attraction. And although SLB goes into liaisons with most boys as passionately as if they are both his first and last love, Joe was different. Honestly. At the tube station, before he left, SLB planted a simple kiss on Joe's cheek (the sign of a true romance) and then retired for the evening, a happy boy.
The night contained a steady diet of textual intercourse (par for the course in these early stages) which had the power to advance the relationship several stages without actual interaction and SLB wonders what people ever did without it. SLB has always thought however, that people should exercise discretion when messaging and only advance the relationship one stage at a time before seeing the person in person again. Someone broaching the subject of sex via text message is an altogether vulgar and presumptuous practice quite frankly.
SLB had butterflies from the whole experience. It was funny, every time SLB fell for someone, the attraction always superceded any attraction he previously felt for the plethora of boys before. It had all got very comfortable with Joe very quickly, and SLB was keen to see where this would take him. Hopefully somewhere lush.
If this sounds like altogether familiar territory, well, SLB concedes that he may just be flailing aimlessly around the Earth until Mr Right comes along. But surely, that's all any of us are doing...
SLB has many admirers for whom he has absolutely no attraction to, but at least he doesn't lead these poor, deluded boys to believe otherwise. There's skanky David, boring Michael, Marc (with his penchant for feet...and stalking), creepy, creepy Jamie, Brandon Flowers, the list goes on...
Aforementioned Joe (of tri-lingual fame), also plays four musical instruments, sings like an angel, has a masters degree, is 6 foot 2 and has eyes that make you forget the time of day. For perfect Joe, SLB has unlimited attraction. And although SLB goes into liaisons with most boys as passionately as if they are both his first and last love, Joe was different. Honestly. At the tube station, before he left, SLB planted a simple kiss on Joe's cheek (the sign of a true romance) and then retired for the evening, a happy boy.
The night contained a steady diet of textual intercourse (par for the course in these early stages) which had the power to advance the relationship several stages without actual interaction and SLB wonders what people ever did without it. SLB has always thought however, that people should exercise discretion when messaging and only advance the relationship one stage at a time before seeing the person in person again. Someone broaching the subject of sex via text message is an altogether vulgar and presumptuous practice quite frankly.
SLB had butterflies from the whole experience. It was funny, every time SLB fell for someone, the attraction always superceded any attraction he previously felt for the plethora of boys before. It had all got very comfortable with Joe very quickly, and SLB was keen to see where this would take him. Hopefully somewhere lush.
If this sounds like altogether familiar territory, well, SLB concedes that he may just be flailing aimlessly around the Earth until Mr Right comes along. But surely, that's all any of us are doing...
"I'm Slutty! Get Me Outta Here!"
SLB slept with someone famous this week. It happened last Sunday (SLB loves drinking on a Sunday. It makes him feel so chic) when SLB went to a friend's birthday at Retro Bar – a kitscher than kitsch little bar owned by an angry lesbian, down a pokey little side street off The Strand. SLB was socially networking his tits off when he ran into X who SLB charmed into buying him his drinks for the evening. X introduced SLB to all kinds of interesting people: Adrian – rich lawyer from Kensington; Peter – who owned property in Leicester Square and Joe – the fit, tri-lingual musician whom SLB fancied above all others. X then bought SLB another drink before popping out for a quick cigarette before they left. Ugh. Smoking was so 80s.
From there, they all trotted over to G-A-Y Late (or V-I-L-E as Will and SLB called it) for the McDonalds of gay entertainment in London. God knows why, but X suddenly started masquerading as straight and married. Well aren't we all dear. But being gay was fashionable these days and X was in a gay bar for goodness sake! In fact, everybody knows that gayness does wonders for a celebrity's public image. A boyfriend (this year's must have) could really boost PR for X. SLB already considered himself to be 'famous by association', but couldn't help fantasise about being the new Colleen and having his very own column in Heat or OK or something. After all, in his advisory role as Slutty London Boy, he really felt like he was giving back to the community from whence he came.
SLB and X stepped out of G-A-Y for some much needed fresh (breathable) air, and yet another cigarette for X. Clearly X was gagging for it, so they slipped into a back alley and X slipped it in. X went at it like a whore on tequila, but SLB has to say that stamina is definitely a plus when it comes to sleeping with celebrities in seedy Soho side streets. Ah sex. Is there anything better?
Who could this mystery celebrity possibly be? Alan Carr, Tom Jones, Gok Wan, Will Young...Cliff Richard? A certain effeminate member of a certain well known UK boy band? SLB knows this hardly narrows the field but he does like to keep his readers guessing...
They returned to the club and didn't speak to each other for the rest of the night.
And then SLB bumped into Joe again, and everything changed...
From there, they all trotted over to G-A-Y Late (or V-I-L-E as Will and SLB called it) for the McDonalds of gay entertainment in London. God knows why, but X suddenly started masquerading as straight and married. Well aren't we all dear. But being gay was fashionable these days and X was in a gay bar for goodness sake! In fact, everybody knows that gayness does wonders for a celebrity's public image. A boyfriend (this year's must have) could really boost PR for X. SLB already considered himself to be 'famous by association', but couldn't help fantasise about being the new Colleen and having his very own column in Heat or OK or something. After all, in his advisory role as Slutty London Boy, he really felt like he was giving back to the community from whence he came.
SLB and X stepped out of G-A-Y for some much needed fresh (breathable) air, and yet another cigarette for X. Clearly X was gagging for it, so they slipped into a back alley and X slipped it in. X went at it like a whore on tequila, but SLB has to say that stamina is definitely a plus when it comes to sleeping with celebrities in seedy Soho side streets. Ah sex. Is there anything better?
Who could this mystery celebrity possibly be? Alan Carr, Tom Jones, Gok Wan, Will Young...Cliff Richard? A certain effeminate member of a certain well known UK boy band? SLB knows this hardly narrows the field but he does like to keep his readers guessing...
They returned to the club and didn't speak to each other for the rest of the night.
And then SLB bumped into Joe again, and everything changed...
Chocolate Sauce, Lesbians, and A Bed of Spinach
Was it just SLB, or were a lot of young, up-and-coming gays a bit too 'new age' these days? Too sensitive? A little heavy on the gay side of metrosexual?
Organic gays (Gays love a subculture) attend Flash Mobs; they go to festivals with names like 'Earthdance', and talk in terms of “exchanging energy”. They are likely to delete their Facebook accounts (and their Christian names), convert to Buddhism and backpack around the world on a budget of 20p. SLB knows all of this because he went on a (gasp!) date with one this week. SLB half expected Alex to turn up in flip-flops, with goats in tow and carrying half a bottle of chocolate sauce (for spreading across SLB later, probably).
SLB, a raging hedonist at the best of times, found Alex's minimalistic lifestyle a bit too hard to stomach at first. That, and the pretentious portion of boiled chicken on a bed of spinach leaves. SLB swears that had Alex whacked out a copy of Max Ehrmann's Desiderata and started reciting poetry to SLB, he would have been out of there faster than a whore's jaws in Amsterdam. But, for the sake of mass consumerism, SLB wanted a Valentine, and actually, it ended up being the most perfect evening. After a brisk stroll along Southbank (slight cringe) and a dirty slice of pizza (vegetarian for Alex) in Leicester Square, Alex paid for a taxi back to his loft studio flat that he rented off a lesbian couple...in Shoreditch. Of course.
The place smelled of incense and the sex was good. Good, not great. Alex, for all his tree-hugging, Earth-loving, whale-saving, tofu-eating goodness was hardly practised in the art of “love making” and didn't even clean himself up after the sex! That's not minimalistic. That's just lazy. SLB wasn't sure how to handle the situation (at least offer a shower or a towel...or anything!) but soon fell asleep anyway.
The next morning, Alex read SLB's tarot and told him that their souls were due to be aligned for about the next seven years or so, and that SLB was a very passionate, sensual “love-maker”. That's the problem with these 'new age' boys and their crazy ways, they just say what they are thinking. SLB responded by saying that he didn't think he was “feeling it”anymore and would it be OK if he left now?
Then he went and ordered a double skim latte on soy (no cream) with Zoey and got on with life. After all, that was the 'new age' thing to do, right?
Love and light.
Organic gays (Gays love a subculture) attend Flash Mobs; they go to festivals with names like 'Earthdance', and talk in terms of “exchanging energy”. They are likely to delete their Facebook accounts (and their Christian names), convert to Buddhism and backpack around the world on a budget of 20p. SLB knows all of this because he went on a (gasp!) date with one this week. SLB half expected Alex to turn up in flip-flops, with goats in tow and carrying half a bottle of chocolate sauce (for spreading across SLB later, probably).
SLB, a raging hedonist at the best of times, found Alex's minimalistic lifestyle a bit too hard to stomach at first. That, and the pretentious portion of boiled chicken on a bed of spinach leaves. SLB swears that had Alex whacked out a copy of Max Ehrmann's Desiderata and started reciting poetry to SLB, he would have been out of there faster than a whore's jaws in Amsterdam. But, for the sake of mass consumerism, SLB wanted a Valentine, and actually, it ended up being the most perfect evening. After a brisk stroll along Southbank (slight cringe) and a dirty slice of pizza (vegetarian for Alex) in Leicester Square, Alex paid for a taxi back to his loft studio flat that he rented off a lesbian couple...in Shoreditch. Of course.
The place smelled of incense and the sex was good. Good, not great. Alex, for all his tree-hugging, Earth-loving, whale-saving, tofu-eating goodness was hardly practised in the art of “love making” and didn't even clean himself up after the sex! That's not minimalistic. That's just lazy. SLB wasn't sure how to handle the situation (at least offer a shower or a towel...or anything!) but soon fell asleep anyway.
The next morning, Alex read SLB's tarot and told him that their souls were due to be aligned for about the next seven years or so, and that SLB was a very passionate, sensual “love-maker”. That's the problem with these 'new age' boys and their crazy ways, they just say what they are thinking. SLB responded by saying that he didn't think he was “feeling it”anymore and would it be OK if he left now?
Then he went and ordered a double skim latte on soy (no cream) with Zoey and got on with life. After all, that was the 'new age' thing to do, right?
Love and light.
Bond. J. Bond.
SLB met the incomparable Justin Bond last Thursday. Firstly, for those of you who do not know who Justin Bond is, shame on you. Secondly, Justin Bond IS iconic, queer, New York cabaret. He is a superstar who features as himself (or at least one of his stage personas) in the equally iconic and ground-breaking film Shortbus. Justin Bond is never afraid to be himself. Unashamedly, unabashedly, uncompromisingly himself. SLB admired that in performance artists.
SLB was having a drink in the bar of the Soho theatre, having just met up with an actor friend of his, Chris, who was talking about his next fringe venture in Battersea when, wonder of wonders Justin Bond himself sashėd down the stairs and into the foyer. SLB looked up from his vermouth on the rocks to see a vision in sequins breeze past him to the bar. Well of course SLB was on him in a flash and made no excuses about the fact that he was a fan, a groupie, an admirer. Flattery was awfully dull, but Justin Bond was a hot mess, and SLB made exceptions for a limited number of people.
As it happens, Bond had just been in the theatre to scope out the venue for future projects after the wild success of his previous one man show 'Lustre' at the venue last year. And like most performers, in 'real' life, Bond was an incredibly self-deprecating, intelligent, fierce individual: outspoken, yet shy to a degree. Camp, but endearing.
The evening was a coup. SLB learned all about Bond's American exploits with fierce showbiz side-kick Lady J and the equally fascinating transgender nymph, Novice Theory, while SLB in turn educated Bond on his most recent British conquests which Bond found intriguing having lived here himself. They talked about John Cameron Mitchell, Sean Penn in Milk, the Tony awards, political scandal, and the difference between British gays and American gays (which SLB always found to be rather obnoxious).
The drinks were flowing, the stories: outrageous, the humour: revolutionary. In short SLB found the experience of talking with le Bond enlightening and inspiring. It was such a shame then, when SLB had to cut the evening short to make an appearance at Punk. But, Kate Moss was calling.
As SLB left, he remembered the lyrics to a song he had seen Bond sing in New York once when he was there. A cover of Kate Bush's 'Running Up That Hill':
Come on baby, come on darling
Let me steal this moment from you now
Come on angel, come on, come on darling
Let's exchange the experience, oh...
Well what a moment SLB had had tonight. In terms of gays, it doesn't get much more stellar than Justin Bond. Hot!
SLB was having a drink in the bar of the Soho theatre, having just met up with an actor friend of his, Chris, who was talking about his next fringe venture in Battersea when, wonder of wonders Justin Bond himself sashėd down the stairs and into the foyer. SLB looked up from his vermouth on the rocks to see a vision in sequins breeze past him to the bar. Well of course SLB was on him in a flash and made no excuses about the fact that he was a fan, a groupie, an admirer. Flattery was awfully dull, but Justin Bond was a hot mess, and SLB made exceptions for a limited number of people.
As it happens, Bond had just been in the theatre to scope out the venue for future projects after the wild success of his previous one man show 'Lustre' at the venue last year. And like most performers, in 'real' life, Bond was an incredibly self-deprecating, intelligent, fierce individual: outspoken, yet shy to a degree. Camp, but endearing.
The evening was a coup. SLB learned all about Bond's American exploits with fierce showbiz side-kick Lady J and the equally fascinating transgender nymph, Novice Theory, while SLB in turn educated Bond on his most recent British conquests which Bond found intriguing having lived here himself. They talked about John Cameron Mitchell, Sean Penn in Milk, the Tony awards, political scandal, and the difference between British gays and American gays (which SLB always found to be rather obnoxious).
The drinks were flowing, the stories: outrageous, the humour: revolutionary. In short SLB found the experience of talking with le Bond enlightening and inspiring. It was such a shame then, when SLB had to cut the evening short to make an appearance at Punk. But, Kate Moss was calling.
As SLB left, he remembered the lyrics to a song he had seen Bond sing in New York once when he was there. A cover of Kate Bush's 'Running Up That Hill':
Come on baby, come on darling
Let me steal this moment from you now
Come on angel, come on, come on darling
Let's exchange the experience, oh...
Well what a moment SLB had had tonight. In terms of gays, it doesn't get much more stellar than Justin Bond. Hot!
Hope
Each year hundreds, maybe thousands of people move to London for different reasons. Dreams of stardom, a new life, a fresh start, a higher wage, a change of scenery, a gap year. From Polish immigrants who end up cleaning floors, to the new intake at Kings College who end up running the country; all bring one thing with them: hope. SLB slept with one of these London newbies this week and the story goes like this...
SLB had recently been seeing a guy who, quite frankly bored him to death. SLB was bored of his immature antics and bored of his lack of passion for, well, anything at all, which was a constant source of fascination to SLB. But, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else which is exactly why SLB thought he would go out, have a dance, and a drink or five. In the same way you can't get AIDS from kissing someone, you can't get into Boujis on a Friday unless you are on the guest list, like SLB and co. It pays to know Henry Conway though, but being attractive always helps in life. So, looking fit as fuck, SLB met Ben (from Bradford) on the dancefloor. Ben (from Bradford) was surprisingly well-spoken, well-educated, had just moved to South Kensington and was both hot and cool at the same time. SLB knew he'd pulled, and, on a whim, left his friends at the club for the erudite surroundings of Ben (from Bradford)'s flat. SLB's whims are a law to everybody but himself.
The sex was the best SLB had had in a long time. Despite being four years SLB's junior, SLB would almost go as far to say that Ben (from Bradford) showed SLB a thing or two in the bedroom. Almost. The post-coital atmosphere was comfortable and relaxed. SLB showered; they spooned for the night, and in the morning, SLB bid Ben (from Bradford) farewell with the obligatory kiss that signifies the end of a one night stand and the beginning of the walk of shame. SLB quite fancied seeing Ben (from Bradford) again and later that afternoon messaged him to say just that. No response. For an entire day. Now, SLB doesn't take kindly to apathy and is not used to being ignored by boys. Ever. Seriously. On this occasion however, he was forced to accept that maybe Ben (from Bradford) just wasn't that into him. But, there was a first time for everything, and SLB had a theory that maybe he was laying the groundwork for a more meaningful relationship at a later date.
Will broke up with his on again/off again boyfriend this week, whereas SLB had a one night stand with someone who showed no interest in calling or texting him. SLB wonders which is worse: Someone ending a meaningful relationship with you because it is no longer meaningful for them, or Someone thinking you are not worth starting a meaningful relationship with in the first place?
Regardless, just as the snow melts and Londoners to go back to work, life too goes on. SLB hopes so.
SLB had recently been seeing a guy who, quite frankly bored him to death. SLB was bored of his immature antics and bored of his lack of passion for, well, anything at all, which was a constant source of fascination to SLB. But, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else which is exactly why SLB thought he would go out, have a dance, and a drink or five. In the same way you can't get AIDS from kissing someone, you can't get into Boujis on a Friday unless you are on the guest list, like SLB and co. It pays to know Henry Conway though, but being attractive always helps in life. So, looking fit as fuck, SLB met Ben (from Bradford) on the dancefloor. Ben (from Bradford) was surprisingly well-spoken, well-educated, had just moved to South Kensington and was both hot and cool at the same time. SLB knew he'd pulled, and, on a whim, left his friends at the club for the erudite surroundings of Ben (from Bradford)'s flat. SLB's whims are a law to everybody but himself.
The sex was the best SLB had had in a long time. Despite being four years SLB's junior, SLB would almost go as far to say that Ben (from Bradford) showed SLB a thing or two in the bedroom. Almost. The post-coital atmosphere was comfortable and relaxed. SLB showered; they spooned for the night, and in the morning, SLB bid Ben (from Bradford) farewell with the obligatory kiss that signifies the end of a one night stand and the beginning of the walk of shame. SLB quite fancied seeing Ben (from Bradford) again and later that afternoon messaged him to say just that. No response. For an entire day. Now, SLB doesn't take kindly to apathy and is not used to being ignored by boys. Ever. Seriously. On this occasion however, he was forced to accept that maybe Ben (from Bradford) just wasn't that into him. But, there was a first time for everything, and SLB had a theory that maybe he was laying the groundwork for a more meaningful relationship at a later date.
Will broke up with his on again/off again boyfriend this week, whereas SLB had a one night stand with someone who showed no interest in calling or texting him. SLB wonders which is worse: Someone ending a meaningful relationship with you because it is no longer meaningful for them, or Someone thinking you are not worth starting a meaningful relationship with in the first place?
Regardless, just as the snow melts and Londoners to go back to work, life too goes on. SLB hopes so.
To Come Or Not To Come?
Londoners are hilarious. They angrily pile onto the tube each day, demonstrating almost no form of etiquette. As more and more people cram themselves into these carriages of love, certain issues arise: How long do you leave it before you subtly move away from the person who smells? Is it acceptable to smile or stare at people on the tube? Are you allowed to unashamedly flirt with the fit guy who's about to get off at the next stop and why can't he stay on a bit longer? Do you avoid sitting next to someone because you're secretly fattist, or racist, or just a bit odd? And then, how many seats away from them do you sit? For the rookie Londoner, this can all seem a bit daunting; but it got SLB thinking about all sorts of social miscellany.
If SLB had a jogging partner for example, how would he know whether to run slightly in front of his partner, or behind him? Or merely beside? If his partner offers him a sip of water from his own water bottle, should SLB feel obliged to return the favour at a later date? And how often should they run together? And what happens when one partner wants to finish before the other? Does he keep running out of courtesy, or does he simply give up once he has given it his all?
Was this sort of etiquette limited to jogging partners or could it extend to tennis partners, business partners...tango partners?
Extended metaphors and clever linguistics aside, SLB did wonder about the sexual education of Britons and considered it an ongoing duty to find out. And yes, he was looking for answers that Sexcetera or, say, Celebrity Big Brother couldn't provide. Of course, the rules of sex are slightly different in the gay world due to logistics, but SLB did wonder what proportion of gays abstained from bum fun on a first date, or a one night stand, or at all. SLB did wonder if certain boys had preferences for coming on, in, around, beside, before or even after their partner.
And despite having had more sex than a nympho at a sex convention, SLB still wondered whether
people still thought it was acceptable to come first and then give in to boredom or tiredness. No, no it was not.
So, to come or not to come? To jog or not to jog? To heave yourself into that Aushwitz-like throng of masses they call The Commute or to exercise patience in the face of rush hour absurdity? Whatever the answer is, you can be sure that at least one wanker at the back of the queue is always going to try and ram himself onto the already full carriage during peak travel, crushing you so hard into the armpit of someone else (probably with body odour issues) that you no longer know your own arse from your elbow.
London. City of love.
If SLB had a jogging partner for example, how would he know whether to run slightly in front of his partner, or behind him? Or merely beside? If his partner offers him a sip of water from his own water bottle, should SLB feel obliged to return the favour at a later date? And how often should they run together? And what happens when one partner wants to finish before the other? Does he keep running out of courtesy, or does he simply give up once he has given it his all?
Was this sort of etiquette limited to jogging partners or could it extend to tennis partners, business partners...tango partners?
Extended metaphors and clever linguistics aside, SLB did wonder about the sexual education of Britons and considered it an ongoing duty to find out. And yes, he was looking for answers that Sexcetera or, say, Celebrity Big Brother couldn't provide. Of course, the rules of sex are slightly different in the gay world due to logistics, but SLB did wonder what proportion of gays abstained from bum fun on a first date, or a one night stand, or at all. SLB did wonder if certain boys had preferences for coming on, in, around, beside, before or even after their partner.
And despite having had more sex than a nympho at a sex convention, SLB still wondered whether
people still thought it was acceptable to come first and then give in to boredom or tiredness. No, no it was not.
So, to come or not to come? To jog or not to jog? To heave yourself into that Aushwitz-like throng of masses they call The Commute or to exercise patience in the face of rush hour absurdity? Whatever the answer is, you can be sure that at least one wanker at the back of the queue is always going to try and ram himself onto the already full carriage during peak travel, crushing you so hard into the armpit of someone else (probably with body odour issues) that you no longer know your own arse from your elbow.
London. City of love.
Shagging For England
SLB loved a good shop. So all this talk of a recession bored SLB to tears. Despite the fact that the credit crunch actually forced prices on the high street down, SLB felt obliged to be 'careful' with his spending. Whatever that meant. He'd only buy two new Burberry suits at once instead of three. And he'd only go to Fire in Vauxhall once a week instead of three times a month. Hmm?
When SLB strode past the hottest thing to hit retail since Kate Moss did Top Shop, he thought that shopping at provocative underwear store 'English Lads' in Soho, more often, would be a smart move. That 'thing' was Mark. Store manager Mark, who's subtle cool betrayed him as he poked his head out the door to watch SLB walk past. But it's all about the thrill of the chase with SLB, so when he returned to English Lads the next day, he chased store manager Mark in the most subtle way he knew how – asking him out on a date and leaving him his number on the back of a receipt. The date went well; SLB was slaying Mark with his witty repartee, and the sexual tension was mounting to cut-worthy proportions. Chemistry – SLB was such a fan. Talk quickly turned to sex though, more specifically, how Mark would like some...with SLB...in his store. It took all of three seconds for SLB to decided that this would be a good idea and before he knew it, Mark was guiding SLB through a sea of door whores and coked up kooks to the double glass frontage of English Lads.
As we all know, safety precautions are paramount when it comes to gay sex. So, Mark had the foresight to call Chubb security and disarm the alarm system for the next two hours so that he and SLB would be undisturbed among the pants. Clever boy. SLB did wonder though, just where Mark thought they were going to do the deed. The entire front of the store was glass, afterall. And then he saw it – the campest couch in all of Britain. A couch...in the shape of Britain! How he had missed that giant, fluorescent, pink fur couch before, SLB will never know, but as the two descended to the downstairs part of the store, all SLB 's questions were answered. SLB doesn't usually consider moving furniture an integral or particularly romantic part of foreplay, but was willing to breeze past the situation for the sake of good sex...and a good story. Mark better be worth it. He was. If readers can imagine every sexual position possible on a giant, fluorescent, pink fur couch in the shape of Britain, then SLB has done it. The thrill of the chase was dead to SLB. The thrill of having sex in retail outlets was the new thrill of the chase.
And as he clung onto Wales for dear life, SLB couldn't help but think that what he was doing was vaguely patriotic...much like shopping at Burberry. God save the Queen.
When SLB strode past the hottest thing to hit retail since Kate Moss did Top Shop, he thought that shopping at provocative underwear store 'English Lads' in Soho, more often, would be a smart move. That 'thing' was Mark. Store manager Mark, who's subtle cool betrayed him as he poked his head out the door to watch SLB walk past. But it's all about the thrill of the chase with SLB, so when he returned to English Lads the next day, he chased store manager Mark in the most subtle way he knew how – asking him out on a date and leaving him his number on the back of a receipt. The date went well; SLB was slaying Mark with his witty repartee, and the sexual tension was mounting to cut-worthy proportions. Chemistry – SLB was such a fan. Talk quickly turned to sex though, more specifically, how Mark would like some...with SLB...in his store. It took all of three seconds for SLB to decided that this would be a good idea and before he knew it, Mark was guiding SLB through a sea of door whores and coked up kooks to the double glass frontage of English Lads.
As we all know, safety precautions are paramount when it comes to gay sex. So, Mark had the foresight to call Chubb security and disarm the alarm system for the next two hours so that he and SLB would be undisturbed among the pants. Clever boy. SLB did wonder though, just where Mark thought they were going to do the deed. The entire front of the store was glass, afterall. And then he saw it – the campest couch in all of Britain. A couch...in the shape of Britain! How he had missed that giant, fluorescent, pink fur couch before, SLB will never know, but as the two descended to the downstairs part of the store, all SLB 's questions were answered. SLB doesn't usually consider moving furniture an integral or particularly romantic part of foreplay, but was willing to breeze past the situation for the sake of good sex...and a good story. Mark better be worth it. He was. If readers can imagine every sexual position possible on a giant, fluorescent, pink fur couch in the shape of Britain, then SLB has done it. The thrill of the chase was dead to SLB. The thrill of having sex in retail outlets was the new thrill of the chase.
And as he clung onto Wales for dear life, SLB couldn't help but think that what he was doing was vaguely patriotic...much like shopping at Burberry. God save the Queen.
Will
Will was special. He was stylish. He was boyish.
He was witty. He was funny. He was generous.
SLB didn't fancy Will. He was more like a brother to SLB. Will was SLB's GBF, or Gay Best Friend. Anyone can have a GBF; you don't have to be male to have one and you certainly don't have to be gay to have one. But they are special. In short, SLB would do anything for Will. He would throw it all in and move to Africa for Will. Or Swindon. God forbid.
SLB and his GBF, Will, both aspired to be premiere gays. Someone like Elton and David for example. Or Christopher Biggins. A premiere gay, or 'A-Gay' if you will, had disposable income that they kept in their Vivienne Westwood wallets and spent on New Zealand Savignon Blanc at the Soho Hotel. A premiere gay drove a limited series Peugot 303 that they parked in the garage of their open plan Chelsea apartment. Premiere gays only ever dined with A-list celebrities with whom they only ever had brunch with, or, on occasion, a light supper at The Ivy before taking in some theatre and a boat cruise. But most importantly, a premiere gay did not sleep around. Well, surely some things can be worked on throughout the year. SLB did fancy having a new year's resolution for a change. Apparently they're all the rage at this time of year.
One of the roles of a GBF was to pick up the pieces of your best friend's life and re-arrange them in some state of repair. At alarming frequency. Will was there to console SLB in his early years of sluttiness when he misguidedly tried to end a date by “hugging it out”. When SLB was in floods of tears after having his first 'accident' in the bedroom with a boy, Will was over at SLB's flat with Iceland mini quiches and a chocolate gateaux faster than you could say “I kissed a girl and I liked it”. And yes, Will was on the receiving end of many a phone call at 3 in the morning when SLB was seeking advice on the whole Kaleb with a K debacle. No, not even three months in South America could dampen SLB's friendship with Will.
SLB had been back in the country all of three seconds when he found himself in bed with Jacob. Self-confessed metrosexual and long-time intrigue of SLB's. What was wrong with these metrosexuals? The sooner they replaced metro with homo, the sooner we could all get on with the important task of having sex with each other. SLB had been trying to yank Jacob out of the closet for years now, but Jacob was adamant he wasn't going to play. On this occasion, SLB and Jacob were merely sat in bed talking about science. And well, Jacob still couldn't decide if he was gay, straight, bi or Thai. So, not even the rabid gay porn on the computer screen in front of them could perk Jacob up, so they both finished themselves off, had a tea and parted ways.
Anyway, SLB needed a slightly stiffer drink and a de-brief after the whole experience so thank Liza that SLB had Will back in his life to solve all his problems. He'd done it before and he'd do it again.
Afterall, where there was a Will, there was a way.
He was witty. He was funny. He was generous.
SLB didn't fancy Will. He was more like a brother to SLB. Will was SLB's GBF, or Gay Best Friend. Anyone can have a GBF; you don't have to be male to have one and you certainly don't have to be gay to have one. But they are special. In short, SLB would do anything for Will. He would throw it all in and move to Africa for Will. Or Swindon. God forbid.
SLB and his GBF, Will, both aspired to be premiere gays. Someone like Elton and David for example. Or Christopher Biggins. A premiere gay, or 'A-Gay' if you will, had disposable income that they kept in their Vivienne Westwood wallets and spent on New Zealand Savignon Blanc at the Soho Hotel. A premiere gay drove a limited series Peugot 303 that they parked in the garage of their open plan Chelsea apartment. Premiere gays only ever dined with A-list celebrities with whom they only ever had brunch with, or, on occasion, a light supper at The Ivy before taking in some theatre and a boat cruise. But most importantly, a premiere gay did not sleep around. Well, surely some things can be worked on throughout the year. SLB did fancy having a new year's resolution for a change. Apparently they're all the rage at this time of year.
One of the roles of a GBF was to pick up the pieces of your best friend's life and re-arrange them in some state of repair. At alarming frequency. Will was there to console SLB in his early years of sluttiness when he misguidedly tried to end a date by “hugging it out”. When SLB was in floods of tears after having his first 'accident' in the bedroom with a boy, Will was over at SLB's flat with Iceland mini quiches and a chocolate gateaux faster than you could say “I kissed a girl and I liked it”. And yes, Will was on the receiving end of many a phone call at 3 in the morning when SLB was seeking advice on the whole Kaleb with a K debacle. No, not even three months in South America could dampen SLB's friendship with Will.
SLB had been back in the country all of three seconds when he found himself in bed with Jacob. Self-confessed metrosexual and long-time intrigue of SLB's. What was wrong with these metrosexuals? The sooner they replaced metro with homo, the sooner we could all get on with the important task of having sex with each other. SLB had been trying to yank Jacob out of the closet for years now, but Jacob was adamant he wasn't going to play. On this occasion, SLB and Jacob were merely sat in bed talking about science. And well, Jacob still couldn't decide if he was gay, straight, bi or Thai. So, not even the rabid gay porn on the computer screen in front of them could perk Jacob up, so they both finished themselves off, had a tea and parted ways.
Anyway, SLB needed a slightly stiffer drink and a de-brief after the whole experience so thank Liza that SLB had Will back in his life to solve all his problems. He'd done it before and he'd do it again.
Afterall, where there was a Will, there was a way.
The Return
Heathrow. 10.13am. Wednesday the 7th of January, 2009. Slutty London Boy (SLB) made his way through the throngs of people at the terminal. It was the new year and people from all walks of life were converging at the airport after various summer sojourns the world over. SLB was returning to London after three months work in Brazil.
Since leaving the country in September, the intervening months had seen Queen of Pop, Madonna split with her money-grabbing, whiskey-drinking, beige-wearing ex, Guy Ritchie; G.A.Y. move to Heaven, snow fall in October, and lots of hot, wild, animal sex. SLB also had his fair share of sexual encounters with South American men of varying nationalities too. And while keen to elaborate on said encounters, what goes on in South America, stays in South America.
SLB's flight home was immemorable to say the least, as he had already joined the mile high club several times. In fact, his platinum frequent flyer card was probably due for renewal. Mind you, it wasn't for lack of trying. It's just that young children and their putrid Peruvian parents hardly make for ideal tango partners, although, there was a rush of blood to the head on meeting a friendly Mexican called Roman. Sadly, Roman was bound for a different flight and SLB was bound for 12 hours of celibacy. Devastating.
Re-united with his friends back home – Starburst patiently waited with the luggage while Zoey (prize fag hag/bender friender) cashed in on her duty free alcohol and caught up with all SLB's gossip in a nearby cafe. The only gossip of note regarded Kaleb with a K. Readers will remember that SLB had left London amid a cloud of rumours that he had forsaken his slutty ways forever. Well, that was last year. That was the 2008 Slutty London Boy. Kaleb with a K had gone tits up the first week SLB was out of the country. The lack of mobile phone coverage and access to Facebook was just too much for Kaleb with a K to bear. Thus, the romance had petered out before it had ever really begun. Kaleb with a K had had a profound effect on SLB though, and it had taken him a good two weeks to get over the trauma and get back on the proverbial horse. And get back on, SLB certainly did. The saying is 'There are plenty more fish in the sea', for a reason, so, striding through those arrival gates this morning, SLB was ready to take on the new year, metaphorical jodhpurs in place and whipping stick at the ready. Yes, SLB was back in London and back in business. To horse!
Since leaving the country in September, the intervening months had seen Queen of Pop, Madonna split with her money-grabbing, whiskey-drinking, beige-wearing ex, Guy Ritchie; G.A.Y. move to Heaven, snow fall in October, and lots of hot, wild, animal sex. SLB also had his fair share of sexual encounters with South American men of varying nationalities too. And while keen to elaborate on said encounters, what goes on in South America, stays in South America.
SLB's flight home was immemorable to say the least, as he had already joined the mile high club several times. In fact, his platinum frequent flyer card was probably due for renewal. Mind you, it wasn't for lack of trying. It's just that young children and their putrid Peruvian parents hardly make for ideal tango partners, although, there was a rush of blood to the head on meeting a friendly Mexican called Roman. Sadly, Roman was bound for a different flight and SLB was bound for 12 hours of celibacy. Devastating.
Re-united with his friends back home – Starburst patiently waited with the luggage while Zoey (prize fag hag/bender friender) cashed in on her duty free alcohol and caught up with all SLB's gossip in a nearby cafe. The only gossip of note regarded Kaleb with a K. Readers will remember that SLB had left London amid a cloud of rumours that he had forsaken his slutty ways forever. Well, that was last year. That was the 2008 Slutty London Boy. Kaleb with a K had gone tits up the first week SLB was out of the country. The lack of mobile phone coverage and access to Facebook was just too much for Kaleb with a K to bear. Thus, the romance had petered out before it had ever really begun. Kaleb with a K had had a profound effect on SLB though, and it had taken him a good two weeks to get over the trauma and get back on the proverbial horse. And get back on, SLB certainly did. The saying is 'There are plenty more fish in the sea', for a reason, so, striding through those arrival gates this morning, SLB was ready to take on the new year, metaphorical jodhpurs in place and whipping stick at the ready. Yes, SLB was back in London and back in business. To horse!
Saturday 21 February 2009
Kaleb with a K
SLB was sure that ‘the one that got away’ was just an urban myth. But as he stood shivering on London Bridge, winter rearing its ugly head, he wasn’t so sure. SLB was moving to South America for a spell. He was offered a job photographing ancient phallic monuments. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. He had one last conquest planned for tonight before he left London the next day, but it seemed that his conquest was holding sway over him. You see, significant people always seemed to come into SLB’s life as he was on the cusp of moving abroad. Thank you universe. And so, ever the global roamer, the situation seemed to be happening again.Kaleb with a K met SLB out at Heaven little more than a week ago. The ensuing days had been filled with a series of perfect days and passionate nights; affording Kaleb with a K a rare second innings with SLB. And a third. And a fourth. Kaleb with a K was proficient in the art of love making. SLB had found his husband. Kaleb with a K made SLB think that there was more to life than an endless string of pleasurable but ultimately unfulfilling one night stands. Shags with boys who all looked the same. And that was something worth chasing.It is worth mentioning here that it would not be against SLB’s social mores to chase love (or at least lust) halfway across the continent. This is the boy, determined to conquer the globe for romance as fleeting as an English summer. There has been Gerrit the German, Lars the Swede, Ruggero in Italy, Benn with two Ns (RADA graduate, of course) who moved to L.A., Rob the Australian backpacker, although the list goes on. So perhaps the commute between Peru and Peckham would get easier? In hindsight though, these summer sojourns probably cost SLB a lot of time, money and emotion, but it’s nice to think that you are re-inventing the greatest love story on Earth rather than just burning a candle for too long. But was Kaleb with a K different? Was he special? Was this the boy for whom SLB would reform his slutty ways? Was this the boy who would tame SLB’s promiscuous habits? Would their passion weather the storm of ten thousand miles and goodness knows how long? Was leaving a mistake?After one last perfect date strolling along Southbank hand in hand, and a night of perfect sex later, SLB fronted up to the airport early the next morning leaving London and Kaleb with a K behind. Preparing to get sloshed on the plane, these questions plagued SLB, the worst of which: Was SLB…in love with Kaleb with a K?As his plane sped away from Heathrow, he thought he just might be...
Threesome
It’s a well known fact that if you go looking for something, you will never find it.And it goes without saying, that those of us deliberately feigning interest in some tosser at All Bar One, in the hope of a one night stand are destined for a life on the shelf.So it would come as a complete shock to SLB that his first encounter with the sexual phenomenon known as the threesome, should originate in a place he wasn’t even looking for sex…a lesbian bar!At a friend’s birthday, SLB had resigned himself to what should have been a rare night of abstinence as he gazed around at all the fans of the red lagoon. Lesbians. Is there a dress code? All was looking grim until SLB’s gaze fell upon Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. Clearly the only two gays in the village. Sipping on their Malibu and coke, SLB got aimlessly chatting to the two friends, but, rarely a fan of idle chit chat, SLB opted to leave early, when it transpired that Tweedle Dum lived near SLB and would offer him a lift home in the car instead. Automobiles. A novel idea. The car ride to where SLB was staying in Kings Cross was pleasant enough, with witty banter running rife. Tweedle Dee, it seemed, was your average sauna going, pill popping, Richard and Judy watching, sex as a birthright, run of the mill kind of gay; whereas Tweedle Dum was more reserved, fashionably androgynous, borderline straight. The sort of gay who seeks refuge in gay bars and avoids any form of public affection when ‘out’ with a boy. The sort of gay who champions Facebook as the new Gaydar.SLB, who tires under the constant pressure to remain interesting was growing weary, but as the triumvirate pulled up at, not SLB’s flat, but Tweedle Dum’s, the sexual energy increased…three-fold. So, as Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee lead the way inside, SLB brought up the rear as it were.Now, SLB, about as innocent as Gary Glitter, knew that he was here under the sole pretence of sex. A few shots of absinthe saw any inhibitions lowered roughly to where Tweedle Dee was now throwing his clothes on the floor. So SLB, thinking he was the male embodiment of Samantha from Sex and the City, launched himself into the experience with gay abandon.There really was no beating around the bush as, in a tangled mess on Tweedle Dum’s bed, the proceedings began. How one proceeds in such a situation, SLB doesn’t really know, but forgetting that three was a crowd for the moment, SLB mucked in.A bantam in the heavyweight world of the threesome, SLB was being slapped around by Tweedle Dum something chronic. He quite enjoyed it though. Tweedle Dee on the other hand was slipping in fingers where fingers had never been slipped in before. (Aren’t there rules about these things?) Infact, he wasn’t even entirely sure they were actually Tweedle Dee’s fingers. But again, he enjoyed it. Tweedle Dum also had the rather interesting habit of providing a running commentary of the action as it unfolded, and folded once more. Whatever he did though made for an evening far more interesting than going home early in favour of Jonathan Ross and pack of digestives.All in all, SLB rather enjoyed his foray into polyamorous relations and might make the triple threat sexcapade a regular fixture of the future…
Sleazy Steve
There comes a point in every fledgling gay’s life where he has to confront one of the biggest hindrances to his world- the straight man. An interesting breed, the idea of haute couture foreign; the concept of fashion changing weekly, not by the decade, lost on them.Epitomising the species was Steven Robertson, someone who SLB worked with but preferred not to. “Sleazy Steve” used words like ‘faggot’ and ‘pussy’. Sleazy Steve used women. Sleazy Steve had pre-prepared questions to ask girls on dates, like: “What kind of animal would you say you were?” and “What’s your favourite position?” Questions he knew his own answers to if ever he was asked in return. Up there with girls who told stories for too long, boys who took two hours to come, and people who held grudges; guys who were vulgar really got on SLB’s tits. But, like the inappropriate crush SLB had on his yoga teacher, Sleazy Steve would just not go away. However, pretty boys could get away with a lot in SLB’s books, so SLB suffered Sleazy Steve’s lecherous behaviour for that sole reason.A kind of sexual tension exists between the straight boy and the gay boy, whereby the straight boy entertains the fact that he could ‘have’ the gay boy in a second and incessantly leads him on. The gay boy, though often quite disinterested, flirts back. So when asked to the pub after work one day, SLB saw a chance to push the barriers of this tension, and test the lengths a straight boy would go to in order to lead SLB on. Of course, Sleazy Steve’s venue of choice was the vile Slug and Lettuce. The Slut and Legless. The Slag and Luckless. Cringeworthy as it was, SLB was prepared to go for the sake of his little experiment. Although, preferring Bacardi to beer, SLB proceeded with caution.As Sleazy Steve returned from the bar, SLB realised he absolutely despised him and yet, as Steve presented an armful of tequila shots, SLB realised there was actually something rather desirable about him. Something utterly, utterly desirable. Shot upon shot of tequila was ingested, and SLB’s cheeks were now suffused with a subtle, passionate, pink. Bizarrely enough though, SLB’s advances were being fielded and it was becoming clearer that Sleazy Steve was a blatant, latent homosexual. So SLB wondered whether he could get away with a cheeky blow job in the toilets. He could always paper bag Steve…The paper bag technique: Usually reserved for someone with a face like the back end of a bus; this technique can also be used to obstruct the gender of a person performing a sexual act, rendering them ‘gender indiscriminate’. Useful for closet gays.When the tequila shots got too much for Steve and he slipped out to the bathroom, SLB made his move, slipping into the cubicle opposite him and slipping out of his pants. Off his chops, SLB thought Steve responded quite well to his proposition, coming into the cubicle in record time. In keeping with the theme of the night, SLB licked, sipped and sucked his way through what he was sure was Steve’s first gay action. Tragically, what Steve lacked in size, he made up for in speed which made the whole experience rather dull and uninspiring for SLB. While he was kneeling, SLB realised he would have to quit his job of three months at the music store in order to avoid a potentially awkward rendez vouz with Steve in the stock cupboard. That said though, they both departed the lavs in good spirits, only to have more good spirits from the bar and a rousing rendition of ‘Nine to Five’ from Steve who appeared to be blowing the door off the closet tonight, proving that proper straight men were indeed a very rare breed.After more than his fair share of stiff drinks, SLB later slipped out of the Slug and Lettuce, unnoticed, and went to visit T.O.M. for some genuine sleaze of his own.
T.O.M.
T.O.M. demands that each letter of his name fall individually from the lips of those who utter it…It would be tiresome to introduce a new character to the colourful Slutty London Column every week, but it’s just that T.O.M. is so…F.I.T.T.O.M. does not stand for anything, nor is he an abbreviation or a pseudonym. T.O.M. is so much greater that he deserves more than the one syllable his otherwise over-too-soon Christian name provides. Each letter of T.O.M. represents one third of the most eligible bachelor in England. He was funny. He was sexy. He was kind. He was T.O.M.Fawning over T.O.M. was not solely restricted to boys, however, which is sometimes the case when a girl’s gaydar clangs in her ears telling her to give up on her gay friends for fear it will end up as another vain attempt at misguided romance resulting in Green & Blacks chocolate, Tesco biscuits, Bridget Jones’ Diary, and heartbreak. Zoey was reduced to giggling school girl status when T.O.M. was around and even Starburst thought T.O.M. was ‘spiffing’, which was saying something.T.O.M., an actor, enters the Slutty London world fresh from a messy break-up at the Edinburgh Festival (something about a surprise trip from his boyfriend gone wrong). SLB, having predicted the demise of the relationship from the outset, acted as any good friend would and relished comforting T.O.M. with the aforementioned chocolate, biscuits, and a certain wanton sex goddess. Like an even better friend, SLB also relished setting himself up with T.O.M.Typically, SLB is impatient and demanding. Irrational, but methodical. Slutty, yet endearing. So his cunning ways had seen him plant the seed of attraction over the last few months. We call it ‘ground work’ in the industry. The week following T.O.M.’s break-up then, had seen SLB engineer a situation that both parties would be interested in. One that T.O.M. couldn’t say “no” to, which he didn’t. Something seemingly innocent, but deadly. The scene: Bar Soho. The occasion: Snaring a new love interest. Having had a stressful day shopping, SLB was suffering from a migraine, so it took no more than two white wine spritzers, a moodily lit lounge room and a slovenly looking chaise lounge to get SLB in the mood. Before he knew it, SLB had straddled T.O.M. and T.O.M. had surrendered. SLB’s throbbing headache was now being put to better use elsewhere in his body. Having made out like naughty little boys behind the bike shed and just about spoiling the chaise lounge in the throngs of orgasmic conniptions, they hurried back to T.O.M.’s beautiful Southgate flat.The sex was wild. T.O.M. was adventurous and SLB (slutty as ever) was willing to bend and succumb. T.O.M. proved to be more than fulfilling in the bedroom department and more than adequate in the pants division, which made for the hottest romp SLB had encountered…in weeks. SLB doesn’t usually swallow (filthy habit). He made the exception for T.O.M.Wrapped in T.O.M.’s strong, lithe arms the next morning, SLB knew he had done good.And on more than one occasion over the ensuing months, T.O.M. would satisfy more than a third of SLB’s rapacious thirst for naughty nights and dangerous days…
A Question of Morals
Would you hand in a lost wallet to the police?Should the Catholic Church be held responsible for the spread of AIDS in Africa because it discourages the use of contraception?Do you condone abortion, gay marriage…bad shoes?It’s a question of morals, really.SLB mused over these thoughts while he stared at the wall of his boss’ sub-street level office in Camden. Other than being a beacon for sleazy, old men, and dabbling with poetry, SLB worked part-time in a music store in Arlington Road. Something had to fuel the hedonism and debauchery. On his sixth vodka, SLB questioned the agenda of this reasonably young, successful, debonair, MARRIED, father of two. The Fox, as he was known, with his salt and pepper hair, had successfully plied SLB with copious amounts of after-work alcohol and lured him to his dingy, air-tight office, making it quite clear that The Fox’s modus operandi was to seduce SLB. Plain and simple.SLB has a theory. At least once in everyone’s lifetime, you will be one of the three C’s: Cheater, Cheated or Cheatee. Being the Cheater is easy enough after a couple of cosmos, everybody knows that; and being the Cheated is a direct consequence, and altogether a common occurrence if you date someone like SLB. But, the Cheatee, one who (sometimes unwittingly) engages with the Cheater is the most intangible of the three C’s and possibly the most damaging. SLB knows as much as anyone that there is nothing worse than waking up at a gorgeous stranger’s apartment only to have him say that you’ll have to leave because his gorgeous long-term, long-distance boyfriend is coming home for an impromptu visit.In this circumstance however, SLB wondered what harm could possibly come from some innocent sex in the workplace. Afterall, SLB was such a good student in school, what’s one more extra-curricular activity?So, does SLB go for it with the boss, satisfying his superior’s advances, risking promotion and a little bit of his dignity? Or does he politely decline and reap the consequences?It’s a question of morals really…Needless to say, SLB goes for it (for two hours), before stumbling home and waking up the next day with a vodka induced hang-over and a vague feeling of guilt.Suddenly the Catholic Church seems more and more enticing.
Starburst Moonshine
As we grow up, we learn not to do certain things:Like wear a pink shirt on free dress day at school.Or to expect the guy who you had a one night stand with last week to text you back – ever!Or to hang around Hampstead Heath at night.It would seem that SLB’s unassuming housemate never got those memos.Self-titled, other-worldly Starburst, from the planet Bizarre, was several years younger than SLB, and as such had never ventured into the world of sex. SLB started young remember. No, Starburst, a ray of tranquil naivety in a world of debauchery and hedonism, still had her flower of innocence very much in tact. But then, this is the girl who thought it was ‘cute’ when a boy stayed over till breakfast. This is the girl who likes to surprise SLB with tea and toast when he is hung over and curled up in the ‘faecal position’ on the couch. Starburst, a rabid musical theatre enthusiast, wouldn’t know her libido from her libretto, and probably wouldn’t know an orgasm if it hit her on the head. This was a dangerous place to be for Starburst, as she was about to hit a milestone- her first date. And SLB, armed with Schnapps and concerned that she would never lose her V-Plates due to her odd hippy-ish tendencies, needed to rectify the situation. He felt it his duty to educate her on the wily ways of the male sex. He encouraged Starburst to have sex on the first date for fear boys might think that she was a prude. He also suggested that if Starburst should ever meet a boy’s parents, to end the relationship, as the fun was over. That sort of activity should take place after at least five years of sexual misadventure! But after three hours of sexual mis-education, and more Schnapps (during which SLB tried to explain what sodomy was through a series of diagrams and finger puppets), Starburst still confused cunnilingus for someone who was clever at languages. Alas.The next day, Starburst met her destiny. And her date. Ignoring all sartorial advice from SLB, Starburst was determined to brave London’s less than forgiving winter in what appeared to be an unhealthy blend of bag lady chic and something that looked like one of the tea cosies 85 year old Peggy from next door liked to knit.Poor Starburst. SLB does hope she finds love…or at least some meaningless sex. Perhaps she’ll meet an exotic Japanese man and spend the rest of her days on a Hawaiian Island where flowers open freely and generously…and cherries pop daily.
Eloping in Chelsea
SLB hates first dates. In fact, he hates all dates.They are invariably a combination of beige personalities in business attire, and underwhelming experiences. SLB never quite knows what to say, but nor does he care.Lord knows there is nothing duller than hearing someone’s life story for the first time.No, SLB doesn’t do dating.He prefers to cut right to the chase.Thankfully, today’s date was with Zoey, an A-class celebrity herself and SLB’s number one fag-hag (or ‘bender-friender’, the term more politically correct these days). The relationship with one’s bender-friender is a special one, being part brother-sister, part husband-wife, without the added perils of sexual tension to cloud the friendship (on SLB’s part anyway). Having exhausted almost every brunch venue in London together (their favourite being Bistroteque in the East End), and with at least a season of Will & Grace drama behind them, Zoey and SLB were thick as thieves. Appropriate today considering they contemplated leaving Chelsea’s lush Bluebird café without paying. London is far too over-staffed with absent-minded, Eastern European waitresses.Fending off bored Sunday morning paparazzi, they bounced off each other’s razor-sharp wit as they walked along Kings Road, with Zoey expounding on her recent Sapphic tendencies. Both stopped mid-sentence when they saw the beautiful St Peter’s church in Eaton Square to expound on how coy the notion of marriage was. That was the moment they decided to elope in Chelsea. They could marry that afternoon, have the reception in Sloane Square and celebrate at The Ivy that night. Then, they could whisk themselves off on the Eurostar for a week-long honeymoon in Paris. Perhaps they could even buy a plot of land in Scotland: Lord and Lady Slutty London. It then occurred to SLB that eloping with Zoey could potentially diminish his current bachelor status; and although eloping was fashionable, SLB was actually rather more partial to men than women and so might prefer to elope with one of the former…in due time of course. So, Lord SLB did not wed his Lady bender-friender that day, but instead dined at The Ivy with a new friend of his, which progressed rather quickly to his Notting Hill flat: A first date Slutty London style. In closing, SLB would like to discourage readers against the heathenish practice of dating entirely, in favour of speeding straight through a world of bad dates to the check-out of impromptu matrimony. Afterall, the gay world moves at a rate much faster than the real world: the courting ritual takes place in a matter of minutes, foreplay is restricted to the amount of time it takes to undress, and a two-year relationship is considered a marriage these days.So why waste time? Elope with someone you love today.
The Prospect of Sex
In the high-octane, fast-paced world that is London, the prospect of sex presents itself on a daily basis: in bars, parks, Clapham Common, in the 4th Floor toilets in Selfridges, in elevators even. Throw into the mix being mistaken for a rent boy once a week and the prospect of sex looms at every corner, bus shelter and dark alley this side of the Thames. But what makes SLB discerning in his choice of those lucky boys he sleeps with? A keen eye for good taste, the power to seduce, and the ability to see through the ‘martini goggles’ but resist giving into the clutches of mere ‘promiscuity’. An in-built filter if you like. On this particular night, those filters were about as present as brain cells are in Jordan. At 4am with guard down and filters flying low, SLB set off on the long walk home from G.A.Y. Late (Unlike ‘S.L.B.’ or ‘B.B.C.’, quite undeserving of its three-pronged nomenclature). Fresh from seeing Louis Walsh at the bar, he was now imagining that he might be the next Gareth Gates (with good teeth), and so had a skip in his step akin to Dorothy, en route to Oz. It was then that SLB fatefully dropped his wallet on the ground, only to have it picked up by a tall, blonde, beautiful Scandinavian looking boy. The boy was chatty and got talking to SLB about his own experiences at G.A.Y., though SLB hadn’t seen him all night. The boy was only in town for a week but kept SLB company all the way down Charing Cross Road. The boy was Swedish. (It was not unlike SLB to forget a boy’s name, so let’s just call ‘the boy’, Lars, for arguments sake.Lars and SLB kissed passionately below Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square before Lars suggested that they look for “somewhere else to have sex”. After desperately scouring the area, they ended up at the unlikely St. Martin in the Fields church on the corner of St Martin’s Lane, staring up at what looked to be ten, twenty, thirty metres of scaffolding. Lars, a gymnast, single-handedly hoisted SLB, as light as Kate Moss on crack, up to the top. It was there that they did the deed. Under the cover of night, but in full view of anyone who cared to look up to the heavens in the direction of the St. Martin’s clock tower. SLB did Lars. Lars did SLB. And as the sun rose over Trafalgar Square, SLB gripped even more tightly to the bars of the scaffolding, convinced he was having an entirely religious experience.The twist to this story is Lars and SLB being accosted by three men (who turned out to be plain clothes police officers), as they climbed down from the scaffolding. Both got warnings for illegally having entered a ‘construction site’, and told that if any tools were found to be missing, they risked arrest. Unlikely. 5am saw Lars walk SLB down to Blackfriars Bridge where they kissed once more and parted ways, never to see each other again. So apart from a minor brush with the law and an uncomfortable walk to the tube station the next day, SLB came away unscathed and all the more inspired by the experience and what the prospect of sex might hold for today.
Arthur
As he filled out the ‘hobbies’ section on his fifth job application that week, SLB wondered if ‘flirting’ could be considered a feasible pastime. Flirting with adultery had been a life-long passion, though any kind would do: with danger; with Mick Jagger live in concert; with a married man.Having now established his life as a narrative, SLB can now open up to the readers of this column. Call it the written version of Madonna’s Confessions Tour if you will. Firstly, and most embarrassingly, SLB hasn’t been to the Sex And The City movie yet. Secondly, and most ashamedly, SLB has had sex in a red phone box. The one in the middle of Soho Square to be precise. But thirdly, and most importantly, SLB’s deepest fear (and there is nothing more harrowing) is that he might sleep with someone who shares the same name as his Father. SLB imagines that this is a sobering enough thought for even the straightest reader, but for any stockist of the pink pound, there is nothing more shrink-inducing, than the disquieting refrain of “Who’s Your Daddy?” ringing in your ears at the most inopportune times, to the detriment of any coital action.Arthur (name changed for safety reasons…and his own sake) serendipitously bumped into SLB as he was embarking on a mission: Fitness First Tottenham Court Road- I mean, abs do not sculpt themselves! Arthur was with a friend of SLB’s, and invited him to join them for lunch. SLB was easily swayed and Arthur was fresh meat. Arthur, it turned out, was studying at Oxford.Arthur was charming and funny.Arthur wore a modest blazer, which adorned his broad, strapping shoulders rather enticingly.Unfortunately, Arthur was the name of SLB’s Father.Fortunately, Arthur was a prized flirt artist himself. So for the sake of his love life, SLB was able to shelve the name for a moment to flirt back.The stolen eye contact, the moments of simultaneous laughter, the accidental brushes en route to salt. SLB was in heaven. But Arthur, it transpired, didn’t know whether he liked bumb fun or not. Didn’t know whether he was Arthur or Martha as it were. However, years of mechanics had equipped SLB with the most finely tuned Gaydar in the Greater London area. Arthur was definitely gay. However, SLB’s ‘come to bed eyes’ were having a difficult time trying to penetrate Arthur’s rapid banter- a mixture of witty repartee and talk of, largely himself and his dissertation on something equally trivial and un-fantastic!I mean, there is only so much Oxfordian charm one can handle and so, trudge on though he may, even six Bacardi Breezers couldn’t do much to dull the pain that was becoming Arthur and his sexually indecisive ways.The problem with flirting as a pastime is that pastimes can grow dull. The good thing about SLB is that when he gets bored, he just sleeps with someone. Simple. Arthur (much like the mundane nom de plume bestowed upon him) got boring. Mind numbingly so. But don’t worry, in a silent nod to Kander and Ebb, SLB (now willing to put the whole Father issue completely out of his head for the time being) had Arthur in the afternoon…twice.The next night, SLB was able to climb back on the horse of excitement and meet several other boys. New boys. With much more interesting names. That didn’t resemble that of either parent. And he slept with one of them. In a black cab. Afterall, this is London.
Slutty London Boy
Tony Blair comes to the end of his ten year tenure as Prime Minister; Elton John celebrates his much publicised civil union with David Furnish in the first of many high profile gay marriages; Italians storm Trafalgar Square after winning the Football World Cup; Phantom of The Opera celebrates its 21st year in the West End and ITV has its 50th birthday. This is modern day London. This is the world that Slutty London Boy (SLB) lives, works and plays in.SLB has cause for his own celebration today. Freedom from the vice-like grip of a 6 month 'long-term' relationship. Now, if it wasn't for the fact that SLB spent more money on clothes than groceries, or owned every Judy Garland movie ever made, or termed 6 months a 'long-term relationship', then one might think that SLB was a breeder. The garden gate. Straight. However, the strict grooming regime, turtlenecks and secret penchant for Will Young suggest that SLB is in fact a fan of smoking the pink pipe. Doris Day. Gay. Which he is. And although unwilling to subscribe to stereotypical misconceptions, SLB really likes boys. A lot. And while not advocating or condoning promiscuity, being easy is the new black, and so fashion dictates that he must be.Our first sexual misadventure finds SLB celebrating his new found freedom in style, in the East End's trendy Hoxton Square, with mojito in tow. Complete with periwinkles, SLB is looking every bit the East End artist. SLB is in fact as much of a dark, moody dilettante as he is The Queen though. His occupation, he boasts is running around with the social set, his religion: living above his means. Neither actually allude to how he yields income, although none of this matters when you're locking eyes with a handsome stranger walking in the opposite direction down the street as you fashionably hop between bars. Eye locking. International language of love in the gay world. A quick detour down a side alley allows SLB to discreetly get the handsome stranger's number, but decline something else...SLB has morals afterall. Of course, no night is complete without scandal or disaster- more often than not, initiated by SLB himself- and losing the number of the handsome stranger almost proves to rain on SLB's parade had he not checked the super humanly tight back pocket of his skinny jeans.So, three hours later, post-mojito, accompanied by his very Vogue looking friends, SLB retires to a very Vogue looking warehouse studio, with handsome stranger in tow.Does the handsome stranger have a name?Is he a good shag?Is SLB the pin or the pin cushion?Does SLB kiss and tell?All this and more...still to some.
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