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.