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.