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.
Monday, 2 November 2009
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.
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