july 1999 L o n d o n Ok. I have the need to really put my foot down with the next statement and piss a ton of people off. Sure I had the best time in London. I would even consider living there. The sex rocked my fucking world. BUT... What's up with all the dress up? Most of the guys over there are using the working class exterior like gay men in the 70's had the clone. I was told by a rather middle class British "skinhead" that it was people like me (read: American) that are ruining his subculture. HA! Fuck you, man. I'm preserving it with respect! Going to something called "handbag disco" and watching some drag queen lip synch isn't exactly true to the subculture, now is it? Sounds like a faggot bar here in Kansas City. Let me put it straight for some of you that just don't get it. One doesn't become a skinhead by putting on the proper gear and getting the right haircut. It's sad to see the skinhead look get co-opted by a bunch of sissies who have no love for its working class roots, its rich history or traditions. You dressed-up wankers are no better than the "skinheads" who are white power. I mean, the differences between skinheads here and skinheads there are staggering. Yeah I know it's not 1969, but where are the dancehalls playing reggae and ska? Why aren't the bars there catering to "skinheads" playing the music and preserving the culture? Instead I've got techno and tweaker freaks coming down off their last hit of K. Maybe it's me, but the last time I checked, Muscle Mary the Banker (you can always spot these jackasses) by day, skinhead by weekend isn't working class. Maybe I'm anachronistic and love skinhead nostalgia way too much for my own good. Maybe I was born too late. Shit. I'll get off my soapbox now and return to the program already in progress, but rest assured I'm not done with this topic. I had made friends with several guys on IRC chat over the past couple of years and now was going to get to meet them in person. I think this excited me most. I would finally get to meet Kellan, punk (sex) god. We had talked in depth about life in general and exchanged our penchant for perversions. We had agreed that we would hang out all day together, but I had pushed the time back because I was out the night before catting around. So we met and chatted at his place. He greeted me outside with his blue mohawk and devilish smile. His eyes are his best physical feature. Crystal green and bright. We got so caught up in talking about music and complaining about the queer skinhead scene, we almost forget to "have sex." We'd been planning on getting down and dirty for months now, and we almost forgot to get it on. I was highly intimidated by him. He was so amazing I couldn't get it up. I don't think this was a bad thing really. Just because my prick wasn't at attention doesn't mean I wasn't having a killer time. In the middle of getting my ass poked, my mate called to ask us if we'd be joining my other friends for dinner. Yes! After we're done! Talk about timing. Anyways, we went off to dinner at some restaurant and had a good time. There was some arguing between my mate and Kellan about politics. My friends and I tried to change the subject several times, but it was useless. We shut up and ate and listened to the two ofthem yammer on and on. I imagined it to all be a contest for my affection. After dinner, we headed off to a bar where everyone had a pint. More eye candy, but we didn't stay long. We finished up our drinks, made tentative plans for doingthings during the remaining week, and headed back to my friend's flat. The next day, my mate and I went off to Regulation. Regulation is this huge fetishshop where you can buy all sorts of things, especially rubber clothing. I love rubber fetish gear. It's tight, it's great for wet play, and makes me feel like asuper-villian. Needless to say, I tried on several things and ended up buying many of the items I tried on. I bought some really nice rubber chaps, thigh high waders, and a piss gag. I was ready to go out to "Rubber Night" at one of the clubs because I knew that once I landed back in Kansas City, my chances of meeting another kinky rubber fetishist would be close to nil. My mate and I ventured out to a club ( I forget the name) to try out our new gear. You come into this place and they have a changing room and a very polite man greets you at the door. I wore sweats over my full body rubber suit I brought over from the States, so we could hail a cab without any funny looks. At the changing area, they give you a number ticket to claim your stuff when you are ready to leave. You pass through some heavy black doors to the bar where people are just hanging out, literally. Cock and ass, man, all squeezed into rubber. The mind reels... After purchasing a beer, we worked our way into the back recess. Nothing seemed to be going on except everyone staring at each other. I noticed that there was some sort of vicious clique of friends in a tight circle at one side, leering at anyone who passed them. I did my best to stare them down, but they weren't American boys, they continued to stare. The sexual tension was about to explode in this place, but nobody wanted to make the first move. I leaned against what looked like a big oil drum and scanned the room for potential sex partners. The room seemed to slow down to a snail's pace. Time was like syrup. I started to sweat in my rubber. A lethargic hand landed on my right ass cheek. Another began to unzip one of the zippers which gave free access to my arsehole. A sudden pop and my unseen assailant was in and time resumed. The place was echoing with slurping, moaning, and swearing. By the end of the night I was worn out, and my mate went home with an older couple. I took a cab back to my friend's flat and slept soundly. A large part of the week and a half in the UK was a blur - a non-stop chain of anonymous sex partners, all stored in my brain for later masturbatory purposes. The best memory would have to be The Block on Saturday. I saw some people I had met through the Internet there, all hanging out with each other. That was cool. I did meet up with the short Irishman, but he was very busy busting ass (not mine this time), making sure stray, empty glasses were returned to the bar. I did get to make out with him more, which was a plus, but I never did get to say good-bye. I have no excuse. I was busy in the backroom with the boys. The end of the night (well, the end of the night for me at least) came at 3 A.M. when I could stay no longer. The Block, I hear, closes at 6 A.M., and then everyone goes over to Melt or some shit like that...fuck it, I say. That's crazy. Of course the next day was a recuperation day. We all planned on going to the Merc to buy some clothes and just walked around in the "trendy" area. We stopped several places for drinks and got cruised a bit. At this one neighborhood bar, this beautiful black guy with dreadlocks was making flirty faces at me. If I had the time or energy... sigh. On Monday, my pal Rich, my mate and I all took a trip to Brighton. It's a beautiful old seaside town. We couldn't find any hotels to stay at, so we called a gay bed and breakfast. It was hilarious. The building was bright pink. I totally felt out of touch with my reality. The people that ran it were so very charming and knew how to make a great breakfast. During the day, we went out on the piers where they have carnival rides and arcade games. I think they are the same piers that are in the mod movie, Quadrophenia. That night, all three of us went out and about to scope out the nightlife. It was a little rainy and cold, but at this point I was used to it. We started at some local bar that played annoying techno remixes of Top 40 hits. Every guy that came in that was remotely interesting soon lost all credibility when he started lisping and saying "girlfriend." Ugh! I hate that. By the end of the night, we all ended up at this pathetic bar called Revenge. It was across from the pier, which I spent most of the night looking at out the window. My friend Rich retired early and went back to his room. Nobody approached me. Nobody talked to me. All I got were dirty looks. What did I expect from a bunch of gel-haired, cologne wearing poofs? My mate, on the other hand, was chatting up some rugged, rugby player type. I figured I'd be sleeping upstairs with Rich. But, NO! I was invited in on a 3-way with my mate and Rugbyman. There's nothing better than falling asleep between two large hunks after wild and loud sex. I'm sure the other people in the guesthouse were up all night, too. I finished out the rest of the following week back in London visiting with another Internet skinhead penpal (who shagged me rotten), the Vespa exhibit, and lunch with Kellan. I'll miss the men, the rainy weather and the constant bustling of an old city. I often fantasize now about returning for an extended period of time. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but London will always be the city that never stops cumming. Previous Drubs: all photos © 1999 by shane tanner |
