june 1999 L o n d o n I went to London in April. My best mate and I had been planning this trip for over a year now and it seemed fated to go down in flames. We had tried to go over the pond four times, each time telling people over there we were coming and then backing out last minute when we realized it was going to break one of us financially. This time we were determined to show up. Two great friends of mine decided that we should stay with them. It would cut costs considerably, and we wouldn't have to come and go out of some hotel. They were the best hosts, and Andrew, my best mate, paid them back each night by buying dessert. Big, serious pastries and "sweeties" as they say. Andrew is from Scotland but moved over here years ago and had lost his accent. It was nice to hear it kick into gear again - I'm a sucker for accents. We didn't want to do anything touristy and stayed away from sights like the palace and Big Ben and shit like that. I had never been out of the country (Canada doesn't count), and I had a fear of looking American. Most people I met thought I was Canadian, and I don't really know how to take that. So what did I do? When my straight friends ask what I did, I tell them I went and saw a History of the Vespa Scooter exhibit. I did! Seriously! Everyone knows how much I want a vintage scooter. (Note to readers: If you have one for sale let me know!) Then when queer friends ask, I did as the locals do, shagged my brains out. The first night Andrew and I went out to a small bar called Central Station that was dark, dank, smoky, and played that damn techno "music." I quickly forgot the music in one of the dark alcoves where all the boy-on-boy action was taking place. I did have my first experience with somebody hopped up on Viagra. This fucking tweaker was rock hard and handsy like a lobster. I kept pushing him away, and all I could think of was some zombie movie where the zombies want dick and not brains. So I moved out of there and went out to people watch. I noticed that almost everyone was short like me. Five foot five inches. Wow! Just when I thought it couldn't get better: Nobody tanned! Yes, pale skin. That's the difference between American boys and men in the UK, boys here tan and shave because it's some sick ideal, and the men there shave because it's a fetish! So I'm scanning the room and my eyes lock with this skinhead across the room. I grin and take a sip of my beer and realize I've finished it. He swaggers over and puts his lips to my ear, and out come the sexiest words I've heard, "You're dead sexy." I almost died. What? What do you mean that's boring? He had an Irish accent and he looked tough as nails, plus he was my size. So I returned the favor and got in his face and pushed his nose to the side with mine. We started to suck face for a while, and he suggested we go get nasty in the back room. So we did. Ok. Now I got a question. What in the world do they feed guys over there? I mean, the entire week I was there, I don't think I saw a cock under 7 inches. Not that I'm big on that, it made me feel ... well, um ... short at 6. This guy, Danny, (ok stop singing "O Danny Boy!" ) whips out his huge tool and I follow suit. Guys over there are BIG on kissing. I usually make it a habit to not kiss guys, but how could I refuse this fucker. The responsible lad whips out a condom while fingering my hole. Yes, I thought, I'm going to have more Irish in me than I started with tonight! He gets behind me, whispering dirty things and rams the slimy thing straight up there. FUCK! No sooner that I'm bent over and there's a huge, familiar piece in my face. I put it in my mouth and let this guy fuck my face. I'm in hog heaven. I look up and it's my best mate. I guess he'd been watching and wanted to play too. Andrew eventually leaves and finds some other hungry dog to chow down on his bone. Just when I thought I was king of the world, who should come around but Viagra Zombie. The greedy fucker goes down on me, and I try to pry him off. It works, but now he's trying to force my face into his crotch. I push him away, he tries harder. I begin to lose my high. This starts to go south. I hear Danny hiss, "...something... bloody fucka!" He pushes him. Viagra Zombie comes back. Danny pulls out and I turn my back on the handsy jerk. Wrong move! He's now pawing my ass. Maybe pawing is a nice word. He was playing strip-mine the American with the full ass. Seriously, I thought he was going to tear off a chunk and save it for later! I had enough and turned on him like a wolverine. "If you don't back off and get the fuck out of here, you'll be missing teeth!" Obviously, English wasn't this guy's first language. So I pushed him. Danny pushed him. He kept coming back. So Danny and I did up our pants and went for a beer. We talked a bit, and after we finished our pint we decided to have at it again. We did and had no interruptions this time. I agreed to meet him at The Block on Saturday, the place he worked. I hoped that I wouldn't wear myself out by Saturday if this was how the seedy underbelly of London was. To be continued... Previous Drubs: all photos © 1999 by shane |
