By Travis
Jeppesen
James has
grown more intense since the last time I saw him. When he speaks, he can’t
seem to contain his thoughts. When he laughs, it is almost as though it is
coming from something outside of him – the laughter god striking him down. I
don’t fucking know. It’s my first night in London in five years and it’s
too fucking cold to be outside. But we don’t want to pay to go into the
“alternative bear party,” where we won’t be able to smoke anyway, so we
sit outside and drink until we get warm. A kid wanders up, asks us for change in
a thick northern accent. James asks why. He wants to go into the party, but he
needs three quid. You don’t want to go in there, James tells him; just listen
to that rubbish, indicating the music. We walk down to the late night shop to
get more beer. The kid takes his change and buys a bottle of cider instead of
wasting it on the club. He tells us he’s just run away from some industrial
shithole up north. He has a girl and a kid up there, but he figured out he’s
gay, so now he’s come to London, hoping to find an answer. James asks him how
old he is. The kid says he’s 20.
Later, the
three of us are back on the benches outside the Royal Vauxhall. The bear party
is filtering out. The kid has dirty fingernails. He tells us he can’t go back
to the hostel he’s staying at because he smacked someone earlier. One of the
bears comes over, sits at our table. In Berlin all the bears wear leather; in
London they wear t-shirts. Or maybe that’s only at the alternative bear
parties. The bear starts talking to us. He is overly friendly. I’ve been
living in Central Europe for the last six years, so it takes me a while to get
used to it. It transpires that the bear’s an off-duty copper. That’s why he
can’t drink cider with us. The kid starts to get nasty. He hates coppers.
Nothing happens, though. The bear’s too friendly, despite the kid’s wanton
aggression. A good cop; a bear cop; it’s fun to stay at the YMCA.
Eventually
the kid leaves. It’s 4am, I’m freezing my ass off, I wanna go to the sauna
around the corner. Unthaw, if nothing else. James assures me there’ll be
something else. That’s why he refuses to go. On the way there, two Colombians
stop me and James and ask us where they can buy weed. James doesn’t know, but
recommends a wonderful open air Colombian market. We talk with them for an
annoyingly long time. Teenage kids wander by, ask us if we want to buy K. They
look like hustlers. James walks with me to the sauna, we say our goodbyes.
I strip in
the locker room, wrap the towel around me, walk past the steam rooms and dry
saunas, not sure where to go first. Although it’s past four o’clock in the
morning, the place is jam packed with punters; I guess that’s what they’re
called here. Half-nude men high on K and ready to fuck. I’m still in a daze.
I’d taken a ten-hour bus from Amsterdam, more pints than I can remember, drug
searched at the border, and just to arrive at this? I cruise past the row of
gents stalking the labyrinthine corridor. Some of the rooms are private cabins;
others are larger orgy rooms where plenty of action seems to be underway.
I catch the
eye of a tall lad, maybe 19, with a long pointy nose and long black hair. He has
a nice slim body, although truthfully, it was his blonde mate I was really after.
The tall one held his gaze the longest though and even came over and said hello.
Appreciating the fact that no exertion has been required on my part, I gladly go
into one of the empty cabins with him. Thankfully, it’s not as scummy as some
of the others. There are no bodily fluids on the leather mattress, no dirty
tissues, no used rubbers. It obviously hasn’t been used as much as some of the
others tonight, or perhaps it was recently serviced. On the leather mattress,
the lad puts his towel down, spreads his legs into a perfect split. Turns out
he’s a dancer. I slide two fingers under his shaved sack and try to insert
them into his hole, but it’s too tight. We’re kissing, but he seems
reluctant, like he probably hasn’t kissed very many people before. Like he’s
looking to be used for the very first time but is paranoid about disease, and
I’m being too crude or aggressive about it, even though he was the one who
approached me. I suck his cock for a little while; he won’t suck mine. I look
into his eyes. He’s nervous, uncertain. He’s holding my half-hard cock in
his hand. Do you want to cum? he asks me. No, I tell him.