It’s Friday evening and I’ve finished the gym and that’s when I find myself in Soho, where I’m told there are bars in which you can go and meet somebody who really loves you – for tonight anyway. I meet up with a friend, because I can’t, I won’t do this on my own and the evening begins.
2005: We enter the first bar.
2006: It becomes painfully clear that what I’m wearing is inappropriate for the purposes of meeting strangers in a bar, strangers that you are hoping will fall in lust and take you home. In my work outfit (tucked in long-sleeved shirt, shapeless jeans and brown deck shoes) I’m dressed like everyone’s Dad.
2010: I forget about my clothes and decide to rely on my amazing personality to attract potential suitors.
2018: Having remembered what my personality’s like, I’m now back from the toilet where I changed into the vest I had in my gym bag. I’m not invisible anymore.
2100: I have now been in this bar for an hour, I have sat there trying to look available, nobody has come over to talk to me. I am certainly not going to go up to anyone and make the first move: I haven’t drunk alcohol for six years and conversely to the state of my liver, my social skills have been seriously impaired: I can just about mumble responses when somebody is chatting to me, but I could never initiate conversation.
2110: I decide that the lack of interest is all my friend’s fault – people must think that we are together and they hesitate to come up and talk. He is dragging me down and he has to be left behind for this to get anywhere.
I also blame the bar, because it doesn’t seem cruisy enough. I walk to Covent Garden on my own and my next choice is the only bar in London that’s exclusively frequented by gym-obsessed gays who usually go clubbing. It’s very, very small so to get an accurate idea, imagine 300 muscle Marys trapped in a Rubik’s cube.
2155: After half an hour of standing there looking at my feet (it helps that everyone is always taller than me and eye contact is easily avoided because I’m on a different level – literally), I remember that I’m out to meet people, so I move to the toilets, outside where 87% of the punters appear to be spending their evening.
2216: After queuing for a while my turn for a cubicle comes, and as I’m walking in, this guy who I sort of know asks me if he can come in with me. I like to think of myself as an accommodating person, so I say yes.
I don’t know what he’s been drinking, but within two minutes we find ourselves in the charming predicament of him having dropped his trousers, fumbling with his flaccid member and repeatedly slurring the words: get it out, come on, get it out, to me.
I fail to get it out, I find the whole thing amusing, I exit the cubicle.
2225: Back upstairs, I’m pretty much done and considering going home. Glancing around the room to see what I’m going to miss, I spot this guy leaning against the wall smiling at me. I look away and then back just to make sure, and this time he’s raising both his eyebrows in a suggestive way. He seriously is.
Until now I thought that raising both eyebrows to flirt with somebody was confined to the cartoon world, so anyone who uses this in real life deserves my full attention. I smile back.
When the guy comes over a conversation that’s repeated itself hundreds of times before and will repeat itself many more takes place: this is my name / yes I have an accent / that’s what I do / etc.
I mention that I’m just about to go home, the guy asks me where I live and it turns out that we live near each other. In the interest of my research and cost savings, I ask if he’s also leaving and whether he wants to share a taxi since we’re going the same way. Which he does, and we do.
2320: In the taxi on the way home, maybe we chat and maybe we don’t – I can’t remember anymore, I just want to get home by this point – he puts his hand on my thigh, I don’t shift.
We get to West London, we both get out and when he asks me if I want to go over to his, I say thanks, but I’m tired and I’d rather go home. I don’t think he’s that disappointed. We walk away from each other with a vague promise to catch up soon.
So it’s nothing new really – going out to a bar and making yourself semi-available means that you can meet somebody to spend your night with. But because finding casual sex in a gay bar is easy, it doesn’t mean that I have to be too.
So there you have it. And I'm available for any other articles, parties, weddings, bar mitzvahs, anything really.
And finally, I have now put the last London Preppy book on ebay. You can find it here:
Details of the book here and as I said this includes an added story that I wrote especially for this and will never publish on here. Oh and if the winner wants and is an animal lover, I can throw in a print out of some lion story...
And finally finally, "seahorse" please email me. Thanks