Sex in a Back-room, with Optional Condoms? It's twenty past twelve. It's hot, it's steamy, and above all it's sexy. The barman is hassled though, too many customers and the bar is too small. He should have had help tonight, but the other barman has called in sick again. There's not a lot he can say. It's to be expected.
Some people think he's quite cute, fuckable. But he's not interested in picking-up tonight. He's got a sore arse from last night. He told me. We're friends. He works on the scene because he's a bit of a tease, and likes the attention. Since he started work here, wearing his skimpy shorts and vests he's never looked back. Never had so much trade in his life, he says. He told me once he gets a real buzz when he bends over - to get a bottle out the fridge, or to pick-up change he's dropped. He likes to show people his best asset, doesn't like to leave anything to the imagination. Talking of assets, he's also been known to get the odd hard-on. They're a bit of a spectacle, make some peoples night. He's not shy about getting rid of them either. He nips over the bar and goes glass collecting, in the back-room.
There are two glasses next to the till. One is nearly full with Michael's tips. The one for the Rubberstuffers money - subsidised packs of condoms and lube - is empty but for a pound. The crowd's younger than usual tonight. I think some of them are students. There's also been more than the usual amount of drinking. It looks as though there's a fair bit of Dutch courage floating around.
One week, about six months ago, this young guy was so drunk he couldn't stand without help. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Some lads helped him into the back. Held him up as they fucked him. Five or six of them. The room was packed. Couldn't move to get near him. I got involved in something after that and lost sight of him. He'd gone by the time I came out. He wouldn't have done that unless he were pissed. The regulars are here. Don't know their names, but recognise them. Hardly ever see them anywhere but here. I bumped into one in the bank one day. He recognised me but didn't say a word. He shot off as soon as he could. Later, when I saw him here, he smiled and gave me a knod. It was as if he were saying 'You know how it is, can't say hello...'.
I shouldn't say this, but most of the people here fall into types. It's not a politically correct thing to say, but then I don't think of myself as a politically correct person. The tired, thick waisted business men, with their grey faces and out-moded hairstyles always want to kiss you then fuck you. The hard-core skinheads in combat fatigues and heavey boots are nearly always passive. The students either want blow jobs or want to give them. And the ones who get themselves shit-faced don't know what the fuck they want - you can usually give them what you like.
There's a guy at the end of the bar looks like some kind of drama student. His clothes don't match, they're all a bit warn and scruffy. He's wearing a squalid pair of bermuda shorts with some kind of African pattern on them. His T-shirt's tie-died, blue and white. The only nearly trendy thing about him is his boots, but even they look like they're a couple of sizes too large. It's cruel to say, but when he turns side-ways he looks like a sledge-hammer. He's been standing there all night with a hand in his pocket. Earlier I thought he was having a little seruptitious wank. This place is strange sometimes, when it comes to sex. If a couple come in and have a kiss people get really pissed-off. But if two strangers hit it off and end up down each others throats everyone either gets jealous or horny. Now and again two people will stand front to back, the one in front giving the one behind a wank. No-one minds, but if anything else happens they'll be asked to stop. And all of this, even though, thirty feet away, people are screwing themselves senseless. I don't understand it, don't think I ever will. It's a crazy kind of double standard. There's a pub in Peckham that's got it right; once in, anything goes.
Anyway, he's been dancing from foot to foot all night. He's given nearly everyone in the bar the eye, been scanning backwards and forwards since I came in at least. There's no-one near him now. He's chased them all off, been trying too hard. He's begging for it, and it's kind of embarrassing. I'd even say he's so desperate he's insidious. I can't make up my mind what he needs most; a therapist, boyfriend or fuck. I might be able to help with the former, but as for the latter two...
I've come across his type before. Terminally desperate for affection. He's the sort of guy who tries to kiss you in Russell Square after he's sucked you off. He thinks most gay men are callous and insensitive, and if we were all just a little bit more understanding we'd all get along so much better. Makes me wonder what's brought him here. Still probably thinks sex is a purely divine experience - practically it's physical, essentially it's spiritual - and all of that middle-class Christian stuff. I'd like to think if he made it out back his problems would be solved. But I'm sure they wouldn't. He'd walk away feeling guilty. Talking of guilt, reminds me of a joke a good Christian friend once played on me. 'Could you sleep with a Fundamentalist Christian?' he asked.
'Yes, I could,' I said. 'So long as I thoughthe was cute...' 'So you don't think the guilt would be difficult to handle?' At this I let slip my set piece about sex being something to be proud of; 'If two people are acting maturely, know what they're doing, and aren't going to hurt anybody, I just don't see where guilt comes into it. I certainly wouldn't feel guilty,' I said, and so on. At this point he let a big grin slip across his face. 'I wasn't talking about yours,' he said. 'I meant theirs!' Not all my friends get this. I think it's one of those jokes that only Christians find really funny.
There's a couple of skinheads leaving the back room. On their way home by the looks of things. I can't make out whether they're friends or have just met. Well, as they've made space, I think it's time for me to see what's happening. It's time for me to go on that long walk. I must admit, this is the bit I find hardest. It's not that I'm embarrassed, it's just I don't like such a knowing audience. I think backrooms should have backdoors for people like me - well it's just an idea. Before I face the crowds, I'll get Michael to give me another drink. Well, here goes.
It's just you and your hard-on and as much as you can take. That's the point of anonymous sex. It's quick, it's easy, and when you're out and about - at the Square say - it unnerving. Ever had an orgasm when you're nearly sick with fright? You should do, it's fabulous. It'd be a bit much to tell you what went on. I'm not into all that voyeuristic stuff. And anyway, towards the end it all went wrong. It's clouded everything. A guy wanted to fuck me. He was nudging around my arse with his cock. I felt behind to check him out. Nice cock, but he didn't have a condom on. So I whisper to him to put a condom on. He says 'What?' and I think he hasn't heard me. So, I tell him again to put a condom on. Then he tells me 'No. Why should I?' I hit the fucking roof. You can imagine. I think I made a bit of a fool of myself. Everyone turned to look at us, moved away. 'Why the fuck not? Why the fuck not?' I shouted. As if he had to fucking ask! 'Why the fuck do you think? Go on tell me?' He didn't say a word. He tried to back-off out of the way but he was stuck in the corner. I really began to lose my rag. 'How about 'because I asked you too', that's one reason. Or how about the other reason.' I could sense people were getting really uncomfortable now. Someone heckled something along the lines of why didn't I just leave him alone and find someone else. 'Forget it mate,' someone else shouted. 'Why don't you just leave it'.
Normally, people saying things like that shuts me up. I'm not very good when it comes to confrontations. I can stand my own when I'm really forced too, but normally I make the best piece and back down. But this guy's attitude really pissed me off. So I carried on with what I was saying. 'Because I don't want to fuckin' die. Is that a good enough reason for you?' He didn't seem to get it. He had this blank look on his face. 'A.I.D.S you fucking stupid little shit. Remember it? That little virus that rots you from the inside out.'
Part of me wishes I hadn't said it quite like that. I mean, it's not a very nice way to put it is it? to tell people they're rotting from the inside. It's cruel. Some of the guys in that back room are dying, or 'living with the virus' as they like to put it. And I'm sure it's the last thing they wanted to be reminded of. But I couldn't help it.
I'm about to be fucked by a complete stranger in a backroom, and I decide to get on my moral high horse. It's a bit fresh in a way. But then again it's not. I mean what else am I meant to do? Let him fuck me?
Some of my friends are dying. A few of them have died. They didn't want to die. I didn't want them to die. And as far as we could tell, it wasn't their fault. As soon as they started to hear rumours about the bug they did what they could. I remember the day Edward told me he thought he probably had it. He cried for hours. Some guy he fucked two years before had died. They'd fucked without condoms, before anyone knew anything. Edward didn't go for the test. He couldn't face a doctor telling him what he already knew. When he started getting night-sweats, that's when he went to the doctors. They confirmed it. He was dying. He died two years ago now. It's been two years, but I still can't look at photos of him. He was a dancer, chorus line in musicals. He'd done the Variety Show and been on tour in loads of things. He was in his mid-thirties when I met him.
He was fourteen stone of solid, camp muscle. I'd have fancied him if he was a bit younger. When he died he was just under seven stone, blind and covered in sores. He died wearing a nappy. It made think of something someone once said about life - something about ending up where you started off. Back then I thought that it was no way for anyone to die. Not for someone like Edward. He could be a pig headed little shit, but we loved him, and he loved life - well, most of the time. I'm beginning to change my mind now. Some people don't like me for saying it, but what else can I say? I'm beiginning to think some people deserve to die. I went for a test. Even though I knew I was going to be negative I was shitting myself all the time I waited for the result. Even the nurse said that I shouldn't have anything to worry about. I was young enough to have had the right information at the right time. I hit puberty just as A.I.D.S hit the States. By the time it was over here I was stocked up with condoms and lube. I have to confess, when the doctor told me I was negative, I cried. I just couldn't have faced the prospect of being positive. Not now. Not just as everything is starting off for me.
But, that guy who wanted to fuck me. He deserves everything that's coming to him. You can't tell me he hasn't been informed. You can't tell me he hasn't noticed that's there's a nasty little bug going around that's killing people - that the world hasn't suddenly become obsessed with little sheathes of rubber. I suppose that's what I'm saying here. Some of these people with A.I.D.S. don't deserve our sympathy. And I'm beginning to think they don't deserve our help either. If that's the bed they've chosen to lie in then they can die in it by themselves. Why shouldn't they? You must admit, he's guilty of something? You can't tell me he's not to blame - not if he's been informed, not if he knows the risks. He might not care about himself. But what about me? Is he really that selfish?
There's this conspiracy of silence surrounds people like him. No-one in that backroom stood-up for me. Perhaps they thought I was doing a good enough job by myself. I don't think so. Not when they shouted the things they said. There's hardly a condom on the floor when that place closes. And there's no-way you're going to tell me that everyone took them home with them, or that everyone in there was positive. And it's not just been that guy either. He's not been the first to try and fuck me without a condom. He wont be the last. No matter what anyone says, some people wont listen. If you want to ask me, I'm not affraid to say it, because I really do think that some people deserve everything that's coming to them. And believe me, it's coming to them.
Some people think he's quite cute, fuckable. But he's not interested in picking-up tonight. He's got a sore arse from last night. He told me. We're friends. He works on the scene because he's a bit of a tease, and likes the attention. Since he started work here, wearing his skimpy shorts and vests he's never looked back. Never had so much trade in his life, he says. He told me once he gets a real buzz when he bends over - to get a bottle out the fridge, or to pick-up change he's dropped. He likes to show people his best asset, doesn't like to leave anything to the imagination. Talking of assets, he's also been known to get the odd hard-on. They're a bit of a spectacle, make some peoples night. He's not shy about getting rid of them either. He nips over the bar and goes glass collecting, in the back-room.
There are two glasses next to the till. One is nearly full with Michael's tips. The one for the Rubberstuffers money - subsidised packs of condoms and lube - is empty but for a pound. The crowd's younger than usual tonight. I think some of them are students. There's also been more than the usual amount of drinking. It looks as though there's a fair bit of Dutch courage floating around.
One week, about six months ago, this young guy was so drunk he couldn't stand without help. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Some lads helped him into the back. Held him up as they fucked him. Five or six of them. The room was packed. Couldn't move to get near him. I got involved in something after that and lost sight of him. He'd gone by the time I came out. He wouldn't have done that unless he were pissed. The regulars are here. Don't know their names, but recognise them. Hardly ever see them anywhere but here. I bumped into one in the bank one day. He recognised me but didn't say a word. He shot off as soon as he could. Later, when I saw him here, he smiled and gave me a knod. It was as if he were saying 'You know how it is, can't say hello...'.
I shouldn't say this, but most of the people here fall into types. It's not a politically correct thing to say, but then I don't think of myself as a politically correct person. The tired, thick waisted business men, with their grey faces and out-moded hairstyles always want to kiss you then fuck you. The hard-core skinheads in combat fatigues and heavey boots are nearly always passive. The students either want blow jobs or want to give them. And the ones who get themselves shit-faced don't know what the fuck they want - you can usually give them what you like.
There's a guy at the end of the bar looks like some kind of drama student. His clothes don't match, they're all a bit warn and scruffy. He's wearing a squalid pair of bermuda shorts with some kind of African pattern on them. His T-shirt's tie-died, blue and white. The only nearly trendy thing about him is his boots, but even they look like they're a couple of sizes too large. It's cruel to say, but when he turns side-ways he looks like a sledge-hammer. He's been standing there all night with a hand in his pocket. Earlier I thought he was having a little seruptitious wank. This place is strange sometimes, when it comes to sex. If a couple come in and have a kiss people get really pissed-off. But if two strangers hit it off and end up down each others throats everyone either gets jealous or horny. Now and again two people will stand front to back, the one in front giving the one behind a wank. No-one minds, but if anything else happens they'll be asked to stop. And all of this, even though, thirty feet away, people are screwing themselves senseless. I don't understand it, don't think I ever will. It's a crazy kind of double standard. There's a pub in Peckham that's got it right; once in, anything goes.
Anyway, he's been dancing from foot to foot all night. He's given nearly everyone in the bar the eye, been scanning backwards and forwards since I came in at least. There's no-one near him now. He's chased them all off, been trying too hard. He's begging for it, and it's kind of embarrassing. I'd even say he's so desperate he's insidious. I can't make up my mind what he needs most; a therapist, boyfriend or fuck. I might be able to help with the former, but as for the latter two...
I've come across his type before. Terminally desperate for affection. He's the sort of guy who tries to kiss you in Russell Square after he's sucked you off. He thinks most gay men are callous and insensitive, and if we were all just a little bit more understanding we'd all get along so much better. Makes me wonder what's brought him here. Still probably thinks sex is a purely divine experience - practically it's physical, essentially it's spiritual - and all of that middle-class Christian stuff. I'd like to think if he made it out back his problems would be solved. But I'm sure they wouldn't. He'd walk away feeling guilty. Talking of guilt, reminds me of a joke a good Christian friend once played on me. 'Could you sleep with a Fundamentalist Christian?' he asked.
'Yes, I could,' I said. 'So long as I thoughthe was cute...' 'So you don't think the guilt would be difficult to handle?' At this I let slip my set piece about sex being something to be proud of; 'If two people are acting maturely, know what they're doing, and aren't going to hurt anybody, I just don't see where guilt comes into it. I certainly wouldn't feel guilty,' I said, and so on. At this point he let a big grin slip across his face. 'I wasn't talking about yours,' he said. 'I meant theirs!' Not all my friends get this. I think it's one of those jokes that only Christians find really funny.
There's a couple of skinheads leaving the back room. On their way home by the looks of things. I can't make out whether they're friends or have just met. Well, as they've made space, I think it's time for me to see what's happening. It's time for me to go on that long walk. I must admit, this is the bit I find hardest. It's not that I'm embarrassed, it's just I don't like such a knowing audience. I think backrooms should have backdoors for people like me - well it's just an idea. Before I face the crowds, I'll get Michael to give me another drink. Well, here goes.
It's just you and your hard-on and as much as you can take. That's the point of anonymous sex. It's quick, it's easy, and when you're out and about - at the Square say - it unnerving. Ever had an orgasm when you're nearly sick with fright? You should do, it's fabulous. It'd be a bit much to tell you what went on. I'm not into all that voyeuristic stuff. And anyway, towards the end it all went wrong. It's clouded everything. A guy wanted to fuck me. He was nudging around my arse with his cock. I felt behind to check him out. Nice cock, but he didn't have a condom on. So I whisper to him to put a condom on. He says 'What?' and I think he hasn't heard me. So, I tell him again to put a condom on. Then he tells me 'No. Why should I?' I hit the fucking roof. You can imagine. I think I made a bit of a fool of myself. Everyone turned to look at us, moved away. 'Why the fuck not? Why the fuck not?' I shouted. As if he had to fucking ask! 'Why the fuck do you think? Go on tell me?' He didn't say a word. He tried to back-off out of the way but he was stuck in the corner. I really began to lose my rag. 'How about 'because I asked you too', that's one reason. Or how about the other reason.' I could sense people were getting really uncomfortable now. Someone heckled something along the lines of why didn't I just leave him alone and find someone else. 'Forget it mate,' someone else shouted. 'Why don't you just leave it'.
Normally, people saying things like that shuts me up. I'm not very good when it comes to confrontations. I can stand my own when I'm really forced too, but normally I make the best piece and back down. But this guy's attitude really pissed me off. So I carried on with what I was saying. 'Because I don't want to fuckin' die. Is that a good enough reason for you?' He didn't seem to get it. He had this blank look on his face. 'A.I.D.S you fucking stupid little shit. Remember it? That little virus that rots you from the inside out.'
Part of me wishes I hadn't said it quite like that. I mean, it's not a very nice way to put it is it? to tell people they're rotting from the inside. It's cruel. Some of the guys in that back room are dying, or 'living with the virus' as they like to put it. And I'm sure it's the last thing they wanted to be reminded of. But I couldn't help it.
I'm about to be fucked by a complete stranger in a backroom, and I decide to get on my moral high horse. It's a bit fresh in a way. But then again it's not. I mean what else am I meant to do? Let him fuck me?
Some of my friends are dying. A few of them have died. They didn't want to die. I didn't want them to die. And as far as we could tell, it wasn't their fault. As soon as they started to hear rumours about the bug they did what they could. I remember the day Edward told me he thought he probably had it. He cried for hours. Some guy he fucked two years before had died. They'd fucked without condoms, before anyone knew anything. Edward didn't go for the test. He couldn't face a doctor telling him what he already knew. When he started getting night-sweats, that's when he went to the doctors. They confirmed it. He was dying. He died two years ago now. It's been two years, but I still can't look at photos of him. He was a dancer, chorus line in musicals. He'd done the Variety Show and been on tour in loads of things. He was in his mid-thirties when I met him.
He was fourteen stone of solid, camp muscle. I'd have fancied him if he was a bit younger. When he died he was just under seven stone, blind and covered in sores. He died wearing a nappy. It made think of something someone once said about life - something about ending up where you started off. Back then I thought that it was no way for anyone to die. Not for someone like Edward. He could be a pig headed little shit, but we loved him, and he loved life - well, most of the time. I'm beginning to change my mind now. Some people don't like me for saying it, but what else can I say? I'm beiginning to think some people deserve to die. I went for a test. Even though I knew I was going to be negative I was shitting myself all the time I waited for the result. Even the nurse said that I shouldn't have anything to worry about. I was young enough to have had the right information at the right time. I hit puberty just as A.I.D.S hit the States. By the time it was over here I was stocked up with condoms and lube. I have to confess, when the doctor told me I was negative, I cried. I just couldn't have faced the prospect of being positive. Not now. Not just as everything is starting off for me.
But, that guy who wanted to fuck me. He deserves everything that's coming to him. You can't tell me he hasn't been informed. You can't tell me he hasn't noticed that's there's a nasty little bug going around that's killing people - that the world hasn't suddenly become obsessed with little sheathes of rubber. I suppose that's what I'm saying here. Some of these people with A.I.D.S. don't deserve our sympathy. And I'm beginning to think they don't deserve our help either. If that's the bed they've chosen to lie in then they can die in it by themselves. Why shouldn't they? You must admit, he's guilty of something? You can't tell me he's not to blame - not if he's been informed, not if he knows the risks. He might not care about himself. But what about me? Is he really that selfish?
There's this conspiracy of silence surrounds people like him. No-one in that backroom stood-up for me. Perhaps they thought I was doing a good enough job by myself. I don't think so. Not when they shouted the things they said. There's hardly a condom on the floor when that place closes. And there's no-way you're going to tell me that everyone took them home with them, or that everyone in there was positive. And it's not just been that guy either. He's not been the first to try and fuck me without a condom. He wont be the last. No matter what anyone says, some people wont listen. If you want to ask me, I'm not affraid to say it, because I really do think that some people deserve everything that's coming to them. And believe me, it's coming to them.
