Unexpected Orgy

Christmas drinks before R headed home for a few days with his folks seemed like an excellent idea. We were joined by Tom, his best friend Henry and in time Alan, a loud local friend who towers over us both, is only ever interested in sex and who we try and keep at something of a distance.

After several hours in Soho we headed home. Drunkeness provides a green light
for raucous behaviour and we produced a small packet. A snort seemed fine, a fun way to end the evening and then Alan encouraged another (why not).

Suddenly Alan lurched towards Tom's friend Henry and started snogging his face. Henry reciprocated and it didn't feel weird. We were all joining in - a naked tableau with Tom shagging his best mate, then Henry and me getting it on and R involved with Tom.

An hour (?) later R saved the day, collapsing on Henry fast asleep. Alan, clearly annoyed at R's selfish behaviour headed for the door and we called it a night.

We all woke up a little red-faced the next day but there were no hard feelings. The whole thing felt more like an out of body experience than anything and we laughed it off.

Seasons Greetings.

Throuple

A horrible, horrible portmanteau word. A word like “bromance” or worst of all for me, “Movember”.

After several drinks my enthusiasm for doing things and getting other people to enjoy them (stop it) tends to over-ride all sense. Suddenly I’m suggesting sponsored cycle trips to Paris, the three peak challenge or ski weekends with all sorts of random acquaintances.

On this occasion we were at drinks with tall Thomas from up the road (who we've played with on several occasions) and I suggested he join us for a ridiculous personal shopping experience at Top Man. “Ooh we’re such a throuple” said Tom with delight. It was like a cold shower. I realised we risked crossing a blurred line from couple hanging out with single friend to dangerous territory. Here be dragons.

Touting in Soho

The other night found me in a basement bar in Soho nursing an over-priced lager having been fleeced for £20 by the voluptuous lady on the door.

Flatdating

With the room to rent ad going nowhere I recently conceded that I needed to try something else. The lurid sticker on my chest confirmed that I was hustling. Resisting the tendency to congregate with the other hustlers and bitch about the people looking for rooms ("don't they know what a double room in Kennington costs...that paint is Farrow and Ball") I got the elbows out and made with the iPhone.

Yup - I have finally worked how to put pictures in files so I only ever need to show what's relevant ("can I see how the garden is going?" "Sure Mum - let's just hope we don't see R's penis at the same time"). Armed with iPhone I did ok. Dermot worked in IT and had relocated to London from Manchester and could see there was room for his Mac and Tom was starting a training contract with a city law firm and it's an easy commute.

I liked Tom and he liked the flat but he was smart (they’re pretty focused those millenials). He declared that he wanted to move in and once I’d confirmed that the room was his explained that he was looking at something else and promptly went for that. 

Back to square one

Alpine angst

So we were really good all week.

Then on the Thursday we skiied all afternoon with two great guys from Germany drank too much and ended up in bed with one of them - let's call him Hot Guy From Berlin (HGFB). Anyway next day James of the salopet insults (you can see where this is going) gets wind of our scandalous behaviour bides his time and as we take to the dance floor for some final night fun, moves in on HGFB with a very focused kiss.

History.

As a couple you don't really have a leg to stand on do you? I mean this is two single guys getting it on but, but what made it doubly galling was that James ended up going back to HGFB's room which means HGFB's less hot room-mate was forced to exit and ended up crashing in our room. Gritted smiles all round the next morning.

Might be some time before we hang out with James again.

Gay Ski Week

250 gay men in a small Swiss village who all ski - giddy. 

We agreed to join our friend James for Arosa Gay Ski Week a few weeks back. R and I have a tendency to conjure up a reality that is far more hedonistic than the actuality and I don't think either of us had pictured classical concerts listening to Beethoven piano sonatas in the parish church or glasses of Chianti in front of a roaring fire Russian oligarch spotting,

Anyway - the evening entertainments are hotting up. After tonight's night-time tobogganing and fondue in the mountains there's a "spa party" in our hotel (the spa fits 25 at a push - not sure how that will work). Anyway - the smiley Croatian in our ski group asked if he could change for the spa in our room and he's clearly committed the number that we gave him to memory - right.

And the skiing? Amazing - we're being guided through the mountains with 15 other guys by a charismatic Frenchman called Sebastian.  Gay men notice your ski wear and the blue 90s Columbia salopets that my brother didn't want have been a sensation, James suggesting earlier that the high waist line (they're really long) give me a trouser style that even Simon Cowell would be proud of.