#climax

"I need a root" I proclaimed, as I wondered what to do with this almost-natural high, wandering around after the show.
"I think you do too, darl" concurred @russian_princess.
"There was that club we saw just around the corner from the fabulous restaurant that had the hot Brazilian waiters.
Maybe they go there after work", she suggested.
"Good thinking, let's go!"
"I'll leave you to it, darl".
I was secretly relieved.
Much in all as I love her.
And we were having so much fun together.
But going to a gay bar or club as a single gay man with a glamorous woman in tow can be an impediment to picking up.
And having a glamorous, stylish, attractive friend right there to see you in action means you really have to lift your standards.
Much easier to go it alone.
So I did.
After bundling her and our shopping bags into a black cab I made my way to the club.
Apparently called The Shadowlounge.
Turned out to be a bit of an institution.
It was a Monday night.
Felt just like the Shift.
On a weekend.
Fairly empty.
And no sign of hot Brazilian wait staff.
Actually no sign of anybody hot.
The only person of any vague interest was this young dark guy.
He looked about 12.
And he was looking at me sheepishly.
And smiling awkwardly.
Hands in pockets, he was clearly having a bit of a fiddle. 
Fuck it.
He'll do.
So I bought him a drink.
Within about 3 minutes we were pashing.
And I was copping a feel.
At the bar.
"Can't believe you've got your 'and on me knob" he said.
So I took him to a booth.
And fed him leftover coke.
Then practically dry-humped him.
He suggested we leave.
Which I agreed was a good idea.
I asked him where he lived.
"'Ammersmiff".
A bit far, but not too bad, and I didn't wanna take him to the flat where @russian_princess was sleeping.
"OK, let's go".
"We 'ave to go to yours" he said. "I live wiff me moom and dud."
Shit.
"How old are you?"
"18".
Shit.
"How old are you mister?"
"How old do you think?"
I should never do that.
"Abou' for'y".
Go fuck yourself.
"Not quite" I stammered.
And followed with: "let's go before I change my mind ya little shit!"
He just laughed.
Our journey home was by rickshaw.
Yes.
Rickshaw.
A controversial choice in London, but one that is readily available.
Presumably for tourists.
It cost 40 pounds.
A cab would have been 15.
And we made out the whole way home.
I'll remind you that there's not a lot of coverage on a rickshaw.
But I didn't care.
By the time we got to the flat belts were undone.
Hands were down jeans.
And our Bangladeshi driver was looking most agitated.
I gave him a 5 pound tip and farewelled him with a wink.
He cycled away at top speed.
We tiptoed into the flat.
Trying desperately not to wake @russian_princess, as I didn't want her to see my almost underaged quarry.
But she woke.
And came out of her room.
Introduced herself.
And made a round of fucking drinks.
Fucking European hospitality.
By the time I actually made it to the bedroom, @young_pick_up was practically passing out.
I briefly considered having my wicked way with him in his semi-comatose state.
But decided I'd gone long enough without sex, that I could wait until I could do it with someone who was awake.
It's hard enough sleeping in a strange bed.
Let alone with a stranger.
I barely slept at all.
And he did that young thing.
Slept in for fucking hours.
I just lay there patiently.
With my morning wood.
He eventually awoke.
And looked at me with surprise: "Oo the fuck are you?"
I reminded him of our meeting.
He had no recollection.
I didn't really care.
I made a move anyway.
"'Ere, back off, mate. I go'a girlfriend."
And with that he was off.


I was ready to go home too.




#DNA Magazine

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