Tales of Pride
Friday, I split from work as soon as I can and back home to a long soak in a warm bath and I shave and eat and generally pamper myself in advance of the coming celebrations. I pack my overnight bag and set off to Fred's - which is going to be the collection point for the advance guard.
I arrive as the same time as David from Nottingham and we sit and chat and Fred and he have some food and we all drink wine. Both Fred and I think he's quite attractive and handsome and I have that dreadful sinking feeling that the weekend will end up as the story of one of us becoming distressed by the other copping off with someone we both fancy.
I suggest that we go and buy some more wine and by the time we get back Mike, the fourth member of this gathering, has arrived and he has someone else with him. This turns out to be Ross who in further conversation turns out to be 19 and shortly to start at Central St Martin's studying sculpture. He is very cute. I was talking recently about definite threads of attraction to particular types. Sean certainly fell into one group. Ross is very clearly in the Andy mould.
We head off to The Edge and, on the way there, I can sense that, although the chat is fairly general, in reality there are just two conversations going on which include two pairs. Fred and David are getting on very well and Mike and Ross clearly know each other well already. The tape loops in my head are already signalling that I'm expecting to feel major rejection by the end of the evening.
There's a queue to get in and it's raining. The queue moves in a very strange way. Some people kiss the door keeper and go straight in. Others know the secret word and join the A queue which has priority as people leave. We are in the B queue which moves very slowly. Still, the staff provide us with umbrellas and serve us drinks as we wait and there's plenty of chat among the five of us.
Once inside, Fred and David very quickly split to talk outside whilst we remaining three get on with the business of getting to know each other better inside. I've still not been able to suss out the relationship between Ross and Mike (their talk has an intimacy but I've not seen them touch at all yet) so when Mike goes to the toilet I ask Ross what the situation is.
They are sort of friends and that's all.
15 seconds later, Ross and I are snogging the pants off each other. His hands are up the back of my tee-shirt. Mine are down the back of his jeans. For the next 45 minutes, we provide the floorshow.
By the time we all leave to go to Ballens for something to eat, we've agreed that we need to negotiate some privacy when it comes to the night-time sleeping arrangements and I'm just hoping that Fred and David having been getting on well enough for this not to be an issue. As it turns out, everything is fine. Fred whisks David into his bedroom (and I have to say that I am dead curious to know what went on but, rest assured, if I ever find out, nothing will appear in these pages since it's not my story to tell). Mike is very gentlemanly and retires with cushions and a sleeping bag to the kitchen. Ross and I get the bed settee in the living room.
And the sex is fabulous. Much better than I could ever have hoped for. The two of us want exactly what the other wants to give - and we give and we give. The first time we do it, it's fast and furious and we both come together. And it just goes on from there till well passed dawn. The traffic wakes me at 6am and we're at it again almost immediately. Luckily there's a lull at 7.30 when Fred pops in to get his coat. He and David are off out for breakfast. Ross and I eventually get out of bed at about 9.30. I have to say my legs don't feel in the best state to cope with a long march.
We all shower, dress and prepare ourselves. In a special moment for me, I use the last of some aftershave that had belonged to David. The aroma brings back memories of him that I will take with me on the march and his advice To go and have a good time seems set fair to come true.
We meet up with other people from the UK.GLB newsgroup at Kings Cross but there's a hitch and a long wait and eventually a splinter group of five (Fred and David, Ross and I and a youngman from Cambridge, Chris) head off on our own. We travel by Tube to Hyde Park and, as we go, the nearer we get, the transport gets more and more gay. We emerge into sunshine and an independent gay republic.
As ever, there's noise, there's sights. I bump into people I haven't seen for many years. The march is a long time leaving but, when we're out on the road, all the interactions with the passers-by and people in cars and taxis and buses start. It's a joyous party. None of the other four have been to Pride before and they're just gob-smacked by the sight of so many gay folk on the streets at once. Fred is nearly in tears at one point. He's remembering the time when he thought he was the only person in the world who felt attracted to members of the same sex and here is a glorious contradiction to that sense of isolation.
Piccadilly is a sea of banners and people. It's always the most moving moment for me because you get a real sense of the scale of the thing at that stage and you know that the head of the march may have reached Whitehall but the tail is still in Hyde Park. Dykes on bikes roar passed. Shop workers hang out of windows. Some blow kisses. The five of us link hands and walk five abreast. Every time we see some cameras or film crews, Ross and I snog outrageously for them. In fact we do a lot of the route with our tongues in each other mouths and our hands on each other's bodies. At one point when the march pauses, we're snogging each other silly and some Italian queens drape us in a rainbow flag to give us some privacy. Come Trafalgar Square, Fred and I keep a promise we made to each other a long time ago and offer up a lingering public kiss for old time's sake.
Eventually, we hit the middle of Whitehall and there's this fabulous salsa band keeping up an infectious rhythm and Ross and I begin a sort of walking dance with him standing directly in front of me. He reaches behind holding me close whilst I've got my hands in his jeans pockets keeping him tight up against me. And he's wiggling and churning his rump, giving my groin an all over massage, whilst I'm gyrating along with him rubbing deeper and deeper into the cleft between his buttocks. And my left hand in his pocket finds his cock hard and stiff so I'm stroking him silly in time with the dance that we're keeping up. And for 2/300 metres we dance this dance of exultant, uninhibited sexuality.
We're still necking, the two of us, all round Parliament Square and by the time we hit Victoria there's a general acknowledgement of hunger among the pack so the five of us hit a Pizza Hut and it's like a little bit of fairyland. A group of twelve year old women are having a birthday party and the whole assembled crew of faggotry and dykery in the restaurant joins in with a spirited rendition of Happy Birthday.
We place our orders round the table. Ross and I are holding each other's thighs stroking gently with a thumb. We're both horny as hell. We head for the toilets and just look at the look in each other's eyes. Then we both pile into the same stall. Within two minutes, our shirts are up and our jeans are round our ankles. I turn him round and he bends over and puts both hands on the cistern. Lubed. Condomed. And I'm in him and holding hard on his hips and pumping for all I'm worth. From penetration to ejaculation is less than 30 seconds but it's a total rush for us both and we're left breathless and giggling. I've never done anything like it in my life before and I'm just glowing with the spontaneous thrill of it all. Thank God for Rubberstuffers!
We have the meal and travel to Clapham for the Carnival. On the walk there, there's one of the costumed people from the march and he's getting a non-stop reaction from the the shoppers and pedestrians. It's pure theatre from beginning to end.
We go our separate ways round the Carnival. Ross and I spend some time in the AOL tent. I try and send some cheery e-mail to EJ readers but the modem hangs on me so I give up. Then, it's round the market place and here and there and eventually time to meet up with the others again. Ross has a ticket for the evening's Pride party and, though I've been gently trying to suggest he sells it, he really wants to go. So, we bid farewell and he goes off to have more good times.
Chris, Fred, David and I continue the Pride celebrations first at the Ku bar and then at Ballens. All sorts of mayhem is taking place on the streets and around us. People are still laughing and smiling. Outrageously costumed people arrive theatrically or glide past on roller blades.
At last comes the time for going home and we walk back to Fred's for me to collect my bags and for the first time in the weekend I feel a pang as I see him walking hand in hand with David, chatting quietly to themselves. And I know it's unfair because, damn it all, I've have a blast of a weekend but, still, part of me wants to have it all. Then we round a corner and there sitting on the steps outside Fred's flat is Ross. He's sold his ticket and wants to spend the night with me.
And the Tube ride home has its own special pleasures. Ross is glowing with excitement and wants to tell me all about his evening and how the fireworks display was just the best he's ever seen. We neck almost constantly not caring that we're getting looks from the other passengers. At Finsbury Park, a guy gets on, stands next to us and gives us a big grin.
There's pockets of lesbians and gay men wherever you look. The whistles are signing to each other at each station like recognition calls from splendid animals across the night air. Even in Walthamstow we get chatting to a couple who are also on their way home. The magic of Pride doesn't just stop, it dissipates gently and slowly, ebbing away in a natural rhythmn.
Ross and I spend a long time soaking in the bath by candlelight to wind down from the excitements of the day. Then bed and some of the most lusty and uninhibited sex I've had in many a long year. We're just balling for the sheer joy of it and, dear God in heaven, we come together for a second time before collapsing into pools of sweat and lube and cum. I've never before had a simultaneous orgasm with the same person on two different occasions.
Within ten minutes the two of us are deep asleep, wrapped up in a big cocoon of post-orgasmic bliss.
And, this morning, in between some excellent conversation, there's been more exuberant sex. Anyone who equates being fucked with the word passive really should meet Ross. He knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.
My lord, we've done the bad
thang seven times in the last 36 hours let alone all the other foreplay and necking
that's gone on at other times. 
I feel wonderful.
So, I've just seen Ross off on the Tube. He's gone to catch his coach home and I continue on down to Tesco's for some emergency supplies and there, by the ice cream counter, is the guy who grinned at Ross and I on the Tube last night.
And we chat for a short while and I find out that his name's Glen and he lives near me and we've exchanged phone numbers and we're going out for a drink on Friday.
I mean is my star in its ascendancy at the moment or what?!
