The books Adrian refers to are The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole age 13 ¾, and The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole, by Sue Townsend – brilliantly funny books summing up the early 1980s in Thatcher’s Britain.
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Sunday, I don’t get up early, but I slink into my office as soon as I do wake up.
Dan prises me out for an evening meal, but then I’m there for another three hours.
The whole week is a bit of a blur. I’m in the office every day, not leaving until gone ten or worse, signing off the whole report around six on the Thursday, falling asleep when I get home. Then the big day, on Friday.
Sam sends me away mid-afternoon. It’s gone well, after initial arse-clenching moments. We’re hired. Two years of work, probably. Knowing our jobs were riding on this, it’s been mentally stressful as well as exhausting. I know I’m on the edge of collapse, and meekly agree with Sam’s edict that I’m taking a cab straight home.
I go for a nap while Dan continues working, but then he wakes me, plonks me on the sofa, and shoves food in front of my face. After that, and a bit of telly, I’m more like my usual self.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Hm. Was wondering about a film, but there’s only dross on. Want to work off energy.” He hesitates. “If you were up to it…?”
Not playing football, I’m hoping.
“Maybe get you down the gym downstairs with me? Work on your core muscles a bit?”
“I can think of better ways…”
“No, you can’t. A systematic workout, boost strength to avoid risk of injury,” – I bet he’s omitting saying ‘as you get older’ – “and improve sexual stamina.”
“You saying I can’t keep up?”
“We could test it, after.”
“Uh-huh. What else were you thinking?”
“OK, don’t judge.”
If he says a Grease singalong, I will not be responsible for my actions. If it’s Sound of Music, no jury would convict.
“Mm?”
“Well, you’ve been to lots of gay saunas and that. Including with Jacuzzis and kinky playrooms and all. I only ever tried small local places, mixed sex mostly, and it’s intimidating on your own. Would you be interested, with me?”
I feel the wind leave my lungs.
“You want me to watch you fucking other guys?” It’s a forlorn hope, something I could deal with. “Or them taking you, introducing you to all the kinky shit?”
He looks puzzled.
“No. Just thought it could be fun, looking, watching… Maybe doin’ stuff for them to watch, even?”
My seized-up body relaxes.
“You’re not looking for other men? I mean, not that I’ve any right to complain, I’ve never asked. So, just wondering, for the risk record… Are you seeing anyone else?”
“No, I’m not. Haven’t been with any other guy since I first met you, actually. Though to start with, that was just coincidence.” He forces himself to ask. “You?”
“Not since that Tuesday after I met you. Sucked off a bloke who answered the same ad you did. Told him to fuck off, married wee shite, and, well…”
It’s becoming crystal to both of us, we don’t want the other to be randomly screwing around. We’ve got some sort of relationship here. Though he might want that wild lifestyle, once he sees it. He ought to have the choice, not have me pinning him down.
“I’ll check what saunas are open, tomorrow night.” I tap my phone.
“Right, the Kennington one is. It doesn’t have a Jacuzzi, but it’s a friendly wee place. Steam room, play rooms, showers, social space. Otherwise there’s Endell Street – Covent Garden, but that’s huge and completely impersonal, even by my standards of fucking strangers. Full of tourists. Actual overseas ones, I mean, not just bug-eyed bi-curious types.
“Shall I get tickets for Kennington – the Locker Room – then? If we go, you let me know first if you want to go off with anyone, aye?”
“I just said. I won’t.”
“Aye, but you don’t know what you might be missing…”
*No. And same to you, don’t leave me alone, stay with me?
“I will. Oh, another reason for Kennington is no booze. Not saying people don’t pre-load across the road, but they don’t let you in if you’re too wasted – yes, I do know that the hard way, thank you, smart-arse – and it’s well stewarded. You shouldn’t get your bollocks grabbed the moment you let go my hand, kind of thing.”
He nods, and I tap away. “Tickets reserved. Need to be there by nine.”
He nods. “Cool. Thanks.”
Next morning, I have a leisurely breakfast after a lie-in, but Dan’s not having it. “Come on, it’ll be empty downstairs.” He seems to think my browsing the papers online with another coffee is not how God intended Sunday mornings to be. God and him can both fuck off.
I can’t resist his enthusiasm, though. “All right, you bastard. What is it they say? ‘Try everything once, bar murder, incest and Morris dancing’?”
“Exactly. You’re a try-everything kinda guy, so body conditioning it is!” Clever fucker.
“Body conditioning sounds like it should be much more fun than a glorified PE lesson!” I grumble, travesti porno but I pull on old cycling shorts, T-shirt and trainers, and follow him.
There’s one guy there who nods to Dan, lives on the top floor. He’s clearly cooling down and soon departs.
After a few stretches and warming up on the treadmill, Dan gets me on a gym ball. “Roll your arse about. Gyrate. Legs wider, show off that cock… Lift one leg… Most of what you need, you should be able to talk at the same time. Doing good. Other leg… Stretch…” He pulls me into the right position.
“Right, this one does your lateral thigh muscles, basically the ones cycling doesn’t work out, so it’ll balance your legs, reduce risk of injuring yourself…” It’s a sound plan. I’m not arguing.
He leads me to a new machine. “Chest.”
“I’m not going to be a defined twink, thank you.”
“No, you’re not, because you have a life. Do I have too much muscle?” He pulls off his top.
He looks great. Solid shoulders, but no visible six-pack, not really. Natural-looking chest and biceps, cute little nipples.
“No.”
“Yeah, and you’re never going to get more obsessed than me. Starting from being older, as well, so get over yourself.” He double-checks the guy has gone. “Don’t want you mid-fuck, complaining you’ve done your shoulder in.”
When he puts it like that… Pushing across, up, squeezing together, pulling down. It’s OK.
“And your stomach.”
“Ah.”
“We’re all human! Meant to have protective fat. But you also need muscle to hold your organs in. Put your feet here. And sit up… No, no pulling with your shoulder. Again. Where my hand is, tense that and lift. Better. No, that’s high enough.” He encourages me to keep going, despite my curses.
“Rowing machine, used one?”
“Aye. Rowed at college, a bit. Until the early starts bit into my partying.”
“Fab. Get a rhythm going, relax that shoulder there – nice. Treadmill, while I finish up? Bet your lung function has improved loads in the last three weeks!”
“It’s all that exercise you do with me!”
I’m feeling it by the time I’ve got showered and dressed. “Man, I’m going to be stiff! My arms!”
“Just as well you’re taking me to a sauna and steam room tonight, then. Come here, mate, let me rub them.”
It’s a lot of intimate touch that slowly feels more natural.
We find telly to watch – he refuses Charlie Chan, I object to Oklahoma!, we compromise on the Bahrain Grand Prix I’ve recorded. It’s not a bad one: Vettel’s lead from pole lasts until gearbox problems force him to concede to Alonso, pleasing Dan, but I’m a fan of Maclaren – sadly Hamilton and Jenson end up third and seventh. Good to see Adrian Sutil leading after the first session of qualifying, though; he nearly got points.
There’s not enough famous Adrians, and don’t mention that fucking loser Mole… The first two books were good; you’re allowed to be a self-obsessed wee ganch as a teenager, but the later ones are just depressing. I remember having a huge come-down as I was reading the Cappuccino Years and still feeling I’d bolloxed up my life less than that sad bastard.
We argue about the rule changes – he’s not happy about the new points system, I like the new replacement driver testing, we agree loss of refuelling makes the races less technically interesting.
It’s gone five by the time it’s over.
“What now, Ade? Where are we going to eat?”
“Pub on the corner does good food. Most of the visitors will be eating there. You can get an idea of the talent.”
“OK. What to wear?”
“Whatever you want for a pub! The sauna – well, really doesn’t matter, does it?”
He realises. Bollock-naked is an easy look to prepare for. Given that he’s not the sort to wax or shave all over. I bet he trims his pubes to be that neat, but no more than that.
I add, “Unless you want a cock ring!” I’m a cheeky wee get. He’s not going to need one to be standing up most of the night, I’ll wager.
He pretends to slap me and goes to change, picking a nice checked shirt, newer jeans and smarter trainers. Bit of his hair gel to show off those little curls. Just enough care about his appearance to look a wee bit gay, but plausibly blokey. I comb and gel back my own hair and consider what I might want to take with. I’m not too fussy about lube or condoms, I’m not planning anything kinky so collars or implements are out… if we eat just before, we won’t really need snacks. Wallet and keys should cover it.
The pub is crowded even at six-thirty. Dan orders our food while I scrounge two chairs at the end of a long table. You can tell the back half of the pub is full of guys going to the sauna – all male, lots of tight T-shirts, every one of them eyeing Dan as he comes to sit down. He’s going to be popular, all right.
Come eight, the place empties as they head across the road.
We take our time to finish eating. No point standing out in the cold in a queue. Dan’s starting to look nervous.
“Chill. You’ll look great. All you need güzel porno to do is mellow out in the sauna with me, enjoy the showers, whatever you want.” If he’s happy hanging out with this old man.
He knocks back his pint. “Let’s go.”
We get our names ticked off and a shaven-headed dude greets us in an antechamber that’s taken its styling from your average minicab firm, cheap white paint on MDF. “Been here before?”
“I have, he hasn’t.”
“Fan-dabby-dozy. Welcome. Come in.” He ushers us through the door to a lounge. “Here’s your social mingling area. Tea, coffee, water, soft drinks, all free. Only water allowed downstairs. Any illegal drug use, we chuck you out, no refund. There’s your chill-out room with comfy sofas and telly.” Four guys are stroking each other off to the porn. “Changing room here, keep your locker key round your wrist or ankle at all times. Two towels each, ask for more if you need. Toilets there, only for their intended use, thank you; there’s more downstairs. Fire exit, do not block it.
“That way,” – he gestures past the No Clothes Beyond This Point sign, “explore yourselves, talk to staff before using any equipment. If you’re drunk, please don’t use the sauna or steam room! Follow the rules for the sauna. Don’t touch anyone unless they actually want you to. Or we chuck you out, no refund! No means no. Got it? Kicking-out time is 2 am, let us know earlier if you need a cab. OK! Have a good night!”
There’s a couple other guys in the locker room stripping off. One gets as far as his briefs, smiles nervously, and goes back to the social space. The other, a large muscly guy, strips off proudly and looks us up and down for a reaction.
Dan doesn’t even look at the man’s cock, just carries on getting his own kit off, all the way, and then stuffs everything in a lower locker, ignoring the other man but giving us both a great view of his arse.
Muscles glances over at me. “I’d love to plough that,” he tells me.
Dan’s trying not to react, but he’s flinching. I tell Muscles, “No, I don’t think so.” Sounding possessive. I feel possessive.
Muscles shrugs and pushes off. Someone downstairs will want his big thick cock, I’m sure.
“You OK?”
Dan stands up and feasts his eyes on me, god knows why. “Yeah. Thanks.” Then crossly, “Don’t know why people always assume I’m the bottom…”
“I didn’t.”
“No, and you reap the benefits!”
“I’m not sure you ploughing automatically means I reap… there’s some elements of farming missed out there…”
“Oh, you will, mate. Come on, show me round.”
He’s completely un-self-conscious. Understandable, with his good young body. “Right, here’s the stairs.”
“What’s over there, first?”
“Oh, let’s go down to the sauna and all.”
“No, I wanna see.” He goes ahead to where there’s three rooms on the left and a large one in front of us. Ah well, time to see if he freaks out.
I join him, peering into the first room. There’s restraints on the wall, but the two guys in there are just on the bed, or whatever you call the wipe-clean heavy mattress. Palliasse? A beefy white guy is applying a rubber and then slides into a skinny dark-skinned lad, who’s on his back, gagging for it.
Dan nudges me. “Nice.”
“Mm.”
“Not anything I can’t get at home, as it were.”
We watch for a couple minutes, which is as long as the show lasts, then move to the next. Empty.
The third room has the sounds of a guy groaning. I wonder how Dan will react.
There’s four men. One, tall with a stupid goatee beard, is chained to the wall by wrists and ankles. Each joint has about eighteen inches of movement, so with his hands by his head, he can’t protect his groin. Guy two is playing with the bound guy’s cock, while guy three holds a butt plug he’s applying more lube to, trying to get it into chained guy. The third is admiring the view, then steps up to pinch the bound chap’s brown nipples. He moans again.
I look at Dan to see how he’s taking it. “What do you think?”
“Hm. Not sure I’d like my attention divided that much. Or the being chained up. Fun to watch, though. What about you? Which of those guys would you like to be?”
“Now there’s a question. Any of them.”
“Sure, but if you had to choose…”
There’s actually no question about it. “The guy having stuff done to him. Not saying it’s all my drap o’ tea, you understand, but just being, accepting, taking…”
“Yeah, that’s you, innit?” He hisses in my ear. “Recipient of the best fucking in England!”
“There’s a competition, is there? Where do I sign up to test out the contestants?”
“Oi!” He pauses. “I dunno, is there one?”
“Probably. There’s everything on the internet now. But I don’t think it’s actually a round in Mr Gay UK…”
“Ah well, guess I won’t get to see your arse being worked over by the best of Britain. What’s in here?”
He winces and steps back a pace. I knew it. That’s why I didn’t want us to look up here.
The larger room’s got a four-poster bed with anal porno a guy tied face down, being flogged. There’s a man with neck and wrists trapped in a pillory, forcing him to bend over. He’s got some kind of chastity device over his dick and another guy is beating his arse and balls with a baseball bat. A third victim is kneeling over a bench, being spanked firmly, his arse going pink. There’s a good sling in the middle of the room, but no-one’s using that.
Dan hitches a breath, tries to sound normal. “So, which of those guys would you like to be?”
“None of them, really. Severe pain isn’t really my thing.”
He’s giving me one of those looks, like I’m not telling the whole truth. “Which of those guys have you been?”
Oh, he’s good. I give him some truthful facts that should reassure. “I’ve never worn a chastity thing. Or had anyone beat my balls with a whopping great bat – a hand was quite enough.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve been spanked and flogged across the back, then?”
Have to come clean. “Aye, I have. It can be really sensual, done gently, then it gets dialled up slowly and you just notice the warmth and that there’s a sensation there… some people are really into the pain, or they just want it…”
“You just wanted it?”
“I tried. I mean, it works as a distraction tool – you can’t think of anything else at the time. Have to just concentrate on breathing in and out, your thirteen times table, whatever gets you through.”
“I get you. I think.”
“What I did like, though, was that swing.”
“I don’t want to fist you.”
“That’s not the only thing you can use it for. It comes down to cock-height.” I mime, fucking someone swinging over your cock.
He’s intrigued by that idea, but I think he’s repulsed by the rest of the room; by the CBT couple in particular.
“Right, sauna? Find you some better eye-candy?”
Dan follows me down the stairs. There’s a long narrow corridor, and on the right a space in front of the pine-clad sauna. A laminated paper sign reads ‘No Sex, No Ejaculation, No Pissing, No Chewing Gum, No Spitting, No Drinks Except Water!!’
“You just know there’s a reason for all those warnings,” Dan mutters, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder what I see in men…”
“I assure you, in all my fucked-up history, I have never pissed or jizzed over a sauna!”
“Glad to hear it. Coming in?”
There’s six guys in there, with enough space for another dozen sitting close, fewer if you stretch out. We nod at them, and sit on our towels on the top shelf. No-one’s using their towels for modesty purposes.
Two guys are fisting each others’ cocks. They’re starting to get carried away, and one gasps and says “Let’s go, somewhere else!”
They leave. A couple young twinks giggle nervously, eyeing up each other and casting their eyes over Dan. Rightly so. They ignore me while I relax, but once I meet their eyes and give them a wink and the ol’ Irish smile, they’re considering me too. They shuffle closer to Dan – I’m on the far side of him.
“Go on, if you want,” I tell him. He’s preening and fondling himself, stroking up and down. They want him.
He’s thinking about it. Then he turns round and shows off everything he’s learnt recently, by sinking his face down on my cock.
I wasn’t expecting that.
The young lads elbow each other and giggle. The two balding older guys on the lower bench lean in together and start to massage each other. I take a swig of water.
I’m wondering if it’s breaking the no ejaculating rule if I were to come neatly in his mouth, when he sits up, grabs his towel, and tells me, “Time to get out of here. Where’s a good place to fuck?”
“Awww…” go the bloody teenagers. They might be twenty, but they’re acting like cutesy manga characters.
I follow him outside and shiver in the sudden cold. We trot down the corridor to see what gives. The steam room is ahead, but I don’t want just anyone getting their hands all over me or him. The warmth of the area to the left attracts us. Showers.
There’s one big square space with a dozen showers round it. We drop our towels, rinse off our sweat and get warm. I’m reminded about Dan and the gym. There’s about five guys here, one fucking a bear on all fours. I indicate that to Dan, suggesting he may want to copy.
He touches the pipes going to the shower heads. “Not boiling. Hold that.” I obey, facing the wall. The place has shelves just outside with condoms and soap, but also sachets and pump bottles of lube. Dan steps out for a rummage, then speaks in my ear.
“There’s a dozen guys eyeing up your slutty little arse. I’m gonna take it and make them all jealous. Don’t be quiet. Show them how much you love being fucked, darlin’.”
He pulls my thighs apart, any excuse to touch that soft skin between my legs, and uses two fingers to slick me up thoroughly. The hot water lands on the top of my head and streams in all directions. He’s soaking wet, too. I can hear one guy going “oh yeah, look at that hot sweet arse,” and another, “fill up that hole!”
“Will do,” Dan calls out cheerfully. Of course, I have to remember, he’s spent lots of the last few years in gay clubs, where fucking in the toilets happens. And elsewhere. And he’s been to a couple small saunas, too. Being watched, and watching others fuck, isn’t a complete novelty.
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