…Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

We went to Hard On on Saturday, for the first time this year if I'm not very much mistaken.

Oh, hang on, I've not told you about Friday yet.

So, Friday evening I jumped on a train after work and met up with The Boyf in Brighton. Being a school holiday he'd gone down for the day to make the most of the nice weather they were suddenly having, and to meet up with an old college friend. I went straight to the friend's house and he and his boyfriend cooked us a light meal before we headed out to some bars.

I like Brighton. It has a more laid-back feel compared to London, but there's still plenty to do, although it all has that slight provincial feel to it. We started our evening in The Star (the local bear bar) but not much was happening, so we quickly moved to Legends. For a Friday - with good weather - it seemed a little quiet, so we moved to GBH (a club for "blokes"). It was dead, the only saving grace being a very cute doorman. But then a few people started to turn up and among them was a cute guy I'd spotted earlier in the evening. The drinks flowed, we dragged the table-cloths from the tables and ran about the place with them as capes, and at some point or other managed to get very drunk. Then the cute guy made a pass at us. He was incredibly forward and chatty, which I greatly admired (being the wall-flower that I am). It must get him laid pretty regularly, and it was certainly working tonight.

He dragged us to another bar, and The Boyf's friends called it a night, obviously realising what was in the offing. During the course of our chatting it transpired that we knew a lot of people in common (surprise, surprise), and the flirting got more and more intense, until The Boyf finally said "So, let's go to your house".

It turned out he lived only 100 yards away from The Boyf's friends, which was handy, and once we got back to his house he proceeded to show us (ok, bore us) with lots of things on his computer. Again The Boyf came to the rescue with an abrupt "Look, why don't you just get your cock out".

He did. And there was much rejoicing. Just for the record - for the voyeurs among you - it was almost as thick as a coke can, although not especially long, and came served with a matching pair of very large balls. As The Boyf would say "It's better to be stretched than probed". Luckily I have no gag reflex and often resemble a python dislocating its mouth to swallow something larger than itself. We finally dragged ourselves back to the friend's house at 6am, feeling rather worse for wear.

Amazingly we were up again at 10.30, and I felt fine. No hangover or anything. The four of us headed out for breakfast by the beach, by which time the sun was blazing, so we headed onto the beach for a few hours before The Boyf and I headed home. It was only when we got back to a very grey London that I realised how sun-burnt I was, just in time for Hard On...

The Boyf persuaded me to wear the rubber shorts, but I'm still very aware that I look like an over-cooked sausage in them. Still, I do actually like my legs and they were commented on (in a good way, I hasten to add) which made me feel a bit more relaxed.

As you may have noticed I'm not particularly into public displays of group sex. Huh? No, really, I'm not. Honest. Anyway, the drinks flowed (again) and I relaxed a bit more, and then the little muscley guy on the podium dancing with his cock out suddenly started to look more attractive. Certainly, his cock bobbing about at eye-level was having the same effect as when you dangle a ball of wool in front of a cat. Finally I pounced. And then it all started to escalate. I'm not going into details but it probably wasn't a pretty sight to be honest. To tell the truth there are a lot of not-pretty sights at Hard On anyway, so I'm sure we fitted right in.

We ended the night in Chariots Sauna (Vauxhall) - my first visit. I was just thankful for being able to finally peel the rubber shorts off, which contained what appeared to be enough sweat to fill a small paddling pool. Whoever first thought of wearing rubber for clubbing was obviously a mental.

Chariots was actually quite amusing, but then I usually think that about saunas. I have trouble taking most supposedly highly-charged sexual situations seriously - if you ever hear anyone with a fit of the giggles in a dark-room it's likely to be me. I mean, everyone takes it all so seriously. I just don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, I know that there are times when you get into a groove and it all gets heated, but generally I prefer to be able to smile or laugh when I'm enjoying myself, and sex is to be enjoyed, isn't it? Certainly the best nights sex I've had have all included interludes of uncontrollable giggling.

So, Chariots was ok for a chill-out, and The Boyf disappeared for a little while whilst I sat in the lounge watching Sky News. And therein lies the difference in how we relax.

All in all a fun Saturday night out. We're now building up to the Hustlaball. Who's coming?