One guy from The Gambia still owes me £5. It’s been about fifteen years since I lent him the money, but I haven’t seen him since. We had a good time together. He kept calling me his African brother, which I kind of liked, even though he was trying to be funny, as in: how can a white guy be an African brother? Alcohol was a big part of my life then and we drank a lot. I remember one evening with him, walking up St Martin’s Lane from a bar called Kudos, and bumping into a Ugandan friend of his and us standing on the pavement and chatting for a while. Another night, we danced together at The Black Cap. The other Gambian guy I had sex with lived round the corner from my flat. We’d chatted on the phone and he’d come round. He was a big guy, probably about 6’4″ but he had quite a small penis, which is always a bit disappointing or incongruous on big guys. You kind of want everything about them to be big. We met up one more time after that. Unlike the way things are with Stefan, the German guy I see regularly. He must be one of the most beautiful men I’ve had sex with. We haven’t seen each other in a while, though we used to meet up at least once a week for a few months. He liked it when I sat back on a chair and just let him suck my dick. He liked to be on his knees. He also like to be fucked on the living room carpet and made these really girly noises when I pounded his hole. It’s the kind of sound that turns me on the most.
Married men were my weakness. I used to like getting involved with men who were involved with someone else. Unavailable was something that turned me on. Things have changed, though I did find it appealing when the Indian guy I had sex with recently told me he had a wife. Kissing was not on his menu, though he did like to be fucked hard, and didn’t mind me slapping his face when I was inside him. One of the regrets I have about this Italian guy I dated for a while (“I’m Sicilian!”) is that we didn’t do much kinky stuff, and I know he was into it. I was still scared of slapping and choking. Now I really like to hold a guy’s neck and to slap his face. I like it when guys do it to me, but not many do. Sergio was into that kind of stuff. He was a metal-head and had long hair almost down to his arse, which was a cute and small arse that was very rarely fucked, but he told me he would always let me fuck him because he knew if he didn’t let me, I would leave him. This Irish guy I had sex with a couple of times, a banker, had one of those lovely loose and smooth arseholes. It was such a pleasure to fuck and he was so happy when he had a cock inside him. With the right person, that kind of submission is turn on enough; it makes you feel adored and needed and dependable. In my mid-twenties I was in love with an Israeli guy who was so insatiable in his need to get fucked that I feel my time with him taught me how to be a good top. He was younger than me and incredibly beautiful. I don’t think we ever used condoms and I always came inside him. Many years have passed since then, and I don’t think I have ever come inside anyone since then.
Now, when Delroy and I meet at the sauna we stop and chat for a while. We don’t have sex. Once was enough for us, though we still flirt and fondle each other, though it’s mainly me who does the fondling, mainly of his nipples, which are big and meaty. His nipples are big and his tits are big. We have this connection that I often feel with other Colonials, those of us who have escaped our growing up in the colonies and come, of all places, to the epicentre of the damage. Another Jamaican guy I had sex with… but for some reason I can’t think of anyone at the moment. Nor can I think of anyone from Japan, although I know there have been men from there I’ve had sex with.
And there have been men from South Korea, too, but no one in particular comes to mind. I do remember thinking after having sex with a few Korean guys, that they have the biggest cocks out of all the Asian guys I’ve had sex with. That’s in general, because I have encountered quite a few substantial cocks on guys from other parts of Asia. At some point a catalogue becomes boring. It loses a flow, a story, and just meanders, like some drunk person going from person to person in a crowded bar and saying inane stuff. You land up making generalisations or half-arsed observations, or your information is incomplete, not very concrete, and you feel aimless. A catalogue of men seemed like a fun exercise, a way to remember.
The only time I’ve ever cheated on someone in a monogamous relationship was when I was going out with the guy from Tel Aviv. The Lithuanian guy I cheated on him with was married, a hairdresser, and incredibly beautiful. Tall and skinny and smooth, he was exactly what I have always loved in men. And he was unavailable. Our ritual was that he’d come around, I’d feed him, and then we’d fuck. I’ve had this same dynamic with quite a few men over the years. I remember thinking when I cheated on the other guy with Valery the Lithuanian how easy it was to keep a secret from someone, and also how secrets make you feel unique, separate, even whole.