1. He’s from Cairns. He’s been in London for ten years and has never gone back. “Never?” I say. He says he will go back, that he’ll retire there. “How old are you now?” He’s 41. He looks good for 41. He’s tall and very blonde and his body’s in good shape. He’s in marketing. Dougie’s in marketing. I’d passed him a few times in the corridors of the sauna. He was standing in the doorway to a cubicle and he invited me in, said he liked to suck cock. “Are you good at it?” was one question I asked. So he said he’d show me. He was good, but I tried to tell him that he needed to take it deeper, that he needed to open his throat more. “Are you nervous?” I said. He said he wasn’t, but I could tell he needed to relax more, that he was uptight, that there was something in his past, in his history, in the reason that he hadn’t been back to Cairns for ten years, not since he’d left, something in his story that was restricted the opening up of his throat.
I like the view of a man’s back when he’s on his knees sucking my cock and his long back slopes down to his arse, the two globes of his arse, and the spine that runs like a furrow down into his crack. I like to bend over, his head still nestled in my crotch and my cock in his mouth, and run my hand down his back until I get to his arse and then finger his hole. Dougie seemed to like this, too.
2. Some weeks ago went I went to see the Russian for a massage, we joked about guys who pay him for a prostrate massage. That’s what he called it, a prostate massage, as opposed to a cock massage. Vladimir is sexy. He works out a lot, mainly in the mornings before he goes to work at the gay sauna where he is one of the masseurs. I’d asked him how much it would be for a prostate massage. We’d agreed on £50, which would include me massaging his prostate, too.
That was a couple of months ago. This week I went for a massage and halfway through, when I turned over onto my back, I reminded him of our conversation, that we’d talked about him getting naked.
“How much did we say?” he says.
“Fine,” he says.
“So you’ll get naked?” I say.
“Anytime,” he says. “When would you like it?”
“Now,” I say.
I’ve wanted this for a long time, and because I’ve not been spending much money recently and have been busier than usual, and it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, I don’t mind giving him the cash. The whole scenario is exciting, and somehow what’s exciting, too, is discovering he has a small cock. This huge man, pumped up, a thick muscled chest with a good bit of hair on it, and bulky arms… this man is not well-endowed.
Dougie from Cairns has a small cock, too. There’s a tentativeness about men with small cocks, especially big men with small cocks. They know what we’re thinking.
3. I go to a party and there are too many people there. Just as I’m leaving, Manuel arrives. I am leaving just as others are arriving. All evening, all night until I fall asleep, I regret not staying at the party. I’ve fancied Manuel for a long time. I’ve also fancied the party’s host for a long time. Parties are not something I enjoy, especially when people are drinking. Especially when people are dressed up for the summer solstice and I am not.
4. After my massage, I go and sit in the steam room where this guy and I start making out. Well, not exactly making out, because I’ve already come and I’m not really looking for more sex, but he wants to massage me and even though I’ve just had a massage, I agree. He’s name’s Ian and he’s studying some kind of tantric massage and healing something or other. He’s not sexy, but he has good hands, and I kind of just let him massage me and give me compliments. I even let him massage my prostate a bit, which is not something I do very much, and it kind of sends me to this weird space that is linked to the past when I’d have sex with older men just because they wanted to have sex with me.
5. He’s from Taiwan and he’s in marketing. His English name is David. After we have sex he tracks me down online and says he’d like to go to a movie, but his email is full of grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, he is not a great kisser.
6. Wei Liang is from Hong Kong and he’s a great kisser. When I point this out, he says that in order to be a good kisser you have to kiss someone as if they’re your lover, your boyfriend. I’ve never heard someone put it like that, but it feels right and true. Although some people are just good kissers, but maybe they’re good kissers because, for those few minutes or hours that you’re making out, they are willing to make believe that you are lovers.
7. After the massage after the massage, I bump into this Polish guy I dated for a while last year, or was it the beginning of this year? It was awkward seeing him, but in a nice way, and he was happy to se me. We hugged. I’d ended it with him via email, said I didn’t want to keep in touch, and we hadn’t spoken since then. We stood in the changing room and chatted for a while, just catching up, but also this nice tension between us, a cautiousness. We agreed to meet up, to go for a walk.
Only when you start to put things into words do you realise how many people you encounter in a week, how many mini-relationships you have from one day to the next, and it feels a bit overwhelming, and so much easier not to record anything, to just go through your days without taking notes. I remember years ago reading a book by Spalding Gray, and although I don’t remember what the book was about – I think I was in high school at the time – what I do remember is him saying that one of the reasons that he started to keep a regular journal was to avoid leading a life of regret. So I guess this is why I’m sitting down now to record all the men I met this week, so that one day I can look book and have this to remind me where I was. I was there. I met Dougie. I met Wai Liang. I met the Russian masseur Vladimir with whom I had something approaching sex and who I will probably meet again and when I have a few quid to spare will probably have more sex with.