by Ned Williams
“Sorry, I only speak English.”
“Where are you from?” He was a fellow countryman. His name was Danny and we talked for ages. As we were both in digs, there was nowhere to go to get better acquainted so we passed the time chatting. He told me that he lived just outside of London and was almost mirroring my own trip.
When I wasn’t off on one of my expeditions, we started to meet for lunch or evening drinks.
To expand the local Arts Festival a ballet company was on a cultural visit to the town. The production I saw was interesting, not least because it featured a particularly raunchy scene which was performed with many of the dancers in the nude. In the UK such presentations were mainly confined to sleazy clubs – and without much artistic integrity at that!
After I attended this curious stage show, I decided to return to that conveyer belt park. After being propositioned by some men who were either too ugly or too old, I settled down to watch and revel in the carousel of eager gays as they circulated around the paved paths. After about fifteen minutes of this highly amusing pastime, a young man came up and sat beside me. He was both good looking and struck me as being interested. During our conversation, several people approached us looking hopeful but my new companion, who was called Manfred, rebuked them in such sharp tones, that the orgy seekers scurried off at high speed. Manfred, who spoke excellent English, told me that, this very evening, there was a party at his place for the dance company to which he belonged.
“I went to your show,” I exclaimed.
“When?” He asked in a surprised voice.
“This evening. I came straight from there to here.”
“From one performance to another,” he smiled. “Anyway, do you want to come along for partying?”
“I’d love to.” So, my vow at the beginning of my holiday was being sustained.
The party was held in a flat which Manfred and a friend, Thomas, had rented for the engagement. As it was a fairly substantial set of rooms, the place was easily able to be utilised for their partying.
As soon as we arrived, I was introduced to the rest of the company which consisted of about ten very fit looking dancers and the odd stage hand. I suppose the oldest person there must have been in his mid twenties – and not a dud looking lad amongst them! After Manfred had blurted out that I had been to that evening’s performance, they all began to badger me about what I thought of it.
I mentioned the nudity and that it had come as somewhat of a surprise to me. This they thought highly amusing and gently mocked me over, what to them, was our English Puritan attitude to life.
Manfred gave me a large tumbler of wine and whisked me off to his bedroom where I experienced one of the strangest fornicating sessions I have ever had. It all began simply enough and in a straightforward manner. Manfred was athletically submissive and was keen on changing positions every few minutes. I heard the door to his room open but it would have been inconvenient to make a pause in our activity.
Manfred called, “Hi, Thomas.” Thomas gave a bright response and came over to the bed and began to get involved.
Manfred asked if I minded. Minded? Two muscular young men offering themselves? Did I mind? After a while Thomas got up and left and we were then joined by two other members of the party.
“This is fun,” I muttered just to show that I was up for it.
For about two hours Manfred and I were joined and then deserted by a variety of people in varying numbers – some returning for a second or third go. Only one of the Stage hands was into playing the dominant and he was more interested in the dancers than me so I never felt threatened in any way.
“You’ve all had your fun,” Manfred informed the small orgy, “now go away so we get on with things alone.”
The small crowd left and Manfred and I managed to do the deed – twice. For once I was actually surprised at my stamina. When we finally ‘finished’, I was on my back and he was kneeling above me. My chest became the repository for the results of our love making. Manfred carefully placed a load of paper tissues over my chest as if he were laying gold leaf on a valuable table. He left them there and lay on top of me for some time. When he got off, the tissues were stuck to both of our chests. It was one of those stupid events which suddenly struck us as devastatingly funny. Although, thinking back, it wasn’t that humorous, it happened to delight both of us and, as we caught one another’s eye, we couldn’t stop laughing. Others from the party burst in – thinking that something was wrong. When they saw us, they were equally amused. Winks were exchanged and they decided to paw and tickle us. It became an opportunity to have another orgy. All those young, balletic, powerful bodies! It was wonderful but, measured against them, I felt decidedly puny. Later that night, when I fell into my bed, I felt both exhausted and thoroughly satisfied. The next morning, at breakfast, I must have been smiling even more than usual for the landlady gave me extra portions of croissants and jam because, as she said, I looked as if I needed it.
Now instantly addicted, the next night I returned to the park. Danny had also decided to tart it up and I spotted him repulsing an unwanted offer. After joining him, I gave him a rather expurgated version of what went on the previous night.
“Which one was it, Thomas or Manfred?”
“Manfred. You know them?”
“Thomas. We got it together on my first night here. A bit disappointing though, we were both after the same thing.”
“Well, Manfred wouldn’t be much use to you either.”
“So I guessed.”
At that moment, Manfred must have spotted us and came over to be sociable and immediately began telling Danny about the previous night – the unexpurgated version. We were also joined by a couple of the other dancers who had been at the party and added more details to that which I would have preferred to remain hidden.
“You didn’t tell me that bit,” was Danny’s constant complaint.
“You had a good time? Yes?” one of the lads asked me.
“Wonderful.”
He then continued, “It’s a shame we all leave tonight else we could have encore had – and with Danny, too.”
Danny added to my disappointment by reminding me that he was due to leave on the next day.
“Now, you said that you hadn’t booked anywhere to stay overnight when you come back to London.”
“Correct.”
“Then it’s settled, you will come and stay with me.” Out of politeness, I made to decline his kind offer. “I’ll meet your train and take you to my place. No arguments!”
“But I won’t arrive in London until about nine at night.”
“I will be there – outside the Booking Office” he insisted. I was secretly hoping that he would say under the clock as that would have been nice and romantic. “In case there’s a hitch, here’s the number of a friend of mine who lives in London. I’ll explain things to him so you will have someone else to contact in case there’s a problem.”
“Danny, this is really exceptionally kind of you.”
“Nonsense! You’d almost certainly do the same for me if I was in the same boat. Anyway, I have an ulterior motive – I can’t wait to get my arse wrapped around that cock of yours.” Well, that certainly cleared that up.
The next afternoon I happened to be free so I accompanied him to the station where we vowed to meet up again a few days later in London.
“And don’t exhaust yourself at the park – save some for me,” was his passing shot as he waved from the window of the departing train.
Two days later my holiday came to a sad but satisfying end and I took the train to shadow Danny’s journey. During my stay I had sent some postcards to various people who I thought might be interested. When I arrived at the station I was struggling with the extra weight which I now had to drag. The catalogues and books I had purchased were unanimously thick and heavy. I also had a wad of postcards of many of my favourite exhibits which I knew I couldn’t get in the U.K.
My journey back to London in
volved a three hour wait on a station as I changed from the local service to the main line. It was about 2 o’clock in the morning and I was feeling sad and rather tired. I gave a great yawn.
“Müde?” Now this was one of the words which my study of libretti allowed me to understand. I looked at who was speaking and I espied a good looking young man who must have been in his late teens.
“Yes, I am, rather.”
“Oh, you’re English,” came a liltingly accented reply. “I’m Dieter.” He extended a polite hand for me to shake which was done in a very proper way. “May I join you?”
Pleased with the opportunity to have someone to talk to and delighting at the prospect of admiring Dieter’s good looks, I slid along the bench for him to sit beside me.
“You go to London?”
“Yes. I’ve just finished a brilliant holiday and now its home time.”
“I go to London, too. Can I beg a favour?”
“You can ask.” Little warning flags started to be raised inside my head.
“Can I go along with you? This would be so much better for me.”
“Don’t you have any luggage?”
“This journey I travel light.” He must have seen my curiosity for he went on, “It is better for me to travel with company instead of alone.”
“Why?”
He then went on to explain.
He claimed that he was making his way to England because he was running away from an unspecified ‘thing’ in Germany and leaving it for good. He had deserted his family without either saying a word or leaving a note as to where he was heading – which I could easily understand. He went on to say that his home life had been pretty awful and his family was influential enough that, through their contacts, the police might be looking for him. If he travelled with me he would be less conspicuous. So, could he tag along? I gladly agreed. He was great fun and I suspected that he might be a bit of a loveable rogue. He made the long train journey pleasurable. As he spoke English very well it would certainly help him in his new country – if he ever managed to get there.
We had to stand as there were no pairs of seats to be found. After about an hour my weariness began to catch up with me so I said, “Fuck it, I’m not standing for the next eight hours,” and I sat down on the floor. Dieter looked at me, horrified.
“You are certainly not German.”
“What makes you say that?”
“No German would do what you do. We would be standing all the way – no matter what.” He was amazed that I would have the courage to just sit there. It must have triggered a bit of the rebellious spirit in him for he joined me on the floor. From the looks we received from passengers who were walking up and down the corridors, his claim certainly had some validity. The ticket inspector gave us particularly withering looks but said nothing. Although we only crossed one border, Dieter became agitated then relaxed when, once more, we were on our way.
In gratitude for coming to his aid, he insisted on buying me breakfast. At first I refused after all, I didn’t know how much money he had or how much he would need when his running away came to a halt. After all those Continental Breakfasts, it was good to start the day with something hot – not that either of us had slept. Another thing which worried Dieter was that we were heavily delayed. I later discovered that there had been a serious accident on our line and this was the cause of the problem. By the time we arrived at the ferry, it was very late and there was great consternation from the passengers about the further holdups whilst that lot was sorted. When our ferry finally docked at Dover, Dieter and I made arrangements to meet up on the other side of immigration as, at that time, we would have to pass through different channels. I assured him that he had made my journey pleasurable and we would have a quick coffee and, I secretly hoped, would become friends – even if at a distance. There was no point in saying ‘Good bye’ as we would be seeing one another again in about ten minutes. We didn’t and I never saw him again. I don’t know what happened to him. His story was fun but I’m not sure if I totally believed him.
Upon arriving at the London terminus, I headed straight for the Booking Office and snaked around in the crowd looking for Danny. It was about half eleven and I wondered if he would still be there? I was hopeful but expected the worse. Let’s face it, I wasn’t in a hurry and, although I was looking forward to having a bed for the night and meeting up with Danny, I was no poorer than that of my original plan of, once again, staying up all night and, most likely collapsing into a sleeping coma on the following evening’s coach trip home. The crowd thinned so I could get a better idea as to whether Danny was there – he wasn’t. I pulled out of my wallet for Danny’s friend’s phone number. It was now past midnight and mid–week. Did this Alexander work? Would he appreciate a complete stranger phoning him up so late? Had Danny forgotten to warn him that I might be calling on him in some sort of desperation? What the hell, I thought, I’ll phone him and if it’s inconvenient then I will survive.
Luckily, I had some change and called Alexander. He sounded delighted. I was given my new saviour’s address and asked to hail a cab. I told him that I had very little English money (which, by now, was true) and perhaps we should forget it. Alexander almost ordered me to catch the taxi and would pay for the journey.
After about half an hour, my taxi drew up outside a semi–detached Victorian looking building. This Alexander must have been watching from his flat’s window and, as I arrived, rushed down to pay the cabman. So, I went to stay with him – in his enormous flat. I guessed that Alexander was a youthful looking thirty year old with a somewhat damaged face through, what I supposed was severe teenage acne. It had left his complexion permanently scarred. He flounced around being hospitable and made me a coffee which was accompanied by an enormous brandy and asked me about my trip. By now I was becoming really weary and almost fell asleep on his couch.
“I think it’s time for you to get to bed. I only have one so we’ll have to share. Is that all right with you? It’s a double.”
I was too exhausted to care so I followed him into the bedroom, stripped to my underpants and got into bed. As we lay there he made a play in the hope that something might happen. He then whispered, “Are you butch or bitch?”
All I could think of to say to get out of the situation was, “Bitch,” and, apart from giving me a quick touch up to feel what I had, he lost interest and we went to sleep – well, he slept, I simply blacked out into a dreamless daze.
As far as I remember, he never touched me intimately again and, in the morning I was awakened gently with a coffee and fruit juice. He ran me a bath after which, when I joined him, he had prepared a cooked breakfast. I thanked him profusely for his kindness.
“Any friend of Danny’s becomes a great buddy of mine.”
“Let me know when you are to leave for work and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I phoned in sick – there’s no rush.”
After about half an hour of light hearted banter, there was a knock at the door. Alexander excused himself and went to answer it.
I heard a gloomy voice bewail, “Well, he wasn’t there. Hi, Alex.”
“Oh, really? Shame,” was delivered kindly.
“I waited and waited but I had to get my last train home. I think that crash on the Continent must have delayed him.”
“Come through.”
As soon as Danny clapped eyes on me, he gave a shout of joy followed by a friendly punch for Alexander. As I was only wearing one of Alexander’s dressing gowns, goodness knows what Danny must have thought, but he ignored it.
We all spent a wonderful day together with Danny buying a light lunch. They accompanied me to the coach station and Danny and I made vague arrangements to meet up some time. Indeed, a few months later he made the journey to my home town and we managed to catch up on everything which we were unable to do on our holiday. After he left, our blossoming friendship promptly withered and died and I don’t think either of us had any regrets.
On the way back from London there was yet another major setback: the coach was seriously delayed by some emergency road works. Far from being irritated, I simply sat in my seat and ruminated blissfully on my holiday.
Because of these delays, we arrived very late. Casually, as we turned into the bus station, I looked out of the window and was staggered to see that Sheba had kept her promise and was waiting for me. She had checked the times of the coach arrivals and the ETA’s. She told me that she wouldn’t have missed my return for the world. We went out for a disgusting coffee and I filled her in on some of my adventures. Without thinking through the consequences, I, like a fool, told her about the incident of the tissues. She laughed a great deal and promised that she wouldn’t say anything about it to our friends – I should have known better.
It all turned out as I had hoped, the best holiday I have ever had. I have been on many breaks since and to places which I have loved, but none of them has ever equalled that fabulous European journey. My expectations had been so high that, in all honesty I wouldn’t have been too surprised if reality had failed to deliver, but it did, beyond my wildest dreams. Everything conspired to make it as near perfect as possible, right from the initial booking through Russell to the very end with Sheba’s greeting.
I arrived home and tried to let myself in but my mother had bolted the door. When she finally opened it, I was greeted with, “You’re back. Nice time? I’m going to bed. Tell me all about it later.” And off she went. That ‘later’ never arrived so she remained and still remains in almost total ignorance about my trip. For a while, some of our family members would ask me about my experiences and, as quickly as possible, my mother found another topic which had greater priority so no one else was able to find out either.
At the first opportunity I dropped in on the travel agent’s and thanked Russell personally. He smiled and shrugged, “My pleasure. I’m glad it all went so well.”
For the next month Sheba told everyone about the incident with the tissues. Only my work mates were left unenlightened. Soon paper napkins began arriving through the post with comments like, ‘Sorry, didn’t have any tissues – hope this will do’ scribbled on them. Or single inscribed tissues with, ‘here, thought you might need it – more available upon request,’ were given to me. There were all sorts of jokes played which I took in good heart. My mother, after a huge carton of individual boxes of tissues was delivered to my house, demanded to know what it was for. Naturally, I couldn’t tell her so I just left it floating in the air, just to tease. She realised there was a private joke going on and felt excluded. This was too much for her and she tried to find out what was going on – she never did.
