Sunday, October 07, 2007

My Own Private Ida ho

Late on Saturday I figured it was no good sitting alone in my room, so instead went out to hear the music play. I'd missed the Cabaret, but luckily not a nice man from Idaho.

My local is also one of London's scrapiest gayeries, which may explain why I'm not very "scene" - it's the sheer effort of having to boil wash your trainers after every visit. The problem with the smoking ban is that I can no longer use my patented solution to gay bars (find corner. scowl. chainsmoke). Instead, I found the prettiest man there, and started talking to him. It's radical, but does appear to work a lot better than glowering.

This was Jarod's first and only night on London's gay scene. The farmer's son from Idaho was puzzled. "So, at the bar upstairs, there are these two fat men in rugby kit. And one of them's lying on the floor, and the other one's standing on his hand. That ain't customary."

He's currently living in Amsterdam and not liking it. "The Dutch are just boring bastards with big dicks. If you could just make their dicks smaller and their charisma bigger, I'd be happier."

We sit and drink till the only man left at the bar is wearing a string vest and lime silk shorts.

This year, I've been discovering that Americans say weird things during sex. First there was Lucas who finished with "Hell yeah!". Now Jarod continues this by yelling out "Yeah! Breed that hole!".

He pauses. "You're laughing."

ME: "Sorry."

JAROD: "Yeah. I just knew you were gonna hate that. It's a thing."

ME: "But where's it come from?"

JAROD: "Well, kind of... you know... traditional."

ME: "But it doesn't make sense. 'Breed'... sounds weird. And a bit aggressive."

JAROD: "Hey, this is good old country dirty talk."

ME: "Handed down to you by your Pa?"

Jarod's led a varied life. A typical sentence runs: "Oh, didn't I tell you I was a weatherman for a while? It was when I was in the Marines. Yeah, that was before the Seminary." He's also worked in farming and construction. "All I've got left is plumber, and then that's all the porn jobs."

As I leave him, he hands me a sheet of paper. I think it's his number, but it turns out to be a discount coupon for a Boots Only night in Kerkstraat. Breeder.


Hugh said...

you do meet 'em don't you. I hope when you get a job, you'll still have time to meet these, erm, interesting characters

Skip said...

Having a job never stopped me from having ludicrous one night stands.

Being unemployed simply means that I don't have to survive the next day on bacon and hopes.