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Wednesday, 4 January 2012

Prologue: The Traveling Brazilian (Pre-2012)

So the story begins at Heaven in Soho, London, on a Friday night just before Christmas 2011, with a traveling Brazilian architect.

After being refused entry into G.A.Y Late (as my Swedish friend and I turned a simple security check, where we had to raise our arms, into a rendition of YMCA) we stood out the front in the smoking area with the American boy I had picked up earlier on in the night. As with all American's he didn't take our rejection well and after a few minutes deciding what to do, he wandered off to have words with the bouncer. 

At that point the brazilian architect walks over and starts chatting with us. I can't remember what we talked about, but it eventuated with us walking to Heaven. Once there I bought him a drink, a sign that I'm getting old or desperate as I am just used to having the drinks bought for me, not the other way around. After parting with my precious cash we walked into the room out the back that normally plays disco music. But tonight they had redecorated it into a late night theatre. So at 3am in the morning, wasted, surrounded by sweaty, horny and lonely gay men, I sat there with stars floating around the room watching the classic Christmas movie, Home Alone I with a Brazilian architect. He leaned over, and I turned my face away so that I could hear him. Then I realised he was trying to make out with me, and I had just given him my ear to make out with... I really take a while to clue on when someone is keen. 

I brought him home to my shoebox room with single bed included and we had the best sex I'd had in 2011. At one point he lifted up my legs so that my feet almost hit the roof, I'm not sure what position this is in the Karma Sutra, but fuck it is a good one! It's 5am when we finish. I start work at 8am. I set my alarm for 7 and we fall asleep in my tiny single bed. The tiny single bed that I thought could barely even ffit me, but for some reason I was really comfortable with him in it.

2 hours later.... 

My alarm goes off and it's time for work. I step out of bed and spill one of the beers we were drinking when we got home. Slightly tempted to drink it so that atleast I won't have to deal with the approaching hangover.

I write him a note that say's “Hi A (thank god I remembered his name), thanks for last night it was fun. The bus you need to catch is the 207. You just leave the house, turn right and you'll see the bus stop at the end of the road. My number is 07*** *** *** if you want to catch up again”. My handwriting looks shit. My spelling is terrible. Why did I write it in bright, red sharpie? I chuck it in the bin and start again with a pen.

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