Cute White Straight Gay Boy Go Home

Cute white straight boy gets taken home by two kind black gay men but dreams of more....

It's 1990. 2am.

North London.

I'm a drunk short cute 26 year old white boy in faded retro camden market double denim: 501's, cherry red docs, navy blue fred perry with a skinhead haircut wobbling home up the hill from Tufnell Park in the dark to the flat I share with my girlfriend

I'm aware of two black men on the other side of the road walking in the same direction as me.

They call out and wave. I smile at them, wave back then look down and hurry my steps.

I'm unsteady on my feet and stumble.

They cross over to my side of the road and catch me up, either side so I am walking between them. They are tall and athletic.

I quicken my pace trying to outwalk them but end up mincing ungracefully with my short legs which only makes them laugh.

"Slow down darling."

"You can't run away. We just want to talk to you batty boi."

I find it hard to distinguish between the lyrical intonance of a London Carribean accent and a gay voice.

I'm scared, confused, unsure whether the homophobic epithet is meant as a joke or a threat.

I slow my pace to what I hope is a more relaxed, masculine stride and give them each a confident smile.

"That's better."

"So sweetheart, what do they call you?"

I stutter and manage to even slur my single syllable moniker:

"Dave....I'm... called... Dave."

They both laugh:

"Oh my god I told you didn't I? She's called Dave. They're always called Dave."

"Hey Dave, little white straight looking gay boy, where you going so late at night?"

"I'm going home. Home. To my girlfriend."

They both screech with laughter again.

"Oh my. Listen to her! She's got a girlfriend! Oh bless!"

"Dave, don't bullshit us wit your batti boy girlfriend talk. I don't see no girlfriend."

I'm still scared and confused. I don't want to get beaten up for being gay when I'm not.

I keep my head down and try to sound assertive:

"I'm not bullshitting you. Honest. I have got a girlfriend. I'm not gay."

One of the men laughs again:

"Hey, hey don't be like that. We like little straight looking cute white gay skinhead boys like you. We're just playing."

The other frowns and purses his lips:

"Unless him actually one of dem raycist homophobic skinhead? Is that it batti boi?"

I shake my head:

"No. I'm not like that either."

"So make up your mind."

We reach the top of the hill and stop at the corner of the street under a streetlamp. I look up at them.

I can see their faces better now, mouths smiling kindly, eyes mocking with harmless fun, skin luminescent with a hint of make up shines in the yellow streetlight. They link arms. I realise my mistake, borne of assumption, fear, alcohol.

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

They smile.

"At last! Finally the penny drop!"

"What was going through your little mind darling?"

"I was scared... I didn't know..you were...."

"Didn't know we were what?"

"I don't know"

"You didn't know we were queers?"

"You never seen a black homosexual before?"

"Maybe."

"Oh bless her."

"So why isn't your girlfriend with you tonight? She at home?"

"She's not at home tonight. She works in a care home, she's on a sleep-in shift."

"Okay. So if your girlfriend not home she won't mind you bringing a couple of nice boys to keep you company while she's out will she?"

"Maybe..."

"Good. So where are we going Dave?"

I tell them where I live.

They say it's on their way.

The guy with the camp London accent puts his arm around my waist as we walk. The other guy walks on ahead.

When he's out of sight the man with his arm around my waist stops. He pushes me against the wall presses his lips against mine and kisses me very hard. I feel his teeth and tongue and hot hungry breath.

I put my hands around his neck and on the sides of his face. He's rough, his tongue fills my mouth, his beard hurts my face, his smell is strong he is insistent. His hands are everywhere up my shirt, in my pants, his fingers pulling the cheeks of my bottom apart, fingers poking into me. I feel his hard cock press against my crotch.

I hear myself moan involuntarily, submissively. My little dick dulled by drink begins to twitch, stiffen, it's head poke out of the gap in the front of my boxer shorts, rub against the zip of my 501's and I'm aware of how small it is compared to the cock pushing against me.

I'm very drunk. My head spins. I feel helpless. I want to be fucked. Now quickly. Now. His big hands down the front of my pants clutch my dick enclose it in his fingers each finger longer and thicker than my dick. I try to do the same back to him fumbling with his belt and buttons but then the other man comes back down the street says something and we have to stop. They have some sort of an argument while I adjust my trousers and catch my breath then we carry on up the hill together.

I put my arm around the waist of the guy who almost fucked me as we walk thinking this must be what it's like to be a girl. I am drunk I am tired I am horny I am submissive and I need looking after.

I rest my head against his shoulder. I let him hold me up and it feels so nice. I would let them both fuck me if they want.

I don't know where I am but we get to my block of flats.

They help me find my key, open the door, turn on the landing lights bright white and I stand there blinking in the hallway wobbling.

The two men smile at me:

"It's a good job for you we met you tonight Dave. I don't think you'd have found your way home on your own!"

I ask them if they want to come up. I remind them that my girlfriend isn't back till tomorrow.

They shake their heads, laugh, tell me to go to bed then they step outside and close the door behind them.

I stumble upstairs and dream of what might have happened.