This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.
By: Tim Keppler
Edited by: Bob Leahy
only a week and a half before the opening of Canterbury Pilgrims, believe it or not, and life is absolutely
frantic. Kai and Kev are spending more of their days
with the Patels. I have begged and pleaded with Mrs.
Patel, Ashwina, to pay her for baby sitting Kai and
Kevin, but she won't take a farthing. "No," she says. "They are a joy for me,
and Shirish and Azeem very much enjoy their company.
They bring us more than we give to them. Do not trouble yourselves,"
she says, a statement I find intensely troubling. Still, she takes such good
care of them at a time when we're all so frazzled. She knows what we're going
through. She knows that Kenny and Jason are mounting a major
every morning Kenny and Jason go to the theater at around 8am. Dinh and I sleep
in until 9am, and then gather the boys from Mrs. Patel. We've rented a second
room from her, but we're not really using it, because the boys stay with her
almost every night, sleeping with Azeem and Shirish.
We gather them together each morning, and go sightseeing. We've been to
countless concerts, to the National Portrait Gallery, to the London Zoo (such
as it is), to
Brits are much maligned for their "cuisine," and I have to admit that if you
don't know where to eat, the food can be pretty...dreadful. But, isn't that true
everywhere? Americans certainly have no call to complain because we don't have
any "cuisine" anyway. Mc Donald's is our cuisine. "Yukkie!"
as Kevin would say. With the advent of chefs like Nigella
Lawson and Jamie Oliver, though,
Rules is a restaurant on
So, at Rules, I order my standard, the "Steak,
Kidney and Ale Pie," and Kai orders the same thing. Kai likes things a little
exotic, and I guess this sounds exotic. Jason orders the Dover Sole, the fish
of the day. Kenny orders the "Roe Deer `Osso Buco'". Dinh orders the
"Roast Saddle of Lincolnshire Rabbit," and I can't stop myself from asking the
is spectacular, although I think Kai is a little underwhelmed. Kai is very much
like me. He likes his food fiercely spicy, hot to the point of painful. I
suggested that he get the curry, but curry didn't seem very interesting, I
guess. So, he opted for what I got, thinking it would be good because I like
it. I think he thought it was okay, but nothing special. After the first couple
of bites, he did something that still has me laughing when I think about it. He
motioned to the waiter, and when he came over, Kai whispered something in his
ear. The guy looked surprised, and then mildly disgusted. He glanced over at me
with a look of revulsion, and then he walked away, returning after a couple of
minutes with a bottle of...
We finish up with two desserts that we share, a "Sticky Toffee Pudding with Butterscotch Sauce" and a "Spotted Dick". Spotted dick actually is quite delicious. It's very molassesey, but not too sweet. I've always liked dick whether spotted or not, so this is a nice finish to the meal, and sets my imagination aglow about what the rest of the evening might bring.
dinner, we amble back toward Charring Cross station. I carry Kevin and Kenny
carries Kai. The
Once the boys are tucked up and asleep, Kenny and I return to the other room where Dinh and Jason are chatting about the musical. Dinh is already in bed, and Jason is sitting in a chair across the room. I lie down on the bed, on top of the covers, and snuggle up to Dinh, who's under them. "Is it a green-marble day," I ask, teasing him.
"Please, can we make love?" he asks, nuzzling me.
"I guess that means it's not, hunh?"
I smile, and kiss him. It's a long kiss, and by the time we break that kiss, I'm hard and probably dripping. "Come on, guys," I say to Kenny and Jason, "let's get to bed." We all strip, and as I hang my clothes in the closet, Kenny walks past me coming from the bathroom. He notices my hard-on, and grabs it, maneuvering me to the bed by pulling me by my dick. Once we're in bed, we sort of self-configure, although I'm not sure how or why. It appears that I'm going to fuck Kenny, and he's going to fuck Jason, and Jason and Dinh are going to...do something. And that's more or less how it turns out. I so love the feel of Kenny, the softness of his skin, and the beefiness of his body. But when I disappear, when my consciousness vanishes, I tend to get a little...feisty. I tend to bite his ear lobes, to bite them harder than he...likes. His only recourse is to kiss me, to kiss me in self-defense. Kissing keeps my mouth...occupied. That's what he does tonight. He turns his head, and we begin to kiss, which, of course, drives me nearly mad. Kenny is a great kisser. There are some who distinguish between "regular" kissing and "French" kissing. We don't. What Kenny does is way beyond "French" kissing. Kenny basically licks me. He licks my face, my eye lids, my lips, and my neck. What he does drives me flat-out insane. We lock lips, finally, and I just forget about my dick. It's inside him, and I am fucking him...rhythmically, and it feels really good. He's fucking Jason, but I'm totally focused on my mouth, and on my tongue. I am totally focused on kissing him, on the shape of his nose, on the feel of his skin as I stroke his belly, and on his nipples. And then I just space. I leave my body as I cum with one massive groan. Then the dominoes start to fall. Kenny follows me, and Jason, who has had Dinh attached to him, follows him.
At the end of our collective orgasm, Kenny, Jason and I all realize that Dinh has not gotten off. We circle him on the bed, leering, each of us with an evil smirk. "Dick," Jason says.
Kenny and I nod. "Ass," I say. More nods.
"Tits," Kenny says.
And then it begins – the feeding frenzy. Jason goes down on Dinh, sucking him for dear life, while I begin to lick his ass. Kenny begins to nibble on his nipples, and then to pinch them gently while he kisses him. Dinh is nearly incoherent. "Oh...oh...ohhhhhh," he screams. "Oh, fuck!" he finally shrieks, as he starts to cum, and it's a long, long orgasm. You'd think he hadn't cum in weeks. You'd think that he'd had to endure weeks of red-marble days.
And then...we fall asleep, intertwined and spent. And also very sticky.
When I wake up the next morning, Kenny and Jason are gone. Dinh is still asleep, snoring softly, his body wrapped around mine. And Kevin and Kai are both in bed with us. No big surprise. They're sound asleep. I flip over and begin kissing Dinh while stroking his hard-on. Most men, it turns out, get between six and twenty erections in the course of a night's sleep. I find that statistic interesting, and I would love to have been on the team of statisticians who made that discovery. Men also apparently think about sex every fifteen minutes when they're awake. That particular statistic was made of heterosexual men. I wonder if the results vary when you study gay men. I think it must. I don't think I've ever waited a full fifteen minutes between thoughts of sex, but I haven't made a study of this. Dinh, like most Asian men, is uncut, which makes jerking him off pretty easy. His dickhead is more sensitive than circumcised men, and it's just a matter of sliding his foreskin back and forth. No lube is required. So, being careful not to make too much noise or jostle the bed, thereby waking the boys, I continue to kiss Dinh. I part his lips with my tongue, while increasing the speed at which I stroke him. He moans contentedly, but doesn't wake up immediately. After maybe ten minutes, his eyes suddenly fly open as he fills my hand with cream, groaning lustily, a groan that ultimately does wake the boys. "Morning, guys! Is everyone ready to get a start on the day?" I ask, chirpy. Dinh has a dazed look in his eyes, battling the effects of the endorphins, but nods slowly. The boys, of course, can't wait to get started.
"Why don't you guys go get dressed," I say to Kevin and Kai. "Dinh and I need a shower."
Dinh and I shower together, and I honestly just can't keep my hands off of him. We kiss for maybe five minutes as the warm water pours over us. I didn't get off this morning, so I'm randy. But, sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes sexual urgency makes you feel amorous. It makes you more...loving. That's how I feel now. I really want to kiss, and I realize consciously that I wouldn't feel quite this passionate if I'd cum a half an hour ago, when I jerked Dinh off. I like this feeling. There's some desperation to it, yes. But, it also keeps me focused. It reminds me how much I love Dinh. The fact that I haven't had him today reminds me how much I want him. Does that sound crazy? Basically, I'm manipulating my own desires. I really want him right now. I really want to fuck him. But, I'm not going to because, if I put that off, if I postpone the fulfillment of those desires, I get to walk around awash in those feelings. When I do take him, the...release will be...amazing. This takes will power, and I'm not always able to postpone self-gratification like this. When I can, though, the rewards are always huge. You concentrate on just how in love you are; you concentrate on your longing. By the end of the day you're nearly frantic, and your fulfillment is ecstatic.
So, we shower and we kiss, we dry off and we dress.
We kiss some more. I am really desperate. Then we collect the boys, and make
our way out to breakfast at a café around the corner from us. We share some
eggs and a couple of scones, a cup of very strong coffee, and we make our way
I think the V&A is one of the best museums in
the world. I'm not sure what it is about the place. It's not that they're
avant-garde, exactly. They're no more avant-garde than the de Young in
I love Beardsley, and the opportunity to see an exhibition of this magnitude is just too good to be missed. I expected to have to drag the boys through it, but Kevin is just captivated. What is it in Beardsley, I wonder, that he sees? Is it his playfulness? Is it his humor? Or is it the grace of the drawings? "What do you like about him, Kev?" I ask him.
"I don't know. He's really different. His drawings remind me of flowers."
This response stops me in my tracks. How are Beardsley's drawings like flowers? And then I look at The Peacock Skirt, and countless other drawings, with their extremely stylized Art Nouveau characterizations, and I realize that they do look sort of like flowers. They're round and feathery – floral. He's right. He's hit it. Very good!
We spend three hours at the V&A before wandering
over to Harrod's for lunch. Harrod's
is hugely overpriced, but it's an experience. The food courts are amazing, and
the book store is also very nice. I can't remember who runs the bookstore
anymore. It used to be
Let me start again. The food courts are amazing. They go on for several rooms, and when I stay in a flat with a kitchen, I quite often will shop at the Harrod's food courts. But, they also have restaurants in the food courts, and those restaurants are really good. There's a sushi bar, a seafood bar, a sandwich bar, and any number of other specialty food bars along the way. I want a salt-beef sandwich. Salt beef is what the Brits call corned-beef. Harrod's is especially good. I've been dreaming of one of these sandwiches since we arrived. Today's the day. We order two, one for Dinh and I to share, and one for the boys. You really don't need any more than that. Well, you do. You need a Newcastle Brown Ale to wash it down with, and we order one of those as well. The boys want apple juice and, to my surprise, the restaurant has it. I have high expectations for this meal, and they are not disappointed. The sandwiches are divine. Salt beef on Jewish rye with unbelievably-fierce horseradish mustard. Pickles. Cole slaw. Delicious! After three weeks away from home, it warms the cockles of my American heart. Dinh isn't real crazy about it, but I'll make it up to him tonight because tonight we're going for Chinese food...well, sort of.
I've arranged with Mrs. Patel to take the boys for the night. When we get back to the flat, they're nearly frantic to go play with Azeem and Shirish, and so I trundle them downstairs and drop them off. The minute the door is open, they run inside. "Stop!" I command. They both freeze. They know my irritated voice, and know enough not to mess with me when they hear it. I motion them back, and they come. "Say `Hello' to Mrs. Patel."
"Hello, Mrs. Patel," they say dutifully, in unison.
"You're going to stay here tonight. Mrs. Patel has been kind enough to offer a sleep-over. You mind her. If she tells you to do something, you do it. Understand?"
They nod, clearly anxious to go find Azeem and Shirish. "And you walk in her house. No running around like lunatics." They nod again. "Okay. Go find your friends." The instant I say that, they're gone. It's like a movie in which the characters have just been edited out of the scene. There's a void in the room where, six nanoseconds before, two little boys stood.
Mrs. Patel laughs. "They are all the same. So exuberant! Mine are no different. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Jensen. They will be fine." She really is a lovely woman.
It's 4:30pm. We have two and a half hours to kill, roughly, before Jason and Kenny get home. I'm thinking we'll take a walk. Kensington really is a very nice neighborhood, although a bit suburban. Still, there are shops and markets. Dinh clearly has other ideas, though. When I get back to the flat, he is naked, and spread out on the bed. He's lying on his belly. He's waiting to be spanked, I realize.
Moving to the bed, I sit next to him and stroke his back. "Do you have demons to exorcise, baby?" I ask him. He nods. I haven't given much attention to his emotional needs, I realize. And he has emotional needs. I wonder how thick these walls are. Dinh can get very vocal when you spank him. Still, we're both consenting adults. Let people think what they want. Rummaging in the suitcase, I find the razor strop and begin to spank him. Sure enough, he begins to scream with each stroke. After seven strokes he's crying softly, after fifteen he's sort of choking on his tears. At seventeen he's sobbing. I drop the razor strop on the bed, and carry him to the couch where we sit and nuzzle as he recovers. "You better?" I ask him, finally. He nods.
"Thank you," he chokes. "Could we...umm..."
I carry him back to the bed, strip off my clothes, and crawl in beside him. I'd deferred a rather intense desire to fuck him this morning when we woke up, so I am seriously ready for this. We kiss, and as we kiss, Dinh becomes increasingly frantic. Sex with Dinh is really interesting. No, that's the wrong word. He's just not like anyone I've ever had sex with before. He's totally instinctual, which is what you want, but rarely achieve. Dinh achieves it every time. His conscious self just disappears and he becomes...urgent. He has this tendency to nudge me with his leg, as he's doing now, driving his knee into the back of my scrotum. It's not painful. It's just...urgent. It's almost as if he's flailing. And he's very "mouthy". One moment he's kissing me. The next moment he has my dick in his mouth, sucking for dear life. The next moment he's biting my nipples, and I don't mean "nibbling". Dinh does not nibble when he gets like this. When he bites you, you know you've been bitten. He doesn't draw blood, but he'll sometimes draw a shriek, a shriek that doesn't faze him in the least, because he's not in there. Mr. Hyde is in there. Dr. Jekyll is off doing other things, conscious things, logical things. This probably sounds pretty...awful. But it's not. It's actually really, really exciting. You just have to know what you're getting into. There's a really interesting continuum with my three guys. Jason is very passive. He wants you to make love to him. Kenny is much more active, active and creative...and versatile. And, then there's Dinh, a confirmed bottom, but the most aggressive bottom I've ever met. They continually remind me of that old Microsoft tag line – "Where do you want to go today?" What mood am I in? All three are delicious. It just depends on what flavor you're craving at the moment.
We spend the next hour making love and, when we're sated, we hop into the shower and hose off, and there's a fair amount to be hosed. We dress, and just as we're picking up the dirty clothes, Kenny and Jason walk in. Kenny sniffs, and starts to giggle. "Had a restful afternoon, have we?" he asks.
Dinh flushes and nods. "Yeah, restful," he dead-pans, which sends me into gales of laughter.
"Restful, yeah," I respond, still giggling furiously.
Once we stop laughing, I explain my plan for the
evening. We're going to start out at the London
China Town Restaurant, which I admit is about the most generic name I've
ever heard, but their food is pretty good. It's on
Having eaten, we'll take a walk, tour what little of
Chinatown there is here, and then head over to Old Compton Street a couple of
blocks away to take in the gay scene. One of the big venues in
Kenny and Jason are excited. They've both been working really hard to get their musical audience-ready. They both need a break. Tonight should be fun.
And it is good. Leave it to Kenny and Jason to scope out what's good at a mediocre restaurant. Ironically, only the rice is not up to par, but I'm spoiled when it comes to rice. If it's not Jasmine rice, I'm not fond of it, and this is not Jasmine. It's too sticky. Everything else, though, is...good.
After dinner we make our way toward
You know you're nearly at G-A-Y about a block before you get there. The driving beat of the
music is intense, and I wonder if this is why the club has such odd hours.
They're open between noon and 12am. What gay club in the
When we arrive and make our way inside, I'm surprised
to see Steven Gately on stage. Formerly a member of
the British boy-band Boyzone, he's apparently been
pursuing a solo career for the last several years. Based in
I still don't understand much about the game. I
mean, yes, I sort of know the rules, but I have no clue about strategy, and I
have no idea how "leagues" work. I have no idea about how teams compete against
each other. I'm intrigued about the "Stonewall" moniker, though, and sort of
insinuate myself into their group. At a lull in their conversation, I ask them
about the logo. They explain that the Stonewall Football Club is a community football
club made up of gay and gay-friendly players. 60 to 70% of the players are gay,
I'm told, and the rest are straight. All are passionate about football. It was
formed in 1991
by an amateur footballer living in
"Who gives a shit?" I hear you cry. The answer is...Kevin, my little ballerina. He is much taken with soccer. He's been playing for nearly a year, and I guess he's pretty good, at least that's what his coach tells me. Thankfully, his coach seems to know more about this than I did – or do. I've never really cared what the boys are good at. You try to give them the broadest range of experiences you can provide, and let them tell you what they like. Kevin loves soccer and ballet, and both are very good exercise for him. In the case of soccer, he likes the camaraderie with his teammates, I think, and loves the competition. We go out every week or so to his games and cheer him on, and he makes a lot of goals, which I gather is important. I'm impressed with his ability to butt the ball with his head and get it to go in the direction of the opposition's goal. Maybe I'm just easily impressed. I never gave a damn about sports. It seemed a little...childish to me. (I know, this is blasphemous to those who are hooked on this stuff.) I never was. I was a member of the chess club when I was in junior high and high school, and the Young Democrats club, and even a club for young would-be entrepreneurs – Junior Achievement I think it was called. The only sport I ever played semi-competitively was badminton. Yeah, I know – only Asian guys and faggots play badminton, but I really loved it. Kevin loves soccer, so I'm interested in this gay-friendly club.
It turns out that these guys have been
all over the world. Last year saw the Gay World Championship hosted by Buenos
Aires, but they've played in Barcelona, Chicago, Munich, Copenhagen, Sydney,
and of course all over the UK. This year the Stonewall Lions entered Division 1
(whatever the hell that means) and while they didn't win the championship, they
apparently played very well. This year, the championship will be played in
"My son is crazy about soccer...umm...football. How can I get tickets?" I ask the players.
"Well, at this point you probably can't. They're probably all sold. How many do you need?"
"Six. There are six of us."
He looks around at his teammates. They nod, and each of them takes out an identical envelope. "We just got our comps today, but we don't all use all of them. We all get four free tickets, but I'll only be using two of mine. Lads?"
One by one they ante up, and before I know it I have six tickets in my hand. I'm stunned, absolutely shocked. "Please, can I pay you for these?"
Another guy answers. "You can pay me what I paid for that ticket. Exactly nothing."
I honestly don't know what to say. I thank them cordially, effusively. We hug and I thank them again. One of them finally cuffs me, laughing. "Enjoy `em, mate. We hope you and yours have a great time." And then they start to talk about their last game, and I wander back to Kenny, Jason and Dinh. I hold up the tickets in a fan, and Kenny twists his head so he can read the printing. And then his eyes light up. "There's a gay football league?" he asks, incredulous.
"Apparently. They're gay and gay-friendly, and we're going to the championship game, the world cup final. Kev is going to crawl out of his skin."
And he does. He is nearly frantic with excitement. When I tell him, he just goes nuts, jumping up and down. But, maybe his reaction isn't the best part. Maybe the best part is...
...when I ask Mrs. Patel whether her boys like football. She laughs. "Yes," she says. "They are avid."
"I have six tickets to a world
championship game between a UK-based team and a team from
"Yes, I think they probably would," she says with a snort. "We must not tell them that you have these tickets. I believe your life would be in danger," she says, laughing.
Jason and Dinh have no interest in this match, so it'll be Kenny, Kevin, Kai, Azeem, Shirish, and me. It should be a blast, and it's the least we can do for Mrs. Patel and her sons, who have been so cordial to us.
One week later, on Saturday afternoon,
Kenny, the boys and I make our way to the stadium and it is a fucking mob
scene. Who'd have thought that a bunch of gay guys kicking a ball around would
be this popular? They are, though. There are hecklers outside, but there are a
lot more fans than hecklers. Once again it's the Stonewall Lions vs.
So, I'm not taking sides in this match. Azeem is, naturally, and, because his brother is, so is Shirish, but I'm proud to find that Kev is not, despite his allegiance to his friends. I have the sense that what Kevin wants is to see is a really good game. I think that's what we're all hoping for.
When we get to our seats, Kevin and Azeem's enthusiasm has peaked. They are both just so excited to be here and are jumping out of their seats at lightening speed. I ask Azeem if he's ever been to a football match before, and he says that he has. He went with his uncle once, a comment that leads me once again to wonder where his father is. Is he dead, or merely absent? In my experience, it's unusual for Asian families with kids to separate, which suggests to me that he died, but that's only my speculation. I am curious, though, so I ask surreptitiously, "What's your Dad do, Azeem?"
Suddenly he becomes very subdued, staring at his feet. "I don't know," he says quietly. "He doesn't live with us any more." I don't know what to say. I nod, feeling guilty for having broached what is clearly a painful subject. I reach across and squeeze the back of his neck as he looks up at me and smiles bleakly. Then, thankfully, there's the kickoff and the game begins.
As I've said, I know next to nothing about soccer (football), so I'm not a good commentator on this game. I do know quite a lot about...umm...men, though, and a number of the players on both teams are...seriously cute. I suppose I could wax poetic here and talk about the virtues of English and Argentine ass, the muscularity of the mounds, and of one ass in particular that got partially exposed to us through a mishap on the field. I could comment on the really-shapely legs that we get to see, and bemoan the fact that most of these guys are overdressed. I could wish that they'd take their shirts off and show us a bit more of themselves. Yes, I could wax poetic, but I won't. My natural modesty prevents me from publicly exploring these topics.
The game is really fast moving, and both teams seem just amazing. The competition between them is fierce. I've honestly never seen soccer played like this, and begin to understand why the game is so popular. The players are so aggressive – both offensively and defensively – that I'm honestly surprised there are no injuries. Kevin and Azeem, like the rest of the fans, are up and down in their seats, cheering as goals are made or averted. I am frankly just mesmerized by the play, and by how much precision the players have in controlling a ball they cannot touch with their hands. The footwork is spectacular, and that's the comment I make to Kevin. "That's called dribbling, Daddy." I didn't know you dribbled in soccer. I thought you only did that in basketball. Most of all, though, I'm amazed at the head action. In one incredible play, one of the Brits butts the ball to a team member who, in turn butts it to another team member. The ball lands on the ground directly in front of that third player, and he kicks it into the Argentine's goal with such force and exactitude that I think it's going to rip right through the netting on the goal. The whole stadium erupts on this play, cheering wildly, and I have to admit that it even has me out of my seat. In total, the game lasts a little more than 90 minutes and results in a 5-0 victory for the Lions. The Argentines didn't score a single goal, and when the last goal is made, the crowd goes nearly insane.
It's interesting. I've read horror stories over the years
about the violence that apparently often ensues at football matches in
After the game is over, I ask the boys if they'd
like to go out for fish and chips. "Yeah!" they all scream. Kenny has
researched restaurants with friends from the orchestra that's working on the
musical. He asked them where to go for the best fish and chips, and it turns
out that the place that got the greatest number of votes isn't far from the
stadium. We decide to walk. When we get there, what we find is a rather
inconspicuous building surrounded on three sides by taxis. I have to laugh. If
you want good fish and chips, figure out where the cabbies go. The place is
filled with them, all chatting amiably as they suck down oceans of fish.
Notably, the place doesn't reek of grease, and the fish we see on the tables
doesn't look especially greasy. What you smell mostly is malt vinegar. They
have four different kinds of fish to choose from: pike, pilchard, haddock, and
cod. I have no idea what to order, so I ask a couple of the cabbies, who both
tell me that the pike is best. That's what I order. I know I said before that
there aren't many "Orientals" in
Once we've eaten, we ask for directions to the nearest tube station and head back to the flat. I've almost never had problems on the tube. I mean you occasionally run into homeless guys who make their way from car to car asking for money, but they aren't aggressive and usually pass through quickly. Today is the exception. The guy sitting across from us initially appears to be asleep when we board the train. Once it start to move, he comes to life, opening his eyes and staring across at us. What he sees, of course, are two Indian boys, two Asian boys, one Asian adult, and me. "Oh, Christ," he says, slurring his speech, clearly pretty drunk. "You're a fucking collection, aren't you? Pollution! Why don't you people go back to where you came from!" Then he gets up out of his seat, albeit unsteadily, and lunges toward Shirish, who is clearly very frightened. Kenny is instantly on his feet. He steps in front of Shirish just as the drunk reaches us. Kenny grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a mighty shove, propelling him abruptly back across the aisle and into his seat. Then he moves aggressively toward him, looming over him. "Stay the hell away from us, dickhead!" he says venomously. "Come near us again and I will fucking kill you!" The drunk is shocked. I don't think he was expecting this kind of violent reaction from an Asian guy. He curses as he rearranges himself in his seat, but heeds the warning. Kenny then moves back to his seat and lifts Shirish onto his lap, giving him a hug. Kenny is shaking, I notice. Adrenaline. There's nowhere else on this train to sit, or we'd move. Instead, Kenny holds Shirish protectively for the two more stops it takes us to get to our station, and we depart, carrying Kai and Shirish while Kevin and Azeem cling to us. There are idiots everywhere, I guess. You have to be vigilant.
Two hours after we get back to the flat, having returned Azeem and Shirish to their mother, Mrs. Patel is at our door. "Thank you so much for protecting my boys," she says to Kenny, teary-eyed, when he answers the door. She has apparently gotten the story of the drunk from her sons. "This country is generally tolerant, but there are still undercurrents of racism that one comes in contact with. I am glad the boys were with you!" Then she leans forward and hugs him.
Kenny smiles. "I'm happy we were there to look out for them," he says. All in a day's work.
Three days later Canterbury Pilgrims opens to generally positive reviews. Benedict Nightingale of The Times raves that it's one of the most original pieces of musical theatre he's seen in many years. He loves the music, and the book, commenting that the modernized Middle English script is "enlightening and miraculous." Mark Cook of The Guardian also is very positive, although less effusive than Nightingale. He likes the concept, and loves the music, but is concerned that the poetry may be a bit beyond its audience. He does say that the production is "masterful," and is extremely impressed with the minimalist settings. Finally, Allison Vale of The British Theatre Guide is fascinated by the script and the process whereby it was modernized just enough to maintain "the flavor, the illusion of the Middle English" while still making the poetry "accessible to a modern audience." She also comments on the "austerity of the musical rendering," suggesting "connections with Berg and Stravinsky." "How remarkable," she says, "that this extremely innovative piece was developed by a composer and lyricist with no previous experience in musical theater, or in theater at all, for that matter."
I see it on opening night, keeping Kenny and Jason company
in the back of the theater as they fret about the audience's reaction. It's a
full house, and the audience seems to really enjoy it, I think because Chaucer
is just so funny, so ironic. I see it again the next night, and, once again the
house is full and the laughter plentiful. Simon Lindon
has done a really-good job coaxing remarkable performance out of the players.
In some spots, the performances seem a little over the top, but the audiences
are not put off at all. All in all, I think he's done remarkably well at
helping Kenny and Jason create something that really appeals to a
Three days later, having seen two more performances of the show that played to equally-enthusiastic audiences, we begin to prepare for our departure back to the U.S. Jason thinks we're leaving on June 23rd, but I've actually pushed out our departure date by two days. We'll leave on the 25th. Why? Because June 27th is Jason's birthday, and Kenny has an early birthday present for him.
very fit. He's got a lot of upper-body strength, as well as some of the most
muscular calves I've ever seen. (He also has a really-nice ass, I should just
add, in passing. I know that because I fuck him frequently, and because I just
can't resist squeezing his ass cheeks any time they're presented to me, which I
try to ensure is often.) His fitness regimen is pretty simple. He doesn't go to
the gym, doesn't run much, and rarely bicycles more than a mile at a time. What
he does do is martial arts – both because it provides a really good work out,
and because, being petit, he felt he needed to be able to defend himself. He
also plays one hell of a lot of tennis, with Kenny, with other friends, and
with me. He loves tennis. He loves to play it, and he loves to watch it.
Through Neville Jarvis, the producer of Canterbury
Pilgrims, Kenny has managed to score six tickets for the third day at
Jason is initially confused when Kenny presents him with a birthday card containing these tickets. "But we'll be gone then," he says, sadly.
"No," Kenny replies. "Tim changed our departure date. We'll still be here."
Jason stares at him blankly until this news sinks in, and then he does something very Kevin-like. He begins to jump up and down. He is just ecstatic! He throws himself at Kenny, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. He is nearly beside himself. He's said for years that he'd like to go, but tickets are hard to get, and it's not like he had time this trip to pursue any tickets. These have just fallen into his lap. "Thank you, Kenny!" he says. "This is so sweet!"
We end of seeing Lleyton Hewitt of Australia play Marc Gicquel of France, Andy Murray play Richard Gasquet, and one women's match between two players whose names I didn't recognize and don't remember. I'm not especially avid when it comes to tennis. I've never followed the matches on TV, or even in the newspaper. I like to play, but I'm not a groupie. Jason is! By the time the day is done, he is just so happy, talking non-stop about the scores, about Federer's swing, about how the players compare to Björn Borg, and Pete Sampras, on and on and on. Finally, I swat him on the ass, as I do Kevin and Kai from time to time, and say, with mock irritation, "Enough, for Christ's sake!" Jason looks surprised, and Kenny starts to laugh. Then Jason starts to laugh, and peace is restored. Sports fanatics make me a little nuts. It's like religious nut cases. They're just too zealous. Still, Jason's enthusiasm is cute, a little extreme, but cute.
Two days later, at 7am, we make our way downstairs, suitcases in hand, to Mrs. Patel's flat. We return the keys to our rooms, and give her a vase of two-dozen long-stemmed roses. Kevin gives Azeem a brand-new soccer ball signed by the members of the Stonewall Lions, and Kai gives Shirish a copy of the last of the Harry Potter series signed by J.K. Rowling, the author, another gift that Neville Jarvis was able to secure for us. There are tears. There a hugs. There are heartfelt thanks. There are promises to keep in touch, which I imagine we won't keep for long, but you always hope. The Patels are a delightful family. They're sincere, and just so...kind. Our boys, I imagine, will miss them all.
then, we're on our way back to
Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/