Ring, ring…

We were bored recently and found ourself idly investigating cock-rings on a shopping site for shirt-lifters.

It reminded us of when we were a teenager and improvised with one of those wooden curtain rings we found. We subsequently (and inevitably) got it stuck and were forced to sit through an uncomfortable family Sunday Lunch with a wooden hoop unforgivingly gripping our tackle. Fretting over a potential embarrasing visit to A&E, and deciding a hack-saw wasn’t the way to go, we eventually managed to prise said curtain ring off locked in the bathroom frantically applying soap and shower-gel until we liberated ourself from our stupidity.

We are just pleased we had the foresight to remove the little metal screw first.

Why we’re single… in Maths.

We’re no Carol Vorderman but we have been playing a numbers game. and it’s rather depressing.

Take a sample population of say 500,000. That’s quite a lot. For argument’s-sake lets say it’s an even split: 250,000 men, 250,000 women.

Now let’s work on the projected model that 1 in 10 men are gay. (Which in itself is perhaps ambitious.) That leaves is with 25,000. Now, in out experience, a lot of gay men are as camp as Christmas. Then again a lot are ‘more in the shadows’. But let’s put this at a 60/40 split…. 60% Alan Carr, 40% Russell Tovey. So we’re down to 10,000.

Now lets look at age brackets, and our desired “25-35 bracket” for statistics-sake. We’ll go 18-20, 20,30 upwards and be equal for simplicity.

That leaves roughly 1,500. Ish. Out of 500,000. Now consider munters and “not my types”. Let’s half it… we’re picky. 750.

Which leaves a pool of potentials out of a quarter of a million men of 0.3%

We’re glad we’re not gingerist.

 

Escort in the Act

We had a message on Fitlads the other day.

“Are you interested in Escorts?” it said. We replied “Depends on the year. A XR3i or a Cabriolet would be nice.” A single-word reply came back minutes later: “Male.”

We decided not to persue this conversation any further.

Belt up

We have met some wierdos in our time.

It worries us though when we meet wierdos who we know are wierd but we can’t quite remember why.

We had such an incident of late when we decided to duck into an establishment of gayness after what was quite a civilised evening out. It began when our protagonist  enquired as to whether we were wearing a belt. “Yes” we politely offered. We were asked to reveal our jeans-hoisting apparatus, which we duly obliged, a tad confused but we went with it.

Then we remembered. Our new unwanted amigo has a belt-fetish. We had encountered him before, however our friend was the brunt of his advances at the time, so we merely chuckled at his misfortune. Now we were on our own. “Do you fancy spanking me with that and fucking me hard?” he enquired.

“No” we said. “Why not?” …we admired his persistance. “Ummmm, it doesn’t appeal in the slightest.” “Which part?” he enquired further. “Both.” we replied.

We made a swift exit with our belt firmly secured and and our reputation intact. As intact as it can be. We are not going there.

 

All Work and No Play

We apologise for a hiatus…. we have been busy and distracted.

Our busy-ness has mostly revolved around the fact we found out our employer was about to go distinctly liquidy. Which ergo made us distinctly redundant.

We hold no major grudges here. We recall when our car tyre exploded at 80mph on the A1. We simply turned the radio up and ignored the warning signs. True to form we found ourselves in a near-death situation and veered off, career-wise limping into the hard shoulder, nerves jangling and hand reaching for Marlboro Lights. Similarly we had observed the lack of work flooding in the doors in our workplace and instead utilised our time chatting on Facebook while going “la la la la la la, everything will be fine” in our head.

We have taken the initative however. And set up our own show. We are doing the same thing, but lining no-one’s pockets but our own. We should perhaps have done this sooner. We are earning our keep and and we haven’t had to suck any cocks for it…. yet.

Onwards and upwards…

We are not funny… apparently.

So were loitering in Gaydar chat as we quite often do to kill time and waste our life away when we clocked a post by a bloke “needing someone to retrain his master.”

We directed him to his local college where we were positive that such a course would exist in this age of adult-education. We received a reply of “No. He needs to be trained by another Master”… “Like a Jedi?” we politely enquired. We received no response.

A short time passed and a third post appeared. “My master needs bred.” We pointed out that ASDA was probably the best place to go in this economic climate. We received a tirade of abuse.

Sometimes people just don’t get us.

Stag mentality

Our hometown attracts a lot of stag parties… you know the type: matching t-shirts with comedy names printed on the back that aren’t funny.

In a masterstroke of urban planning, cheap hotels have also been built within stumbling distance of town’s gay village. Occasionally this results in pissed ‘straight’ blokes finding themselves in venues that their wives and girlfriends (and hetero mates) probably wouldn’t like to know they were in.

We encountered a stray of this kind recently. Irish… which is a selling point immediately for us. And we discovered a girl’s name tattooed across his back. Which made us snigger.

He was hammered – he self-confessed. Which meant he was quite happy to explore the ‘other side of the fence’. We duly obliged. We like to welcome our visitors. We suspect we are better at some things than the owner of the name inked twixt his shoulders… his reaction suggested as much.

We think the tourism people should market this more. We might be onto a winner.