Does everyone remember Kudos? Well if you don’t, Kudos was a gay bar years ago where before the advent of Internet hook ups, Black guys and their admirers, used to hang out in London. On Friday and Saturday nights, there was a large video screen downstairs on which the latest R&B music videos would be played and we would have a dance while cruising for hook ups.
After a few years, management decided (probably on advice from consultants) that the bar was not making enough money and should have a new look and clientele. Word on the street was that black guys did not buy enough drinks and nursed a bottle of beer all night long. But I think Internet dating came along and reduced the footfall through the bar. But it is much easier to blame black guys and their frugality.
Management then decided to take out the video screen and plunked a piano bar in the centre of the floor and surrounded it with red lounge sofas. I think they were going for a cabaret effect. The clientele changed to Thai boys and their admirers. On a busy night it looked like the entire ensemble from the musical ‘Miss Saigon’, had stopped by for drinks.
This change in direction did not last long either. Kudos then changed its name to Blitz and became a straight bar. Long story short, there is a “For Let” sign on the premises. Not sure what section of society is being blamed for that fuck up but I digress…
Kudos was where I met Paco. He was a good-looking masculine brother from the Bahamas. He was 25 years old, about 5’8”, athletic build and weighed about 75kg. His arse had a presence of its own. It was not grotesquely humongous bothering on obscene like Nikki Minaj’s, but it was in your face in a nice arousing way and one could not help but notice it. People gawked at it when he walked by.
We got talking and exchanged numbers. (In those days, it took about 10 phone calls over 10days to arrange a hook up. Not today, where you are in within 5 online messages in 1 day) we called each other over the following days and arranged a hook up at his place one evening in the weekday.
All this while, I made plans on how I would tackle his arse. I was going do it like Tina Turner did “Proud Mary” – take the beginning “nice and easy” and the end “nice and rough”. I was going to make it sweat!
On the appointed evening I drove to his place in south London jumped a few red lights along the way and bounded up the stairs 2 steps at time to his first floor flat. Such was my eagerness to commence the mountainous task ahead of me. I knocked on the door; he let me in (and not for the first time that night). He offered me a drink, I accepted.
After 5 minutes of customary chit chat, the task began. We started snogging in the living room and gradually undressed down to our underwear. A bit of foreplay and we moved to the bedroom. Some more fondling on the bed and then the main task began. I stood back and admired the mountain I had to climb as a put on a rubber and lubed up. I turned him on his back and for the second time that night he allowed me into his domain. Slight resistance but nothing, adequate lubrication did not take care of. Once I was in, I paused for a few seconds to allow him get used to me. Then I took Tina’s instruction and started my strokes “nice and easy”. He got in sync with my rhythmic strokes and we even added a bit of twist and shout – I twisted and he shouted.
As we got to the “nice and rough” part, Paco’s mobile phone rang. His arse muscles tightened up, gripping my cock so tight it felt like it was being strangled. I looked at his face and there was panic in his eyes. He reached for the phone and I could hear an unintelligible outburst at the other end. He released his grip and I thankfully withdrew. I looked at my cock to make sure it was still there!!
He shouted back into the phone, “Why didn’t you call me before you left Manchester?!?”
Another unintelligible outburst punctuated with a word I thought sounded like “rasclaart”.
He hung up the phone and asked me to get dressed that I had to leave. I looked at him quizzically. My cock, though momentarily starved of its blood supply, had recovered and was ready to continue to the best part of “Proud Mary”
He quickly explained to me that that was his boyfriend on the phone. Somehow in our previous phone conversations, he neglected to tell me he was in a relationship. And in my shadiness, I had not done any “due diligence” on Paco – I had not asked anyone about him, incase someone blocked my moves. It turned out Paco was in a “relationship” with a notorious yardie named Killa.
I had heard of Killa. The gist was that Killa had done time for various drug related offences and from his nickname perhaps a bit more than drugs. Killa weighed about 115kgs of pure muscle, which he carried around his tall 6’4” frame. Killa had an 8-pack. Killa had huge biceps, thick thighs, neck and back. Killa had a ripped body to die for, but apparently had a face only a mother could love. (That last point is debatable because Killa, I heard was abandoned at birth and was raised in a Jamaican orphanage).
Though Killa had baby mamas dotted all over the UK, rumour had it that Killa was on the DL. Fancy acronym crazy psychologists would class him under “MSM” – Men who Sleep with Men. Also its been said that Killa was a jealous lover. He had been known to put lovers who cheated on him in hospital and the other persons they cheated with tend to somehow vanish.
Oh and Killa was downstairs pressing the buzzer to Paco’s flat……
To be continued…….