The first Sunday of every month, the dresscode is naked or underwear at Birmingham’s self-proclaimed ‘Horniest Club’.
This event is one of the club’s biggest and most popular events, packing the place out with a mix of men in their underwear or just naked. Every ages are in attendance and all body types are on show.
The heating is on full blast during the winter events, but I have been known to head straight for the biggest and busiest darkroom just to huddle together with the other guys, like a colony of penguins, until I acclimatise.
I was once trying to persuade a friend and colleague to come and bare all with me, once the weekend conference that we were working on together was over. I was having to shout to be heard over the hubbub of the noisy staffroom.
“You don’t have to be fully naked,” I reassured him at the top of my voice, then added, precisely at one of those odd moments when all noise simultaneously ceases, “YOU CAN KEEP YOUR PANTS ON!”
There was one occasion, several years ago, when the event coincided with Easter Sunday. I still think that the marketing team missed an opportunity. ‘Naked or Underwear: The ResERECTION. Hallelujah, He Has Risen Again’.
Every month, without fail, I see my old form teacher at the event. He’s now in his late 70s and still baring all. The first time I saw Mr G there, he was stood with his back to me at the bar in nothing but a pair of baggy M&S boxer shorts, so I sidled up, stood behind him and said, “Excuse me sir, I’ve been sent to see you.”
He offered to buy me a pint, which he has kindly continued to do on all subsequent encounters and rarely allows me to buy him one back.
Standing there at a bar with Mr G in the near buff, the conversation meandering through various everyday topics, seemed so normal that it felt like I was in any backstreet boozer but had spontaneously developed X-ray vision.
On another occasion, my chat with Mr G was interrupted by the arrival of my neighbour from several houses down. It took me a moment to place the face, as I didn’t recognise him without his clothes on.
After we talked and he headed off to mingle, I turned to Mr G and said, “This is going to be a challenge. I’ve fancied him since he first moved in, but I can’t go there, as that would be too close for comfort.”
We both agreed that it would be unwise to have sex with a neighbour, as you don’t ‘shit on your own doorstep’.
Well… my resolve lasted all of 20 minutes.
There was one occasion, when myself and a handsome mixed-race guy caught each other’s eye. He flashed me a dazzling smile and vanished into one of the dimly lit cruising areas. I immediately followed.
I soon found him waiting in the gloom. Although they are referred to as ‘darkrooms’ there is adequate light for you to find your quarry, although not always enough to easily negotiate the twisting corridor. I once saw a guy collide full speed into a wall that he had mistaken for a doorway and stay there, like Wile E. Coyote slammed against a fake tunnel entrance painted onto a rockface.
The guy’s name was Kayden and we stood and chatted in the bustling corridor.
“Do you mind me asking, but how old are you?”
“I don’t mind you asking at all. I am forty-seven,” I told him. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” He replied. “I hope I look as good as you… when I get to your age.”
I thanked him for the compliment but explained that he really didn’t need to add the last bit.
Kayden looked sheepish.
“So,” I asked, “have you been to here before?”
It was my turn to look sheepish when he replied, “Yes! You fucked me last month.”
I apologised and gave the feeble excuse, “Well it was dark.”
“That’s OK. I’ll let you make it up to me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into a cubical.
Once the door was closed, Kayden dropped to his knees and got on task.
I automatically placed my hand on the back of his head and was surprised by the softness of his hair. Being mixed white and Afro-Caribbean, his hair naturally had a pronounced curl, but it had a particularly luxurious feel, like a deep plush carpet.
“Your hair is amazing!”
Kayden paused what he was doing and looked up at me.
Still cupping me in his hand, he gave me an incredulous stare and said in a stonic deadpan, “Yeah… You said that last month.”
Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off to iron my underwear. 😉