The 'Boys' From California....

Now there’s a subject. You’ve either closed down my blog immediately or else you’ve dived into the body of the text to see what’s going on. Good for you. I hope you have a strong stomach. 

Now let me state, right at the outset, that I have nothing against homosexuals. I just don’t like what they do in the confines of their pink bedrooms. So now that’s out of the way, why am I writing about them? It’s a long story. 

Like most people, Mandelson, Portillo, John Prescott……(no – that last one is a mistake) ….I’ve had a homosexual experience and it’s one I’ll never live down. Why am I writing about it – well it’s to show people that I obviously have a caring, sensually attractive side to me. Either that or I have a great bum – whatever. 

I’d not long joined BT when they sent me, with a few other BT guys (I said guys), to California to do a deal with a major credit card company who shall remain nameless although it’s not the one with the orange and yellow circles or the one with the greenish corporate colour – that should narrow it down a bit. Once the deal was pretty sure to go through, the lead deal maker  in the US (Paul) hosted a lunch at his ‘lakeside condominium’ just outside San Francisco. The very location should have pre-warned me but I was naïve, although my BT colleagues had previously suggested that there was an undercurrent of male sexuality going on which I'd poo poohed. Anyway, Paul was keen to show me how Californians lived. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d already had two house exchanges with a Californian lady so I went along with whatever he suggested -he was the customer after all. He showed me his garden and the lounge, the utility room, but when he offered to show me the bedroom I made my excuses and rejoined the main party downstairs. It was probably a lucky escape! 

Move on a few months and we’re now in London. The deal is all but signed and Visa (sorry – nameless credit card company) are hosting a dinner in Soho (you knew it didn’t you ?) to thank the BT guys for their efforts. I arrived late to find the circular table nearly full with only two places left. Not wishing to delay anything, I sat down at the nearest empty place, next to Paul as it happened. As I sat, I noticed that the Account Director for BT was giving me dirty looks but as he was always doing that I just carried on and started speaking to Paul. A few minutes later, a guy I did not know arrived and was quite obviously upset at being seated across the table from me. As it turned out, and I was later to find out, this was Paul’s boyfriend who had been shopping and who had assumed he’d be sitting next to his loved one. Anyway, dinner started and half way through, I noticed Oliver, (Paul’s boyfriend) pushing a package across the table towards me. Having had a few G&T’s before I’d arrived, I seized control of the situation and opened this ‘present’, again much to the embarrassment of everybody who was in the know (they’d all been briefed before dinner had started) and found it was a book. I opened it up and there inside the front cover was a greeting which I stupidly read out aloud…..’To Paul with all my undying love – Oliver’. Well you could have cracked the atmosphere with a tube of KY jelly. Deathly silence followed and then Paul whispered in my ear that he and Oliver were ‘significant others’. A term I knew from IBM. 

Dinner continued and things became a bit more relaxed, now that everybody knew that I knew. Wine flowed and the conversation returned to the deal. I noticed Oliver becoming bored and I manfully (note the term) started a conversation with him. I apologised for being late and taking his seat and he replied that he had been late because he’d been off buying Paul some new shoes – some burgundy brogues in some fancy shop somewhere. Paul overheard this and complained that nobody wore burgundy brogues these days, whereupon, in the absence of all logic and shame, I professed to actually wearing some that very night. Chaos ensued as Oliver strode round the table, pushed my chair back, lifted my right leg into the air and showed everyone my burgundy brogues. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me, Paul or the other diners but again within a few minutes normality (if that’s the correct word) returned and dessert arrived. 

After coffee and liqueurs had been served it was time for me to apologise (again) and set off for home. I don’t recall the exact reason why I was leaving before anybody else but I stood up and bade my farewell. Again, Oliver got up, strode round the table, grabbed my face in both hands and started snogging me. 

I was apoplectic but logical thoughts raced through my mind. How dare he. But he’s the boyfriend of the main customer. What will my colleagues think? What will Paul think? Is the deal now dead? BT will kill me. 

All I can remember in those awful few seconds (it seemed like an eternity) was Oliver trying to push his tongue through my clenched teeth and me thinking that women do have a point when men with a growth on their chins try and snog them. It was horrific. 

So, I’ve done it. Been there and got the t-shirt but didn’t like it one bit….and that was only a snog!