George was a very friendly guy. We had struck up a conversation at the bar while waiting to be served. I had not long moved to this part of London and didn't know anyone. He was from Yorkshire and understood how it takes a while and some luck to meet people and make friends in a new place.
"The thing is with blokes," he said, "is we're suspicious of people's motives. Why is this guy talking to me? You're probably thinking that yourself. We can't just accept that some people are friendly." He looked at me intently, searching my eyes for clues, but in truth there was not much to find. I had had three glasses of wine in quick succession and was feeling the warmth and relaxation that you might pay for later, but which does the job at the time.
George was tall and overweight, with hairy arms and chest, and a full beard. He must have been in his late 50s, same as me, and it did cross my mind that he might be gay, which I wasn't - I didn't think - but if he was, so what? He was a nice person, intelligent and he just seemed like a decent sort.
He invited me to join his friends at a table in the corner.
"Simon," he said to me grandly, "this is Pat, Lee Jun and Louis. Gentlemen: my new friend Simon."
I weighed them each up. Pat was very overweight with dark hair around the sides but bald in the middle. Most men would have shaved their head these days, but he went the old-fashioned route. He was an old-fashioned man altogether, I thought, wearing a business shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and crumpled suit trousers. He looked like he had just got home from work and hadn't bothered to change. No idea of style. He just didn't wear a tie or jacket at weekends. Involuntarily I imagined his underpants: big and white and functional.
Lee Jun was skinny and had some Asian genes: dark hair parted on the side, Chinese eyes. Roll-neck top and loose jeans.
Then there was Louis, who looked older. He was West Indian, dark and burly. When I found myself wondering about his underwear I found I couldn't imagine any. It was a warm summer day and he was wearing shorts. His big snake must be in there, silently sweating.
Louis and Derek said hello and got back to their conversation, but Pat was looking at me with something running through his mind. I felt a twinge of something in my crotch, but I couldn't put a name to it.
An hour later, pretty well absorbed into the group, I was relaxed and happy.
"My place," George announced. "I've got the whisky. Wine, everyone?" They all nodded and grunted as if to say they had a bottle somewhere. Maybe this was gong to be a session.
We trooped down the road and into a terrace of fairly large houses. George's was double-fronted and tidy. We sat in the front room while George went to the kitchen.
Pat had sat next to me on the settee and I could smell his aftershave or cologne. I am never sure how much to put on. You want to smell good at close quarters but subtle enough not to be detectable from 100 yards. Pat had got it about right.
Lee Jun had gone upstairs to the toilet. Louis sat opposite me and I found myself looking up the legs of his shorts. There was still no suggestion of impropriety in this gathering, but I had a vague feeling of wanting some. I had never had a homosexual experience but had thought about it from time to time. No one had asked me, that was probably all. I have this slightly aloof air that makes people wary of me.
When George came in with a tray of glasses and snacks, Pat slapped me on the thigh and said, "Ah, here we go." He kept his hand there a second longer than would normally constitute a friendly male gesture. Without intending to, I moved my thigh a fraction till it touched his. Maybe I was misreading the situation and that would be very embarrassing, so I pulled my leg back a little. He relaxed, leaned back and his thigh closed the distance again. A thought hit me like a slap in the face. I was behaving like I would have with a woman, playing the thigh equivalent of footsy. I quickly thought about how I would play this if Pat was female, but was surprised to conclude that I wanted the female role myself. And after all, he had started it, so maybe I should just wait and see.
George poured large whiskies for everyone and put the various bottles of wine in the kitchen.
We listened to music and chatted happily for half an hour, before George announced, "Video, anyone?" There was a bit of uneasy flicking of glances in my direction and back to each other for verification.
"Simon can choose," George decided and everyone relaxed just little. He passed me a laptop which was cordlessly connected to the huge TV.
"Anything you like," he said. I looked at the list in a folder called Sun Fun. It was all porn, and I felt myself blushing. The titles were self-explanatory. Judy gets fucked by old man, Lesbian rimming compilation, Interracial threesome and so on. I picked one called Friends Group and there was a bit of a communal murmur in the room.
The video was obviously homemade and I noticed immediately that it was set in this very room.
A younger man was on his hands and knees on the rug and the unmistakable bald pate of Pat, seen from the back, appeared and knelt behind him. The silence was tense and expectant and, I thought, directed at me. Pat moved his thigh along mine as he watched himself on screen. He was buggering the young man.
"This okay with you?" he whispered to me.
"Sure," I said hesitantly. At that point he put his hand on my jeans, casually but precisely over my cock and balls. He was waiting for me to flinch and when I didn't, he smiled and gave my package a slight squeeze.
The whole group saw this and palpably relaxed. Lee Jun knelt in front of Louis and they kissed. George joined me on the settee. He took my right hand and placed it on his own trousers.
"Just relax and enjoy it," he said reassuringly. I felt his hardening bulge and stroked it. "Pat, take him in the bedroom.," George said. Pat stood up and pulled me to my feet. I was more than happy with this development, if a little taken aback and very aware that other people were watching me being led into a private space where sex was going to take place: thrilling, abandoned, consenting-adults homosexual sex. I was half tempted to get on my knees and suck Pat there and then, but he pulled me through the door and closed it behind him.
He pulled his absurdly formal shirt and trousers off and sat on the bed to remove his socks. The sheer ordinariness of the procedure had a strangely seductive effect on me. His underpants were exactly as I had imagined them. They were traditional old-man underpants which had been washed a hundred times to get rid of piss dribbles and skid marks. This was a normal suburban middle-aged man getting undressed in front of me and the reason he was getting undressed was that he intended to have sex with me. I wrenched off my own clothes and stood uncomfortably before him, my erect penis showing him he now had carte blanche with me.
Pat extended an arm, I took his hand and he pulled me down on top of him. It wasn't a cool, controlled descent and somehow that was extra exciting, because I was being drawn into this gay interaction through no impetus of my own. I had done nothing to encourage all this, although I was a guilty as hell deep inside.
