Gay Temples

By: David Andrew
(© 2008 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 9

This part of my story reflects the way things were way back then. I gather that these days gays don't suffer the same harassment from the law as they used to.

While I was flying out of Africa I did have layovers in London but didn't do much because it was just too close to home. However, my family did come out during the school holidays, so I did have an occasional night alone in the city. One night when I was on my own I looked to see what Sparticus recommended. The Berkley Gentlemen's Club, that was the name of the place. It was described as clean and elegant with a steam room, sauna, and a good clientele. Sounded OK. It was in Berkley Street, a very good address, so I went to check it out. The first thing I saw was a large notice on the wall just inside the entrance facing the door.

"Anyone participating in any unnatural sexual acts, lewd or lascivious behaviour will be reported to the authorities and subject to arrest and prosecution. Further, anyone being in the presence of any such sexual acts, or who are witnesses to lewd and lascivious behavior without reporting these acts to the management will be deemed to have taken part in any or all such acts, and shall be liable to arrest and prosecution..."

There was a lot more, all in large print on a board a yard square. I must admit it set me back, but then I thought that maybe it was just there to comply with the law rather than as a threat so I went in. It was very clean, antiseptic almost. There were no comfortable chairs to lounge in, no TV to pretend to watch. There weren't many men in the place, and those few were all wearing towels around their waists. But unlike New York where the towel was folded to reveal a little bit of ass, the tip of a penis, or low hanging testicles, these were big towels which covered them from their waists to their ankles! I wandered around exploring. The steam room was a closet, a single bench with space for four men at most side by side in a row. The sauna was a slightly bigger closet, maybe six men at a push, but then a push would almost certainly have been unlawful. There was a dormitory, not a large room, one pair of narrow bunk beds to the right of the door, one pair to the left, and one at the far end opposite the entrance. The room was very brightly lit, the beds were too narrow for more than one man, and were safely separated from each other by about twelve to fifteen feet; there was obviously not going to be any lewd or unnatural acts taking place in there! My immediate inclination was to leave, but then I thought that I might be able to get talking to someone interesting, maybe go to his place, or take him to my hotel. Anyway I'd paid so I decided to spend at least a little while in the steam closet and the sauna. I opened the door of the steam room, there was a blur of moving bodies as two guys separated.

"Relax!" I said, "Doesn't bother me in the slightest. Enjoy yourselves." They certainly didn't relax, in fact they looked at me with the utmost suspicion! It was a ridiculous situation, I knew what they'd been doing, what they wanted to do, but we sat in a row like dummies in a shop window.

After a while I took pity on them and left. I tried the sauna. The walls were lined with wooden planks, the door had a glass panel, and there were a couple of wood-slat benches. Three faces looked up as I came in, again very obviously two and one, and screaming tension in the air. Once more I tried to break the ice, you wouldn't think that would be difficult in a sauna.

"God it's hot in here, isn't it?" I asked of no one in particular sitting down at an arm's length from the guy nearest the door. There wasn't a murmur. To my mind this place was like something out of Alice in Wonderland. I guess talking can be lewd and indecent, but surely not unnatural? Not when you're saying, "It's hot." I decided to rattle their cages, pull their chains, make them respond.

"So!" I said firmly to the one nearest me leaning towards him, "Do you come here often?" He looked extremely uncomfortable and fidgeted.

"I...er...once or twice a..." his voice faded out. But I wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily.

"And is it always this crowded?" He looked alarmed now, obviously thought I had gone stark, staring mad. He got up and left. Now there was just the two who looked like they wanted to get real close, like inside each other.

"Look," I said cheerfully, "if there's something you two would like to do you don't have worry about me. In fact I'll stand by the door and warn you if anyone is coming." One of them looked tempted, the other was alarmed. "It's OK. Just do it! Whatever you want. I won't watch, I'll just be looking out the door." The tempted one looked at his friend. His friend got up and left, the other one just looked sad as he followed. I left too.

I took a shower, that was civilised, not cubicles, just an open space with shower heads. I was surprised, no sign to say it was unlawful to look sideways. The one man in there was facing away from me, neat butt, looked like a good fuck. His head moved from side to side as he washed the soap from his hair. I was facing him as he turned his head, he was interested, my cock started to swell. After the longest time he turned his body just enough for me to get a glimpse of his uncut erection. He still couldn't bring himself to look directly at me, only through the waves of water that washed over his face, but he was fascinated. By this time I had a real boner too, I poured a load of liquid soap over my genitals and slowly pumped my cock, just washing it you understand, nothing lewd. When I rinsed the soap off I made sure he got a good look at my hairless balls, believe me I could feel his eyes on my scrotum. I began to wonder if I was taking too much of a risk so I got out of the shower and started to dry myself. He turned off the water too and came closer. With the towel in his hands he obviously felt more at ease. He gave me a good look at his gear. I turned towards him and started to dry my hair with the towel. As I watched his cock flexed strongly, then the fore-skin rolled back on its own revealing a creamy coloured head. At that moment there was a scraping noise as the door opened, he was covered in a flash.

I followed him out to the main lobby area and sat at a safe distance from him on an uncomfortable marble bench. We got to talking. He told me about the facts of life for gay men in London; I told him of the joys of sex New York style. I'm not sure that he believed what I told him about the baths, certainly it was so different from his experience that I might have been talking about life on a different planet. I was also amazed by what he told me, especially since homosexuality had been decriminalised years before. For instance, he said that police officers went to the gay movie houses. They'd tempt gays by sitting with their flies open, then slap the cuffs on any hand that reached out to touch the fruit of the loins. He also said that he'd been in the Berkley when a guy had been arrested by a cop wearing nothing but a towel! Since there was no chance that we could get better aquatinted in this dangerous place I suggested he come back to my hotel. His reply stunned me.

"No, it wouldn't be safe, we could both end up in jail."

"But surely homosexuality between consenting adults isn't against the law?" I asked.

"Not if it's in private. But a hotel room is not a private place in the eyes of the law." I couldn't believe it, but that was the law (I gather it has been changed now).

"How about your place?"

He looked embarrassed, I wished I hadn't asked. "I live with my mother," he said quietly.

I went back to the hotel and jerked off wondering if the moral police might come bursting through the door. That was not the most exciting night I had in London, the other one was very different, bi rather than gay, but that was some way down the road.

During my two year contract the airline I flew for had got rid of the last of their 707's, but I still didn't have the seniority to get on the 747's. I'd had enough of Zambia and decided to come back to reality. For the next eighteen months I was relegated to the 737's. Even after I got used to the 737 I still didn't like it. In fact flying around Europe was the only period of my career that I didn't enjoy. You see some guys like to fly for the sake of flying. To them the idea of getting into an aircraft for a ten to twelve hour flight was anathema. In the same length of time in a short-haul aircraft they'd make five or six flights with that many more take-offs and landings. But at the end of the day they'd be back where they started, and they'd do something very similar the next day, and the next. They did have layovers, but usually arriving late and departing early. Nor did these places have quite the same buzz as Manhattan, Montego Bay or Mauritius! And because the flights were short the rest periods were the minimum required by law, ten hours usually. If you take off the time for getting to and from the airport it didn't leave time for anything much but sleep. Now to me that was a miserable way to earn a living.

On long-haul flights we'd only take-off once, but when we landed we were thousands of miles away. On the Atlantic routes we had at least 24 hours rest period because the aircraft took that long to make the round trip back. In the spring and fall we'd get two or three, even four day layovers as the flight schedules built up from daily, to ten, then twelve per week, and finally to twice or three times daily. During the winter months there were usually charter flights to the sun, the West Indies, Kenya, South Africa, Malaysia. These flights operated once a week, so that meant a week-long layover. Sure, we didn't do a lot of landings and take-offs, but I never thought of a good reason for going to work more than once a week.

Anyway, I was stuck with what I look on as my time in purgatory. But if the routes were tedious, the 737 was a pain. I was used to the 150 ton weight of the 707, the heaviest aircraft ever built without power controls. It needed a lot of effort to make it change direction, but once it was pointing the right way it was just so stable. My first day in the 737 simulator was interesting. They really are quite amazingly realistic, once you get started it's almost impossible to remember that this thing isn't actually flying. I got it off the ground okay, but it was so skittery that it was all I could do to keep it going up and in roughly the right direction. I wrenched on the control column to turn to the right as I would do in a 707 and all hell broke loose, it literally did a barrel roll. It took me the whole day just to get the light touch needed for the powered controls. But I wasn't the worst, a colleague, also off the 707 who was training with me, rolled it over on take-off, crashed straight back into the "ground," that is what it looked like to us on the inside. He threw himself out of the simulator and was sick! That's how realistic they are.

I flew around Europe for more than a year before I got a chance of some variety. A temporary posting to Tunisia came up and, although I hadn't been on the 737 very long, I was one of the most senior pilots on the type because I had come back from the 707. The Tunisians had recently bought 737's for the first time and were looking for six crews to fly them until their own guys had enough experience to be let loose. I wasn't really very interested in going to another African country, I'd seen enough of the whole continent to last one lifetime. But then I heard something that changed my mind. There was one skipper who'd always flown in Europe who was gay. Our paths had never crossed because he was one of those guys who preferred short haul flying. Once, when he'd a few drinks on a layover, he'd put his hand on a young co-pilot's crotch. There had been a bit of a punch-up, so it was a well known fact that he was gay. Well, when I heard that he had bid to go on this posting I decided to go too.

We went down to Tunis just after Christmas, and were given accommodation in a nice hotel on the coast out of town. My wife and sons, who were still at school, came down for the school holidays, then returned home. Now I had to manoeuvre carefully. Jack, that was his name, had no idea that I was interested, but there were also another ten colleagues in the modestly sized hotel. Some of them, the ones with very young children, or no children, had their wives and/or families in Tunis. Others were like myself, temporarily bachelors. Most evenings the 'bachelors' who weren't flying tended to gather in one or other of the rooms for a chat and a drink. Naturally Jack was one of the bachelors, the only real one as it happened. I had brought down a stereo outfit, small but very good quality, and some classical tapes, there were no CD's in those days. You can imagine how delighted I was when I discovered that Jack was a lover of classical music. Trouble was that there were usually two or three others in my room listening to the music as well. I played it very cool, not taking any chances, which meant that I was getting nowhere. One evening Jack, myself and two others were in my room so I still had no great expectations. However, the other two had early departures the next day, that meant they couldn't have a drink. About ten o'clock they decided to have an early night. Although I had no idea what I would do or say I knew that this might be my best chance to make a move. Then, to my dismay, when the two got up to go Jack said he'd be off too. I wanted him to stay, but what could I say? As they were leaving I handed Jack a calculator which belonged to him which I'd been using. I dropped it and the batteries popped out and rolled across the polished stone floor to disappear under the huge bed. I remember Jack cursing me for being clumsy and as the two of us got down on the floor to rescue the batteries the others went on their way to bed. As I fished under the bed my heart began to race, I knew I had to make a move.

"You're not flying tomorrow are you?" I asked, knowing perfectly well that he was on a day off.

"No...chance for a long lie in."

"So what's the hurry? It's still early."

"Well, if your sure it's okay I'll stay for a while." 'At last!' I thought as I put on another tape. I poured a couple of drinks, then excused myself to go for a leak. I still didn't know how I was going to get the conversation around to sex, but then, as I stood pissing into the bowl, inspiration struck. Right on the back of the bathroom door was my dressing gown, short kimono style made of thin cotton. I stripped off naked and put it on. My cock, up and hard, was sticking out the front. I had to fix that, didn't look cool. I tied the cord in a bow, low down over my hips, that held my dick up close to my body. When I came out he was more than surprised.

"David!" he said, "You obviously don't know my reputation."

"Yes, I've heard all about it," I said casually, "but it doesn't bother me." I went over to where he was sitting, stood right in front of him and held out one end of the cord offering it to him. "Want to see more?" His face was a picture.

"I knew there must be one! Just one like me, but I'd never have guessed it was you!"

"Well I'm glad you didn't guess, I have to keep a low profile. Not a word to anyone. Understand?"

"Oh you don't need to worry on that score. I'll never breathe a word to anyone."

I was still standing in front of him, still holding out the cord, he was just so surprised he hadn't moved. "Well are you going to pull it or not?" I asked. He laughed.

"Oh yes, I'm going to pull it all you want."

A gentle tug on the cord and the kimono fell open, everything I had was right there for him to enjoy. He pulled me close and sucked my cock into his mouth the way a starving man might go for a hunk of meat. Well I suppose I had just offered him a hunk of meat, and he was certainly starving. He was so enthusiastic that at one point I thought he was going to get both balls into his mouth as well as my cock. This lasted for maybe ten minutes, then he broke away.

"What do you like doing?" he asked.

"I just like having sex with men," I answered truthfully.

"But do you fuck?"

"Sure I fuck," I said.

"Will you fuck me?"

"Definitely, I'll do it right now if that's what you want."

"No...not yet, this has got to last. But you will do it won't you?"

"Yes, and I'd like you to fuck me too." I told him of my experiences, how difficult it had been even after I had been fucked for the first time. "What I'd like is for you to open me up, teach me how to take a man easily."

"Well David," he said, "we've got another couple of months. By the time we leave I'll have your ass opened up. That's a promise."

We moved to the bed and got to know each other very well indeed. After the longest time of kissing, licking, and sucking he asked me to fuck him. I gave him the full treatment, massage from toes to neck, and back down to his ass and balls with hand cream that I had by the bed. He was begging for my cock when I was only halfway through, but I made him wait. Finally I spread his legs as wide as they would go and knelt between them. I'd already worked some of the cream up his hole as I massaged, when I slotted my penis into his hole it just slipped in, all the way to my balls. I made it last as long as I could using long, strong strokes, even coming right out and plunging back in all the way to the hilt. He was in ecstasy, so was I. He came on my bed-cover, I came in his ass. It was very late before he left my room after a careful check of the corridor.

Next morning I went to the dining room for breakfast and was surprised to find that the guys who'd been in my room the night before, the ones with the early pick-up, were still sitting there. I went over to join them. Their flight had been delayed and Crew Control were holding them in the hotel so that their duty time wouldn't start clocking up until the aircraft was ready to fly.

"What happened to Jack last night?" the skipper asked. I was taken aback.

"I don't know...what happened?"

"Well when we left your room he didn't come..."

"Oh yes," I said. "I dropped his calculator, the batteries rolled under the bed, ended up right in the middle way up at the top of the bed. I told him to leave them and I'd get the room-boy to fish them out this morning, but he insisted on getting them back. Took quite a while to find the bloody things."

"Well," said the co-pilot, "you were taking a chance."

"How do you mean?" I asked innocently.

"Well you must know about Jack..."

"What about him?" I was still feigning innocence.

"He's a queer! You must know!"

"Yes of course I know that. As a matter of fact we had a great time, screwed like crazy until dawn." For a moment they both looked shocked, then the skipper realized that it was a joke.

"Yeah... That'll be right..." he said and, they both laughed heartily. (It wasn't an original idea to hide the truth by telling the truth, I'd learned it from another colleague, a very good friend of mine. He'd had a torrid affair with an Air India stewardess for many months. Somehow they'd arranged to be in the same city at the same time, and that took a lot of swapping duties and special requests to Crew Planning not to mention bottles of duty free. Anyway I was at his home one day when he came in off an all-night flight obviously in pain.

"What's the matter with you?" his wife asked.

"Well," he said, "I was screwing this Air India bird and things got so wild I rolled right off the edge of the bed. Didn't half wrench my back." I knew about his affair and needless to say I was amazed that he'd admit to it.

"Oh yes...sure..." said his wife. "The only thing you ever fell off on a layover is a fucking barstool!" We all laughed at his little joke, but he told me later that it was the absolute truth.)

I had great hopes of being thoroughly fucked by Jack during the next couple of months. I felt sure that if I was done regularly my hole would relax and I'd be able to take a really good fucking when I got back to NYC. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. A couple of days later we were both scheduled for a layover in Djerba, an island just off the southern part of Tunisia. Jack wasn't feeling well that morning, I suggested that he should call in sick, but he didn't. By evening he was much worse. So much for our plans for that night. What I didn't realize at the time was that Jack was much worse than any of us thought, he had hepatitis, a very bad dose. He was in a Tunisian hospital for about six weeks and then returned home, but didn't come back to flying for several months. Even then he wasn't really fit, often off sick, and eventually took early retirement. Sadly Jack never fully recovered from that bug, he died about three years later of acute liver failure. And my ass-hole never did get opened up, probably the best thing that could have happened to me. If I could have taken a cock the way I saw other guys take them I know I'd have been fucked a thousand times. I guess I wouldn't have been writing this today, I'd have been a statistic.

To be continued...

Posted: 04/17/09