Date: Thu, 19 Aug 2004 23:58:01 +0000
From: Graham Collett <graham_cro_uk@hotmail.com>
Subject: Baroque II

Baroque II
Graham Collett
Copyright 2003

The following tale is fictional. It is the second part to a trilogy that I
am writing. The original 'Baroque' story can also be found on this site.

*   *   *

I was a rat in a maze. Stumbling in and out of blind alleyways, smarting
from the neon firebrands that blazed in the perpetual twilight of Soho's
streets; spilling their exuberance into the toxic puddles. Millions of lives
drawn by the same mesmeric call of clandestine pleasures; drawn though these
streets of Hamelin; caught in the undertow like jetsam and washed away on a
tide of alcohol and drugs.

A place to forget; to pull doves from your sleeve and pass through the veils
of illusion. With each step the world has shifted and yet the obsession that
possesses me remains as I incinerate the small hours with cigarettes, smoke
trailing behind me in the diffusion of fading time.

I was consumed by the memory of a person and a place that somehow diverted
the course of my life. A place bound up with my darkest desires like an
addiction. A place without which my world had become barren and trite and I
knew that I would never retrace my footsteps back to my time of innocence.

Baroque was unlike any other club that I had encountered. In my fevered
hours of insomnia the memories of its decadence coursed though my veins like
a raging fire. Images of merging flesh and indiscriminate fucking replayed
over and over in the worn celluloid of my recollections. I imagined myself
descending into the images of Hieronymus Bosch; immersing myself headlong
into a garden of earthly delights; feeling that divine release from an
eternal anguish. It seemed that for a lifetime, Baroque had fuelled my
masturbatory fantasies and I was no longer exercising free-will.
"Des..."
Inadvertently, I gave sound to my formless ideal. He seemed at once to be
both my saviour and my nemesis. I thought about his taught muscular body,
his manly smell... His taste... His skin, dark like midnight, explored by a
thousand loveless hands. I fantasised about how many men and women he had
driven into the frenzy of a sublime bliss with his huge dick and voracious
sexual appetite. I longed for him fill my body in the same way that he
filled my mind.

I had lost count of the number of times that I had drifted Soho's jaded
streets, caught in the dull ennui of existence, desperately trying to
re-discover the whereabouts of Baroque, imagining that each turn might allow
me to revisit that place of my awakening. Des had given me a business card
but the mobile number appeared to be defunct. It seemed that fate would deny
me the thing that I most desired.

"Oh sorry..."
I said with a start. In my frantic search, I had almost knocked over a young
black guy as I turned into a darkened street.
"Mind yourself... blood clot!"
He looked angry. The whites of his eyes captured the distant red glow of
neon.
"I am terribly sorry... erm, I should have looked where I was going."
I chose to ignore his insult and smiled at him as best I could.

Short locks tumbled over his forehead, his noble features face twisted into
aggression. In the half light of a sultry August night, I could just
perceive the outline of his bulging biceps and tight singlet top. A gold
medallion glimmered conspicuously around his neck like some artless
Christmas bauble.

He walked on a couple of paces, cursing, then turned to find me staring at
him.
"What ya watchin at?"
His deep voice jolted me, yet it seemed to lack the intonation genuine
aggression.
"Er, you... I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone that's all."
I felt an odd connection with this stranger. Despite his hostile demeanour,
somehow, I could tell that he meant me no real harm.
"I wonder if you could help me? I am looking for a club..."
"Me got ting fe do!"
He complained with a raised voice and kissed his teeth making a derogatory
sound. But then he must have been amused at my pained look as an unexpected
smile broke through the cover of his stormy expression like moonbeams. I
smiled back at him warmly. I wondered if he was Jamaican born, still imbued
with some ancestral memory; defiant and angry against a legacy of injustice.
Perhaps there was Maroon blood still quickening in his veins, remaining
forever indomitable and proud.
"Please, indulge me."
I said softly. He approached me warily, one hand toying with the contents of
his pocket.
"Where do you wanna go mate?"
He assumed a less hostile sounding London accent.
"Have you heard of Baroque?"
"Nah, what is it, a strip joint?"
"Yes, kind of. It's for men really, I mean, men strip there."
He seemed more relaxed with the revelation that I was gay. Somehow it
appeared to diffuse any sense of threat that he may have felt. I played with
my straggly blond hair as he stared at me, emerging from the quicksand of
shadow.
"Ok, you can do a lickle ting for me, then me take you somewhere."
I was not sure what he meant as his innuendo hung in the air like a
comic-strip question mark. He walked back along the street and ducked into a
narrow alleyway, lost in the seamless dark. With some trepidation, I
followed him, just catching his vague form leaning against the wall and
merging with the building like some exquisite gargoyle.
"Do da ting."
He said with his hushed lilting intonation. I knew that he was probably
straight, but this being Soho, he knew well of the pleasures that men could
perform for other men. It seemed that I lost my breath as I drew closer to
him. I dropped to my knees and allowed my arms to encircle his compact
thighs. It was pitch black as my head drew closer to his waist. I was not
sure what I might expect as I gradually drew closer till I felt a heat near
my cheek and realised that his burning manhood was just a fraction away from
my face. My mouth started to water in anticipation...
He must have reached down and slapped his solid cock hard on my cheek. It
felt hot, moist as if the darkness had somehow taken form and solidified
into a fantasy.
"Thank you."
I whispered, but the time for talking had past. I turned my head and allowed
the guy's proud dick to ease gradually into my mouth, tasting his skyward
pointing erection as I slipped along the thick, rigid shaft. Without
hesitation, he started to fuck my mouth, urgently rushing  to his climax
undercover of the cloak of night. I pulled away and tried to tantalise him
with my tongue, but he firmly drew my head back down his hungry black cock,
unable to delay the inevitability of his desire. I held his waist, almost
unmoving as he greedily exploited the warm fuckhole of my mouth, pumping it
forcefully and impacting on the back of my throat in rapid succession. I
tried to pull away, but he resisted my attempt as both his hands clamped my
head firmly in place.
"You gotta swallow it all up for me."
He whispered breathlessly. I rested both hands on the wall as the smooth
head of his dick hammered into my throat with gathering momentum.
"That's it, that's where me want it.
His grip on my head tightened as he let out a horse guttural groan
"huhhh.. uh...urrr!
His love juice shot down my throat like a high pressure jet, as I felt
powerful muscle pulsations at the base of his dick, rapidly propelling his
hot spunk all the way down my gullet.
"Suck it down!"
He ordered arrogantly. I complied with his demand and sucked off the
residual jism, drinking it as if it were a holy sacrament. His cock almost
became flaccid, but started to become hard again as I worked my tongue
around its head adoringly. He appeared reluctant to for me to stop servicing
his proud tool, but I broke off my attentions as my thoughts turned to Des.
"Thank you. I hope that was what you wanted?"
"Me gotta go."
"Please, let me I at least buy you a coffee."
I said with a rather pathetic voice.  I doubted whether he could have seen
my plaintive expression looking up as I marvelled at his almost iconic black
masculinity, still searching my heart for an ideal that I might never
discover.
"Come along, we walking."
Somehow, amongst the chaos of drunk couples and milling crowds I managed to
find the welcoming glow of a cafe in Old Compton Street. We sat overlooking
the random collisions of gay men spewing forth from the nearby bar, picking
up their one their one-night-stands with a repetitive efficiency.

My friend sipped his rum and coke, perhaps curious at the fluidity and ease
of gay liaisons.
"So this is what ya like?"
I wondered if he intended his remark to have such accusatory overtones.
"Not really. I sometimes go to those places. I have never really felt that
I'm part of it. They're just places like any other. People meet, explore
eachother's surfaces, loose themselves in the moment. What else is there?"
"So what ya looking for?"
It seemed that my world resonated with echoes of the past. Phrases recurred,
haunting me like visitations.
"Mind if I ask your name?"
"Spinah."
He gave a broad sneer-like grin and extended a large hand laden with gold
rings. We brushed palms as I looked away from his unrelenting stare.
"I'm Graham. What do you do in Soho?"
My question was met with a stark silence. I sipped uncomfortably at my
venomous green absinth. I noticed that he wore an eternity ring. It seemed
to scatter the light in a most extraordinary way. I became momentarily
hypnotised by the interplay of light, gazing into some inner cosmos, as it
somehow extruded its substance into my fleeting ponderance.

Spinah finished his drink as I signalled to the waiter, ordering another
round of drinks.
"So how many girls have you fucked?"
I said incidentally, drawing his gaze sharply from the street and the melee
of random faces, swept along by a million different thoughts. Spinah seemed
momentarily taken aback by my question, then his face flashed annoyance.
"Ya nosy bway!"
I decided not to pursue my line of questioning. I guessed that he may even
have lost count of his conquests.
"You will have to excuse me, I was being a little presumptuous."
"Me know how ta wine dem girls good."
"I bet you do. Practice makes perfect, as the old adage goes."
I had often observed that true players rarely boasted of their sexual
exploits. They remained discreet, perhaps so as not to jeopardise their
future chances with a reputation that might proceed them. Even in a populous
city like London, word might eventually get around of caddish behaviour.

I started to feel a little bleary eyed with the drink and propped up my head
on the table, glancing appreciatively at the handsome guy sitting opposite
me.
"I am wound-up Spinah. I dunno... Perhaps I'm just lost somewhere between
obsession and madness."
I sighed. Spinah's eyes became ponderous as he gazed through the anonymous
macho clones and immaculate queens who hurried past or lingered a while as
they flitted over other men with ravenous eyes. Time seemed to elapse and
the seconds extended into their own expanding eternities. When he turned it
seemed that he had journeyed somewhere distant.
"You just gotta live. Some things ya choose, some things are chosen for ya,
that's just how it is."
"I guess so, I suppose I should let fate take its course and just seize the
moment when I can."
His roguish smile lifted me from my reverie.
"Follow me, and no badda say anything."
Spinah's eyes darted about as he got up and dodged waiters, laden with
plates and headed for the toilets. I waited a moment then made my way to the
back of the cafe, discreetly following him,but loosing sight of him as he
descended the steps.

The toilets seemed surprisingly fragrant and I noticed that one of the
cubical doors stood slightly ajar. I cautiously pushed it and found Spinah,
holding a small plastic bullet shaped device. He held it to his nose and
inhaled sharply while blocking the other nostril.
"Dis'll relax you."
"Oh really?"
I said with a sardonic grin. He laughed to himself.
"Go on, `ave a bump of K."
He handed me the small perspex device with and told me to snort the speck of
white powder within its chamber.
"This one's on da `ouse. Looks like ya need it"
"Oh great, thanks."
I said trying to be gracious and taking the device, inserting it into a
nostril. Did I really look like some strung-out speed freak? He reached
around me and bolted the door as I sniffed up the caustic powder and waited
for something to happen.
"It'll come, jus wait."
He said assuringly, rubbing his crotch though the baggy fabric of his
gangster jeans.
"You know what I want..."
He half whispered in deep, dulcet tones. He partly unbuttoned his jeans,
allowing them to rest on his thighs and leant against the grey paint flecked
wall. I fumbled slightly with the two buttons of his boxer shorts, crouching
down on the slate tiled floor. As soon as I released the second button, his
dick sprang proud from the flies in all its potent majesty. I kissed the
head adoringly like a long lost lover before slipping down its throbbing
length, drawing back the foreskin with my pursed lips and feeling his thick
girth filling my throat. He ran his fingers through my lank blond hair as I
struggled to accommodate his twitching manhood. I pressed my hands to the
wall as I worked dutifully back and forth along his cock.
"hmm..."
He started to gyrate his hips pushing himself into my salivating mouth at
different angles. He pushed my head off and grabbed at the front of my
trousers.
"Me want ta feel ya pussy."
"You can't. I am saving it for someone. You can finger it if you want."
I whispered, but started to feel a yearning for him in the throws of my
burgeoning desires. I turned away from him and dropped my trousers just
below the curve of my butt. I turned and saw him suck his finger, jerking
his fat inflamed dick with his other hand.
"You can't fuck me. I'm serious Spinah. I don't do that kind of thing unless
I know the person."
"Ok, I hear ya man!"
Spinah seemed more than a little annoyed. I bent and leant a hand on the
opposite wall, tugging at my cock with my free hand. Spinah ran his hand
over my butt, squeezing the firm pale cheeks and making me tingle with his
firm caress. His expert finger ran up and down along the cleft of my butt
then rested at the entrance of my tight hole pushing gently at the
unyielding sphincter.  Again, he sucked a finger, while sniffing the first
one.

His moistened middle finger rubbed over the entrance of my hole pushing
steadily harder and sending little waves of tingling joy up my spine.
Finally, as I relaxed with his sensuous caress, his finger slipped into me
bringing a surge of pleasure that seemed to expand outward as he pushed in
further, exploring my soft yielding butt hole.

I jerked myself as fucked me with his thick finger, pushing deeper and
faster.
"Nice pussy, nice `n tight for me"
He whispered as he quietly groaned his appreciation. His finger slowly
withdrew. I felt his hands suddenly grasp my hips and in an instant his hot
tool was pushing hard at the longing gateway of my desire.
"No I can't. I want it but I can't."
"What ya talking `bout, jus free it up."
He intoned in a harsh whisper
"No, I don't do it just like that"
"Get down on me then."
There was frustration in his voice. I turned and crouched back, before him
like a penitent sinner appeasing an angry god with my display of humility
and devotion. Spinah gripped my hair with both hands and yanked it a little
hard, forcing me to speed up and bringing a slight pain as I desperately
tried to keep up with his tugging fist.

He started to pant and I felt a slight trembling in his grip as his
escalating euphoria arose into the rush of orgasm. I felt dizzy as he banged
the back of my throat until he slowed and rapid shots of spunk jettersoned
down my throat. He drew it out while still cumming and I watched in awe as
his seed squirted from his ejaculating cock and sprayed over my face.

He examined his dick self consciously and carefully wiped the dripping spunk
from the end before slipping his jeans back up. Without saying a word, he
left, leaving me feeling hot and frustrated from the depths of my being. I
zipped myself up and ventured out to wash my face, gargling his manly taste
from my mouth.

I headed upstairs and back to my table but Spinah was nowhere to be seen. It
seemed that he had been engulfed by the night . I felt unsteady on my feet
as I paid for the drinks and stepped out into the drifting tide of faces. My
footsteps seemed unsteady like a foal, newly born into a strange world.
Lights seemed bright and when I closed my eyes, tapestries of interwoven
images seemed lucid and richly textured. A euphoria and numbness gathered
around me like clouds and I felt myself drifting into an altered state of
consciousness. I leaned at the corner of a side street and closed my eyes.
My mind seemed to conjure up shapes and forms that solidified then dissolved
like a magician's illusions. I slumped to the pavement as my mind's eye
travelled through the vastness some inner space.

Something emerged from the smoke and mirrors. A huge golden pyramid in some
remote and alien universe. It glowed, basking in the reflection of an
ancient, bronzen sun. As I drew near the laws of physics gave way to
metaphysics as I passed weightless into a gargantuan glass atrium. I was no
longer aware of the external world as a universe unfolded in my mind. Other
travellers drifted here and sweet music swept over me, subtle and alien,
pulsing in layers of ambient harmonies. A fellow traveller looked at me
serenely and I perceived her thoughts...
"Welcome to Zero G Club."
I felt myself rising to the apex of the perfect tetrahedron construction and
looked out upon a blanket of clouds, basking in golden sunshine.
"Hey!"
I half opened my eyes and the visions dispersed before the shifting and
skewed aspect of the street like a puff of smoke. Someone gingerly shook my
arm.
"Hey, it's not safe to travel here!"
"Huh?"
An angelic looking oriental woman looked at me with worried eyes.
"Oh, I was a bit dizzy, that's all. I'm... I am fine... thanks."
I clambered to my feet tentatively testing my balance, still a little
unsteady.
"You should be careful. Soho can be dangerous sometimes. People can't always
be trusted."
"I am ok, honestly. I just need to sit somewhere... wait for the dizziness
to wear off."
The woman lead me by the hand along a series of narrow alleyways, taking
shortcuts that I had not even been aware of. All of a sudden we were in
China Town looking along the rows of restaurants and chinese medicine shops.
She lead me into a quiet, dimly lit restaurant and spoke something
unintelligible to a waiter as she headed to though a doorway and ascended
the stairs. As I tried to bring my mind back into full focus, the waiter
brought jasmine tea and a golden sachet containing a fortune cookie. He
poured the tea and left me to collect my thoughts. I broke open the fortune
cookie and removed the delicate strand of paper;
"To discover wisdom,  first you must loose it."
I thought about the cryptic wording momentarily, then placed it carefully in
the top pocket of my jacket. The waiter reappeared and poured some more tea,
looking rather concerned. I started to feel a little self conscious as more
people began to arrive and called to the waiter, offering payment for the
tea. He smiled and held up a hand
"No. No money. You go and come back soon."
He nodded politely as I thanked him and bid him goodbye.

The cool night air seemed sobering and fewer people lined the streets. I
wondered which direction my feet would take me. They seemed to have a
volition of their own. I thought about going home but somehow I knew the
night held more secrets that it sought to reveal to me. I made a wish and
tried to look for shooting stars beyond feathery masks of cloud.

I turned randomly along the vibrant streets, stepping in and out of shadow.
I passed shops packed to the gunnels with plastic renditions of Beefeaters
and Tower Bridge. Union Jack T-shirts displayed proudly, in some ironic
post-modern ode to nationalism. Every conceivable national icon seemed mass
produced, dulled by repetition into a kind of wall paper.

"Yo Bruv!"
I turned but knew in my heart that a wish had been answered.
"Des?"
A figure approached from the opposite side of the street with a swaggering
pirate's gait, as if dancing to an soundless rhythm. I noticed a familiarity
about the street and realised that at the next turn was the original place
of our meeting. I looked in vague disbelief as he sauntered up to me and
grinned broadly, his gold tooth glinting in the gloom.
"Hey bruv, where ya been?"
"Nowhere really, just looking around."
In my mind, I wanted to tell him how much I had missed him but it seemed
inappropriate and the meanings of such expressions of endearment seemed to
have lost their substance somehow. They had become mantras to insincerity.
He stood close and I wondered if he could sense my soaring `joie de vivre'
as I looked at his face in silent wonder, ineptly trying to disguise my true
feelings.
"Ya missed me them."
He spoke as if it were a statement of fact as I looked over his gentle
features and dark seductive eyes. His dress sense seemed a little more
conservative than previously and his tight sweatshirt bore no obvious logo.
Beneath it, powerful and defined muscles swept down in a classic "V" shape
to where his undulating abdominals rippled under the fabric suggestively.
"Why would I miss you?"
I said defiantly, trying at the same time to convince myself that he meant
nothing to me and I could topple the pedestal on which I had placed him
upon.
"Anyway, how did you know it was me? There's a hundred white guys walking
along this street..."
"I juss know! I remember ya walk. I remember cuz ya never free up ya pussy
fa Des."
"Why would I do that when you can get it any time from one of your bitches.
How is Battersea Dog's Home these days?"
"Ya fukin rude-ee! Who d'ya think ya talkin to?"
I sensed that his hot blood rising, so I made a rapid apology before his
quick temper got the better of him.
"Supposing that I did miss you, what difference would it make? You don't
really care about me... I'm just another piece of white trash drifting the
streets. I bet you don't even remember my name..."
"I do."
He said decisively, fixing me with a cryptic stare.
"It's Gray... Graham. I always remember a face."
I tried to conceal my surprise as I felt my heart soaring; hidden like truth
and obscured by the random abstraction of clouds.
"Would you care for a coffee?"
I said rather formally, looking him in the eye with renewed vigour.
"No. There's a party. That's where we're headin."
"Ok, if you say so..."
Des looked pleased with himself as he lead me though vaguely familiar
streets. Soho possessed a chameleon like quality and familiar buildings
reinvented themselves in rapid succession. There was no constancy or
solidity about it. Facades altered and names changed. Somehow, It seemed
charged with the same amnesia that clouded the minds of those that wandered
its streets and I was following Des though its shifting sands.

I noticed that we had strayed its boundaries and entered into Theatreland.
The bright dazzling lights of West End shows proclaimed themselves like
brash soap actors; drowning in visual clutter and hackneyed anecdotes.

Des walked ahead of me as if the street belonged to him. He was a proud
young colt, magnificent and un-tamed. He was a dark Pegasus, leading me into
the deepening night on the wings of dreams. I struggled to keep up with him
as the night streamed by in the blur of headlights and merging faces. My
heart seemed to race to the quickening pulse of a city lost in
forgetfulness. A city that pulsed like a heart, fuelled on adrenaline,
caffeine, coke, speed. Whatever, however, just choose your poison and let
go... The day was just the languorous opening of an eye that waited for the
oblivion of darkness.

"Dis is where it's at..."
"huh?"
"Yeh, just here, come on, check this shit."
We detoured from the rivers of light and headed to the back of a theatre
concealed in the ciascuro of looming shadows.
"What ever happened to Baroque, Des?"
"Forget Baroque! things move on..."
He laughed to himself as we approached a shallow alcove beneath an ornate
and dimly lit archway. Before us, seven door buzzers, each glowing in its
own faint green corona.
"Juss press da magic number.'
Des stabbed at the top buzzer and shortly afterwards, a faint female voice
came though on the intercom as I stepped away from the doorway feeling a
peculiar sense of foreboding.
"If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him."
Des spoke the few words with an almost cut-glass English accent and I
recognised them as a quote from Voltaire.
The buzzer sounded and Des pushed it open, privately amused with himself.
"some doors should never be opened..."
He said with an enigmatic smile.