Gay Life: Rude Boyz, Central Station

Ok, so I was in London, and London has something that doesn’t exist either in Weimar or Bloomington (no offense to my friends at Bulls or Uncle Es, but…): Gay Life!

Thursday night, once the song contest was over, I decided to stay out instead of heading back to my hotel. I ended up catching the tube south of the Themes and visiting Fire for their weekly “Rude Boyz” night. I picked the venue because the Rude Boyz night was described in Boyz Magazine as a “horny scally cruise session.”

Point of explanation: I regularly read two British gay magazines, GayTimes and Attitude, and in the back of the magazines there are lots of ads promoting 900-like numbers (Explanation for Germans: dial the number, pay 3€ a minute), where one calls and listens to scally guys talk about hooking up and having sex. (Amusingly, according to the ads, all the scally boys involved in the phone sex are over 18. Even if they’re still in school.)

I’ve wondered what scally meant so I talked to one of my British friends and asked what it meant. I had to spell the word. As an American, I’d been mispronouncing it. It rhymes with “Alley” and there was a “Scally Alley” at the club. In essence, a scally youth is a guy from the British equivalent of the projects (homes for people on welfare) who hangs out on the street engaging in antisocial behavior. Apparently the idea of scally youth is erotic for a decent proportion of gays in Britain and I was curious.

Turns out I’m not remotely interested in scally lads. In the 3 hours I was at Fire, I was not attracted to a single individual. Zero. Zip. Nada. Nil. I had my usual problem of showing up too early, but it was quickly crowded, in time for a midnight amateur strip show where three guys took off all their clothes and showed off their willies. 25£ prize for having the balls to enter, 100£ for winning. Three penises flashed and the contest was over. A few seconds later Scally Alley opened and the dance floor was vacated as 90% of the people in attendance flowed into the alley and started circling the eight booths with gloryholes, gaps in the doors, and disco lighting. Sometimes it went clockwise, sometimes counterclockwise. Lots of cruising, little action. I was a lemming for awhile until I caught a bus back to the hotel.

Friday night, after I returned from the meetings out of London, I had another evening to kill. This evening was spent at Central Station a gay club that, despite being closer to my hotel than Fire, was harder to get to.

Central Station was having a special night as well: Klone Party. I’m not exactly sure what it was in honor of, but it started with a video display of Tom of Finland art and guys with faux mustaches. This was followed by Jason Prince, some kind of local minor-minor celebrity who performed covers of various songs, including a dance version of Evergreen. I should be (and am) embarrassed to admit that I have the Gareth Gates version of this under current favorites on my iPod. Another minor celebrity who had driven in from somewhere, Jacquii Cann, also performed a few songs.

After this was over, they pointed out that the lower floor of the club was open and that we should be sure to support the weekly Popcell (audio on link) event. So I did, as did everybody else. It was kind of dull, save for the two dark rooms. After awhile, I started to get bored and at 1:30 I decided I should catch the next bus back toward my hotel. Happily, I lost track of time and spent an hour without moving more than a few feet any direction while in the company of a cute guy who knew how to kiss. Suddenly it was 2:45 and we parted ways.

It was a very wonderful way to spend Friday night.