The new normal

I tell a story which prompts another and then a further one pops up! Funny that.

On Tuesday I told you of Ben, one of the really fit guys at gym. Who, sadly, is available for you at around £150-odd an hour.

Ping! An e-mail arrives; 'Bobby, have you seen this video?'

Hell no honey, I ain't seen anything like that.

The picture or video "grab" as it's known (grab being the operative word...) will take you to the page with the clip of "Ben" and his rather impressive dancing skills.

The white block is my addition.

It's funny because the only other city in the western world comparable to London is New York. And you when you think of them both you have this idea that they're big, enormous and anonymous.

Perhaps it's a little unnerving how, amongst the millions, it is possible to stand out and get noticed. But then again not everyone has a video of themselves stripping naked in a gay club posted on the web.

Anyway, on a completely unrelated topic that is gay, naked and sleaze-free...

I get a text from Colleague on Thursday night. Apparently what I have to do is make a new Gaydar profile, load some pictures onto it and send them to someone who's organising an orgy.

Apparently everyone's going to these, they are "fun" and take place in a flat in Islington. The first thing that strikes me is that Islington is not Eyes Wide Shut.

In case you missed this bit, Colleague is a colleague (d'ya see what I did there?) who I once had something with but we've moved on.

It ended mainly because he discovered that he had an interest that was incompatible to mine. Colleague likes to meet groups of men who enjoy shagging each other - all at once.

I text him back saying that my days of having a Gaydar profile are waning and it would be far easier to go to the ManBar for 'Underwear Sunday'.

What you do is you get there, strip off until you're in your knickers and shoes, put your clothes in a bag and hand it to the person behind the counter. It's not so much coat-check as it is an everything-check.

I know how it works because I went once.

I'd only been in London a few months, this big massive city. Me young, inquisitive and alone on a Sunday afternoon.

It's not strange to be walking around in a club in your underwear because everyone else is. Apparently it's a condition known as New-Normal.

Something like; if we all wore traffic cones on our heads, people without them would soon look like the odd ones out.

Anyway, you stand around in your smalls while people in the darker areas of the club have sex with each other.

I was so nervous I remember my leg shaking constantly. When you're that anxious there's absolutely no danger of nature taking over.

I was too scared to drink incase it was spiked and I woke up, chained to the bar while being eaten by scary gay zombies. Have you seen the beginning of the film Blade? Your mind starts to play tricks...

So I wondered around a bit, squinting to see what was going on while being groped repeatedly.

Underneath the glow of the TV playing porn there were three guys. One bending over, another behind him and the third crouching on the floor. He wasn't down there looking for his contact lens.

I looked and looked again. It was pretty obvious there was no condom.

Now, in South Africa 10% of the population has AIDS. For as long as I can remember we'd been drilled on safe sex and the dangers of AIDS.

Back in the ManBar, Underwear Sunday, looking at these three idiots I had a freak out.

Had you been standing next to me you wouldn't have noticed anything - inside however, I just knew I had to get out of there as fast as possible.

I grabbed my bag having only been there for about twenty minutes, got dressed and left. I don't know what came over me but walking to Southwark Tube I just burst into tears.

There are moments in your life where great chunks of your innocence get obliterated. That Sunday was one such occasion.