So a friend of mine from the radical fairy party and I had
been messaging back and forth since the party, mostly as friends hearing about
him and his boyfriends adventures. Until one day, out of the blue I get a
message saying “hey, I’m hosting a party in stoke as my alter ego “ripper
moff.” As almosot all of my stories go, I was intrigued.
So the weekend stumbled around and I rock up in Stoke,
headphones in and staring down at google maps like it would save my life. When
I arrived into central Stoke it reminded me of a town in a zombie film.
Shutters and gaggles of strangers. A zombie hipster horror film. I squirmed
around for a while, getting increasingly aware that the bar I was being
summoned to was the other side of the town. Not open yet.
I get in and having smoked the place out, receive a message
saying come to the hotel. I tag along and halfway through, find a
glittery red figure in a Mary Poppins hat, a cruella devile coat, and a thickly
coated crimson glitterbeard. I shouted over something charming. “oh hello
darLING” they grinned with open arms. Their boyfriend trailing behind with a
leaning tower of bags. I thought the boyfriend was supposed to stay in
Scotland. I tag along and they scurry me into the nightclubs “back passage”
with a few cheap jokes.
I’m introduced gradually to a gaggle of transdudes and NBs
with an assortment of tattoos and slightly genderfucky clothing. I tried to
smile and mingle, helping out behind the scenes (read: hovering awkwardly and
saying the wrong thing, why do I keep having the scooby doo “their right behind
me” moment?) until the Scottish boyfriends says to me with a grin and an
accent. “hey, the games are beginning in a few minutes, you should volunteer”
he smirked. “we’ll see” I replied with a tilt of the head. “oh heads up, we
might be having our friend Max over, he’s a Frenchman in the adult industry” he
half warned half advertised.
We watched the first song. Ripper in giant red boots
lipsyncing to "popular" from the wicked musical, glitterbearding the owner of the
venue and dressing them in sparkly spandex. I mingled with the crowd, and tried
to make friends. There was a moment when I nipped to the loo, hearing a notable
french accent from the sink as a skinny guy with a pair of oversized glasses
washed his hands and mumbled to himself. After I returned to the dancefloor I
was joined by the scottsman and the burlesque act.
“so the games begin when our
friend comes” I get told. “wait, skinny
guy? French? I think he’s already here” I admitted. At this point I wasn’t
aware of who the blind date was. All i knew is my name was on the list.
So I got called to the stage alongside a larger, slimy dude
in his 30s, and a pink/purple haired gentleman who lacked the gift of
conversation. The host grinned “So these fine folks are here to compete for the
evening affections of a French porn star, they will be asked 3 questions and
rated on their answers.” The penny dropped. The penny totally dropped. The penny practically death-dropped.
The slimey
guy was asked the first question “so as a Frenchman … I love food but I
personally cannot cook. What would you cook for me?” he was asked. I froze. Think.
Think think think.
“I totally fancy yooooooooooouuuuuuuu” garbled the drunken
first guy. I was next and I smiled nervously. “I would cook you pancakes …
because it won’t be the only thing getting flipped” I stuttered. Pretending to
be more confident than I was. The purple guy froze like a rabbit in headlights.
“well. I would cook you bangers and mash because I'd bang your mash” he replied.
I winced gutterally from my soul at such a terrible line.
“Question Two, as a porn star I’ve seen it all! What would
your USP be in the bedroom?” I was chosen first. I didn’t have time to think of
a funny answer. “You wouldn’t have to impress me, and also I’d let you have
snack breaks” I winced. Fully aware that wasn’t the peak answer to that
question.
“Question three, I’m travelling to Vegas soon, if you were
my date where would you take me” the Frenchman asked. I can’t remember the
other answers. I suggested “the festival circuit. So you can watch someone else
perform for a change” I gulped. The host made the audience cheer us, and the
draw fell down to me vs the purple guy.
Purple guy won and I was given a kiss on the cheek, “it’s a
shame, you’re cute too” he confessed in passing, me getting lost in the eye
contact and the politeness for a solid ten seconds. Him and purple guy vanished
upstairs for his drinks, and I carried on, thinking that was my entire
connection with Mr Max Angel. I scurried around chatting and mingling, and
getting told how handsome I was by a passing drag queen. I reacted a knee jerk
“thank you” that thinking back was totally in my retail voice.
Hours later I found the scotsman and his friends in a
gaggle. I joined them drunkenly and mingled. Joking and complimenting the
assortment of monochrome tattoos in my area. Max and the purple guy were both
called to the stage for a parlour game involving an oversized bedsheet.
The purple guy didn’t turn up and max stood there alone.
I was quick to pick up the slack! I
hopped on stage and stood in the bedsheets. Ripper strode the stage and
gestured to me and max, next to a pair of the Scotsman’s friends. “the aim of
the game is to swap clothing. You will get more points based on who wears more
of the partners clothes. You don’t have to swap anything and we wont judge you
for that, but you get two countdown timers, or one minute.” They explained.
Now I had auditioned for naked attraction. Nudity doesn’t
weird me out. However it REALLY didn’t weird out Max. this was his bread and
butter. The first of the two timers went and I flung off my clothes like a mad
man, scrapeing up white skinny jeans half my size and a suffocating black tee
shirt. The zip wouldn’t go up. These jeans weren’t designed for me. the second
timer finished and the bedsheet dropped. My genitals hidden by strategically
held underwear from the entire crowd.
In the flurry to switch back I accidentally kneed max in the
forehead. Apologising profusely as I bent down to grab my jeans from the dark,
very aware that I was now at face level with Max’s quite sizable genitals. It
wasn’t arousal. It was a deep awareness that I could lose an eye. When the
timer stopped I managed only just to zip up my jeans. I was still topless. Max
however, revelled in the nudity. The boss, whom I’d accidentally insulted
earlier than night bought be a cider as a thank you for being a good sport and
I wandered away. So pink guy was a coward.
I managed to find a topless Max slumped at the end of the
night, focussing on his phone. I joined him and the seat and got talking
idlely. Partly out of desperate curiosity, partly out of the charm. he compared
notes about the people in the photos and footage of his twitter, his day-to-day
stable job in computers, and how he got ghosted by the purple guy without him
even saying goodbye. A new friend, I smiled. We headed to the hotel, and I
discovered he was staying in the same building.
The next morning we shared an uber and a coffee. It was a
small gesture, but I was gradually becoming smitten. *his job is literally to
make people fancy him* I reminded myself sharply. But the cheek kiss goodbye and
the lilting French accent was too much for me, I melted and hoped I’d see him
again. Maybe sometime.
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