Chester





	Previously, on "GAYS OF OUR LIVES"...


	Our hero, Gattino (studly, young, smouldering emerald eyes and a body to die for),had been indulging in his secret vice of placing personal ads in the local paper and avoiding meeting the people who answered, in the company of Andy. Subsequently our same love god met up with email chum Ben Saunders, of the Cheshire Saunders, a dashing concert pianist and heir to the "Plums-in-the-mouth" empire. Ben told Gattino in a moment of soul searching confession that he got on fabulously with shoe salesmen and cheese eaters. Could he have been adopted? Readers will find it helpful to remember that Darren is the Jude Law lookalike and, by amazing chance, sells shoes....


	The story continues......



	CHESTER MINUTE


	Well, by one of those amazing coincidences that I'm perfectly prepared to make up if they're not true, one of the respondents to my ad - who was at great pains to emphasise that he was simply looking to expand his social life - was Phil, 26, in...Chester! What better excuse could there be to arrange a visit to that fair city.....


	I did, as you may have gathered, intend to bring Darren along with me. He sells shoes after all, and the prospect of seeing this clash of limp-wristed titans was nearly irresistable. However as time came to make final arrangements with Darren I began to have doubts. This poor Phil thinks he's just meeting me. A coach party might seem a little intimidating. So when I failed to get Darren on the phone at the first attempt I took it as a sign from the Almighty (this being how the Almighty occupies himself) and abandoned the idea. I regret it now. Phil seemed not at all put out by the idea that Ben would be there with me. I gave him B's mobile phone number in case of complications. A few hours later I recieved an email from Ben, telling me how he'd just gotten a phone call from this stranger, giving his detailed physical description. He was far more disturbed at the fact that he now knew our lunchdate was bespectacled and "of stocky build". "I don't know about you but when the word 'build' is preceded by 'stocky' or 'rugby player' I start to get anxious". And it's true, I'd never considered or asked for his description. He had said something about being goodlooking.....


	So on Saturday I ventured into Chester. Ben, oh Ben. I'm begining to like this boy. Not in a romantic/sexual sense you understand. I don't know if he shares my taste, but he certainly shares my distaste and has the accent to get away with it. He is impossibly snobby. I failed to take note of the full catalogue of distress he expressed at the things around him but the more outrageous it got the more I noticed a twinkle in his eye - he's exagerating for my amusement, I'm certain. I asked if the free bus service that took me from the station to the city centre operated in reverse. He looked horrified. "I don't know. I don't use public transport!" For the record he's about 5'9", a small, round mouth no doubt resulting from blowing so much (he plays piano, but I'm sure he's had his lips around a horn or two), and his hair recedes dramatically at the temples, but this may be due to the largeness of the top of his head which is perhaps simply too big to house his hair. Nice face though.


	Anyhow after an hour together we were to meet Phil at his nominated meeting place - Yates' Wine Lodge. For the record, Yates' is a local chain of cheap, rough drinking establishments. You can imagine Ben's reaction. He didn't want to go in. Once in, he didn't want to open his eyes. "They're still wiping the blood off the floor!" he claimed, with melodramtic licence. Perhaps, I joked, Phil had intended us to meet him outside. Before I got to the bit where I laugh weakly, to reveal I'm teasing, he took me at my word and we were out of the door. We stood there and waited. "Now we look like prostitutes" I ventured. "What? Hanging outside Ethel Austin's?" he replied. (It's a chain store that sells knitted cardigans for grannies and cotton knickers for kids - not an obvious red light area.) He was generally terrified and increasingly apprehensive about what unappealing monster might turn up. When a presumably inebriated and (I'm not making this up) cross-eyed midget with one tooth in the middle of his mouth headed straight for us with a wave and a smile and called out "alright there lads!", I had to revive Ben's swooning carcass with a small vial of smelling salts. However it wasn't our man.


	Then someone of the right description made direct and hesitant eye contact with us as he approached then entered the pub. Fairly certain that was him, Ben repeatedly sought my agreement that he wasn't model material and asked "shall we go?" I was tempted, but far less cruel. We'll wait a few minutes, see if he approaches us and, if not, we can say it was his fault. He did approach. Shit.


	Please don't misunderstand. We found, in the more "acceptable" pub we ended up in, that he was a nice, genuine, intelligent, friendly person. But he also carried a couch around with him where most of us keep our buttocks. Bespectacled (and who isn't?), side burns and slightly misplaced teeth, he still wasn't terrible looking, nor actually obese in any way. But even in friends you look for people you'd feel comfortable being seen with. Ben's line of questioning revealed Phil might not fit the bill.
	"So - do you do sports?" "Yes - I'm into cycling, mountain biking and swimming"
	Confused pause: "yeah - but do you actually go swimming etc., because people always say they do, but.." "O yes."
	Suspicious hesitation: "Yes, but when was the last time you went swimming?" "Thursday."
	O for fuck's sake what he was really asking was "how the hell can you be into exercise when you're such a fat bastard??!!" The conversation was a wonder to behold. Ben, of course shared this small town with this chap who now had his phone number, but not mine. "Well, I can introduce you to some of my friends....but I can't reccomend any of them..."


	Then things took on an evil slant. Ben had the pre-existing excuse that he could only stay till 2 o'clock. I'd planned to get the 2.20 train home. But with a degree of mischievous malice that would put Bette Davis to shame Mr. Saunders wouldn't let me. He kept insisting that I stay with Phil, have another drink, he'd pay for it, knowing - or at least believing - that I'd be too embarrassed to do otherwise for fear of hurting Phil's feelings. Bastard. However, he was mistaken in his belief that I have any shame and I returned home secure in the knowledge that I'd done my duty and brought these 2 lovely people together. Permanently.


	24 hours later and I was paroling a crowded chatroom in my usual guise of "Hunky Monkey", when an anonymous individual pipes up "Hey H.M., I saw you in Chester!" EH?????!! Who could this be? Someone spotted me and couldn't get me out of their mind?? Was it that hunk who seemed to make eye contact? Or that weirdo with the twisted face? A new message appeared: "At the zoo!". Ha fucking Ha.