Parkside (Uptown Funk And Suck)

"I think this is a gay bar without the drinks...!!" whispered the 20-something female to her anemic looking boyfriend, "they're giving YOU dirty looks...!!....I don't think we should be here....look at all these GUYS.....they're by themselves standing close to each other or walking around nearby staring at the other guys.....what are they DOING....??!!"

"Uhh...OK..." muttered the boyfriend, looking alarmed and insecure, "just keep walking, I won't make eye contact with any of them..."  The sound of her clattering stilettos rapidly faded away. Silence once again descended on the very dark corner of the park at 10pm on a weekday.

"....any of them"  being not less than an astonishing 28 fags clustered in what is rapidly becoming the most notorious open secret in local Fagland, attracting a daily evening feed of regulars - GAMs, whites, students, office guys, chubs, gym guys and tourists in the know -  PLUS the usual trash of Mainland Chinese moneyboys some of whom remove their shirts - as if that's gonna help their case  - PLUS creepy, horny, vaginally-deprived Pakis and Indians with thick accents, dubious identity documents, claming to live "alone" ("alone" being a cubicle in a sub-divided flat with 12 others), making clucking noises like parrots whist scoping a deal for their cock and his cash.

If the usual trash of moneyboys and creepy Pakis was added to the mix, "any of them..." would be approaching a total of 40.

FuelMix stared in amazement and disbelief.  It was a fuckin' Tuesday night for chrissakes....what the hell would this place look like on Friday nights and weekends..??!!

In the darkness and deep silence of massive trees and artfully planted shrubbery, time stood still.  Fags were draped across railings and benches, their eyes transfixed.  If they moved, it was a peculiar combination of vigilance and torpor.  The scene was reminiscent of Wagler Pit Vipers found in the dimly lit Penang Snake Temple, with illegal smoking being rancid incense.

Slithering around curved paths lined with pubic bushes, they bared their fangs and hissed at each other in mutual contempt.

Then, something would happen. One or more fags would twitch in erotic anticipation and squirm towards each other.  Like reptiles, they bent and twisted to avoid unflattering park lamps from hitting their skin.  Darkness, or a semblance thereof, was necessary as they groped and rubbed themselves against each other. One would fall to his knees, a backpack would scrape against the ground,  the sound of a zip opening, sucking noises and moans, hips thrusting.  Minutes later, gulping noises and a strangled orgasm.  A white flourish of Kleenex, sounds of zipping up, a backpack scooped up and footsteps disappearing.

He'd be back.

(Or, in the words of Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars, "Don't believe me..? Just watch..")



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