Dear Diary – PervyHotelChats.com

Up in Manchester I had to spend a night at a hotel. I arrived at our booked hotel, only to realise that my room had no windows that could be opened, it didn’t have a balcony either – I mean, fucking hell, where am I supposed to smoke? On the pavement? I don’t think so. Kenny liked it, so I let him stay behind. Besides, he saw a guy in the lobby that he thought he recognised from TV that he’d like to pull. I excused myself, got back in the car and was driven across town to another hotel that actually had windows and a balcony outside the room. Nevermind that it’s zero degrees, windy and grotty (this is Manchester for you) – I need my herbal cigarettes without being bothered.

So, after the gig I had a smoke or two, wandered down to the lobby to see if anything tasty wanted to be ravaged by George Michael. With my luck – it’s great being gay these days, especially if you’re me – a cutie was already eyeing me when I came down. I think I saw him at the gig. How he found me I’ve no idea – but I like persistence. I went over to him and said, “Hi. Up for it?” and he said “Your room or mine?” Being gay is ace. Had this been a woman I’d have gotten a slap across the face. I took him to my room, we did our thing and instead of kicking him out as I usually do, we started talking.

He was my age and exceptionally intelligent. Almost more intelligent than me. We didn’t waste any time having an intelligent conversation, however. Instead we were discussing – well – sex. What worked, what didn’t work, what was enjoyable, what was a waste of time, what was awesome, what was boring etc. It started out somewhat innocent, until an hour later words, phrases, bodyparts and adjectives bounced back and forth between us like a ping-pong ball. In the end he started laughing and said:

“This must be such a hilarious conversation to listen in to!”

And I said: “Yeah, I suppose! What do you reckon people would pay to listen?”

And he said: “Oh, this’ll probably end up at PervyHotelChats.com”

At this point we were so turned on by our own dirty mouths that we had to have another shag – but even after round two I wasn’t falling asleep. PervyHotelChats.com? I thought what if it exists? What if I’m on there? It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had a pervy chat at a hotel, staff know where I’m staying, they could easily bug the hotel room. Even though I came here by chance, they’ve still had some hours to prepare when I was at MEN. Shit.

So I got up, started up my laptop and logged onto the wireless network. I typed it in. The wireless was slow. It was searching, I was sweating, my paranoia played tricks on me and I was half-expecting to find my own little section. “George Michael”, “Pete Doherty”, “Everyone Else”. Then the site came up. “Firefox can’t find the server at www.pervyhotelchats.com”. It doesn’t exist. Phew.

Thankfully still trusting hotels.

George x