Pictures: 63 | Added: 12-04-2000
My own particular favourite was the Cowboy.
Most of my friends, on the other hand, preferred the Red Indian, with a small minority wanting to unzip the Leather Man.
But whichever was our favourite, we all still remember the Village People.
Go to any garage sale at the weekend and you’ll find old copies of their LPs for sale. The seller’s usually a single male of a particular age who, if pressed, will squirm with embarrassment and claim that the discs aren’t his at all. He’s selling them for a “friend”.
Well, I’ve got news for you guys.
You can dust off that bijou little leather cap at the back of the closet, rescue the cowboy chaps from the garage junk and fetch the Indian war bonnet down from the attic.
They’re back - but you’ve got to go to Bratislava to find them.
Until now, of course, Bratislava, capital of Slovakia, has been best known (if at all) in gay circles as the home of mega-pornstar Lucas Ridgeston.
Go to a sidewalk café in the quaint old town and you’ll spot dozens of single male tourists sipping coffee, consulting their well-thumbed Spartacus guides and desperately hoping to bump into that particular god of cock.
But, while they’re doing so, they’re missing out on another - the only other? - Bratislava attraction. A small gay bar called Clones.
When I first went there, a few months ago during a business visit to town, it was like stepping back 25 years in time.
At first I thought that the guys wearing ridiculous ‘70s outfits and (mainly false) moustaches must be the latest thing in retro chic.
But then I realised.
The ‘70s are only just hitting Eastern Europe now. They didn’t experience them then - but they’re certainly making up for it these days.
Naturally enough, the Clones bar staff were all dressed as Village People - though on the night I went, the Red Indian was off sick (scarlet fever, maybe?), the Cowboy bore a closer resemblance to the cow than the boy, and the lead singer "lookalike" was actually white.
That left me with little choice so at the end of the evening I found myself wandering back to my hotel with the Construction Worker - check shirt, hard hat, tools slung from his belt and all.
Still, I guess if you’re wandering the streets in the early hours of the morning, that’s a slightly less conspicuous way than in the company of a guy wearing just a four foot feather headdress and a loin cloth.
We’ll call the Construction Worker “Jim” - it’s more of a Construction Worker kinda name than his real one. And he turned out, in the brighter light of my room, to be a real cutie.
And then he began flicking and probing his asshole with his long fingers. It immediately sprang to life, almost winking at me.
And that Jim - and that winking asshole - had clearly enjoyed their attention.
If the preliminary floorshow had been great, the sex afterwards was even better. Jim was sweet, loving and responsive and it was quite some time before we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
He had to leave early the next morning but I told him I hoped that he’d be able to see me later in the day after I’d finished some business.
Promising to collect him that evening and take him to dinner, I needed his address.
Jim smiled coyly but affectionately before giving an answer which was, in retrospect, the only possible one.
“Of course, I stay at the YMCA.”
A large part of Jim’s charm lay in his naïveté.
Apparently he’d never left his home village in the remote east of Slovakia until just a month before when he’d come to Bratislava looking for work.
And even now, when, as part of his job in the bar, he had to mouth the words of Village People songs whenever they were played, he still couldn’t get his head around one song in particular - “In the Navy”.
And then I realised.
Slovakia doesn’t have sailors. It doesn’t have a navy. It’s completely landlocked and doesn’t even have a coastline, for crissakes.
Such philosophical discussions didn’t detain us for long, however.
As Jim slipped off his Construction Worker shirt I could see that he was going to be my type of boy. Late teens, smooth, hairless chest and a cute - but still rather shy and maybe a little embarrassed - expression.
He got down to his skimpy olive-brown briefs and I wondered fleetingly whether they were a leftover from military service. I could immediately see that Jim’s promise was going to be fulfilled. He had the sort of legs I liked, with a light smattering of hair and a more than promising bulge at the top of his thighs.
Jim’s ass, too, more lived up to my highest expectations. It was even better than Lucas Ridgeston’s, I’d have said, and I chuckled as I thought what those poor guys at the sidewalk cafes were missing.
If they ever discovered the Clones bar, I guessed that Jim and his friends (well, maybe not the Cowboy) would soon be rich enough to buy the whole place for themselves.
Before we got down to sex, I asked Jim to put on a little show for me. He was, after all, supposed to be a professional entertainer.
He sat down, spread his legs apart and held his dick out towards me. Already its tip was glistening with, I hoped, anticipation.
Resisting the temptation to cross the room and plant my lips right around his shining pole, I anchored myself to my chair and gestured that he should turn around.
As I’d expected, even though he’d only been in town a month, Jim was obviously used to this bit. Not only did he turn right around, he immediately leaned over the back of a chair, spread his legs wide and parted the cheeks of his ass.