VOLUME TWO: CHAPTER THREE

Welcome To Straightville(age), a.

“I’m going to work down a mine shaft!”, I spoke.

“Yes. We all are. That’s where we are walking tuh (to) nah (now), lad. I’ve told yer (you) this seven times already this marrning (morning).”, spat back an old Yorkshire – with puddings in his lunch box and accent in his voice box to match (Yorkshire ones of those things) – miner. Admittedly my exclamation made it look as if this chapter picks up from where the one that came before it which was Two I think (chapter two, that is) left off. It doesn’t. It was the next morning.

“I’m gay.”, I came out to the walking towards the mine group of miners.

“Oh.”, most of them said.

“I’d keep that to yourself, Donald”, said a miner who I had told my name to whom before he had just said this to me. (“My name is Donald”, I had said.) I thought this wasn’t particularly helpful advice, because I had just seconds previously not kept it to myself, but didn’t say this, politely.

“You didn’t say that very politely, Donald”, he replied. I had said that and why I didn’t think his to be helpful advice in an impolite manner, rather than not say it out of politeness, which in retrospect would have been a better thing to have done.

“Manners mean a very lot to us people from Yorkshire, being from Yorkshire and all”, he explained, “as does not being gay. That means even more to us than manners, so don’t be gay because it is disgusting”, he also explained. “In this community of straight Yorkshire miners the traditional punishment for being gay is to shove a big pickled onion from a jar in the local fish and chip shop, or ‘chippie’, up the offending anus” he explained, in addition.

“In my relationship with Tommy my gay boyfriend, being the ‘bottom’ my anus is indeed the offending one” I pointed out. Before I could point out that, given sufficient silence to pretend that a pickled onion shoved up my arse was Tommy’s lovely hard erection sliding up my hole- or at the least one of his balls, the punishment was not one I would particularly resent suffering, we had reached the mine shaft.

“I wish Tommy’s anus would reach mine shaft, or vice versa”, I punned, even though no one had said the words ‘mine shaft’ aloud. Because I had not had a chance to follow up my coming out to most of the miners with a detailed account of the fact that Tommy was my gay boyfriend who penetrated me as often as I would let him, which was as often as he said “Can I put my cock up your bum, Donald?” or words to a similar gay effect, most of the miners did not react to this information. The one whomsoever I had just been speaking to whom did though and did say this with an angry bark like a socially conservative dog:

“Eeeeee! Buy! Gumn! That is one remark too florid and queer to escape punishment, you gay little sod! Bark!”, he said and then barked. Even though we had all had coal mining to do I was marched to the local chip and fish shop, or chippy/ie, by the miners, who it then didn’t escape my notice were all coal blackened despite not having mined in the mine yet. They must not wash. The two miners who pinned my arms to the sides of my body were around my age and very fit from all the coal mining they did. I got an erection about this and suggested to them that they embark upon the coal mining equivalent of The Full Monty so that I could see their fit bods and them swing their big dicks around in a way that wasn’t a betrayal of my relationship (gay) with Tommy.

“Shut up now you fucking nonce, or I’ll do you, you soft little prick!” said one of the hot men.

“If I weren’t in a gay relationship with someone called Tommy and you were gay I would have an orgasm if you ‘did’ me. My prick is very hard actually, because your appearance is good and has made it so” I countered. He punched me in the face and my erection softened a tad.

The other said nothing, perhaps convinced by my suggestion. This possibility undid the softness my erection had just attained. We then arrived at the chip shop. The miners pooled several sixpences because they were poor and reacted with hostility when I drew out a twenty pound note and slapped it on the counter because they were poor. One of them said something about how I should keep my shillings to myself as the shopkeeper who was fat accepted the miners’ life savings and gave them a big pickled onion in return.

The miners’ attempts to pull my dungarees down around my ankles so they could shove the preserved bulb up my arse were frustrated by my big erection, which refused to yield until eventually I suggested that the two young hot miners leave my line of sight. They did do this and my cock sighed downwards. With a big Yorkshire roar one of the miners spread the cheeks of my bum apart and using a fist (his) pushed the food up into my anus, which gratefully accepted the offering. At first. Because at first it did feel like a man’s cock was penetrating me in the middle of a fish and chip shop in broad daylight but then the pickling agent began to corrode the lipstick red, tissue-thin tissue of my anus and guts, which felt less good and erotic than sex with Tommy had. After I had screamed with pain, this pain, the pain that the onion was administering to my bottom the miner’s decided by a democratic process of agreement that I had learned a lesson about being gay being bad and so one of them slathered his hands up with cold cream and reached up my arsehole to extract the onion. This, however, was just too similarly erotic to the many times Tommy had substituted his erection for his wrist and forearm and so with a moan of my pleasure I shot a gloopy dart of semen at and all over the 1960s-Swimminng-Pool-Blue tiles of the establishment and continued to expel more seed until the miner whose hand was up me was able to free himself from my anus’ vice-like grip, which had tightened in pleasure when the orgasm came about. This miner fell to the floor, as it had taken his whole weight leaning away from my compromised bumhole to free him from it, and then vomited on some of the other miners’ shoes.

I pulled up my dungarees and apologised for the vomit. The other miners agreed that they didn’t want to discuss the matter further and so we went to the mine to do some work, which in this case was coal mining. There was absolutely nothing gay about any of it.

Then I went to the local pub with the other miners after work mining had finished. They didn’t want to sit with me and talk because they were all shaken and disgusted by what had happened in the fish and chip shop. They told me this. I went to the bar that was in the pub itself to buy a drink with the loads of money I had from not being from around these parts. I asked for a cosmopolitan cocktail, specifically a Cosmopolitan Cocktail, because Tommy’s progressive family told me that gay people drink them. The ugly landlord of the pub didn’t know or care what a Cosmopolitan was, and so gave me a pint of beer and a straw, the latter of which he popped into the light brown drink with homophobic sarcasm. I didn’t tell him that I was going to get a straw to drink my beer with anyway, because he probably would have laughed at that.

“Oh Tommy, my first and current gay love, I miss you and in particular your cock and balls and eight pack so much!” I said, but not to Tommy because he wasn’t there, which was why I missed him. So that I didn’t miss him as much I decided to go to the toilet in the pub and masturbate. I was certain that pretending that the digits of mine that would enclose around and move up and down my throbbing penis that would be erect would simulate Tommy’s digits, and that the digits of the other hand that I would carefully push up my bum would simulate Tommy’s erection, though less adequately. I got into the toilet and began masturbating like this. Once a man had finished doing a poo and exited the only cubicle I moved from in front of the urinals to inside the cubicle. When a man at the urinals said “Do you mind?” I closed the door of the cubicle and locked it with the hand that wasn’t up my crack.

Before I could attain a gay male orgasm, which at that point I had yet to attain within this particular session of rubbing my cock with one hand and pounding my anus with the other, I noticed a graffiti on the wall of the lavatory that I was being erotic in:

Donald! It is me, Tommy, I am here in the village and want to sex you up.

Please come to the public men’s lavatory on the village green at midnight.

I’ll be waiting to see you xoxoxoxo

“Hooray! Tommy has found me and we can gay sexually reunite!” I said loudly, pulling my fingers out of my arse and off my penis. I elected not to finish masturbating so that I had a double quantity of sexual fluid to shower Tommy with in the public toilets at midnight. I instead had a poo and a wee and then washed my hands.