A cameraman friend of mine, Gabe, received a call from an old friend of his, Blake, who needed a favour. He was having some issues with his website and development team. He wanted to meet to discuss matters more fully.
He’d known Blake since college in London where they both trained in drama, media and movie production. On graduation Gabe landed a job at Granada Studios in Manchester, where he eventually met, married and raised a family. Whilst Blake, who had always been a fabulously outrageous character, stripping to supplement his college income, went to LA to make high quality gay movies and eventually became one of the biggest global players in gay porn.
We met in London, and Blake lived up to his charming reputation and all web issues were dealt with in record time. While we talked, he handed me a small plastic bag stuffed with 6 or 7 DVD’s for Gabe, who was doing some editing for him. I unzipped the top flap of my already full briefcase and jammed them in. We finished our coffee and chat, we said our farewells and I left in a rush to catch my train home.
Bad traffic and a delayed train made things a real rush and crush affair regarding the train. I made it in time but it was packed, with some carriages being declassified, leaving standing room only. I eventually got to my reserved seat. Coat tucked away, bags under seats, I squashed in and settled down for the two hour ride home.
Thirty minutes later, the guard squeezed his way through the aisles of standing passengers to check tickets. The Indian guy sat opposite me moved, pressing the man next to him into the window, attempting to allow the guard to lean across our table to avoid the packed aisle.
Our entire table reached into pockets to retrieve tickets, unfortunately mine was in my bag. Yanking the bag onto my lap, I unzipped the top flap to see a plastic bag falling towards the busy table. All eye’s followed as the bag hit the table in slow motion, my mind silently screaming “Ohhh Noooo” as its hard plastic cases made a noisy crash landing, clattering the bouncing contents as they spilled and spread across the table top.
The guard, the three people sat around the table and everyone stood in the aisle stopped, as if we’d entered a silent slow motion time warp, and stared at the impressive display of hard core gay porn DVD covers, sporting the huge penises of oiled muscle men in cowboy, police & construction worker outfits. The titles were equally eye-catching, ‘Cock Fight’ and ‘Open Manholes’….!
As I, and everyone stared in total disbelief, I heard myself muttering the immortal words…”they’re not mine… they’re for a friend”.
AND THE MORAL IS: Things are not always what they seem.