I can finally play I’m So Bored With the U.S.A in a gay bar! Actually, what I played last night was two tracks from DJ Shadow’s groundbreaking Endtroducing… : Midnight in a Perfect World and What Does Your Soul Look Like. Trying to affect the mood, I guess. My mood, anyway.

About an hour after we arrived, and a few more than two beers later, an old friend came in, one I’d first met in my early days at the railway station: skinhead Daniel. He was with Roman, an old Pino boy now exiled to Villa Man’s Land (Sorry, that’s Mansland; you know how queers love those ersatz compound words.) and now has longer hair bleached yellow-white instead of the shaved head he has in my photos.

Skinhead Daniel no longer looks like a skinhead. His dull brown hair is short but it’s not shorn. In my eyes, he looks cuter than ever although he’d never be called a beauty. As he says, I like him “because me hard. You know this.” His so-so English is choppily delivered even when he’s sober. Last night he was way ahead of me, claiming he’d had 10 beers before he even got to Monty’s.

We sat together toasting and talking about mutual friends from the station with whom we’d lost touch. At one point, he showed me an ultrasound printout of his girlfriend’s 5 month-old fetus. He already has one boy and now he’s going to have another. He told me he bought a dog to protect his family.

“What kind pes you tink?” he asked me, cocking his head. He lit two cigarettes in his mouth at once and then stuck one of them in mine, waiting for my answer. It was getting kind of sexy in there.

“Knowing you, I think pit bull.”

“Yes!” he said, happy I’d got it right the first time.

At some point during the evening Eda, the manager of Pinocchio walked in and spoke with me at bit. Daniel has not been allowed into Pino since they instituted the “you must dance and strip” rule, but talking to Eda last night Daniel discovered that that rule was being considerably relaxed. He also explained to Eda that he would have to be a part-timer since his security job left him with only one, possibly two nights a week to go to Pinocchio. But, like most Czechs trying to get by on 10,000 Kč a month, he still needed the extra money.

He seemed to get along with Eda but the bartender Pepa had it in for him. Pepa is strict anyway and apparently, said Daniel , he once was short 5 crowns for a bill and Pepa was still hounding him for it. I’d wager the amount was more than 5. Regardless of the amount, he wasn’t going to let Daniel sit down until I promised to buy him a beer. My friend had by this time gone off to Pinocchio and I wanted the company.

Besides this little butch skinhead was giving me a boner.

Pepa kept teasing Daniel about something and Daniel told me that he kept asking him when his “client,” meaning me, was going to take him out of there. This pissed Daniel off.

“You no me client. You me friend.”

He said this to me several times and several more times to Pepa in Czech, once in English. Then he jumped down off the stool and staggered off to the bathroom, banging into each corner as he went.

I followed.

I came up behind Daniel and locked my arms around his chest while he was pissing, putting my stubbly cheek next to his completely smooth one. He turned his head and kissed me. Then he pushed backward with his butt, turned me around roughly and slammed the toilet door shut. We were in the dark now, and his dick was hanging out. I grabbed it and then grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into me, mashing my lips on his, hard. He pushed me back against the other wall and wedged his forearm under my chin forcing my head up and back. He massaged my pec, hard again, then let go. I pushed back and made out with him a bit more.

I had remembered his being a better kisser but still it felt nice to put my tongue in his mouth. He pulled away too quickly saying it had been a long time since he fucked me.

“Daniel you’ve never fucked me.”

“You no fuck me,” he answered, zipping and blinking rapidly. Then he pinballed off the wall and kicked the door open. Walking and weaving down the corridor, he waved his arms around and said, “I’m drunk, I’m drunk.”

Daniel doesn’t get fucked, or so he says. Earlier my friend had said that someone had told him that, when pushed, he will. Daniel has one of the finest little round butts I’ve ever put my tongue into: It’s got a little tuft of soft hair that grows between the lower end of his crack and the beginning of his balls. Odd that I have such a clear memory of that detail almost 4 years later. I remember his standing nude in my apartment looking at a video on my Powerbook: One leg was hiked up on the desk chair, the other on the floor. He was leaning over just a bit with one hand on a hip. There were his cute balls dangling and that mesmerizing patch of klupy.

He’d always said that he would never get fucked, not even for 50,000 crowns. Now I have my doubts. Based on the verbal slip in the toilet and my friend’s account. Not great reason to hope but it’s all I’ve got. Still, I wouldn’t mind his fucking the crap out of me, especially if he applied some of those dominance/submission techniques he previewed for me in the toilet. [I jacked off this morning to just those sorts of fantasies.]

Back in the main bar area, I told Daniel that when my money came on Wednesday I would take him out drinking and we’d do biznis, perhaps go to the sauna. He’d already said earlier in the evening, in response to some presumptuous French guy trying to pick up Roman for 1000 Kč, that he would only go for so cheap with a friend…like me, for example, he amended. Plus I’d love to get some pix of that butt.

We wound down the evening with our arms around each other on the couch, chatting to various punters and sexpats I knew who came in from Pinocchio, and to this new boy Tomaš. Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed and friendly, Tomaš said he’d go with me for 1500. I said that I was with Daniel. Then began a topic of conversation that often comes up when I’m around Daniel: How he can claim to be a skinhead and have gypsy friends?

Tomaš had proclaimed quite proudly that he was Romany. Although I had thought he was quite sexy, had some of the language tics of many station gypsy boys I know, and his skin was like cafe au lait — LOTS of milk, though — I still hadn’t thought he was cigan. He said that both his parents were gypsy but that he didn’t know why he came out so light. Of course, knowing that he was gypsy just made him that much more attractive to me. Couldn’t afford him though. My drinking companion had had him and said he was quite good even though he didn’t get fucked. And 1500 was a good price for a Pino boy, actually. Still, no money.

Anyway, Daniel said that he only had one gypsy friend. I said that that precluded him being a total racist, especially considering that it was his best friend. He just laughed and waved me off, and went back to chatting with Tomaš, the gypsy boy, about how much he hated gypsies.

Hates gypsies and won’t get fucked. We’ll see.