Darryl’s Diary
– or: Life on the Edge at a Gay Guest House
in Southtrend-On-Sea


Chapter Number 6


After the horrendous visit from the Environmental Health Officer, I was looking forward to an evening of fun with Julian and Tristan amidst their guests. Coronation Street had finished some time earlier, so I guessed that the Nudist Art Weekend would already have started. Wearing my Bermuda shorts and a nice white tee-shirt under my overcoat - the smell of formaldehyde being all but completely gone - and taking with me a bottle of gin and some crisps in a carrier bag, I brazened the rain for the short walk to their hotel at the end of the road.


 On reaching their place I noticed the curtains were tightly shut, with not a chink of light anywhere coming through them. Ringing the bell summoned Julian to the door.


“Oh, hello Darryl. Take your shoes off and come on in,” he said, before leading me through to the lounge as he explained that they had not received any bookings for this weekend’s Nudist Art Classes. They had just the one couple of guys in at the moment: regulars who had already gone out to the gay clubs for the evening. They usually came several times a year, just for the one night, and had never been interested in mixing with the other guests or joining in the fun.


As we entered the lounge, Tristan was leaning forward from the settee, fumbling with a remote control in a frenzied attempt to stop a porn movie they had been watching. Having paused it, fast forwarded it, turned the volume up and then down again, he threw the remote onto the floor and then went over to switch off the video player at the wall socket.


“Look who’s come to visit us, its Darryl,” Julian said gleefully.


Turning his head round before getting up from his knees, Tristan asked, “Have you got anything on under that coat, Darryl?” He began stroking my calf with his hand whilst trying to peer beneath my coat, and then got up to assist me in taking it off, fumbling with my buttons/s, and all the time castigating Julian for not offering to take my coat off earlier. His hands seemed to be everywhere!


I apologised that I had arrived prepared for the Art Classes, explaining that rather than embarrass anyone by being formally dressed I had chosen to put on my Bermuda shorts and a tee-shirt for the evening.  Perhaps I ought to keep the coat on, I suggested, or go home again and get changed.


 “Oh, what a tease you are, Darryl. We wouldn’t think of allowing those lovely hairy legs to be hidden under a coat,” Julian stated, going on to assure me that it made no difference at all. They might themselves change into something lighter for the evening. The two guests that had gone out just before I arrived usually stayed out until the early hours, he explained.


Tristan relieved me of the carrier bag containing the gin and crisps. “I think it will be a fun evening, after all. But it really wasn’t necessary for you to bring anything - you could have bought anything you wanted at the bar. Anyway, we’ll forgive you this time, you minx,” he said, walking over to the bar and replacing an almost empty bottle on the optic with the bottle from my carrier bag. “We’ll use this one first as we don’t usually sell the cheaper brands,” he said, adding with a smile, “and as you have brought the gin we won’t charge you for the tonic either.”


With the enthusiastic help of his partner he eventually managed to divest me of my overcoat, which Julian whisked away out of the room to be hung up in the hall. Much to my somewhat nervous by now embarrassment he returned within seconds and, looking me up and down whilst licking his lips, commented on my “fabulous body”.


Tristan piped up from behind the bar, where he was pouring the drinks. “Just look at how well Darryl fills those shorts! He’ll need both hands for sure to get them off,” he said, before casually dimming the lights.


 We all laughed.


“Where’s Twinkie?” I asked, missing their dog - and trying to change the subject as I sat down on the edge of the settee, crossing my legs and keeping a steady grip on the arm-rest.


“Oh,” explained Tristan, coming over with the drinks and a selection of small cakes, “he has got used to being locked in our bedroom on Friday and Saturday nights. He became such a distraction to the guests, especially on the Nudist Art Weekends when he would constantly run between them all, sniffing and licking their private parts dangling down as they sat at their easels. I swear some of them encouraged him, and it gave him such bad breath. I will just pop upstairs and check he is all right, whilst I put something more comfortable on.”


“That’s a good idea, I think I will do the same. We won’t be a moment, Darryl,” Julian said. “You just make yourself comfortable for a while, and do help yourself to anything.” And with that he hurriedly followed his partner upstairs.


Sitting there alone, I seriously wished I had telephoned them before coming. I would have learned there was to be no Nudist Art Group that night, and could at least have worn something more sensible. I was beginning to worry that Tristan and Julian might have something on their minds other than just a social chat for the evening and, as nice as they were, I was not comfortable with them being quite so forward or familiar.


 The prospect of spending my time dodging and evading their advances all evening had got me into thinking of an excuse to leave early without offending them. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, after all they had been helpful to me, but I wondered what I could do or say to at least slow down their advances. Tell them my crabs were clearing up nicely, or my haemorrhoids were not so bad tonight? No, that was a bit too extreme.


 I would simply have to hope an opportunity to escape early would arise, and perhaps sooner rather than later.


Julian and Tristan both appeared at the doorway with a “TA-DA” in unison. They had dressed in white togas - cut far too short, I thought to myself -  and, with lots of giggles and lifting of hems to reveal they had nothing on underneath, they twirled up to the seats where they plonked themselves down. Tristan sat right next to me, and Julian on the chair opposite with his legs apart.


Putting his hand on my knee, Tristan asked, “Would you like to be my slave, Darryl?” He slid his hand along my thigh and groped my crotch.


“I really prefer, just for tonight, you didn’t do that. A nasty rash has come up under my Bermuda shorts and it is irritating me like mad,“ I told him. “Perhaps I grated too much soap into the twin-tub,” I added, thinking it was not a bad excuse, and one that should slow their advances. But I was wrong.


Julian immediately retorted, “Oh, you poor darling! You must let me put some cream on it for you. I know how much a rash can irritate, especially in that region. When I had a dose of venereal warts last year, it was terrible.” He smiled sympathetically. “Bur fortunately it’s all cleared up now,” he quickly pointed out.


I replied in some haste, telling them I was allergic to medication and that, as long as I didn’t move around too much, it wasn’t too bad. I expressed how sorry I was to spoil the evening, and suggested we could perhaps do it again at another time.


They both sighed, almost in unison. Tristan told me not to worry, they understood and could sympathise, and then suggested I might like to watch a porn movie instead. Julian, who had quietly been fondling his private parts underneath his toga, nodded with a broad suggestive smile. Raising his eyebrows, he removed his hand from underneath his toga and grabbing one of the cakes from off the table, he offered it to me.


“Perhaps not tonight, on both counts,” I said. “The excitement of a porn movie might irritate my rash, and as I have already eaten, I really don’t fancy a cake at this time.”


Tristan got up quickly, clearly a bit miffed, and said it was about time he refreshed the drinks. Enquiring as to how I was getting on in my guest house, he collected the glasses and walked over to the bar.


“Yes,” Julian asked, “have you had any guests yet?”


I then went on to relate the story of my one and only guest that had disappeared without paying, and also told them of the visit earlier in the day from the environmental health officer.


Returning with the fresh drinks, Tristan pushed a lemon through the harp standing in the window bay before plopping a very thick slice of lemon into each glass and, much to my relief, sitting down at the other end of the settee.


“Well,” he said, “when you have been in business as long as us, and no offence Darryl, we can see that through your limited background and standard education you may not be able to grasp the technicalities of a commercial venture, but we will help you as much as we can. Obviously you will never be able to reach our standard, but you could fill a niche in being able to serve the less affluent guests with their lower expectations, and that without too much effort.”


Julian chipped in with, “Yes, I sometimes wish we didn’t have to bother with all the scrubbing and cleaning. I don’t think they appreciate it. They leave our rooms in a terrible mess at times, condoms and empty beer cans everywhere, the bloody plebs!”


“You see Darryl,” Tristan continued, whilst giving an almost reprimanding glance to Julian, “it does take a certain amount of flair and style, an appreciation of the arts and the finer things in life, to be able to attract the right kind of guests by providing them with a more exclusive ambience for their stay. Unfortunately this quality is almost inbred in one, and it is not something that any normal person could aspire to readily - not without years of training, no matter however hard they tried. We are well known, and very respected amongst the elite business community of the town. Perhaps we might even introduce you to some of them in the future - when you have tidied your place up a bit.”


“That’s a good idea,” said Julian. “Maybe we could take him to our hoteliers’ supper next month. We don’t have to say where he is from yet, and I’m sure we could lend him some decent clothes to wear. No offence darling,” he turned to me as he revealed, “but you do look a bit minging at times. We’ve remarked on it before, when we have seen you walking past to the shops, haven’t we Tristan?”


Suddenly the conversation had taken a turn that I was not entirely happy with, but I brushed those thoughts aside as they continued to give me the benefit of their wisdom in where to obtain some financial help and how to sort out my place. They did give me lots of ideas, it has to be acknowledged.


Julian suddenly said excitedly, “We have been having a good old sort out, and you might like to have all the stuff we have put in a pile in the corner of the patio.” Whereupon they both jumped up and he beckoned me to follow them out into the yard - apologies - the patio!


They had found quite a few items that might be useful to me, including an old Bain-Marie that looked as if it would clean up well, a gas cooker, and lots of curtains and bedding - the latter all matching. There was a fridge-freezer they said they no longer used, too.


“You are welcome to it all, Darryl. We are sure it will be very useful to you, and it does save us having to find someone to get rid of it. Let us call it £200 for the lot. How soon will you be able to take it away? We can’t possibly leave it on the patio for long, we wouldn’t want our guests to see it.”


Gob-smacked isn’t a strictly accurate description of my thoughts, but what else could I do other than to agree to buy it? Yes, it would help me no end, I was sure of that, and I could make several journeys to collect it all tomorrow. Perhaps my neighbour might lend me his sack barrow, so I reticently affirmed I would take it.


That sorted, we all returned to the lounge to finish our drinks. The time was getting close to midnight by now, so I thanked them both for a very entertaining evening, explaining I really ought to get back home as I did have a very busy day tomorrow. I wanted to not only pick up the stuff from their patio, but also to contact the financial planner they had told me of earlier to enquire about a loan or mortgage so that I might get the environmental health guy off my back. I suggested too that Twinkie may be crossing his legs by now, and bursting for a pee.


Julian retorted, “Oh, don’t worry about Twinkie. He will be perfectly happy. We have a litter tray in our bedroom, so we can leave him as long as we like. He’s such a darling!” Then with a smile, he added, “You can pay us anytime you like for the stuff, there’s no hurry as Tristan doesn’t go the Bank until Monday.”


At that we all got up and said our farewells, with both of them fumbling and fondling to get my overcoat on. Julian gently fondling my crotch and saying how he hoped my rash would clear up soon, whilst Tristan gently cradled my bum in both hands and remarked on the firmness of my buttocks. A farewell kiss and I was out of the door.


Walking home, relieved it had stopped raining, I began to feel a little unsure about these guys.

 Darryl.   Copyright ©Chaucer Guest House.

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