Beyonce Encounters…Positive Discrimination

‘My last boyfriend was mixed race,’ he tells me with a cheeky smirk. He’s seven years younger than me, with trendy facial hair, a baseball cap and skinny jeans.
I want to tell him my last fuck was a bit indie too, but in truth, I’m far less bounded by convention than most gays. I dabble in all the major ‘types’: indie, scally, twink, toff, the lot!
But I get that people compartmentalise themselves and each other. That’s fine. Rather than put myself in a box, however, I’d rather blow yours wide open.
‘He was called Jerome. We used to listen to reggae together.’
‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask. We’re in G-A-Y. Hanson’s ‘Mmmbop’ is currently playing on the screen. It’s neither the time nor the place to discuss the levels of blackness he aspires to in his sex life.
‘Red Stripe, please,’ he says, before taking his cigarette tin from his pocket and rolling himself a smoke with liquorice paper.
When I come back, drinks in hand, he’s staring intently at the screen. I realise Chris Brown was on.
‘Don’t you think Chris Brown is gorgeous?’
‘I don’t usually find wife-beaters attractive.’
‘Oh. Well that was ages ago.’
I need to steer the conversation onto a better topic.
‘I guess some people like to be smacked about as a sexual thing. Do you?’
‘Erm . . .’
‘What is your fetish? Besides black men, I mean. Piss? Shit? Choking?Spanking?’
‘Erm . . .’
‘Oh, is this making you uncomfortable? I’d hate for someone to feel uncomfortable.’
An uneasy silence descends across the table. Fuck it, I think.
‘Do you wanna fuck?’