Today I find myself being reminded of a very happy memory. A first time in fact.
I’m still in the post-Eroticon blues period today, but anticipating this, I’d booked the two days after as time off to recover. My significant other had an appointment in Central London today, and she asked me to take the tube journey in with her as we’d not seen much of each other for a few days. This left me with a few hours to kill. What’s a bored boy to do? I could get right back on the tube and spend a few hours at my keyboard… or I could spend it as a tourist. I’m a Londoner (I live about as far out of London as possible but still in a London borough. That counts right?) As a Londoner, I rarely take the time to look around, really look around at the glorious architecture around me. Or visit any of the wonderful, free museums on offer.
So what the hell, I went to the Natural History Museum. Sure, it’s gonna be full of rude kids I thought, but what the hell. It’s on the way back.
The sheer scale of the place never fails to impress, and although Dippy, the diplodocus wasn’t there to welcome me to the main hall this time, walking through those doors still brought a childish grin to my face.
I spent much of my childhood summers wandering aimlessly around these places, as my parents owned a contracting company near Tower Bridge. St Catherine’s Docks were not a place for kids in those days.
The Natural History Museum holds other, more personal memories too. In my late teenage years, I visited with a girlfriend who was almost as much of a randy perv as I was.
Now, every time I visit the museum, I visit the Gem Room. Whilst I find much of the museum’s exhibits interesting, this room, in particular, holds a memory that I’m keen to hold onto. I’m thirty years older than that day, the girlfriend in question has long since left my life (turns out she was a bigger perv than I suspected and she fucked off with her stepbrother. But that’s another story for another time.) Now, I find myself needing a walking stick to help me up those stairs. The layout of the room has changed a little. The seating is now only in the centre aisle instead of along the outer walls. Maybe we were partly to blame for this? Who knows.
Back in those days, CCTV was rarely used and expensive to monitor, plus the quality was crap at best, so the museum relied heavily on its staff to pound the halls and make sure no one was up to no good. We were definitely up to no good.
Being typical for our age group, we were bored, horny and desperate for a fuck. The Gem Room was virtually deserted and the guard looked half asleep. He didn’t even notice us creep in. We slowly walked about two-thirds of the way down the room and on finding a suitable bench to sit on, we sat and started making out. My girlfriend had taken to wearing a long, white gypsy skirt on these days out. Wearing it with a matching, embroidered white bodice, she looked like butter wouldn’t melt. Looks can be deceiving, a ploy she used to full effect.
The guard took no interest in us, and the only other people in the room went into the vault section. We knew this was our best chance.
The thing about long white gypsy skirts is that a girl can go commando and no one would know. I knew. She knew I knew. She was counting on it. With practiced efficiency, she hitched up the back of her skirt while I obliged my end. A gentleman wouldn’t go into the details any further, and I like to think of myself as such. You’ll just have to use your imagination on how this memory concluded. What I will say is that we had to make a swift exit leaving the building quickly as that guard wasn’t as sleepy as he was making out. But as we were stupid and young we didn’t care. We’d gotten our fix and that’s all that mattered.
Now I find myself writing this post, bouncing in my seat on the tube and being reminded of the journey we had back home. They didn’t have cameras on tube trains back then either. Wink wink 😉