My friend, Big Dave in Australia just died. He was very big. Big hearted, big jolly pink cheeks… Big Chrissy and I visited him and Little Dave a few years back. I remember driving around Sydney and Big Dave pointing out all the “famous beats,” or public places where he had had sex. “What’s the largest number of guys you’ve had sex with at any one time?”
Stunned, I could only think of my tragic affair with D, of excitedly coupling with Bob a few hours after being so masterfully manipulated by D’s powers of arousal, of how I’d hurt Bob… “2,” I said with a tear in my eye.
“I had 13 blokes in one night,” he said, “13.”
He wore his excess weight like a tight little black dress, I was in awe of his sexual radiance and allure. When he and Little Dave came to town, it was like a carnal cyclone hit the city, everyone in their path devoured by the venereal tempest. Big Dave would take us to some fabulous old church, or an old Masonic temple hall and play Bach on their pipe organs, a private concert just for us. He loved the Queen and the idea of monarchy, and often referred to us (in the States) as turncoats. I loved him, and his big spirit. Bye bye Big Dave.