Pervy Ray, as the nickname suggests, is indeed a pervert. Licentious to the core, you might say. ‘Photo for the blog?’ he asks. ‘Hang on then, I’ll take my trousers off and get my knob out. I’m happiest with my knob out, you know.’
Are you wondering how I, a priggish, naive young musician, meet these lunatics? Well, through rock and roll trucking. Naturally. Anyway, it just so happens that my old pal Pervy Ray and I are loading trailers together in West London. The equipment is for the touring Stage Production of Batman Live and, frankly, there are far more trucks loafing about than we like the look of.
‘Job’s fucked,’ tuts Ray, uttering what has long become his standard mantra. He looks at his watch and tuts once more. ‘If we could’ve got away earlier, I’d have taken you to Sue’s place in Birmingham – she’s putting on a gangbang tonight.’ (He fails to notice my expression of abject disquiet.) ‘It’s just round the corner from Aston Villa’s football ground and you can park a truck there if you’re interested.’
Oh, hooray. Yes, I can think of nothing finer than an amorphous mass of dick-swinging nudists. Just up my street. Sounds ghastly. Ooh, unless there’s a raffle. ‘Any chance I could take a flask, Ray?’ I enquire tentatively, wondering if there’s a silver lining. ‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘And there’s no obligation to partake. Nobody will say anything if you just want to watch and have a cup of tea.’ Well, it can’t be that uncivilised, then; a scone might be pushing my luck, though..
A little bit of work now gets in the way of this enlightening conversation; oh, it’s always been the driving and loading that ruins this job. We potter up the M1, abandon the trucks at Nottingham’s Capital FM Arena, and dive into Bunkers Hill pub next door. Pervy Ray resumes the filthy discourse before you can say…well, I was going to say Jack Robinson, but Bukake is the topic he brings up.
‘Not heard of Bukake?’ asks Ray in disbelief. Honestly, he’s so judgmental – if you admit to sleeping with fewer than four women at the same time, he rolls his eyes heavenward, genuinely astounded. ‘You haven’t lived,’ he says, po-faced.
‘Anyway, you’d love bukake,’ he continues, instantly sullying my reputation as a prude. ‘It’s not a gangbang as such, but it could turn into one. The object, you see, is to cover a woman in as much spunk as possible.’ It’s now my turn to roll eyes skyward and tut. No romantic talk here of mermaids combing their hair on the rocks, that’s for sure. ‘It’s a proper sport,’ he bellows indignantly, steamrollering any potential objections. ‘I was runner-up in the South East Finals, you know.’
What amuses me most is the blithe manner in which he churns out this greasy rhetoric. It’s as though he’s speaking of a casual game of bridge in a Gentleman’s Club. Or a jolly stroll in the Pennines with some cheese and pickle sandwiches. ‘Good afternoon out, actually,’ he concludes, somewhat proving my point..