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Stalking the pages became my very own alternative to tv. I bought every publication running contact ads I could find. Besides the obvious choices ( Time Out, Sky, Gay Times and Dateline), I bought Loot, The Spectator, Melody Maker, NME, Private Eye, What's On In London, Him, Gay Scotland plus the soon to be defunct Phase and Bona.
Then there were the freebies like Capital Gay, The Pink Paper, Link Up, All Points North, Gay Community News and Guyz, available in bars and clubs. I didn't reply to ads in Boyz, not even at the discount rate of four for a fiver. Most of the publications wanted a couple of first-class stamps enclosed per reply. Sky was the odd one out, with a Freepost service as an incentive. I was drawn to the odd, the pathetic and bizarre. Easy catches. I replied to ads across the sexual spectrum.
In the back of The London Weekly Advertiser I spotted an ad: 'Contacts On Video, The essential new contact service. See your contacts first, LIVE ON VIDEO!!!'
I sent off a cheque for fifteen pounds, hoping to see the couples seeking single girls, couples seeking single men, couples seeking couples, mature women (40+) seeking men, voyeurs seeking couples, housewives seeking single men (husband present), TV/TS seeking straight guys, all on home-made videos with sound, but nothing arrived. Hugely disappointed, I wrote a letter of complaint to a south London address.
I replied to about forty ads, sending the more tasteful free postcards available in Village. Over and over I wrote the same brief reply in royal blue ink, using an italic nib specially purchased for the job. Top right I wrote the full date, beneath which sat my phone number. Slap bang in the middle went the fake name in capital letters. Below this, in neat cursive, I wrote: Call me (Even if the ad begged a photo or frank letter this is all they got.) Bottom right went the socially dishonest signature, using cheerful and safe rounded shapes. I like to think it all looked more discreet than devious. Recycled stamps were Pritt Sticked down to thick, white Conqueror envelopes. I delivered my replies to the various offices around town on my bike after dark.
Choosing fake names for myself became an alphabetic chore, more time and effort went into matching a name to an ad than the random selection of victim. Within seconds of a call for, say, Matthew, I'd know the ad had been in Dateline reading:
I WANT an aristocratic English young
man - 6' tall, slim...a bit like Sting
but ideally dark. I'm 29, female, like
tennis, badminton, choir, folk singing.
Smart businessman for very special
friendship with same interests.
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