The other day I was listening nostalgically to Snow White singing 'Some day my prince will come.' My prince came - and went - nearly twenty years ago and I've been meaning to write about it for a long time now but on account of its delicate nature and the fear of being sued for slander I've kept it on the back burner till today. Now I'm burning to tell you all about it although, for obvious reasons, I will refer to the main character as Prince Erik. However if you're a regular reader of the gossip columns and tabloids it won't take you long to work out who he really was.

Growing up and coming out in the late eighties and early nineties, I mixed with a lot of celebrities who were very much 'betwixt and between.' There were more gays in the closet than you'd find in a factory of coat hangers. In fact I've just been watching a re-run of an old Barbara Walters show where Ricky Martin is playing peek-a-boo with his sexuality and absolutely won't commit himself. I suppose he was afraid of falling out of favour with his female fans. Or maybe it's just sour grapes on my part as I've always wanted to get inside his pants.

One popular actor who I'm sure you will recognize from my description of him had nearly three decades of success and never let the 'rat out of the bag' until recently when he went from wearing priest's robes in one tv series to a lady's dress in another. It must have been a shock to some of his fans to see him change frocks so drastically. Of course we haven't heard much of him since. My brother Gary used to be his chauffeur when he was on location and told me many a torrid tale of how he had to go cruising with him. In and out of the limo. A lot of hunks were attracted by the name and the famous face but others did it for rent. My brother held on to his job by procuring fresh flesh for this guy's insatiable sexual appetite and told me sometimes he felt like Elizabeth Taylor in 'Suddenly Last Summer.' Did you ever see that movie? It was sure ahead of its time I can tell you.

Word soon got around that Gary was the soul of discretion and his phone never stopped ringing. He also had to find little love nests for some of his clients to be together and I was involved in finding them. I was sweet seventeen and almost never been kissed when it all started. Of course the fact that our uncle was an estate agent helped a lot but sometimes not even he knew who the short term rents were intended for. You'd be surprised how many married (and unmarried) guys need an illicit love nest. Women too. So I became a kind of go-between-cum-keeper-of-the-keys. Quite an exciting part time job for a horny teenager like me. 'Remember' my brother said, 'Mum's the word is our motto.' Between you and me I've never quite understood that expression. Couldn't see what somebody's mother had to do with it. Then I saw Brendan Fraser in 'The Mummy' and realized it was more a question of keeping a bandage wrapped round your mouth. You live and learn, you live and learn. Personally I wanted to get my mouth wrapped round Brendan's dick but that's another story.

Anyway by the time I was nineteen I'd learned a lot. Had quite a few experiences under my belt too. Most of them hot. Of course at the beginning I was shyer than the proverbial church mouse and hung on to my virginity like a rose refusing to be plucked but, as we all know, roses eventually lose their petals. And bloom unfortunately. Looking back with nostalgia at my loss of innocence, I must say I surprise myself with what I got up to. Surprised quite a lot of other people too. You see I'm what they call very well endowed. My first fling was with a tv announcer and quite spectacular. He had a penthouse flat and a four poster bed and I'm afraid I let that and the constant champagne go to my head. I've always been a sucker for luxury. He liked to tie me up and tie me down so I was not exactly broken in gently. By the time he'd finished with me I was no longer a blushing rose but picking up my petals from the floor. Of course as I grew older and wiser and more experienced I turned the tables on many a guy. They say you can't force the petals of a rose with a pin but you sure as hell can open a lot of butts with a well adjusted dick. And I did a lot of that.

Anyway about this time - the age of my loss of innocence I mean - Gary got hired by this prince I was telling you about and was paid quite a packet for his patience and discretion. The prince had the hots for an up-and-coming singer who was playing the lead in a West End show. Strangely enough he too is wearing a 'silly frilly frock' in his latest success. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. But as usual I digress.

His highness spent quite a lot of time hanging round stage doors. In the limo of course. Or waiting at home for my brother to bring the love of his life to his doorstep. Originally I was just a custodian, responsible for keeping the keys of the kingdom and making appointments, but it wasn't long before Prince Erik engaged me as a kind of valet. You might say I slipped into it naturally. Just as he slipped into my pants.

Nobody was more surprised than me. You see in those days I thought if you loved another guy you remained faithful to him. But as I said before you live and learn, you live and learn. Anyway I was a bit of a sitting duck, or should I say 'sitting fuck,' as some guys get a kick out of seducing innocent twinks like me and Prince Erik was no exception. Or maybe he was just bored hanging around all the time, waiting for his man to come home. Boredom is a killer and can raise a lot of dicks and lower a lot of defences.

At the beginning I just did the shopping for his royal highness and made sure the fridge was stocked up with goodies and the apartment was always clean and tidy but then he started asking me to run his bath for him or massage his shoulders. On one such occasion he'd been drinking rather too much champagne and pulled me into the bathtub with him.

He told me to get out of my wet clothes, no easy task when your shirt is clinging to you and your excited dick is impeding the passage of your pants. But I managed and found myself submerged in more ways than one. You see Prince Erik was pretty well endowed too and he really knew how to penetrate my prostate. He did so in fits and starts so that I began to feel like an electric light bulb was going off slowly inside me. I lit up with pleasure and came in profusion. Altogether it was a highly satisfying experience. Highly flattering too being fucked by your very own prince. At least that's what I thought until he started calling me his 'secret slut.' Albeit affectionately.

"Mum's the word," he said afterwards. So he knew that dumb expression too.

"My lips are sealed," I replied as if in code although my ass was feeling anything but sealed.

Of course, once you've opened the gates of sin it's difficult not to go in for another visit and we had sex on quite a few other occasions punctuated by my sobs of joy and strangled cries of tortured elation. But true to my word I never told a living soul, not even my brother, until now that is.

The first time Prince Erik was drunk and could be forgiven for his infidelity but a few days later I was bending over the fridge lining the shelves with champagne and my butt must have been too good to resist as he grabbed me round the haunches and rubbed his hardening dick against me. Then he slipped his hands under my shirt and played sexual cadenzas with my nipples. Nobody had ever done that to me before and my teeth chattered with the thrill of it. This turned him on even more. Soon we were fucking like frantic ferrets when he should have been on his way to the theatre. In fact my brother was waiting downstairs and could have 'caught us at it' as they say. Fortunately he didn't. And each sensual escapade sent me a notch further up the sexual ladder of experience.

But my education wasn't really complete until I'd learned to suck his cock. Initially it took all his powers of persuasion to initiate me in this 'new art form'. I'd never done such a thing before and found it gross. Also my sweet rosebud mouth wasn't yet elastic enough for such an endeavour. Naturally I soon took to it like a baby takes to the bottle and was always grateful for the generous portions of cream he rewarded me with. Talk about out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. There was no stopping me after that. My ass and my mouth were open doors and I was a willing pupil who blossomed and bloomed under his guidance.

One thing I will always respect him for. He never made me feel inferior or reminded me I was in the presence of royalty. Once when we were on the edge of a mutual orgasm he snarled and said, "I'm going to fuck the ass off you. Wipe the floor with you. Rub your nose in your own cum." But that was only sex talk and to tell the truth I wanted nothing better than to be trodden into the carpet by my Prince Charming and called a butt slut and then roll up into a tight little ball and sleep next to him spoon fashion or lick his dick clean.

It was nice while it lasted but, as with all good things, it had to come to an end. As did his romance with the singer. Prince Erik moved out and I moved on. Occasionally I see his photo in magazines, usually on the arm of some female celebrity or other although he never married. Of course I never ask myself why. I don't suppose he'd even recognize me now. I'm twice the age I was then and twinks tend to lose their twinkle soon after they leave their teens. The other day I came across a photo I had taken shortly after I met him. I pinned it on my bulletin board next to a more recent one. The first I labelled 'I wonder' the other 'I know.' That seemed to sum the whole thing up.

They say a rose is a rose is a rose but you can't really say a prince is a prince is a prince. At least mine wasn't. He was something special. He had a formative influence on my sexual upbringing and in one way or another kind of put his royal stamp of approval on everything I did afterwards even if that sometimes meant that at the beginning I tended to measure everyone up to his wondrous cock.

Anyway he certainly left his insignia on my butt and taught me how to 'crown' the next generation of twinks. In fact you might even say that - after 20 years -- I've earned the title of Callan Smith, Royal Slut.