‘Do you reckon Freddie Mercury had a dildo?’ 

My boss gawped at me, wide-eyed, mouth open like a drawbridge, stunned into silence. I was face-down in a delivery box of polystyrene, picking out little viagra boxes amongst the white fluff. 

I lifted my head out of the box, red-faced. ‘Well?’ I goaded, diving back in. 

He burst into a fit of giggles, high-pitched and rapturous. The laughter engine churned up a gear, and he cackled. Wiping a tear from his eye, he asked ‘what are we going to do with you?’.

This was just a month after joining in June 2021 in Prowler, an LGBTQ+ sex shop – or adult store – in Soho, London. 

Soho’s streets are abuzz, known for jazz music, media luvvies, Italian cafe’s, gay pubs, trendy eateries with tourists seeking TikTok-famous £35 burgers, phone snatchers, and dealers. 

It was a perfect place for me to bloom – and Prowler gave me that chance when I joined.

While I’d joined in a bit of a lost tizzy, I felt settled and I immediately found a form of community. It was a place to work, and give me money sure – but it came with camaraderie. 

I moved to London after weathering COVID in my West Midlands hometown and a supermarket job, to a career in publishing. 

But I hated the cold-plunge into corporate culture and realised I was a terrible fit after 6 months. 

So, I felt relieved when the company and I mutually agreed to part ways. 

Jobless in London, and looking for work – my flatmate suggested that as a ‘not that ugly’ young guy, I should go walk around Soho with my CV and look for work.

I obliged. 

In Old Compton Street, I passed restaurants (I’m too clumsy), bars (I’m very forgetful), then passed by Prowler, on a street corner. 

Without thinking, and increasingly desperate for a wage, I waltzed in.

Smiling, I greeted the fella at the till, and asked if they were hiring. They were; I emailed a CV right there and then, made my goodbyes, and waited. 

Within a week, I’d had the call for an interview, a trial shift, then landed the job. 

For the interview, my future boss took me to a deli and asked me simple questions like ‘what do you think our bestsellers are’ (poppers), and ‘have you worked in an LGBTQ+ environment before?’ (I hadn’t) – I was nervous and his abruptness terrified me.

When I got the trial shift, I desperately wanted to be taken seriously, so I threw a blazer over my outfit as a last-minute decision, and was called ‘blazer boy’ for a year after.

Everyone was forthcoming and fun, and I needed the job. I just didn’t expect to find happiness and joy there.

Growing up in the West Midlands, I didn’t experience much queerness and positive, open sexuality. At Prowler, I was surrounded by it. 

I learned about the sex clubs and parties that customers buy things for, the alt East London scenes, and what queer London gets up to after dark. 

There were stories of orgies, fisting, and throuples told to me casually, as if we were discussing the weather. It was surprising, but I wasn’t phased by anything; I was ready to finally learn from all my new queer colleagues. 

I knew I’d forever struggle to work anywhere else from here-on.

I made friends – people I still talk to now. We plunged each other into London’s nightlife and shifts were filled with mischief, wind-ups, and bollockings from our breathtakingly-tolerant boss.

One Christmas party in 2023 was filled with so much raucous singing, dancing, and laughing, that I only discovered Soho had been hit by a snowstorm when I left. 

I walked home, pissed as a rat, and it felt like a slightly unsexy Bridget Jones scene, strolling through Soho in my pants with a bottle.

The draw to the place wasn’t just about the friends I made – the punters who came to shop were brilliant too. They bought poppers, porno DVD’s, lube, and sex toys in abundance. 

I’d talk to elder customers about their experiences of the AIDS crisis, serve men from persecuted countries, and baby gays discovering themselves.

It brought me the joy and community I didn’t know I’d needed.

Queer Hope & Joy

Metro is sharing stories of Queer Hope & Joy, where we are centring stories that platform the vibrancy, diversity and resilience of the LGBTQ+ community.

This is running alongside LGBT Foundation’s Hope Starts Here campaign, and will represent as many LGBTQ+ identities as possible, while spreading hope and joy at a time it is very much needed.

Find out more about LGBT Foundation’s campaign here.

To submit your story of your Queer Hope & Joy send your pitches to: [email protected]

Not that long later, I was at a party where I bumped into a higher-up from my former publishing job I was at, who balked and laughed when I answered what I’m up to, asking: ‘And that’s the career dream is it?’

‘No, but they’ve been nicer to me. And more fun.’

I worked at Prowler full-time for two years, but minimum wage wasn’t cutting it, so I took up a second job selling tickets for a theatre show for a year alongside it.

Three years in, I left after getting a job at a travel company, which was cancelled the night before my first day. A ‘restructure’, they called it.

Tail between my legs, I went back to the shop after a month.

By this time, the sheen had worn off. 

The friends I’d made had all moved on, and I finally became enlightened to anti-social behaviour, thefts, and straight people who would walk in just to giggle and ogle; things the older colleagues when I first joined would gripe and complain about.

I left after six months, temporarily worked in a press office, taught in Brazil for half a year, came back, landed a writer job, and lost that the day before my probation ended. 

Back to the shop I went. 

My third Prowler era was tough. With all the chopping, changing, and the low pay that retail offers, I’d bounce between Universal Credit, emergency overdrafts, and sometimes, food bank referrals.

I made friends again, and for a while, re-found happiness and joy.

Some might think I failed, having to go back again, but after trying new things, having a short-lived writer job and career pivots in the wrong direction, it was always there for me. 

I found the one sole workplace which got me, which is more than I can say about the higher-paying jobs I’d dabbled in. 

I’m sure my old boss will be hearing from me again soon.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

Share your views in the comments below.


Add Metro as a Preferred Source on Google
Add as preferred source