‘Well, I don’t really know Hadley …’

‘What clubs do you go to?’

‘Oh, I don’t go out that much, but if I do …’

‘I really like Base at the moment, I always used to go to Redemption but the music there is so shit now and they closed down the VIP bar.’

There doesn’t seem to be much answer to this.

‘Come on, let’s go.’ He grabs me by the arm and starts walking towards the door.

‘I can’t, I came with …’

‘You can.’

And so I do.

He lives way out in north London somewhere, he’s vague as to the exact location, and so we get a taxi back to my place, which I would never consider because of the expense but with him it seems the natural thing to do. In the back of the cab he is all over me, and when the driver makes a tutting noise Stuart says, ‘What’s your fucking problem, pal?’ and carries on exactly where he left off. He’s got one leg thrown over my lap and he’s basically humping me, so I can see the driver’s point to some extent, but at least this means that we get home in double-quick time, presumably so the driver can get rid of us as soon as possible.

I hand over thirty quid and tell the driver to keep the change (four quid) and when Stuart hears that he starts laughing again.

We take the stairs three at a time, and he catches me on the second landing and grabs me and starts kissing me again, this time he’s got his hands up the back of my shirt, and we collide with one of the recycling boxes on the landing which makes a loud clanking sound. I catch sight of Michael’s hand moving the net curtain at his kitchen window, and dimly see his face looking out, before Stuart pulls the shirt right over my head and I can’t see any more. Somehow I manage to get him up to my floor, and just about push him into the flat before my trousers are round my knees. We have sex right inside the door, on the floor in the hall, knocking over a pile of books that I still haven’t found a home for, rolling around and thumping and grunting like a couple of animals.

We don’t do much apart from rubbing and wanking, we’re too excited to get into anything more complicated like fucking or sucking, besides which Stuart seems to want to spend the whole time kissing. When we finally come, we’re breathing the air out of each other’s lungs. I open my eyes and he’s got his screwed up so tight that the lines around them are white, he’s driven all the blood away.

We lie there for a while, and I half expect him to get up and leave, but he doesn’t. He ruffles my hair, bites the lobe of my left ear and then finds his way to the toilet to clean up. There’s cum everywhere, and I wipe it up with my shirt, which has to be washed anyway.