I presumed as the dinner came to an end that we were going to spend the night together. When he went to the toilet I thought about it: maybe it was something he did not want to do. But just say he did? Afterward, then, what would happen? Would I leave him once I had an orgasm and walk back home? Or would I stay the night? Would I see him again? What were the rules? Meeting someone like this was new to me.

He paid the bill on his way back from the toilet. He seemed pleased about this as though he had had his way against considerable odds. I invited him to a bar to have a drink and we strolled up through the city. As we walked along I steered him in the direction of his own apartment. I did not want to take him back to mine, it would have allowed him too much intimacy. I still wanted strangeness. I would have loved to know about his life, when he knew he was gay, or when he had his first experience, but we had not mentioned the word gay; it was taken for granted.

“Come back and have a drink,” he said. He grinned as if he were in a movie and had learned his dialogue by heart. I nodded and smiled.

The apartment was modern with a long living room and hardly any furniture, there were some giant plants, and rugs which he must have bought in Europe or the East. He mixed two gin and tonics, turned off the main light, and put on a lamp instead, then he sat down on the sofa close to me. I wanted this, but still I was uncomfortable. He put his hand on my hair and I leaned against him.

“Would you like music?” he asked.

“No, this is okay,” I turned toward him and smiled. We kissed. We lay together and sipped our gin for some time; we said nothing. I put my ear against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. I could see too that his cock was hard.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.

He was careful with his clothes. He took his jacket off and hung it in the wardrobe. He put his shoes neatly beside each other against the wall, and then he took his trousers off and folded them on the back of a chair. Everything in the apartment was tidy and in place. He was a regular guy who liked things to be spare and clean. I was glad that I had not taken him home. I hung my jacket on the back of the door and tried to put the rest of my clothes neatly on the chair. We both left our shorts on as we got in between the clean sheet and the fresh duvet cover. We lay together quietly. After a while, he whispered to me: