So there I am, on the bus number 78 from Liverpool Street to Old Kent Road. Not more than three minutes into the journey, a young, very attractive guy in a suit jumps onto the bus, sits next to me and plugs one of his headphones into my ear. Before I have a chance to protest about this infringement of my personal space, I am overwhelmed by the sounds of Jumping Jack Flash by The Rolling Stones -- one of my favourite songs ever.

The guy introduces himself as Allie, and I subsequently introduced myself. We yap about how the Stones were better than the Beatles, how Pete Burns looks much better now (clue number 1) and how Cher (clue number 2) shouldn't have stopped touring until everybody had got the chance to see her live. He tells me how is girlfriend is away in Spain for the week (clue number 3).

We get off at the same stop, on Old Kent Road, and wander down the road singing to Sympathy for the Devil and skipping like maniacs.

Allie asks me if I have any wine. I reply that yes, being such an alcoholic, of course I do. I am, I say, not sure if my flatmate is home though. But Allie says it'll be nice just to chill out and have a drink.

As it turns out, my flatmate isn't home.

Allie and I fuck like wild alligators in my bed for about half an hour. The best thing about being such a monumentally effeminate queer is the wonderful look on men’s faces when they realise I want to go on top. The second best thing is the noises they make when you press their face into the pillow and pound away at their arse.

All the time while I was getting stuck into Allie’s alley, I kept looking at my open bedroom door, terrified that my flatmate would suddenly come home and catch me being a despicable gay. I say “worried”, when actually it turned me on even more.

Allie says that he had a great evening and I made it even better. He then departs, gives me a lovely kiss and says we'll never see each other again.

It was exactly what I'd needed.