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Eight years we’ve been friends and it never entered my mind before today that we would ever go there. Last week when you asked me out for dinner, I thought nothing of it whatsoever. Just that we’d have dinner (as we often do) and that would be it.

I didn’t realise it would turn into this…

Me lying naked next to you, having just had the best sex of my life.

***

Earlier, you texted the address of where we’d be eating and I didn’t recognise it at all. In recent times, it’s always been that nice Italian off Dover Street or the French restaurant I like down by Canary Wharf. Nice places, you know? Not too shabby. So I pulled up the address on Maps and realised it was your studio.

We met many years ago when we were working on a play together. Remember? You were slightly older, I knew, and had a skinhead then and were fucking your way through the cast. Most of them went bright red whenever you walked into the room and it bamboozled me. I was awkward, academic and unsure of myself. I had ambitions and certainly, no time for boys. We swapped numbers though because we enjoyed each other’s dark sense of humour, but you never made a move on me. I was fresh out of stage school and had too much to achieve. You were dangerous and not what I was looking for.

I got a job working on a soap soon after that play. You used to rib me about my looks having got me the part. You were tired of treading the boards, but nevertheless, went on a tour of Europe with another stage company soon after… and the next time we saw one another, I was in a relationship with my first serious boyfriend.

That relationship only just ended recently after I realised the sex was bad. Plus, seven years together and I never managed to get him to move in with me.

I made a friend last year called Katie who I worked with on this terrible commercial. We hit it off and started going out clubbing together. We got to talking about boyfriends one night and she was asking about Pete, my now ex. She’d met him only the once.

“He looks like he’s an animal in bed… dark and brooding and stuff,” I remember her saying.

I didn’t know what to say to her. I’d had one lay in university that was nothing to write home about, but I was fairly sure Pete wasn’t anything to brag about either. The trouble was, I didn’t really have anything to compare it to.

“I sometimes wonder about that… I mean, how many times do you… you know…?” She caught on to my meaning. “When you do it. Do you come every time?”

She blinked at me and grinned strangely. “I come like, every time. Not always through penetrative. But most guys are happy to frig me off or lick down there. If that doesn’t work, bringing out the trusted vibrator seems to be fine by them, as long as they get to use it on me.”

I was feeling fairly conscious of the fact that me and Pete had never discussed alternatives to his cock. She seemed to read this on my face without me even having to say it.

“WHAT? He doesn’t use fingers or tongue or anything?”