‘He’s a fast worker. We were having a chat, you and me, but you didn’t seem all that interested. When your flatmate arrived you did something weird. You sort of screwed up your face. You tried to hide it with your hand, but I could see. It’s okay, your flatmate explained all about it.’

‘Explained what exactly?’ I asked, suspecting that Dale had told him I was cursed with an uncontrollable facial twitch.

‘That you’re a bit nervous with strangers and need time to relax. I know how you feel, I used to be the same. Anyway, this is the third time we’ve met. You shouldn’t be so nervy now.’

‘I’m perfectly okay.’

‘Good. How about meeting me one evening?’

I should have told him to piss off, but his looks had charmed away my resentment. ‘That would be nice,’ was what I actually said.

We met at a pub he knew, and ate at a self-service Chinese restaurant. He said he worked as a personal fitness trainer, and had some clients at a very exclusive club, but would not say more. ‘Can’t talk about clients,’ he said, making a gesture with an open palm suggestive of pushing away my tentative queries. Somehow he made even this negative signal appear attractive.

We finished eating and he took me back to my old flat, now his. The Jays’ sound system was clearly audible. He had me lie on the bed fully clothed and lay on top of me, then after a few minutes of caressing and fondling said, ‘Let’s get undressed now.’ He knew what he wanted sexually, and I was happy to do whatever pleased him. Afterwards, as I was getting ready to leave he asked for my phone number. This might not have meant anything – some men who have lots of casual pick-ups swap numbers after sex because it makes for an easy exit – but my spirits soared.