THE DAILY MALE...continues...

At some point during a very long and tedious working afternoon, I experience some kind of mental epiphany. All the pain to do with MLP’s lack of contact dissipates and I decide, for the foreseeable future, to operate my sex life on a first come first served basis. Plenty of men out there…why waste all my time and emotion on just one?

In this new spirit of love and freedom, I text Eurotrash who I haven’t heard from since our date last week. If I’m going to play the numbers game, I may as well go for broke. I have three (well, six) balls in the air and whichever ones land in my lap first, will be the first to...well...land in my lap.

In the evening, I set off for the theatre with my old (and I mean old!) friend, Lord Saggy Chops. As I step into his limo, my mobile rings. It’s Eurotrash. I obviously can’t talk, so I tell him I’ll call him later. Colour me boosted!

The show is second rate. What’s going on with the West End these days? They’re charging the highest prices for the lowest performances.

I switch my phone on during the interval just in case I’ve missed anything and by a strange stroke of serendipity, it rings immediately with a number I don’t recognize. It’s MLP! from his mother’s mobile because his is out of credit. He sounds subdued and rather down, and when I ask what's up, he says he’s had some bad family news. He won’t elaborate and I ask him gently if I can call him later. My later list is getting longer.

I fidget through the rest of the show and when I switch my mobile back on as the curtain comes down, there’s a text from Oxbridge and a voice message telling me he’s sent me a text. Belt and braces? So uncool...He’s actually starting to annoy the shit out of me and I haven't even met him yet.

I manage to give his Lordship a modicum of attention over dinner ordering only one course to encourage him to do likewise, so I can get home and phone the boys back. It's past his bedtime anyway so he's happy to comply. I peck him on the cheek, thank him effusively and leap out the limo as it reaches my door. I'm calling MLP back as I climb my stairs.

He tells me one of his uncles has had a heart attack and I make all the right sympathetic noises. He’s also had no work on this week and can’t afford to top up his mobile or buy petrol for his van. I try not to hear a veiled request for money and consider having a t-shirt printed with ‘My boyfriend is an unemployed builder’ on it. Wearing this with a Prada suit could start a trend. I offer to buy MLP dinner tomorrow night and he says he'll let me know...

Thursday. The now ubiquitous early morning call from Oxbridge. I have nothing to say to him other than I’m very busy just now and seeing my boyfriend in the evening. He obviously takes this on board as I don’t hear from him again all day.

I call Eurotrash back and get his voice mail. I have another business meeting with him tomorrow anyway. At 6.30 p.m. MLP calls to say he’ll be over in an hour. I am beyond delighted.

I am always astounded when I first set eyes on him at quite how good-looking he is. Beautiful almost. He has paid a lot of attention to his appearance tonight and hugs me long and hard when he comes through the door. We have a drink at home then go out to Khan’s for an Indian. Boy has that place ever gone off!! The restaurant lost its license a while back so now you can’t even get a lousy shandy. The waiters are surly, the food is shite and the lights are too bright. In many ways, it's like dining at noon on the banks of the Ganges. Conversation between MLP and I is stilted and far too sober.

I pay the bill quickly and we go home, put on some music, and retreat to the sofa. In order to inject a little joie de vivre into an otherwise lacklustre evening, I start throwing chocolate raisins at him. It’s all rather childish and contrived but he rises to the challenge and catches most of them deftly in his mouth like a performing monkey.

I worry about the ones he misses melting and staining the sofa so I rummage around until I find them. I crawl behind him and wrap my legs around his waist, and I undo his ponytail. I plait his hair then hold it out of the way while I suckle his neck, something I know really turns him on. He tells me a feeling as warm as honey is spreading right through him and maybe it is, but something else tells me we will not make love tonight.

He mentioned once we didn’t have to do it every time we saw each other, which I found weird...