I am about to take the first step towards true commitment to the German Boy (G- a visit to the sexual health clinic, to get a check-up.

Putting my head in the sand following the "accidental" loss of the condom during one October encounter with Fencing Boy no longer seems a viable strategy for long-term peace of mind, so it's about time.

Although Tall Boy's reliability with condom use could reassure me of the state of his sexual health, the question whether I was on the Pill didn't.
A girl's got to wonder who else's pregnancy-proof pussy escapes penetration only under the cover of plastic, and then you've got to think who else has had unprotected access to that pussy, and so on...

Plus there is the small matter of a persistent lump just to the inside of my thigh, which no longer seems to be just an ingrown hair (which it is, according to my doctor), so I tentatively wonder if this is the beginning of another invasion of the dormant wart virus.

"I've never had that kind of check-up", GB told me in his usual amused voice, "none of my exes ever have, either. But they've never had anything, I know that".

Pardon me, how exactly would anyone know what they do or don't have if they've never been checked?

So I suggested strongly that he enquires with his doctor about getting booked in before he attempts to come near me again without a raincoat.
If he is astounded at my previously never experienced skill of putting condoms on with my mouth, he goes floppy and doesn't come, is that my problem?

He mentioned thinking of getting the HPV vaccine. I laughed. "Do you honestly think you don't have that yet if 80% of the sexually active adult population do?", I asked him.
"In any case, if your test proves don't have it I strongly recommend you get the jab, as I know that I have it already".
And I told him the story of the man on holiday who'd become infertile as a result of his treatment for anal cancer, also linked to HPV. An increase of mouth cancer in people fond of condom-less blowjobs has also recently been reported in the media, which despite its scary implications for a radiant smile I can't exactly see suddenly increasing people's taste for rubber and spermicide.

GB kept his usual cheerful disposition throughout this exchange, so I guess he appreciated my honesty.
He was equally unfazed when I confessed my continued involvement with Salsa Boy, although I made it clear that we hadn't done anything besides kissing. very occasionally.

I am glad I can talk to him like that. I am beginning to feel that he's my equal in many ways, we see eye to eye on lots of issues from Cosmic Ordering to fridge purchases and quantum physics, and I never get tired of hearing his voice on the phone and talking to him.

I told him of my mad birthday outing to the races two years ago, which climaxed in being driven down the Kings Road in an open double-decker bus, the front adorned by four buck-naked boys who drank beer and champagne out of my pink stilettos.
He told me of his latest car purchase and the theory behind buying a new car rather than a second hand one. Dull as it sounds, I was fascinated and we chatted some more.
I realised suddenly that it was 0:45 again and high time to hit the sheets.

I am travelling to see him the day after tomorrow, and he will have to pass another hurdle: meeting members of my extended family.