Staying in with a friend, a bottle of wine and some romantic tat on the box last night didn't prepare me for a surprise at bedtime:

Tall Boy texting to tell me he was in my area and what I was up to? The classic booty text, half an hour to midnight.
I couldn't resist replying though, with a little jab at how inappropriate I thought this type of message was. Was he drunk?

He called me, rambling but not slurring his words, and suggested: "Why don't I just get a cab and come round for a bit, we could have a drink and talk, I won't stay long...".

I was just getting cozy in my nightdress and snuggling under the covers, so I chatted for about ten minutes but told him, quite firmly that I was going to bed and he could always arrange something with a bit more warning. It was 00:15, I should have been asleep and a copy of "Why Men Marry Bitches" http://www.amazon.co.uk/Why-Men-Marry-Bitches-Winning/dp/074327637X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1207130828&sr=1-1 glared at me from the pillow next to me, reminding me to keep my dignity.

I wished him a good night, hung up and turned my phone on silence.

This morning, two more texts, obviously sent as he was missing me from home.
He had looked forward to be "entertained by me", and wanted to "tell me things".

"What things?" I asked him from my way to work. "I will tell you when we next see each other", he replied.

I guess I am curious, but I won't hold my breath.

According to the Guardian (page 6), Homophobia is rife in Britain.

I beg to differ!

Having been invited to a gay engagement party last week, I went into a card shop and looked around for an appropriate card to get the guys.
"Do you have any gay engagement cards?", I asked the shop assistant, expecting a shrug and a baffled grin.
"We do", she goes, and points me to the right shelf. Indeed, there was a decent selection of cards on offer, and I settled for one that said "Mr&Mr Fabulous", depicting two smiling chaps in colourful 1960s jumpers.

Now all I needed was a suitable pressie. Skulking around the "erotic memoirs" section at Waterstones to check out the latest addition to my favourite genre, "Cutting up Playgirl" by Carrie Jones (fuck, how original! ) I decided a nice sexy book might be just the ticket.

Reluctantly approaching the information desk, I was stopped in my tracks by a cheerful guy bleating "Do you have a question?" across the bookshop before I got close enough for a whisper to carry.
"I was looking for gay male erotica", I replied at the same volume.

Heads turned. "Ah", the helpful chap tells me, "just look over there, next to the diet section".
Diet section!? I wondered, thinking that two meaty sausages in bed every night wouldn't exactly fall into that category.

Crouching on my hunches I examined every book from "Sex for Dummies" (just who buys THAT!?) to various blowjob manuals, but each and every one of them had some woman or other in it as part of the equation.
The guy came over to help. "My colleague just told me", he said, helpfully, "there will be more of a selection in the gay section on the first floor". "Oh thanks", I replied, "I was wondering that everything here looked a bit straight".

Downstairs it was a different story: Gay male sexy photo books, erotic stories, romantic stories, how to have the perfect pink wedding, Time OUT in London, OUT and about, Lesbian romances and sex manuals, etc and so on. Great!

I took the book of the newest and raunchiest stories, paid and went to my party. One of the other guests had bought them a tea set. Now that was truly controversial!

Later that night, one of the two grooms asked about Tall Boy: "Are you still seeing that guy from work, do you remember what you told us abut him?" "No, sadly not", I replied, "and what did I say about him again?" (I had been a bit tipsy, it was at a Christmas party).
"That he had the most perfect cock". "He still does", I admitted sentimentally, feeling my eyes misting over and noticing a clenching fist of guilt when I thought about wanting it to be him in bed with me, inside me, instead of GB.
"What can you do?", I reminisced, "he doesn't want a commitment". "I found MY perfect cock", my friend smiled, "and I will never let him go".
Since when are gay guys overtaking the straight ones when it comes to commitment!? What a mad world.