Back at his flat he went through the ritual of making coffee. When he returned from the kitchen he did not join me on the sofa but sat in what was probably his usual chair. He seemed calm and relaxed, whereas my eagerness was becoming harder to hide by the minute. Surely the evening was not going to fizzle out over cups of coffee?
Earlier, when Andrew had left us, we had talked naturally and easily in the bustle of the pub, but now neither of us could find anything to say. All attempts to restart the conversation foundered, and we lapsed into two minutes of excruciating silence. At last he said, 'Hope this isn't the wrong thing to say but... do you want to see the bedroom?'
Relieved that the deadlock was broken I nodded. 'Yes, please.'
He got up, reached out and took my arm to lead me through, closing the door behind us. We stood holding each other and he began to kiss me, brief cautious kisses on my lips, my cheek bones, my earlobes, my eyelids. I remained passive, surprised and delighted by this unexpected gentle foreplay. He steered me to the bed and we lay together, his kisses gradually becoming firmer, moving from my face to my torso as we undressed. This was no ordinary casual encounter between two gay men. His lips touched me again and again, now on my hands, moving up my arms, now on my chest, then back to my face. His fingers and lips moved over me, touching where he kissed, and kissing where he touched, each contact making me more hungry for the next.
How long these numerous kisses took I cannot recall, but right from the first we found we had an extraordinary degree of physical compatibility, and as caress answered caress we explored each other sexually, overwhelming each other with pleasure.