out on his ears. It never did.

The woman in question was a South African slut, who did everything she could to worm herself into my favour. One summer evening at my place, after a drink too many, she commented that he was very good sex, and I rejoined (also after a drink too many) that he gave extremely good head too.

Being the jealous cow that she was, she naturally blurted this out to him at the first opportunity, and my name was worse than mud. He packed his bags, gave me a right telling off, and left slamming the door behind him. I told her what a stupid bitch she was, threw her out and barred her permanently from my flat.

A couple of months later, R. was back in residence. But he laid down a condition. He could not "do that" for me anymore. He was quite prepared, however, to lie back and let me "do that" with my mouth (front and back) to him. He tried to put various known hemi-demi-semi-gay Yugo or other acquaintances my way, but it never seemed to work out. Either they didn’t turn me on, or vice versa.

Until, that is, one afternoon in the cafe, when a number I knew by sight, and had often lusted after, came in. He was a hunky lad, with a big box and a neat arse, who had something to do with a forwarding company in the adjacent Freeport, which did work for my employers. His name turned out to be Joe. He was at that time about 22 (R. was a couple of years older), unmarried, but living in sin with a Spanish girl to whom he later got hitched after putting a bun in her oven.

He was Spanish, but born in Brussels because his Dad had been working there, and later the family came to Geneva (no brothers or sisters were ever mentioned), where - not long after - the parents separated. Mother apparently didn’t want custody, and father couldn’t hold down a job and bring up baby Joe. So he was put in a sort of orphanage. His roommates there were Johnny (see "E is for ...") and his near identical twin, J-J.

I would guess that Joe must have been about 13 or 14 at that time, and the twins a couple of years older. They shared a room, and I deeply suspect (from things I learned later) that Joe was frequently required to share the twins’ bed(s?), too. They remained bosom pals for many years afterwards, and this only changed when Joe became irremediably mixed up with the Geneva drug culture, in the late 80s. That was something Johnny and J-J could not handle. I didn’t get the choice. Joe chose to break off relations with me unilaterally. I’ve often wondered if he’s still alive.

But to return to our burgeoning friendship. I saw Joe frequently on the café terrace at the bottom of the office block where I worked, where a simpatico gang gathered for after-work beers. There was also, once a week, a meeting of chums (largely the same people) for old-style ten pin bowling sessions in the entrails of that block.

On most of these occasions Joe would sit near me, and often near enough for our knees to be touching. More than that, he actually played kneesy and, after a week or two, I did too. It was all very cosy, and I don’t think anyone else noticed (though I was probably fooling myself).

In