met the roommate, who proved to be older, and just a mite camp round the edges. But I think my suspicions were unjustified. Johnny proved to favour the distaff side, almost excessively.

When his birthday (or rather the twins’ birthday) came round, he invited me to join them, with wives, girlfriends etc for a celebration supper in Geneva’s best Indian eatery. It was a most enjoyable evening, and the twin, J-J who lived on an Alp somewhere and herded cows (and his wife and child), warmed to me, no doubt because he wanted his bachelor brother to have good worthwhile friends.

J-J was also sexy, but not as much as his twin. Something had varied in the morphology or the genes after their teen years, and J-J had become rather more thick set, everywhere, than Johnny. Given the chance, I would not by any means have turned him down, but I didn’t lust for him like I did for Johnny.

My friendship with Johnny developed into one of those casual, relaxed ones where you phone, and if the other is available you eat or drink together, or something. If he isn’t, you don’t fix a forward date immediately, you just phone again one day and see how things are then.

Thus and thus, one bright day, or evening actually, Johnny phoned and asked what I was up to later on. It was a Monday or Tuesday, as I recall. I said that M. and his girl friend, M-C (whom Johnny had met and liked) were coming over for supper, either at my place, or in a nearby Italian bistro much favoured by those that knew their Eytie nosh. "Where" would depend rather on whether I could get my head round cooking or not.

“Will it go on late?” quoth Johnny on the blower. He was now working for a forwarding company at the airport.

“Hard to say“, I replied. “M and M-C are leaving for Dakar on hols tomorrow morning, so probably not too late. But with them you never know“.

He asked if he could join us, which was fine with me, and said he would be round in a short time. Which he was, on his moped, carrying a small ditty bag. “I thought I’d bring my working clothes, in case it goes on late,” he said.

I was completely stuck for an appropriate reply (most unlike me!), and instead poured him a drink and started to do some rapid lateral thinking on what might come to pass, or even just cum, in view of his clear intention of staying the night. I have omitted to say that he was in a pair of very tight, dark brown leather trousers, which were most be-cumming.

M and M-C finally arrived (they were always late for anything except a plane) so cooking was out, and we walked the short distance down the road to the Point du Jour and gorged ourselves on Lombardian food and wine.

I invited all back for coffee at my place, and on the way M., who had divined my lustful intentions towards Johnny for the night, persuaded M-C that they really didn’t have time for coffee. There was still some packing to finish, and an early start loomed the following day.

So Johnny and I had the flat to ourselves, and even though it wasn’t really THAT late, the question of his going home did not arise. Indeed, I later discovered that the whole thing was a sort of put-up job. He had