While I was getting severely arse-pounded by my London Fuck Buddy the other day it occurred to me how identikit gay houseshares are: they are the communal living version of your typical, on-every-high-street chain store – it’s a wonder you can’t buy them ready-to-fit over the internet.

I come to this conclusion from the point of view of being a person who lives in such a homo home. You’ll probably observe the first signs of approaching a gay house when you notice the blinds in every window, no curtain in sight. On reaching the brightly painted front door you’ll be confused for a moment at the lack of a doorbell and will have to resort to using the brass knocker (or letterbox, if they are shabby homosexuals). Once over the threshold, you’ll be struck by how stark the hallway interior is, all white walls and wood panel flooring and you’ll wonder about some of the modern artwork adorning the space and whether that particularly hideous piece was a gift, because surely no one would spend money on such a thing. There will also probably be some thumping bass coming from somewhere in the house and, if you’re really unlucky, a high-pitched voice singing along but not quick getting those high notes.

Up until this point there’s still the possibility you could be in a House of Hetero, until, that is, you enter the living room: or is it an Ikea showroom? You can barely spot the difference. The gayness of your surroundings will also be confirmed by the fact that the only literature in evidence is a pile of gay magazines on the oh-so-low coffee table – what’s that white powder to the side? Surely just some spilt salt from the previous night’s meal. Oh there’ll be a very pretty ornamental fireplace too.

When you go into the kitchen to fill up your unbelievably large wine glass you’ll look around at all the very expensive appliances and gadgets collecting dust and think what a well-appointed kitchen it is but clearly never used. You might even manage a glance out of the window into the back garden and spot the decking, which is clearly designed to detract from the fact that no one in the house has ever once put on a gardening glove.

Finally, on one of your regular trips to the bathroom (thanks to the size of the wine glasses), all of your suspicions will be underlined as this is the shrine in any gay house; well, let’s face it, it is the room gay guys spend the most time in. As you stand there taking in all the pristine white enamel, designer taps, huge mirrors, shiny tiles and rows and rows of hair products, you’ll realise how similar it all is to where you live!

Oh, and it wasn’t a great fuck: I wasn’t feeling particularly passive, but he always tops. He does have one the biggest dicks I’ve come across, and that’s cum across me, which can either be great or, as in this case, all too much work. Plus it was too hot to be getting that sweaty, but we got there in the end.