This year, however, Rich and me decided to say “fuck it” to VD day – quite literally. We turned the whole weekend into a gay sex-a-thon to try and recapture the magic.

Do you know, my limbs and some less general body parts haven’t stopped aching since – even 3 hours in the gym has never felt like such an all over body workout as this 2.5 days of non-stop gay sex (minus meals, freshening up and watching G.I. Joe on DVD – Channing Tatum in latex will do it).

The idea was to take the phone off the hook, shut the curtains, whack the heating up, stay near-total naked and do nothing but fuck for the entire weekend, holding off climaxing ’til the very end.

Gay sex is very different when you take the money shot out of the equation, because it’s now 100% about the journey, not the destination, which changes your focus and you don’t just stick to the well trodden path – you can take a meandering route and explore stuff (yes, I am still talking about gay sex!).

So we both became more creative and used what was around us for inspiration. Drinking a JD and Coke, for instance, might start you wondering where you could stick that ice cube that might be fun… plus you don’t want to be repetitive (and there’s 60 hours to fill!), so you try all sorts of positions (hence the aching).

And because the gay sex rule book has been thrown out the window, there’s no expectation about how long each bout should last – you might fuck for 2 hours without stopping, or just fumble for 5 minutes, then have a break. Gay sex becomes completely spontaneous.

Another side effect of spending most of the weekend fucking, but not cumming, is that everything you do, even when you’re not having sex, becomes sexual… making a drink, you’re still aroused so you start thinking about things you can do to him and then – bam – you’re hard again!

So, how long did we last until releasing two very pent-up loads? We made it ’til sunday morning! And, do you know what, I was really glad to just put my feet up afterwards and have a cup of tea.

I’ve known so many guys living the straight life who I’ve strongly suspected of having more than a passing curiosity about what gay men get up to in bed: they’re fishing for info; trying to get all the facts, like someone weighing up where to go on holiday.

You’ll always come across the straight guy who asks a few too many questions about being gay – in fact, what’s with the questions anyway? Just go on the Net and Google ‘gay’ – I’m sure this’ll be pretty enlightening.

But often a guy will get you on your own and suddenly come across all urgent – like a reporter trying to get to the heart of a story – asking you how and when you first knew you were gay etc. I remember a far-too-good-looking, apparently straight guy on my course at uni always with the questions, before he went off the rails a bit, and fell into an ever faster spiral of sex with a never-ending string of girls – all very emotionless; soulless, like trying to prove something.

The womanising hot guy sleeping and pursuing so many disposable women, never making a connection, at the same time showing a strong interest in your gay sex life, is a recurring theme. You always wonder if the pussy is a smokescreen.

Then again with some straight guys it’s more subtle, more unspoken, just a heat between the two of you – and that’s fucking hot! I can think of a couple of straight friends I’ve got so close to that it’s eventually felt like a gay relationship without the sex – and they both went on to have long-term girlfriends.

One of these friends, Alex, I was so sure was gay when I first met him – a common (mis)conception about him – and there was an instant attraction between us, even if he didn’t fully appreciate it. I met him through work – we started on the same day – and we’d end up spending all our breaks together and then a lot of extra-curricular time.

I totally had the hots for Alex – in fact it was a lot more than that: I had real emotional attachment to Alex to the point that I’d miss him if he didn’t come in to work. And it wasn’t just a one-way thing: Alex was really sweet to me, always lighting up when we were together and buying me thoughtful, personal little gifts, like when I left the job – how gay is that?!

But, alas, Alex had a girlfriend and she was a friend too and I wasn’t about to rock the boat. One time Alex invited me over for what turned out to be a romantic dinner, candles and all, just the two of us. Again it was really sweet that he went to the effort, ‘cos his cooking stank!

I thought about trying something on with Alex that night and there was a moment on the sofa when it came close, but like I said before, it was too complicated and there’s always the danger that you’ve read it %100 wrong with guys you suspect are gay, and it would be game over.

After that ‘date’ I cooled things between me and Alex, for my own sake really. I’m sure the guy just needed a push, and maybe a night of hot gay sex would have done it, but there was too much emotion at stake.

I always joke to Rich about how his friend, Sarah’s, boyfriend follows him around when they all meet up – especially into the Gents! The more drunk they get the more physical the boyfriend gets with Rich – piggybacking down the street, flirting, long hugs, that kind of thing. And this guy never seems that close or even very into Sarah if you ask me – just another lost, gay-curious guy looking for a life-raft?

So, to all those smoke-screening, questioning, emotion-toying, gay following, curious guys: the time for talk is over; just try it, just have gay sex and see if you like it. Doesn’t mean anything; it’s not like signing a binding contract; it’s just experimenting; it’s just sex – even if you like it, doesn’t mean you’re gay, straight up.

Next time a guy asks me how you know if you’re gay, I hope I have the balls to grab his, kiss him and say “if you enjoyed that, that’s how…”

Then there’s a kind of communication short hand that you use to save time and words. It’s things like not having to finish sentences or saying it with body language and primal grunting sounds (me, first thing in the morning).

I know guys used to say it with hankies in their back pocket when they wanted gay sex on the down-low: yellow for water-sports; black for S&M; left pocket for active and right if you were a bottom.

Now I realise Rich and I have created our own undie code when it comes to gay sex, which loosely goes something like this: brief usually equals brief; dark means dirty and tighty whities are good for vanilla sex – often a blow job or a bit of ‘ying and yang’ (69).

Jock straps are an obvious one, but there’s still signs to read. Your more athletic, sports jock screams power bottom, whereas a skimpier pair is a shoo-in for a passive trip to the bottom. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a thong!

Boxers can mean different things, the shape giving some clue, with a longer leg suggesting a more pro-active approach. Y-fronts just give off mixed signals during gay sex.

Of course there’s the danger of clashing, but we always seem to avoid that gay sex faux pas. And turning up commando means anything goes…

I was once in a long-term relationship with a guy whom I suspected had all manner of deep/dark sexual desires, but he never opened up about it or explored them with me – classic madonna-whore complex. I was his ‘vanilla’ boyfriend – loving, yes, but not the stuff of his eye-popping fantasies!

He did talk about his early sexual adventures as a teenager, years before we dated. His weekends back then were a time for cruising shopping centres, catching the eye of ‘straight’ – often married – older men and playing an exciting game of cat and mouse with the promise of oral sex in a public toilet cubicle.

I always felt he was suppressing a part of his sexual identity when we were together and because of this was never completely happy in himself. I did make a stab at trying to cast myself in his erotic thoughts, even suggesting we fuck in a public toilet, but he never responded to my attempts.

This raises another point about how far down a sexual road you should go if it’s not your own particular bag, although you can often discover new sexual pleasures by following the lead of someone you trust.

Another guy I dated had a thing about gay sex when there’s a danger of being caught. He surprised me one night I went over to his: literally moments after ringing the doorbell he was pulling me outside to his back garden where he had set up an inflatable mattress, ready to seduce and fuck me outdoors in the moonlight and in full view of the surrounding buildings – I’m sure we gave a few neighbours some pretty graphic mental images that night!

I came across some extreme gay sex images on Rich’s computer recently and, obviously, it’s set me wondering if there’s more depth there to be explored. Of course, finding some graphic images of a very specific gay sex act doesn’t mean anything and I’ve got myself off looking at straight porn before – doesn’t mean I want to fuck a woman.

I’m sure it’s common across both gay and straight relationships, that people don’t always fit easily into their partners sexual fantasies, but then maybe that’s the challenge, to find a way. So, grease me up – I’m ready for that big fist!

This happened to me and now it’s all I can think about. It was bad enough when I just had the hots for him, but at least it was safe, gay sex fantasy back then, because nothing was ever going to happen. Now the dividing fence between our sex lives has been kicked in a bit and I can see gaps big enough for me to climb through.

Boyfriends of straight friends are supposed to be the ones it’s okay to openly fancy within your own relationship. I have even dropped hints to one or two female friends in the past about my willingness to have sex with their man, but only when I was sure it was safe to (and usually with the aid of alcohol) – the worst thing possible would be for the guy to find out = friendship over.

I have been very careful not to say anything to Alison about my man-crash, which is why she is only too happen to give me the lowdown on their sex life. Finding out a straight guy you secretly fantasize about likes his girlfriend to fuck him with a strap-on is too horny for words. You start thinking all sort of things: if this guy likes to be penetrated, why wouldn’t he enjoy it from another man? The things he enjoys from his girlfriend – blow jobs, anal sex, getting rimmed! – well, I could do all those things to him (and probably better).

This line of thinking, that because a guy likes a stiff one in the arse he must like gay sex too, is like questioning why a gay man wouldn’t enjoy a female crack as much as a male one – it’s just a hole at the end of the day. But then, if you’re on all fours with your eyes closed, how much difference is there between warm, hard latex and warm, hard flesh?

It doesn’t help that Steve is such a nice guy, either. I’ve met few people as easygoing or genuine. He’s one of those straight guys that goes out of his way to show he’s absolutely fine with you being gay – he has a habit of accompanying me to the gents and chatting away while we pee next to each other. I really wish he wouldn’t do this, because having his cock out right next to me isn’t going to kill the fantasy.

I don’t relish making an appointment with the doctor and usually only go if it’s absolutely necessary – i.e. something’s either hanging off or turned a weird colour. It didn’t help my mood that I was forced to wait for over half an hour for my appointment without any warning, and then, when it was my turn, having to see a new face rather than my own doctor because of a mix-up.

At first I wondered if this artificially smiling woman, who kept shaking my hand and welcoming me, was some kind of hospitality bot. She sat close to me, still smiling, and addressing me in that patronising, bed-side manner that only doctors practice.

“So, tell me what’s the matter…”

I was still describing my symptoms when she started to mouse through my records on her monitor. I had just about finished when her whole posture shifted to a more upright position and her expression, although still smiling, seemed to switch to a stonier one.

“Are you sexually active?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Er, yes, well, I’m in a relationship.”

“Do you sleep with men or women?” (Notice she put ‘men’ first).

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, but have you had different sexual partners recently?” she continued.

“I’ve been in a steady relationship for the past two years!” I protested.

“I think you should visit a sexual health clinic,” was her final response – and I only went in with a bad back.

After I continued to protest that I am in a monogamous relationship and have not put myself at risk, she, rather viciously, fired a comment at me about how she gets longtime-married women visiting her (note: upstanding heterosexuals, as opposed to germ-spreading gays) with symptoms that turn out to be STIs, and they can’t understand it.

Yes, I know exactly what she was insinuating: that I can’t possibly know where my boyfriend has been sticking it, and, being another untrustworthy, queer pervert, it’s most likely he’s been fucking coach-loads of men behind my back.

I left that appointment feeling very angry and without a diagnosis. After she realised I wasn’t going so quietly, she did spend ten minutes leisurely clicking through her online, help manual, but the bottom line was still that I should go to the gay mens’ sex clinic rather than take up her precious time that could be spent treating deserving people.

It is scary that judgmental, narrow-minded people like this are out there acting on some kind of self-written, moral code when they should be helping people. I have thought about complaining. I certainly won’t be visiting this particular doctor again. I can’t remember a time when someone has tried to make me feel small like that just because I have gay sex – do you know how many times I had to fuck Rich to get over it?!

I tend to duck for cover and keep a low profile, preferring to sit it out; while Rich is a door-slammer, making his feelings known with the aid of interior fixtures and fittings. Either way, it can be a long haul before one of us, or both, backs down.

I’ve noticed that there is a direct correlation between our occasional slapping matches and the length of time we’ve been without sex. The odd times when we really let the fur and the barbed comments fly, chances are we haven’t had sex for a few days. There might be something in the fact that boxers abstain from fucking before a big match – all that pent up sexual energy and unreleased testosterone making them fiercer in exactly the same way.

So, gay sex really is good for you, and certainly makes life a little smoother. And gay sex is also a great way to bury an argument, channeling all those extra hormones and simmering aggression into some hot bed action – I usually end up with stubble rush in a couple of places after make-up sex! In fact, make-up sex is nearly as good as second-night sex.

We all tend to make aesthetic choices in life and stick with them, closing ourself off to alternatives: I like Hi-NRG, not RnB; my favourite food is Chinese; it’s the city for me, not the country; trainers, not loafers etc… so it can be with sex. Some straight people dip their toe in the gay pool (believe me, I’ve felt some of the ripples), but mostly, their head has never considered the alternative, even if their heart might not see things so black and white.

I experienced that grey area last Friday when I found myself being unusually attracted to out sweet, blond waitress. I think she was Polish, certainly Eastern European. I don’t know what made her stand out to me – it’s usually the cute waiters in tight trousers that get my attention – but she was pretty, really friendly and had such a nice smile. I started to picture us doing bad things, naughty things over my pizza (not literally, because a tomato and mozzarella-covered arse wouldn’t be very sexy).

I can’t really imagine being genuinely bisexual, 50/50, half-and-half – there’s already so much eye-candy to take in every day that I don’t think I’d be able to keep up. On the other hand, I have had close female friendships that, at times, have almost felt like dating, without the sex.

So, am I about to join the not-straight-but-had-to-make-sure club? I don’t think so, but maybe I’m a little less gay than I thought? About 99.1%. Perhaps I’ll save that 0.9% for Christmas.