I begin this story the same way I always do: ‘There is a restlessness in me that I could not extinguish.’ And then one of my mates, eyes misty with smoke, would say, as always, ‘You’re fucked.’ Or, sometimes, when they were feeling like it, they would indulge me with a moan or a grunt of agreement.

It’s different with women. With them I play it better; I don’t want to scare them away. After the first time I sleep with them, I would say something along the lines of, ‘It’s difficult to find something that tethers me.’ That way, it’s open to interpretation. They could ask themselves, ‘Is it me, then? The one thing that tethers you?’ I let them interpret it. I wash their hair, comb it afterwards, I lick the skin between their thighs and let them happen to me.