"Come on pisshead, you've had enough," he joked affectionately as he supported me out of the bar and out onto the cold street. "I think it's time for home."
Freddy was right, I had had enough and it was indeed time for home.
He hailed a taxi and I slumped into the back seat next to him, our legs touching. We had agreed earlier that he would stay at mine so he could avoid the expensive trek up to north London. I'd offered him the couch, which he was more than happy to take.
The hours of drinking and the busy week were taking their toll and my recollection of the evening soon became vague.
I do remember being helped into my flat, my clothes coming off and then bed.
****
I woke with a start and a very sore head the next morning. I was naked and looked around for some reason expecting to find someone in my bed, but it was empty.
Sinking back into my pillows I thought back on the evening before. The afterwork drinks for the pretty receptionist leaving to travel the world. The beers and the shots, the failed chat up lines, the bad dancing, then being supported to a cab by Freddy.
What we did when we got home was anyone's guess but for some reason I could picture Freddy in my room, in my bed, naked with me.
Surely not? I thought. I wasn't that drunk.
My phone interrupted my thoughts as it buzzed next to me, reminding me that my Saturday morning football match started in less than hour. Staggering to my feet, I stumbled to the shower.
It was going to be a long match.
****
I had only been at my desk for 20 minutes when an e-mail from Freddy landed in my inbox. It was early on Monday morning and he was clearly bored already.
"So how was the rest of your weekend, pisshead?!" The message said.
"Not bad. Rubbish football match on Saturday, unsurprisingly I was shite. Then a few beers on Saturday night and chilled one watching the football on Sunday. Pretty standard really. You?"
"Well after I'd left you looking so gorgeous in bed, I went home for a run and in the park met a beautiful man in England for the week on business. We ran together for an hour and then he invited me back to his hotel. I only got back this morning!"
Freddy was a tall, hansome, Italian who had a passion for life and sex, whether it be with men or women. His bedroom exploits had been entertaining me since he we had a met at a staff party soon after he had joined my company's finance team nine months earlier.
Hardly a weekend went by without another story of his sexual adventures.
"Sounds like one hell of a weekend! A lot more successful than mine. No surprises there!"
I had been single for the past few months, having dumped my girlfriend in the belief that there were a host of sexy women in London to satisfy my seemingly never ending sexual appetite.
"Ha, ha! No luck with the ladies again, then? When are you going to let me take you out and show you a different side to your sexuality?!?! You looked so sexy in your bed on Friday night"
"What?"
"You know what I mean!"
I began to reply and then paused for a moment. What exactly was Freddy suggesting? He was always joking about how much I would enjoy being with a man, how you only really know what a blow job is when a man is between your legs. But surely nothing happened last Friday?
A call from my boss startled me from my thoughts and it wasn't until the afternoon that I returned to Freddy's message. After a slightly liquid lunch, I finally decided to reply:
"Fine. You win. After months of not getting even a sniff of a women, I'm a desperate man! I will give you one opportunity to seduce me. When you fail, then you will stop pestering me. Do your best!"
Almost immediately a return message flashed up on my screen.