Okay, so Paul was drunk, but seriously, he had to be fifteen years older than every person in this shit hole basement club, with its sticky floors and crap watered-down beer. God, maybe even twenty. He shivered at the thought, looking around in bemusement at the students and what passed for fashion these days. He glanced at Duncan beside him, his accompanying business colleague on this trip to Lincoln. It had been Duncan's idea after a few drinks in the hotel bar to stagger past the cathedral and down the sharp gradient into the town centre, looking for more alcohol.

The day had been exhausting-a conference which seemed to last years, presentations that were so dull that Paul got his phone out and started doing his online shopping. There were some great two-for-one offers on at Tesco.

He'd needed a drink badly but was starting to question the wisdom of leaving their hotel. Sure, it might have been nice to cruise the local talent a little, but Paul wasn't a paedophile. He sighed, feeling miserable. Out to family and friends but not at work, he lived in a small, closeted little town on the northeast coast of England that hosted not one single gay bar. Paul's action was limited to his hand most of the time. His last love affair had become a distant memory. If it had been love, of course. Paul wasn't sure he had ever been in love or if anyone had ever loved him.

Instead of looking for this elusive emotion, he pursued sex instead. He supposed if Duncan hadn't been here with him, he might have had more chance of getting some company for the evening. If they weren't in a student bar in Lincoln.

Duncan leant close to his ear, voice raised above the techno shite which passed for music. "Taking a sl...