My affair with Katy started very ironically. She claimed to be straight emotionally, but not physically, as in falling in love with guys but feeling more sexually attracted to girls. I chose not to listen too carefully whenever the conversation went down that road, as long as she stuck with me. And she did stick with me, until things turned very ironic again, and I lost her. I wish I could say I lost her to a guy. I didn’t.

As already documented on here, Katy had a smile that made me melt completely. She also had the most amazing pair of big brown eyes. All that, and the fact that she made herself unattainable, albeit ironically, by clearly stating that she didn’t do real relationships with women, and, well, I considered myself on a mission. I had to have her, not just for one night or a short affair, I wanted her as my girlfriend. The funny thing was that I didn’t even have to try very hard. As I told Katy many times during the first few weeks of our courtship, “You can’t fight the chemicals in your brain, baby. You may as well admit that you’re falling for me. You’ll be all the happier for it.”

The first month was as exciting as it was difficult, as she went back and forth between wanting to be with me and just walking away. She said that’s what she meant by taking things slowly. But as I was growing more fond of her, it wasn’t easy to watch her walk away every time she thought I was coming too close. But gradually her attitude shifted, until one morning when I woke up and half expected her to be gone again, she turned to me and said, “I’m sick of fighting it. Fuck it. I’m in love with you, Lee.”

The ensuing months I started realising I was actually happy. I had some great friends, a job (with a wacky boss), a nice flat (with a campy flat mate) and, most importantly, a non-secret girlfriend − and a sex life. I remember it as pure bliss. You know, like that part in the movie where they just show random scenes of happiness while an overly sentimental song plays (my corny song of choice would be Show Me Heaven by Maria McKee.) We hung out in pubs at all hours, had dinner parties with our friends, got drunk a lot, nursed each other’s hangovers, called in sick at work so we could stay in bed all day, did naked photo shoots, pushed our insecurities as far back as possible and marvelled at Bad Girls together. Love really was in the air, and, being a defeatist and all, I simply couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t have a choice though, I had to face it, at twenty-three I was suddenly satisfied with myself and my life.

Until one Saturday afternoon − Katy and I had been seeing each other for about five months by then − while I was home alone, the bell rang and I heard an all too familiar voice over the intercom. It was Nathalie. She wanted to talk. That’s when the irony started again.

To be continued…