Trophy 18 - A room of one's own

This is how I like my flat most: in the living room, I can hear the leather of my thrift shop sofa squeaking as Gary shifts his weight. The smoke of his rollie starts to make its way into the kitchen where I'm making us Yasmin tea. The smoke finds its way through my open bedroom door as well, so that when I go to sleep tonight, the fragrance will remind me of my best friend's presence. What the smoke doesn't reach are my statues and paintings, because the door to the second bedroom is locked. As far as Gary knows, it's a storage room.
When I carry the tea tray into the living room, I see that Santa has made himself comfortable right next to Gary, almost forcing him to finger the soft fur of his flank.
I smile and sit down on a cushion on the floor; Gary flicks ash from his ciggie on a saucer next to the sofa; Santa makes the tremendous effort of lifting one big ear.
“Been up to much lately?” I ask.
Still stroking the rabbit, Gary gives me a serious nod. “Believe it or not, mate, I've been thinking about your little predicament.”
“My what?”
“You know, your problem with the ladies. But not to worry, I've got just the girl for you. The name is Angel.”
“Gee, thanks, but you don't have to set me up with a date.”
“Don't tell me you want to save yourself for Mrs. Right,” he says. “There is no such thing as the right woman. Only women who are good enough. Plural.”
“That's lovely, but I think I'll pass on this one.”
“Seriously, Angel's perfect: blonde, big tits, tiny waist, firm grip, more flexible than a snake charmer's snake...”
“I assume you've been there? Why do you need to set her up with someone else? Is she getting too clingy?”
“Not Angie, man. This girl is a professional.”
“Professional what?”
Gary leans forward to kill his cigarette butt, making Santa sit upright. “A professional whatever you want her to be. You ask her on a date, she gives you a quote.” Smoke escapes from his lips as he speaks. You pay upfront, tell her your problem over dinner, she gives you another quote and does the job for you there and then if that's what you want.”
I'm awestruck. Is my best friend really telling me to lose my virginity to a prostitute? But all I can ask is: “Is this legal?”
“I doubt she pays income tax, but to be honest, I would find it a huge turn-off if I knew the tax man would get 40% of what I gave her, don't you think?”
“A rather harsh pimp-charge indeed.”
It's too much for Santa when Gary tries to retrieve something from his pocket. Dissatisfied, he stamps his foot and jumps off the sofa.
When Gary has found the scrap of paper he was digging for, he puts it face down on my table. “Best get it over with as soon as possible,” he says, “no man should have to wait twenty-three years. Especially not a good-looking lad like yourself.”

Trophy 14 - Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you'll never see him again.

“I'd like to slap him with a large trout,” says Gary when the waiter is gone. “So this fish cake you were talking about, what's her name again?”

“Elaine.”

“Beautiful name. As you were saying – you haven't had her yet, so she's on your to do list. Am I right?”

“Whatever.” I can't hold it against him that Gary's not a good listener. That's why we're such good friends. Maybe I'll get through to him some day, but not today. I don't even know what I was gonna say about Elaine. “Yeah. Top of the list.”

“That's why it hasn't happened yet, man. Never prioritise women. They're like dogs, they can smell it when you're desperate. They run a mile from you when they know how badly you want it.”

“Right.”

Trophy 13 - Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you'll never see him again.

“As if you were that much older!”

“At least I was old enough to know what a condom is.”

We're drifting off and I don't like where the current of this conversation is taking us. He's meant to find out who I am, but instead I'm wrapping myself in lies like rice in seaweed. Gary pops his sushi – wasabi and all – in his mouth while I close my eyes, preparing myself to break the tide.

“No man,” I say, “you're right. I'm more of a virgin than Holy Mary was when she gave birth to baby Jesus. My word.”

When I open my eyes again, Gary's eyes and mouth are wide open in disbelief.

“Oh come on,” I say, “don't be like that.”

But he's having none of it; he drops his chopsticks in the saucer of soy sauce and starts banging on his own chest in a rather apesque manner. He even rips open the collar and top buttons of his chequered shirt, baring a bit of chest hair. He's demonstrating his virility as if my virginity is contagious, to make sure no one mistakes us for two virgins.

“You like wasabi, sir?” The waiter is smiling like a frog while putting a glass of water in front of Gary. “You like wasabi very much?”

Trophy 12 - Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you'll never see him again.

"Did I ever tell you about Elaine?" I ask.

With a chop stick, Gary tries to push a piece of cucumber out of his rice roll. "Is she a friend of your mum?"

The cucumber slides out, leaving a square hole. I steal it off his plate. They take all-you-can-eat very literally over here, and charge extra for every item you order and don't eat. Knowing Gary, pushing a piece of cucumber out of his sushi is a way of pushing the rules. He just wants to know whether they'll charge him 5p if he leaves it on his plate. I hate it when he does that.

Gary smiles at me and asks "How do you like my rice donut?"

"Gorgeous," I say and watch how he starts filling the hole with wasabi so that it looks exactly the way it did before.

"Elaine and I used to go to the same primary school."

"Damn, were you that young when she popped your cherry?"

Trophy 10 - Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you'll never see him again.

Though I've never seen Gary with a rod, I would in every respect describe him as a fisherman. It's not just the bragging about size that does it. For Gary, there's always other fish in the sea. And somehow, they all fall hook line and sinker for him. We're at this all you can eat sushi bar in Soho, filling ourselves to the gills, when I look for a way to broach the subject that has been bugging me for the last few days.

“This is how I learned to go down on girls,” Gary says, “got to eat sushi before you eat pussy.”

I raise one eyebrow while dipping my ocean fresh sashimi in soy sauce.

“It's the smell,” he says, “raw fish kinda prepares you for it.”

“What are you carping about, man?” I say, “giving head is a privilege, you should be grateful you're welcome down there.”