What a night we had! He took me to a place in Soho called Spy Bar where you could go upstairs and look through telescopes at people sitting down below. He introduced me to a drag king (think queen but the other way round) and the hostess of the night, a skinny blonde, typical downtown New York self-proclaimed superstar called Ice Cream Sundae. She had little raisins of nipples. I saw them when the three of us snogged and, as they say in America, fooled around a bit, in one of the dark banquettes that bordered the bar. Then we were off in a blur of taxis and clubs and more kissing and Martinis and my hand rubbing on Luca's hairy tummy, getting lower each time but never wanting to spoil what I knew was to come by exposing the treasure below.