Already, after only a few weeks, Viagra is the fastest-selling prescription drug in United States' history. No doubt its appeal will not be any less potent on this side of the Atlantic.

I know that I should tut-tut this development, and bemoan the desire for the quick fix that seemingly affects every aspect of modern life. The argument goes that there's going to be a whole new generation of people who will use this pill to enhance their sexual prowess who will then become so accustomed to it that they feel uncomfortable without it, and so a new addiction is born. It may not be a chemical addiction, for it may not work that way; but anything can be addictive, if it carries some symbolic meaning for the addict.

I'm not just talking about the obvious baddies like smack and alcohol; but the goodies, too, like food and sex. Cigarette smoking is addictive for me in the psychological sense more than the physical; I use it as an odd kind of anger regulator. With every drag of a cigarette, I suck in my erstwhile ferocious temper, and although sometimes I feel a bit too much like Bette Davis, it works and gives me a smouldering, pleasantly poisonous way of coping with my feelings.

When I am not smoking - and I regularly give up every year for six months or more - I am noticeably more quick to rise, less tempered in my response to antagonism. I'm more in your face and a lot less charming and deferential to those who annoy me.

I'm a month off the fags now, again, and still at my most volatile. The other day, I was cycling down the street, in a cycle lane, and there was a kid walking along it in front of me. As I veered out of the way, into the main traffic lane, I roared out "Get off the road, kid!" in a blunt sort of fashion. As I passed, I realised that, far from being a kid, it was a diminutive woman, four foot nothing, who had a temper to match mine. She roared back at me "KID?" and started picking up traffic cones to throw at me. She was apoplectic with rage. I yelled back at her that if she behaved like one, then she would get called one. Then she started running after me.

I swear to you that I didn't use any other more offensive word than kid, dear reader; you know I would tell you if I had. I took advantage of my pedal power and cycled away as fast as I could.

exotic dish

I've had a lot of encounters like that, since I quit. I'd like to be calmer, I really would. The other activity to which I am prone to being "hooked" on is the dial-a-pizza world of casual sex, here in London. It's hard to explain to those who haven't experienced it just how easy it is to find a sexual partner if you're gay and you know which telephone numbers to ring, or if you know which IRC channel to visit on the Internet. It is mind-bogglingly quick.

The other week I felt horny, picked up the phone, and immediately got chatting to someone who was calling from his mobile phone just two minutes away from my flat; I gave him directions, met him outside, fancied him, and took him back for a no-strings-attached frolic. It was as simple as that. That's by no means unusual, except for the fact that he was in my bed five minutes after I had picked up the phone; within an hour is more usually the timescale.

What's also possible, if you are prepared to forgo the immediate gratification of the local plat du jour in favour of a more exotic dish, is to find someone who's into a particular fantasy that you share, or one that you'd like to try. The only limit is your imagination; and even that will be stretched by the imagination of others, which never ceases to amaze.

The problem with anything to which you are addicted, is that the last experience has to be "topped" by the next, otherwise the buzz isn't as intense. And it is the buzz that matters, gratification is King. The gambler has to go for the big one, risking everything for the last great chance for fortune. The E-head has to take five on the night instead of the two he used to take a few months back. The alcoholic's journey to numbness takes a half-bottle of gin longer than it did last year.

A masochist told me recently, with a mixture of shame and pleasure, that his ambition as a human ashtray was to work his way up from cigarettes to cigars. I was glad I had given up smoking.

Mostly via the anonymous safe anonymity of the Internet, I've talked to guys into being "asphyxiated", beaten up, burnt, "raped", pissed and shat on, whipped and cuffed and put in stocks or wrapped in clingfilm and hung upside down for days. Each person has their own particular fetish, their own sexual metaphor that makes sense to them, that offers them release when it is enacted. I've been trying to establish what reasons could possibly exist for such distortions of the sexual impulse; and I have drawn a blank each time. Each person's reasons are different, unique to them; and most say that they don't know, it just turns them on.

Horny Bugger

One guy, when a teenager, experienced someone accidentally falling over him and winding him at a party. His fetish now is to repeat that early experience of being winded, by being punched and/or kicked in the guts. He doesn't want sex; he can get that with his boyfriend; he just wants, every now and again, to relive that adrenalin rush. Another guy I've talked to always played with plastic bags as a child, enjoying the danger and thrill of near-suffocation; and that's part of his sexual repertoire now. He thinks it's a bit sick, but keeps on doing it anyway. He doesn't know why.

Some guys aren't into being psychoanalysed, of course. They don't take kindly to my questions, and tell me to fuck off; and I'd be lying if I said all these discussions were undertaken in the spirit of journalistic research alone. I have been a horny bugger and played some interesting games recently; each time parting with a kiss and a smile after doing some things that would make your eyes water, dear reader. But now I've called a halt. Most importantly, it is to test whether I can or not, to wonder aloud if I'm addicted or not.

Strangely, it feels rather like quitting cigarettes; I feel like chewing on something. Can't imagine why. I am near forgetting the mystery of another human being, the joy of slowly getting to know someone, the attraction of letting sex follow feelings, letting it be an expression of them. As with anything, it is hard to resume a normal relationship with a substance or activity after you've experienced addiction. The alcoholic can't just have a glass of wine with a meal; the gambler can't just buy one lottery ticket. But it remains to be seen whether I've strayed too far down the soulless cyber highway to do a U-turn.

As for Viagra, I think I'll give it a miss. I like limp dicks anyway. Those who are going to get hooked on it are probably those who would get hooked on something else to "assist" their potency, such as pornography. Getting hooked is one of life's mysteries; everyone does it in some way or other. There's a gap in everyone that can't be filled, no matter what we do.