He was tall very tall, about 6' 5" and lean, with a broad back; and yet he obviously didn't go to the gym; he had a cute little paunch. He was topless, and wore close-fitting cream chinos, hanging low, showing his Calvins and his pert bum; he had a shaved head, and deep eyes, and a lovely smile.

I was watching him in the club; there was something about him that was magnetic. It wasn't just his height, it was something else I couldn't put my finger on.
He left to go to the backrooms; I followed. He caught my eye; the look that was exchanged was direct but without heat; it was clear he didn't want to play with me, but it was also clear that he didn't mind me around.
Soon enough, he had found someone to play The Game with; a short, stocky, tattooed, cropped and noseringed guy in his forties. In the backroom, Tall Guy played him to perfection; using him for his pleasure, mixing domination and gentleness in an easy, confident style. Gently, but firmly, he pulled Nosering's nipples, until he squirmed; slowly, but firmly, he forced him down to suck and gag on his big cock. His wide hands enveloped Nosering's cropped skull and stroked it.
Eventually, Nosering came up for air. They went out to the bar to chat. I got a drink, and came back to observe them: but things obviously weren't going well for Tall Guy. He was being really persuasive, but Nosering was adamant and left, with a smile. Of course, no telephone numbers were exchanged.
I watched Tall Guy take it well, standing on his own at the bar; in one very familiar gesture of disappointment, he wiped his face with his hands. Was he going to go home, or was he going to carry on with The Game?
He carried on, as of course one does. It's hard to get off the rollercoaster mid-ride. I watched him play with various men in the backrooms, but none matched the fire of the first round; and eventually I found him at the end of the evening in the back of the room being fucked by a big black guy.
It was just another night in a sex club in London: one of many such places in this city. I didn't have sex that night ; I tend to give it a miss if there's someone I fancy there who doesn't fancy me back.
What is The Game? I've written about it many times in these pages. Probably, most times I've oozed shame and Catholic guilt about it; and I haven't been, as they say in this subculture, sex-positive.
I tend to wail in despair at the way people I meet here in London relate to me and to each other; but the time has come to accept that I haven't given The Game its fair dues here. Some part of me has been very ashamed that I should have sexual pleasure, and is reluctant to write about it in a way that is purely celebratory.
The Game is a trip, a heady flight of pleasurable imagination that is second-to-none in my book. It's akin to the high that gamblers must get; like gambling, it's a numbers game, and it's a matter of floating with opportunity, taking advantage of the moment.
Sometimes, when you're playing The Game, whether it be out cruising or on the phonelines or on the Net, it can seem that the air is filled with the sound of jackpots; a heightened sense of ecstasy as people queue up to play with you, with similar rules. Other times it can seem like one is down to the last penny, when you're tired, and the fire of imagination has faded only to reveal the dinginess of your surroundings, or the lack of real company.
It's psychic in the sense that so much of what goes on between gay men cruising is highly intuitive; a level of trust is in operation that is rarely in evidence elsewhere in life. All the times I've been hurt, it's been because I've brought my feelings into The Game, which is not where they belong. As an emotional man, it's been hard to accept this.
If it didn't give so much pleasure, we wouldn't be doing it. I can call it addictive, and see it as a pathology; but then I end up denying the part of me that wants (needs?) to play. I know it's perversity, in the way that it's not about love, but about a compelling imaginative drive towards imaginative control and potency, albeit masked with camaraderie and often a sense of humour.
Players know, or should know, that romanticism doesn't belong in The Game; just because someone matches your ideal look, or does that thing to please you expertly, doesn't mean anything but that they're good players. It's where I've gone so wrong in the past; too often I've fantasised that the people I meet while playing are potential boyfriends.
Does love come easier to those who play The Game or not? I don't know. I know love is rare, and comes when you least expect it. Perhaps relationships are more difficult to maintain when one or both are players; but that's not the same thing. Long-term relationships to the end are always between friends, however they start.
But playing The Game throws up paradoxes. I said yes and no to two different men recently, when they called to ask to see me again. One was a troubled, intense, emotional and creative man; gorgeous to behold, and with lashings of juicy Jewish guilt, which almost put my Catholic variety in the shade.
I had had a lovely time with him; but then he broke The Rules: he started bemoaning the state of his 10-year relationship, now sexless. He talked of cuddling up with me in front of the sofa, and going out for meals, and he gushed how he hadn't felt like he felt with me in such a long time. And it was mutual; there certainly was a strong connection there.
The other guy was a cool, arrogant, gentle but firm player of the most exquisite sort: black, confident, sexy, and highly sensuous.
As for his feelings, I'm left none the wiser; but he sure hits the spot erotically with me. So I said no to the man who offered (conditional) warmth and cuddles, and yes to the cool guy who offered nothing but pleasure; because I knew the former would break my heart, being emotionally unfaithful to his lover, and leaving early to be with him; and I knew that the latter, although emotionally opaque, would not touch me inside. Except physically.
The Game is not for lovers. The attitude that one brings to The Game is totally different to that which one brings when dating someone attractive, whom you've met socially or through work; it's almost that once one decides to play The Game, and seduce, in a designated place (real, cyber or telephonic, it doesn't matter), then there is no point in pretending that there is anything else on the cards with that person, for the original motive is selfish, not loving; to hunt, not to meet a soulmate.
To make love with someone, to be truly in love with someone, one needs to know the whole person first; it's totally different to the implicit contract between players of The Game, a magic of a different order. Some people only know one or the other; I'm lucky enough to have experienced both.
I know that finding love again is out of my control; but I also know that being ashamed about what games I play for pleasure is not likely to find me a lover either. Shame and insecurity are the real enemies to love, not playing The Game.