Of course all good things must come to an end and the end in this case was a thin girl who called herself Syphilix. Christened Phyllis by her mum who was a fan of the legendary Phyllis Dixey, Syphilix had the sides of her head shaved, a crop of tattoos, and went in for wearing black lace and leather. This angel was no bad kid and went in for hanging around the bars on Hurst Street occasionally declaring that she was there to pick up guys.
You're in the wrong place, Bunny suggested. Although if any woman could have pulled a man in a gay bar it was probably Syph, not because she was fatally alluring (though of course she was) but because you could, eyes half-closed, imagine she was a boy. She regularly declared herself lesbian or bisexual or pansexual (which was probably closer, Bunny thought). He regularly made sure she was poured into a reputable taxi at the end of the night and very often out again at the other end.
She it was, as though you couldn't guess, who was responsible for Bunny not quite being able to claim to be a Gold Star Gay, one who had never had sex with a woman (although to be honest he thought such terms as GSG were divisive and best avoided). No penetration was involved, but that didn't stop it qualifying, and certainly not when he and Syphilix woke drowsily to a fridge-humming bedroom somewhere in Handsworth. They woke up very slowly and spent the day together, but he hardly saw her after that.