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“It is possible. Some people just are.” I gulp down some more Prosecco, and rub the back of my neck, itching to loosen my collar.

“I’m sure some people might be. What I meant was, based on how lovely you’ve been with me tonight, I think it’s just not possible that you’re the reason the dates haven’t been good. I think, perhaps, the people you’ve dated just haven’t known how to ensure you have a great date.”

Thank goodness he can’t see my face heat in the darkness. “Um. That’s nice of you to say.”

“I meant it.” He leans back, his shoulder brushing against mine. “So, just between friends, tell me about your ideal first date.”

I let out a surprised laugh, which seems to echo in the still air. “Really?”

“Really. I’m curious. After all, I have yet to ask a boy out on a first date, so I could use all the pointers I can get. If I were to ask out someone like you, what should I do so that they have a good time?”

“Uh.” I’m sure there’s no subtext to the question, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like the warm summer air has just heated up a couple of degrees.

“Well.” He waits patiently as I try to give him something that doesn’t sound like generic bullshit.

“I personally think having lunch or a coffee probably works better as a first date than dinner. It feels like less pressure. Does that sound stupid?”

“Not at all.” I can just about make out a smile from the shadows under the Venetian mask. “Tell me more.”

“Um.” Crap. Half of what I’ve said has just been meaningless sounds. “Somewhere pretty quiet is nice - not deserted, but just somewhere a bit low-key, where you can actually talk and listen to each other.” I glance back up at him. “And you’re bored senseless now.”

“Quite the opposite.” His free hand twitches once before he jerkily pats my arm, and retreats.

“It all sounds really nice so far - like you’d have a great chance at finding out if there’s a connection.

So what’s your thoughts on who pays? I’ve only ever been on dates with girls, and I’ve always been very happy to pick up the bill.

Will that offend another chap? What are the rules? ”

“I don’t think there are fixed rules,” I laugh. “It probably depends on the person?”

“Maybe you should make them,” he grins. “What are Charlie’s first date rules for bills and payment? I’ll be the scribe.”

“Hear ye hear ye,” I begin, and he nudges my shoulder, chuckling.

“I decree that the person asking the other out shall henceforth be responsible for the bill on the first date, unless other arrangements have been made prior to the commencement of said date. Such is my judgement, now and forevermore.”

“Excellent.” He inclines his head gravely. “I shall endeavour to abide by the tenets - or well, the single tenet - of Charlie’s first date rules, for the rest of my life.”

“Then may you have much success with your first dates, and may each end with an excellent kiss.”

“Ah, so the first date rules allow for a kiss then,” he says knowingly, and I squirm again.

“Of course - but only at the end, and only if it seems to have gone well."

"With tongue?"

"Maybe." I draw the word out slowly. "But not the first kiss. Maybe the third?"

His laugh is like a bell in the darkness. "I'm very glad to hear you'd condone such a thorough snogfest."

Thank goodness again that he can't see the colour on my cheeks. "Hey! I'm not advocating a full makeout session for just any first date. There has to be some sign that it's gone well."

"Oh of course, there are more first date rules." His tone remains lightly jocular. "Pray tell."

"Well." I'm just making things up at this point, and if someone told me this was how I'd spent the second half of May Ball, I'd probably have assumed it would be terrible - I sure as hell wouldn't think I'd be having such a great time.

"If the date goes at all past the sit-down coffee or meal, you're allowed two kisses.

If you share any further food or drink, three. "

"What gets you four kisses?"

"Oh no, you only get three on the first date. Such are Charlie's first date rules."

"Are there such defined rules for a second date?"

"No no," I say in a mock-patronising voice, and he chuckles lowly. "The second date just has general guidelines."

"Amazing. Do go on. But first, are dinner dates now permitted?"

"More than permitted. They're encouraged."

“Are they now?” He leans in slightly closer, and I very nearly stop breathing from the urge to make my lips meet his. Do not creep the guy who’s just come out of the closet, Charlie! “What is the official recommendation regarding venues? Does it need to be a particular kind of restaurant?”

“Nothing too fancy, I think.” I pretend to ponder on it for a second. “It would be a tragedy if the food were the highlight of the date, after all.”

“Indeed.” He’s still amused. This is amazing - I don’t think I’ve captured the attention of a gay guy this well for this long, ever.

It’s probably the novelty of being open on his part, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the connection while I can.

“What happens afterwards? Is a more thorough kissing session within the guidelines?”

“Well, not at the restaurant,” I say in a scandalised voice, and he breaks out into loud, carefree laughter, filling the summer air with a new, comfortable warmth. “However, the guidelines do allow you to invite your date back to yours for coffee afterwards.”

“Ooh,” he says, voice still full of mirth. “So it’s that sort of date.”

“Hm? No. No no no.” I poke him with my elbow as he lets out another guffaw.

“No, the guidelines are very clear on this. Both parties shall remain old-fashioned gentlemen on the second date. Kissing, and maybe a little over-the-shirt touching is permitted. Everything else contravenes the second date guidelines.”

“Be an old-fashioned gentleman - noted.” He says this slowly, pretending to jot it down onto a piece of invisible paper. “You know, I thought you said this was just general guidance,” he points out cheekily.

“It may be, but you’d be wise to follow it closely,” I retort. “Otherwise it throws off all the plans for the third date. The… I need a good word to reflect how detailed the plans are. Laws? No, that sounds wrong.”

“Maybe a third date blueprint?”

“Yes,” I say excitedly, clasping his forearm in excitement before realising. The muscles under his suit tense for a second, and I let go reluctantly. “Uh. Yes. The third date blueprint is very, very comprehensive. Best not risk going into it with any preexisting deviations.”

Bright eyes peer at me from behind the elaborate mask. “Really. Pray tell.”

“Heed me carefully, scribe,” I intone in a grave voice. “The third date blueprint is…” I rack my brains for more nonsense. “You… spend time alone with each other, you make sure to have fun and that you sort of know each other, and then you’re free to do whatever comes naturally to you.”

The guy blinks, and after a second, he shakes his head as he starts to laugh. “Oh yes. That is very comprehensive.”

“I’ve run out of ideas,” I say defensively, but it’s impossible not to smile at him in return. “How about you contribute to the plan.”

He hums, and leans back. I try not to stare at the line of his throat in the moonlight. “I think you’re right though. I’m sure what works best for one couple isn’t going to be the same for another, and by the third date you should have some idea about what you might both enjoy.”

“I haven’t had many third dates,” I admit. I’ve only had one - we’d lasted only a few weeks before the twat just started ignoring all my texts. I’d found out from mutual friends that he’d found someone else.

“I’ve only had them with women,” he replies. “Some of which have been fun, but I’ve always been conscious that I haven’t felt for them the same way they may have felt for me.”

“That’s a bold sweeping statement,” I tease. “Chances are at least one of them was also in the closet and spent the date wishing that you were a girl.”

“Very true,” he chuckles. “So, when you say that the third date blueprint allows you to do whatever comes naturally…”

I clear my throat, feeling shy. He does not need to know that my experience amounts to a couple of half-hearted fumblings with other similarly inexperienced lads, nothing more.

“Yes, sex is permitted but not mandatory. Is it weird to say… you’ll probably think differently, but there are a lot more firsts to enjoy on the way full-on banging, and there’s something to be said about enjoying each step at a time.

” I try to swig more Prosecco, but my glass is empty, so I end up pretending to swallow air.

“Sorry. That sounds tremendously lame, I know.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it does at all.

” He’s leaning in again. I have to fight the urge to snuggle into his side - it won’t do to scare away the lovely guy who’s just come out to me who just wants to talk about dating.

“Actually, it sounds very sweet. Hopefully… I hope that I get the chance someday to have dates like that with… with someone who feels the same way.”

My breath hitches, and gosh, how has it gotten even warmer? Our faces are so close together. I take a breath, and…

There’s a commotion just past the shrubbery to the left, and there’s a girl’s voice - somewhat deep and raspy - calling out something that I can’t quite make out. She sounds absolutely trashed.

My companion shakes his head. “Oh no. That’s one of my friends.

I need to go and check that she’s okay.” He stands, and looks down at me.

His back is to the moon, and my mind transforms his silhouette into that of a Byronic hero, miles apart from the warm, earnest confidante he’d seemed while speaking to him.

“I… maybe I’ll catch up with you after I check that she’s alright? ”

“Of course.” I was hoping to work it into the conversation somehow that I don’t know his name or how he knows me, but now seems like a terrible time. “I’ll just go get another drink - come find me whenever.” There. This way he knows to come and approach me.

“Alright.” He hesitates, and then suddenly he’s grasping my hand, pressing warm lips to my knuckles.

My body reacts like it’s been shocked by a bolt of lightning, and I barely keep myself from falling over.

“Thank you. It’s been absolutely lovely talking to you.

We’ll speak again soon.” Then he’s gone.

But we don’t speak again soon. After taking a few moments to steady myself, I foray back out amongst the May Ball crowd, but hour after hour passes and I drift through the dwindling crowd of increasingly inebriated folk, alone.

Have the realities of coming out, tolerable in the quiet darkness of the sunken garden, become too intimidating for him in the bright lights of the ball?

I can’t imagine that it was some sort of elaborate prank; he’d seemed far too genuine for that.

But maybe he isn’t ready for more than a chat in the dark just yet.

I stay until the next morning despite being absolutely shattered, but he doesn’t reappear even for the Survivors' Photo at the end of the ball.

Part of me wonders, all the way through summer and then through my Master’s year afterwards, if he will get in contact, if someone I know will sit down next to me one day at lunch, and reveal their true selves unmasked.

But no one does, and eventually I stop listening for that half-remembered voice in every overheard conversation, and, in the increasingly rare occasions that I reminisce on the experience, I simply allow myself to hope that I’ve made one other person’s coming out a little bit easier.