I met Marty on my first day working in the City. It was the early 80s, yuppie heaven and so much money being made on the markets. He and I started as 'trainees', well 'runners/gofers' to the traders in the commodity broking business in the City. I was a wiz with arithmetic, mental arithmetic was my thing, which was a qualification for the job.

We got on immediately, the traders we worked for were pricks, of the first order. The flash suits and red (or whatever other colour) braces brigade. His real name was George but his trader called him Marty because the previous one had been called Marty and the one before that. His predessor (Marty) was now called Algy. My real name is not Jonno, I am sure you get the picture.

Real Pricks, all of them but when they had made a load of money on a deal, we all partied. I many times caught a train home to Croydon, pissed and slept and missed my stop, ending up in deepest, darkest Surrey. I lived with my parents, their youngest child, they were both retired. Dad and Mum had worked at Phillips factory in Croydon when they met and he continued until retirement.

Marty had a flat in London. After a few months we tired of the traders' parties and found other pubs and clubs out of the city, in the West End. I was not good with girls, I never knew what to say but they were drawn to Marty. I ended up with some of his cast-offs but he never appeared to take them back to his flat. He was life and soul of the party and then switched off and took a cab home. We started using some of the gay bars and clubs, he said the atmosphere was better and he was again in the limelight, always popular with the girls and boys.

After one heavy night, I had no chance of getting a train and he offered me his spare room. I have no idea where we were but slept on a tiny bed in a box room. In the morning he was wandering around the kitchen naked making breakfast. I was somewhat taken aback but excited by his muscular frame and long flacid dick.