The Singularity.

Last night was my second date with the man I met on Wednesday. He needs a nom de blog, like KCG or the Human Dynamo, but I'm terrified of what to call him. He's already a profound episode in my gay life, but I have no idea what he will eventually be. All I know is that we're already connected in a way I haven't been with any other man.

I'll call him Mr Singular, because that's what he is.

We spent yesterday trading increasingly flirtatious texts. Some of them so charged with anticipation that when I read them I had to lean back in my chair and take a few deep breaths. We were meeting at my house to go out to dinner... but it was becoming obvious that we'd be doing a lot more than that.

He arrived. I brought him into my house. We kissed, as we'd been wanting to do since the bar two nights earlier, and he was confident and erotic. We had a pre-dinner drink and kissed again.

On the way to the restaurant he held my hand in the car, and as we sat, ordered, ate and got to know each other a little better, we were both clearly aware that this was just a necessary part of the evening, not something over which we wanted to linger. We were back at my place barely 90 minutes later.

We sat on opposite ends of the couch and had a cocktail. We talked some more, and drank our drinks. When I'd finished mine I put it down on the end table, got up, sat down close to him and kissed him, long and deep.

What followed next he later described as "a trail of sexual devastation". Couch cushions strewn across the room, my fine linen jacket crumpled up on the floor, shoes and other bits of clothing lost under armchairs. We stumbled to the bedroom, stripped off our remaining clothes, and spent the next four hours fucking as if our lives depended on it.

He's a masterful kisser, soft and then plunging. When he drifted down to suck my cock, he was a gentle as a butterfly, using just the tip of his tongue in a way that charged me like an electric shock. When he discovered that I was too tight - it's been months since I had penetrative sex - he took his time (almost an hour) with his fingers, his tongue and his cock to gently tease me open. Then once I was ready, he grabbed me tight and pounded me like a hurricane. He was even better than The Virtuoso - it felt so fucking good. He wasn't very vocal but I moaned and gasped and let him know, without a shadow of a doubt, just how incredible he was.

Around midnight, after our third round of bed-devastating sex, he asked if he should go, and I told him I wanted him to stay. I didn't sleep very much - this is only the second time in my life that I have spent the whole night with a man - but we spent the night wrapped up tightly in each others' arms. If he let go of my hand to scratch his nose in his sleep, he found it again and entwined our fingers.

When we woke at dawn, we whispered to each other how strange it was that we felt so comfortable together after having barely met. There was more kissing, more amazing sex. We eventually got up, got dressed, and went out to breakfast at my favourite cafe. When we came back, we went back to bed and did the same things fully clothed that we'd earlier done naked. If it hadn't been for another friend picking me up at 10.15am to go out, I've no doubt we would have shed our clothes and plunged back into it. Our first date was two and a half hours. Our second date was sixteen. Our third date will be tomorrow night, and who knows what will happen.

I'm dead tired from lack of sleep. My legs are sore from being slung over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist. My ass is sore from four rounds of hardcore sex. Nothing seems as important as seeing him again. I'm trying not to think too much, to overanalyse or project. But I like him so damn much. He's broad and strong, with a thickly haired chest and a sweet smile. He's intelligent and handsome. He's rough and passionate, and very, very sexy. Clearly I am falling for him, and hard.