Four cups of coffee into my flight, I’m groggy and ready to pass out, but no matter how much my eyes sting and my bones ache, I can’t bring myself to sleep. For once, I can’t even blame the plane or the crew—I’ve got two seats to myself at an emergency exit, so there’s plenty of room for me to kick off my shoes and the steward responsible for the side of the plane where I’m sitting has been nothing but generous with his disbursement of wine. Kind of like a latter-day Dionysus, only airborne and in a tight little burgundy jacket. If I weren’t so incredibly tired, and somewhat horrified to see what I think is competitive tap-dance on the video feed, I’d probably make some sort of half-hearted pass at him.

But there’ll be time enough for that.

I hope.

Because I got onto this flight with every intention of dying, and now, years after the idea first popped into my head, the notion is terrifying.

I’m not a suicide bomber or something stupid like that. Actually, I’m about as far away from being religious as you can probably get without actually stepping into full-on atheism, despite being raised by two individuals who were both immensely rooted in their faith and did their best to instil that in me. For some reason though, I find myself much more comfortable on my knees with a cock in my mouth than in a mosque, chanting “God is great”, no matter how much peace of mind it’s supposed to bring me.

Not always. There are occasionally days, even for gay men, when a blowjob just doesn’t cut it. Rare, admittedly, but they do exist.

I didn’t want to come back. I toyed with the idea of just…walking away from everything, into the sunset, preferably with a very strong vodka & tonic in one hand and a cigarette in the other. So you know, dying in that sense, not in the “deep in the ground, mouldering away” sense, because honestly, what would that really accomplish? I got over that phase back when I was 12 years old and trying to figure out a way to jerk off to Baywatch episodes without my parents catching me (the trick, if you’re interested, is to stare at the screen as intently as possible when someone attractive is on, then re-imagine him in your head later on. Simple, but effective).

But when the plane touched down and I got into the cab, watching all the foliage rush past in a blur of green, I started reconsidering. And by the time I got to my apartment, I’d already managed to consolidate all of my bank accounts.