Do you remember the first time? The first time you visited a gay venue, that is? Mine was a bar in Pretoria called Scruples - a dimly-lit anonymous building on the corner of a main thoroughfare and a dark, quiet street near the station. I knew it was a gay bar, as some of the lads at work joked about it. I'd passed it many times, never being able to pluck up the courage to go in. I actually walked through the door a couple of times, but couldn't bring myself to go down the stairs. But then one night, I decided I'd do it.

I cased the joint for a while, walking nonchalantly past it several times, making sure there was no-one around, and then I crept in and hesitantly descended the red-carpeted stairs. For a gay bar, it was decidedly womb-like: red flock wallpaper, red carpet, red velvet curtains, red mock-leather armchairs and red-topped barstools. I skulked round to a quiet, empty corner of the bar and asked for an Amstel. (I had never ordered a drink before, but I knew Amstel was the posh beer.) I handed over the money, my hands shaking so much that coins went clattering all over the bar. I downed my drink in record time, not daring to look at anyone, and as soon as I'd finished it, I fled.

I was back a couple of nights later, still nervous as hell, still avoiding the eyes of other customers, but I managed to stay longer each time, and eventually got to know a few of the other customers. And then I discovered that the lads at work, the ones who were forever joking about the place, were regulars too. Eventually I became another regular, enjoying my weekly dose of cabaret and drag, a pattern I've kept up for nigh-on twenty years.

Do you remember your first time?