Saturday night, post bewitching hour and Im done dancing (those Madonna moves sans excessive yoga practice are a killer). Pint in hand, Im having a quiet smoke in the courtyard outside the club, while various hopeful sharks circle and try to engage in conversation. I do a bit of banter, but frankly Im freezing my non-existent knackers off in my LBD and am thoroughly unimpressed with the talent on offer. No big deal Im looking forward to going back to a warm house, a good chow and a couple of nightcaps while cranking up my favourite tunes through headphones. I finish my pint, nod a goodnight to the friendly doorman and set off home with a purposeful stride. Less than 20 metres down the road, a stray puppy is nipping at my heels, looking at me with soulful eyes and asking to be taken home. Its the short/slight bloke from the courtyard whos obviously ditched his drink and followed me. I have zero interest in him hes sweet in a very clean-cut/square kind of way, but the biggest problem is that hes quite a bit shorter than me. Im only 56, so fuck knows how vertically-challenged he must be. Hes also got a rather nasal, fluting voice which makes my ears cringe (and to anyone more judgemental than myself would earmark him as a raving queen). He is a million miles away from my usual tall, cool, bad-boy type. Yet there he is, trotting along beside me as I head home. I try to shoo him away, but hes not so easily deterred. I have to admit to being a bit fascinated by his tenacity. Hes got the quiet confidence of a runty dingo eyeing up the lioness of the pride and going, Yeah I can take you. Watch and learn, boys. Ive been on the toot since midday, having been to a wedding reception in the afternoon and a semi-pub-crawl since early evening. Im well-oiled, but fine, and my Boom-fuelled brain tells me Dont read him the riot act and cause a disturbance on a late-night street. If he wants to follow you home, he can do so at his own risk and you can always chuck him out shortly if hes boring. Probably with one hand. Thus he ends up back at my gaff. I hit the scotch and he wimps out with a strong Italian coffee. Yet he is engagingly charming. One thing leads to another and against my better judgement, I take him upstairs. What a revelation. Hes not only accomplished, enthusiastic and competent - the little runt is insatiable. My standby packet of johnnies gets rapidly depleted and in the morning, his parting shot is a facial, which I thoroughly enjoy, despite the first salvo hitting the right eye. (Forgive the typos; Ive currently got monoscopic vision ) So what is it with short guys? Do they go out of their way to become accomplished lovers as some kind of compensation for their lack of physical stature? Ive only ever entertained a bloke shorter than me once before a few years ago, myself and this charming (but extremely short) Oirishman were the only 2 left standing at the end of the night, and one thing led to another, and he was awesome. Hes also the only bloke I have ever seen open a foil packet and perfectly fit a condom with one hand only. Bloody Catholics. Impressive, nevertheless! Any short-arses on here got tales of pulling taller birds? Not that youd admit to being short. Or normal height blokes whove pulled Amazons? Do tell.