By Trevor Davis

I've little shame in admitting it: I've made a couple of them myself. Similarly, I've an undeniable spot of masculine pride that I've been the recipient of them a few times. But are they a sad indication of a world where chivalry and graceful femininity no longer exist, or just an inevitable fact of chaotic career-driven modern life?

I'll stop being so oblique now - I'm talking, of course, about that venerable institution of modern romance; the booty call. Sometimes the weapon of choice for so-called 'friends with benefits', at others a simple matter of convenience. Either way, they're a potential minefield.

Once upon a time, such a thing would never have existed. No self-respecting woman would ever dream of calling a man for the one thing that's supposedly all that we men are interested in; even the most commitment-phobic male would have had to weigh his baser instincts against the fear of being slapped for having the temerity to make such an appallingly rude suggestion.

That's all well and good, of course - it's still rather nice to remember a time before the invariably-terrifying, sexually aggressive Carrie Bradshaw-wannabe, a time when men did the chasing and woman was a mysterious, enigmatic land, rather like Russia.

But still, it'd be entirely hypocritical of me to wish for a return to more innocent days; after all, I wouldn't have been the lucky recipient of said calls!

For the less initiated, the booty call is normally a telephone call, (though I've actually gone down the turning-up-at-her-flat route), whereby a friend/acquaintance/ex will contact another for the sole intention of…well, you know. In my experience, they're generally a nocturnal phenomenon, when it's far too late for any kind of romantic encounter, but when the night is just young enough for something a little more salacious.

They can certainly be fun and if both participants are in "the same place" (yes, that's awful Californian psychobabble, I know), then nobody's feelings get hurt and a good time is had by all.

And that's where the problems begin - it's so very, very rare that both the man and women involved have exactly the same ideas about the reality of their 'relationship', that someone's going to get hurt.

This has certainly happened in my stuttering mess of a love-life; I've been the overjoyed, rather smug recipient of a booty call only to then feel wholly disappointed when I discovered that said caller was subsequently involved with someone else (don't judge her, it's the 21st century after all), while I've made the nasty, misguided, thoughtless decision of making a late-night call myself (after an 'unsuccessful' evening out), and being far too self-involved to twig that the poor girl involved actually liked me and I'd shown myself to be, frankly, a bit of an arse.

So, while I'm neither criticising nor condoning the booty call, I'm sure I'm not alone in much preferring for a physical relationship to develop as nature intended. Seriously, which would you rather endure; some slightly tawdry, fairly soulless satisfaction, or the exhilaration of the beginnings of proper coupledom - initial dates, nervous laughter, the rush of "I wonder if she meant to touch my arm then…" thoughts?

I know which I'd vote for.