After falling out with Plan B and the ex, I also had a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach a week after that night with Pierre. I’d assumed Pierre was only interested in one thing. He had planned to come over for one night only and not stay the weekend but on the day of his arrival he texted to say he was staying longer. I thought he was keeping his options open (if he didn’t get sex the first night then he could try the second). When he said I had behaved worse than a man, I felt a small victory – I had decided to have sex with a man purely for my own gratification and I’d enjoyed it. I was in control and I went home to my own bed and to a good night’s sleep.

During the dinner date at Bumpkin with The Body he asked me about my best and worst sexual experiences (he had already discovered the blog so perhaps he had already made a few preconceptions about me). There was plenty of banter but I noted a few things. He joked that I had better have been chatted up by the time he got back from the loo or I would be dumped (and then accused me of chatting up the guy I was talking to when he returned); he didn’t want a relationship because he was concentrating on his career (I don’t think that has held Alan Sugar back) and he revealed his dirty secret but was then concerned I’d mention it in this blog (it’s a pretty good one, too).  

After drinks at Upstairs at The Oak, he walked me home and we kissed on my doorstep. ‘Thanks for tonight. Really good fun in an ocean of boring dates. And I was right; beautiful lips,’ he texted during his cab journey home. However, the texts over the following days were rather less romantic (his use of the word ‘idiot’, in particular, stung).
‘When are you back in London?’
‘Good morning. Hope you had a lovely Christmas day. I’m heading back today.’
‘Yeah, was really nice. I may be back tomorrow if you’re free in the evening?’
‘Thanks for the invite, but I’m a hopeless romantic – I think pleasantries are important. Let’s stay in touch, though. Thanks for a fun date.’
‘I understand, m’love.’

I impulsively texted Pierre saying that I had played him at his own game but I should have just not seen him and savoured the memory of our first meeting. ‘I’m devastated. I thought we were going to get married. Anyway, I’d rather stay polite and ask you simply to not send any more daft messages,’ he replied. I apologised and we made amends. He’d more than likely exaggerated his feelings to make me feel as bad as possible but I’m currently feeling like a rather more hopeful romantic…