First Time for Everything

After a week and a half of kid filled chaos and family jaunts I finally had a boy-free weekend to go and celebrate my friends 40th birthdays. Although I never thought I would celebrate it with my first one-night-stand.

Yep, Ms Celibate from Chicago has morphed into Ms Strumpet from Shenfield. The Essex roots have obviously taken no time in coming to the fore.

I must say, despite being brought up by my mother to be the type of girl Who Would Never Do That Sort of Thing, having had such a delightful experience I think I might be converted. From possible Nunnery candidate to floozy in just 12 hours. Well, I did say that this would be the year that I concentrated on trying new things.

The birthday party was being held at Luton Hoo - a beautiful 5 star stately home just outside Luton (the clue being in the name of course). Not being able to afford to stay overnight at such a salubrious joint, my friend recommended I stay at a nearby Holiday Inn. 'Travel Man is staying there too, ' she said. 'I've passed on your number and you can share a taxi to and from the party.' Ooh. I had met Travel Man at my goddaughter's christening 7 years ago and had instantly liked him. I couldn't remember what he looked like, although bald struck a chord. Nevertheless, I did remember thinking he was really interesting, great company and from the North. And I have always been a bit of a sucker for a northern accent. This could be fun, I thought to myself.

Over the weeks before the trip my fertile mind began to imagine a one night stand scenario with Travel Man. I didn't really think it would happen, being the type of girl Who Would Never Do That Sort of Thing. But given that I have been sex starved for so long fantasies are pretty much all I can rely on, so it seemed pretty harmless to indulge my overactive imagination.

Finally the big day arrived and I whizzed off to Luton with my slinky dress, highest heels and a holdall full of sexy underwear. I dollied myself up to a presentable glamorous standard and waited for the arrival of Travel Man. And waited. He was late. Hmmm. Not quite so anxious to meet me then. Probably didn't even remember me. Oh well.

Finally he arrived and my memory had served me correctly. On all fronts.

We chatted in the taxi almost like old friends - there seemed to be an instant ease between us and I was really glad to see him again. Once at the party I switched name places so we could sit together - although we were so busy socialising that we didn't really talk exclusively. It was a fantastic party. Delicious food. Plenty of booze. A band to bop to. Lots of glamour, glitz and funny people to talk to (although the usual correlation between the quantity of alcohol qauffed and the social entertainment factor definitely applied).

After the party 'officially' ended many of the guests sojourned to a lounge area and serious drinking continued. I managed to nab Travel Man and force him into a comfy chair next to me so I could monopolise his attention for a while. We talked non-stop about our passions in life (it was a challenge to remember what my true passions were, with 'having a child-free day and a lie-in' being top of the list for so long). We liked reading similar books and had the same taste in music. After an hour or so the after party seemed to be coming to a close so we took advantage of sharing a taxi with some of the other guests. The journey home was a bit of a debacle, due to the cabbie being given details of the wrong hotel. After a quick jaunt around Luton Airport and then an unexpected detour up to junction 11 of the M1 we finally arrived back at the hotel at 3am. 'Okay then, music time', Travel Man announced and it seemed an unspoken agreement that we would both go back to his room.

Now, up until this point there hadn't really been anything about the evening that had suggested to me that my fantasy could become reality. Travel Man was certainly animated and friendly, but it all seemed so innocent and almost chum-like. So the idea of a one night stand seemed slightly preposterous. Well of course it would. Despite going to his room at 3 in the morning and after fantasizing about seducing the poor man for nearly 2 months, I was still at heart the type of girl Who Would Never Do That Sort of Thing.

We listened to music. Bruce Springsteen. Faithless. Morcheeba. Early Radiohead. And then finally - FINALLY - he made his move. Hurrah I thought. And then as the smooching slowly intensified 3 horrifying thoughts cross my mind.

Crap - what was he going to think when he discovered that my expensive bra featured far more gel than breast?

And worse - despite all the slinky knickers I had packed - I had resorted to wearing my M&S Magic Knickers. Or should that be Manky Knickers? Anyway, from belly button to knee all flesh was safely encased in the firmest hold lycra that modern day chastity belts are fashioned out of. Jesus, the first piece of love action in longer than I ever want to confess and I am wearing fucking granny pants.

To top it all, underneath that impenentrable layer of underwear was a pubic region that more closely resembled an overgrown English hedge rather than a neatly pruned love topiary.

Who did I think I was....Bridget Bloody Jones?

In a slight panic I excused myself and rushed to the loo. What were my options? Remove all offending underwear, hide it furtively under a towel and pretend I had been sexily commando all night? It was tempting. Create a reason to rush back to my room to replace the offending under garments maybe? But what excuse could I give? My slightly inebriated brain (and highly aroused body) weren't coming up with any plausible answers. So in the end my nerve deserted me - and I just decided to come clean and confess.

Of course, Travel Man thought it was hilarious and predictably a replay of the scene from Bridget Jones ensued. Oh well, you have to laugh. And there is something so sexy about a man with a big...sense of humour.