Can I kiss you?

"Brace yourself for what you're about to see," I tell Debonair as the taxi approaches my block.
"I don't mind," he replies.
"I know you don't, but brace yourself anyway."

"That twinkling block," I tell the cabbie as it comes into view. Debonair pays - £20 from Piccadilly, outrageous - and in we go.

"Watch out!" I say as the lift comes. Someone's puked inside it; a flourescent lumpy yellow mess. "Welcome to Papier Mache Towers."

Once in my flat, I pour two glasses of Bailey's. A familiar feeling of awkwardness envelopes me because I'm not used to having people here. Thank vodka I can shrug it off.

"What music do you want?"
"What have you got?"
"All sorts."

I reach for an old favourite, perfect really for this kind of late night banter thing. I show him the Manu Chao CD.
"I don't know him."
"He's very good."
"What else have you got? Marvin Gaye?"
"Somewhere. Here, Otis Redding, we'll play that."
"Real motown...So what's your son's name?"
I tell him.
"Is that Spanish?"
"No, French. My parents are French."
"So you're French?"
"I guess so. Where are your parents from?"
"India, but I was born in Kenya."

We chat away, I refill the glasses. He puts on a Michael Jackson cd and asks me about my life so I tell him. Good job I don't fancy him or I'd be tempted to lie. I'm careful not to invite his sympathy though, or his pity.

"Why are you sitting so far away?" he says from the sofa right in front of me.
"I'm not!"
"Come and sit next to me."

He's a friendly guy, there's nothing in it but I'm quite comfortable where I am.

"I don't know, maybe I will."

"It's curious but out of curiosity, I really want to kiss you. What do you think?"

"That is curious," I smile. "You were looking at Bec all evening and I wasn't looking at you! Here look, this is my Book That Will Never Be Published." I reach over and take a pink folder from under the pile of newspapers at the other end of the sofa.

He takes it and removes the sheets of paper from it. I suddenly have a mine fear, that he'll read what I don't want him to so I go over and sit next to him, pick out the 'best' bits.

He scans the chapter on Paranoia and laughs: "Only had sex once? I don't believe that!" I give him a few others; Japan, Crime, Money, Drugs.

"Can I kiss you? Shall we kiss?" He's quite relentless! He's also not unattractive. Why shouldn't I after all? A kiss can be just a kiss.

It's wierd at first, for me that is, but slowly we get into it. Slowly it gets more passionate. I miss this, I think as I'm reminded of what it's like. His hand travels up my dress, I catch it, we carry on.

"Is there somewhere more comfortable where we can go?" he asks.

"No. Let's stay here."

A part of me wants to keep on going, keep keep on going, going where ever going led. The other part of me was playing out the future. I'd have this night of passion and then what? Drunken sex with somebody else and then drunken sex with somebody else? I have too many issues with sex to do that to myself.

I pull away.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We said a kiss and we've kissed!"

I go back and sit on the chair.

"You know, I've had two guys here and I didn't kiss either of them."

"Why not? Why kiss me and not them?"

"Because I meant something to them."

"Ooooooooooooooow!" He throws his head back.

"I didn't want them to get hurt."

We talk some more and at six he calls a cab. He makes me promise not to tell Phil.

"Why not?" I find it quite funny.

"I don't want anyone to know."

"Well who's going to tell?"

"No-one, I just don't want you to."

"OK, and you don't tell about me either."

The cab calls. With his phone in his hand he says:

"If we see each other again, will you have sex with me?"

Now there's an offer! But can I do casual? Casual is all he can do right now.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Do you think you'll have sex with me, yes or no?"

"I don't know!" I laugh, because I don't!

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Well yes I might but I'm on the spot and if in doubt, leave it out or so they say.

"No."

"Ok, I better go, you're a nice girl," he says as he opens the front door. Nice because I didn't shag him? That's not what he meant.

"I know." I answered but I'm not, otherwise I wouldn't be writing about him, would I? I should have said "And you're a nice man."

Because he was. He wasn't debonair at all. He was charming, generous, funny, open, interested, interesting, good company. My ideal man when I see it written down like that.

Why am I telling you? I don't know, maybe I think it has value.

I learnt tonight that sex is sacred. Sex is sacred to the Self.

Everybody has different boundaries. I'm rat shit bored of being chained by my own.

It was very healing for me though.

I don't think I hurt him. He didn't hurt me.

With that I got into bed.

It won't surprise you to know he took the stairs when he left.