Sometimes all it takes is a look.

I felt him staring at me even before I looked up to meet his eyes; I was aware of his piercing gaze, and knew that amongst all the people at the party, he was looking solely at me.

Occasionally, instant chemistry occurs between people. It has nothing to do with fancying, or flirtation, or even curiosity, it is just synchronisation on a purely physical and carnal level: across a room two people share a glance, and immediately know that they want to fuck each others’ brains out.

When I saw the way he looked at me, I knew. The hunger, the way he held my gaze without looking away; not smiling, yet with desire clearly shining in his eyes – I could feel his passion burning into me even though he was standing some distance away. The sexual tension hung in the air like an invisible mist; his body screaming loudly to me amongst the chatter of the party. He watched my face and waited for my response.

I was trying to think with some clarity, rather than listen to the pounding between my legs, as I watched him watching me. I knew that this was one of those moments – a fleeting chance to grasp a window of opportunity to fuck with abandon.

I had no misconceptions here: there would be no getting to know each other, no friendly chat over drinks, no knowing of names. This would be him pushing me against the wall of the toilet cubicle, pulling my dress up, tugging my thong to one side and ramming his cock into me. We would be strangers clawing at each other, fucking with fury, dripping with sweat. And then moments later, we would exit the toilet to rejoin the party group, to continue on without missing a beat.

As I looked at him, I knew all this lay ahead: I’ve been here before – and I know a zipless fuck when I see one.

My pussy throbbed. I knew he would be getting hard too: I saw him adjust himself as he continued watching me and I wondered about my attraction to him.

Here was a man, twenty years my senior, rotund, short, and with the typical mannerisms of an East End wheeling and dealing Geezer: it certainly wasn’t his appearance, or the loudness of his cockney voice which filled me with desire. Nor was it his age - unless faced with David Lynch talking to me all night - older men do not interest me. But the way he looked at me - the assured steadiness of his gaze - let me know that he wanted to fuck me, and that is what made my pants get so wet.

I debated what to do: it was my choice after all. I knew that if I held his gaze and walked into the toilet, he would have followed me. It excited me that sex was so clearly within my grasp, that I could enter the loo and then be pummelled by him shortly afterwards. I imagined what it would be like having his breath on my neck and his cock between my legs. I could almost feel the orgasm I would have had, welling up inside me ready to burst. I wanted him badly.

I stared at him, and thought for a moment.

As much as I yearned to fuck him, I knew I couldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it wasn’t right for me to do it. But not for the reasons one might assume: I was at the party as a carer for an elderly person, and going off to the toilet for a quick fuck meant leaving them to fend for themselves. I couldn’t do that to them – as much as I wanted a shag.

So I broke my stare with him. He kept glancing at me for the rest of the evening, but I chose to look away: the temptation to act was far too strong.

Unfortunately, when it comes to my desire, I know I am more of a looter who breaks all the glass to steal what’s inside, rather than a patient regular shopper queuing at a checkout: I’m a great pursuer of the ‘try before you buy’ type deals on offer.

But if today is anything to go by, I guess I’m learning how to slowly window shop instead. Or at least, remove the window carefully before grabbing the goods – a definite improvement in my eyes, even if it means I lost out on a shag.