“How many men have you slept with then?” I want to find out how experienced/much of a slut you are.

“You know a lady can never divulge such things. Along with her exact age, her weight and how many men she has bedded; these things are a woman’s right to keep private.” Which of course is a load of fucking bollocks, and I would gladly tell you the answers to all, if I weren’t so sure that you’d judge me on the latter.

“Oh come on, I won’t judge you. I’m just curious; it’s no big deal however many it might be.” Except that it can’t possibly be more women than I have slept with, since that would leave me feeling insecure about my own sexual prowess.

“If it’s not a big deal, then I’m not going to tell you. Some things are best kept personal.” If you knew how many, you would stop chatting me up instantly.

“Look, it really doesn’t matter to me; I’m just curious. And if it’s a lot, I have no problem with that; it just means you’re more skilled than most, which isn’t a bad thing.” I hope it’s not a lot.

“Seriously, I’m not going to tell you; guys always judge women based on how many men they’ve fucked – even if they say they don’t.” And the hypocritical double-standard about what is considered acceptable for men, as opposed to women, pisses me off.

“I won't judge you. And I tell you what, I’ll write down how many women I have slept with on a bit of paper and then you can tell me whether your number is higher or lower.” And that way I can write whatever I think is a large number, so that you think I have a lot of experience.

He jotted down something onto a scrap of paper and handed it to me, ensuring his fingers lingered on mine as he dropped the note into my hand.

I opened the note up and smiled. Bet he exaggerated the number to impress me. Boy would he be shocked with my number. Fuck it, maybe I should just tell him.

“So, what is it then?!” Let’s hope it’s below that figure. Please let it be below that figure.

“Let’s just say that with me, you could double that figure.” Actually you could triple it or even quadruple it, and you’d still be quite a few off.

“Really?! Wow. I mean, hey – that’s great, each to their own, some people are more experienced than others, right? That’s wonderful.” What a slut. There’s no way I could date her knowing that. Glad I found that out now.

“Yup. And anyway, I’ve found its irrelevant how many lovers a person has had; for me it’s all about someone’s enthusiasm, interest and open-mindedness, not to mention there being a great mental connection – that’s what makes great sex.” Alongside an ability not to judge, which clearly, looking at the stunned expression on your face, you are having a hard time doing right now.

“I agree. Oops, I really should get back to work; it’s been fun chatting with you again.” But I don’t think this situation will be developing any further now.

“It’s been fun, yeah. And nice to know that there are some open-minded men out there.” Shame you’re not one of them; I bet I never hear from you again.

He kissed me on the cheek and wandered off, leaving me standing there clutching the piece of paper in my hand.

I could have lied. I could have tried to stroke his ego. I could have just kept quiet and hidden the truth, so that he didn’t judge me. Maybe that’s what most people in relationships do; maybe that’s why I’m still single. But deceiving someone is not in my nature; I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had.

So, single it is, but at least I know I’ve been true to myself.

Even if that meant scaring off yet another potential boyfriend.