We both laughed out loud and I noticed our knees touching.

‘Good sign’ I thought, as I took another sip of my beer, ‘perhaps a snog is on the cards’.

It had all been going well. From a chance meeting on a train, to a plethora of phone-calls during the week, we were now both relaxing in a bar which proudly displayed a flag proclaiming,

We, the people, say NO to the Bush agenda

‘Fantastic’ I said to myself, as I bought another round of beers, ‘and impressive – obviously this guy is on the same page as me’.

Tipping the bartender, I noticed a sign above the bar and grinned as I read the caption:

George W. Bush couldn’t run a Laundromat; someone else for President

Though 3000 miles away from London, I felt at home; these were clearly my people.

It wasn’t a far stretch to assume that this guy would be similarly like-minded; after all, he brought me to this place – and if, like me, he’s openly a lefty in his politics, then it was likely he would be open-minded too.

I mentally checked off a wish-list of things to discuss in order to find out how liberated he was about:

1) Casual sex

2) Blow-job techniques

3) Sex in public

4) Spanking

5) Threesomes

Then I realised that my list was entirely sex-based, and that I should probably try to impress him with my dazzling wit, knowledge about the movie industry and political know-how, instead of letting on that I was a sex fiend.

That could come later.

So I walked back to where he sat, expecting to have a stimulating discussion about the current political status of America and the potential fall-out for the Republican party from Hurricane Katrina. I was rather surprised when instead, he began to tell me about his prayer group meetings, how religious observance is the answer to life’s ills and how the problems we see today, are as a result of sex before marriage.

I could have hit myself. I knew that he was from the South – and a farm-boy at that – but I had tried to keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions about his origins. But he was sadly just like the other Southern Redneck God-Botherers I had met. Goddamit.

Here I was, a girl with a one-track mind, deep in discussion with someone whom if he knew the level of sordidness that filled my head at any given moment, would have had to create a special prayer to God, just for me, in order to save me from all the sins I have performed – and am yet to perform – so that my soul might be saved.

I realised that if there was any spiritual searching to be done that night, it didn’t involve his lips and tongue finding the answers on mine.

‘Shit. How can I get out of this date?’ I thought, and racked my brain. I didn’t want to offend him; he had invited me, and it would be rude to leave abruptly. But I had to get away and other than being offensive and blaspheming loudly, my only get-out was to talk about sex: if I was graphic enough, I might embarrass him, and thus he would call an end to the night. Hallelujah.

So I elaborated on my theory that if more men teased women and refused them access to their cocks, it would drive women so crazy that they would eventually beg to be fucked, resulting in more orgasms and sex all round.

I argued that women are not as hung up about penis size as men are, and that if more guys relaxed about it, they would realise that when a woman is turned on, they don’t give a fuck what is stuck in there, as long as ‘you stick it in me now, oh god fuck me, please fuck me’.

But, I’ll have you know, I was respectful and decent and didn’t mention anal sex once. I am a lady, after all.

And oh heavenly joy, it seemed to work: he started shifting in his seat and blushing and looking rather uncomfortable; he soon looked at his watch, and then we both agreed to call it a night and I made my way home alone.

It did occur to me, when I lay in bed later that night, that he might have been simultaneously praying for me and hoping that he'd saved me.

I prefer to think he finished off the evening more productively though, and that his hands were otherwise occupied.

Mine certainly were.