I spent yesterday in the company of a group of religious fanatics.

That’s right, me: Girl with a one-track mind - the sex-obsessed atheist, in a party full of God-botherers.

It was like torture.

Not my usual Saturday night’s entertainment, it has to be said; I went to this party with an open mind, figuring that if my elderly God-loving relative wanted to celebrate with a few hymns and stuff, I would understand.

But I wasn’t prepared for a full-on Billy Graham revival, complete with prayers, speeches by religious leaders and choral singing (with a full band):

"Jesus--- must be obeyed;

There is--- no other way."

Christ. What the hell had I got myself into?

There I was, sitting in a room filled with people praising the Lord every other minute and I felt like a traitor; an outsider. With their belief system supporting the idea of there being an afterlife - just as long as He is believed in - my ideology was diametrically opposed to every other person’s in that room.

As they sung God’s praises and clapped their hands in glee, I knew I was out of place. I had nothing in common with these folk – bar sipping the same wine - how the hell could I have a decent conversation with anyone, when I believed them all to be deluded?

It struck me that if the people in there knew just 1% of what occupied my mind at any given minute, they would have been horrified:

• A sex fiend?

• A girl who loves cock?

• A multi-orgasmic permanently-aroused sex obsessive?

A preacher would have a field day with me - casting me out as a Sinner, praying for Divine Intervention, or begging for my Redemption.

Bored out of my mind, and affronted by all the religious propaganda, I suddenly got this impulse to ‘out’ myself - stand up and do something totally improper, sordid and lewd and confront the room:

Reckon I need guidance? I’ll get on my knees and worship in public, if God is a cock and answering my prayers means He will correspond directly with my mouth.

Think I am evil? Well then, I’ll dress head to foot in a black rubber catsuit, complimented by knee length stiletto-heeled boots and topped off with a studded collar round my neck to show you just how corrupt I can seem.

Believe that I need to repent? It’s true I can be a bad girl, so with a 6-foot whip in my hand, some adoring worshipper at my feet and by admonishing some punishment on his willing backside (and gracefully allowing him to become my tongue slave after he had begged for mercy as part of his redemption), I would be able to recognize the err of my ways.

The day-dream went no further than this though, sadly: I didn't even say the word 'fuck', I was so well behaved.

Plus, I think a few of the congregation might have had heart attacks, had I gone with the fantasy.

Even though those would just be the ones who were secret hard-core S&M porn fans.