I reply, telling her to come over and ask me face to face. She looks furtively around and asks me if I'm nervous. There is tension in the air like North and South Korea coming together to hammer out a treaty.Suddenly the realisation of how odd it is to meet a stranger with the express intention of having an affair dawns on me. It's more like Alan Sugar interviewing an apprentice.
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In the end, we agree to part and she wishes me luck and assures me I'll find the perfect paramour. This was like having a meeting with a new accountant with a helping of self-disgust thrown in.
Later on I'm perplexed when she sends me two flirty text messages.
Her photograph reveals that the hour has stretched to 90 minutes.
I'm already starting to feel like I've had enough of this experiment.
Postings such as: "I want a man who can look after me and knows how to treat a woman. I'm surprised and unsettled by the forward tone of some of the material. Determined to avoid the connotations, I reply: "The Beatles." I never hear from her again.