Clue number 1: I met him online.
Clue number 2: I only had a blurred photo, black and white.

Actually, he seemed so be ok – he was bloody funny, and after splitting up with my long-term lover, he was doing me the power of good. Ten minutes chat in the evening, in front of the PC, had rapidly turned into 3 or 4 hours, every night. As soon as I got home from work, I’d log on, and there he’d be, his name flashing in red italics on the instant messenger box – a thrill would run through me.
He was a successful French businessman, with a marvellous command of the English language, and a pretty hefty phone bill to boot, I’d bet – he was soon calling me up to ten times a day, on top of the evenings chat sessions. When he phoned me at work on a Wednesday, to say that he’d be in London over the weekend on business, I leapt at the chance to go and meet him.
Impressively, he had booked two double rooms at a swank hotel in the city, so as not to pressure me, and I hopped on the train, fresh knickers in bag, heart in mouth, and underused fanny twitching in expectation of a good gallic rogering.
When I arrived at Kings Cross station, I couldnÂ’t see anyone even remotely resembling my beautiful sexy Frenchman, so I called his cell phone. Immediately, he picked it up, and murmured seductively that he was here, and waiting for me, by WHSmiths.
I turned around slowly, searching through bodies and faces, until my eyes fell on a man with greasy hair (weÂ’re not talking bryllcream here, weÂ’re talking three weeks of rabid and determined water avoidance), wearing plastic shoes - gasp! Worst worst WORST of all, a pair of jeans with a massive buckled belt hung under his not inconsiderable stomach. Too late, he spotted me, and the fact that I had a mobile clamped to my ear. Seemingly impervious to the fact that my jaw was trailing on the ground amongst burger wrappers and fag ends in astonishment, he rushed over, and enveloped me in a huge bear hug.
This was my worst nightmare – well, that’s what I thought at the time, I was going get that seriously revised in a few hours time….
We went to a small wine bar in the city, and I was in a major panic – you can’t imagine. Well actually, you probably can, but it gets worse. I was trying to think of anything and everything I possibly could to get out of this situation, but my brain had frozen, like the rictus grin that was plastered to my face the whole time.
He suggested, leeringly, that we should retire to the hotel – what the FUCK was I going to do? I asked him to reassure me, that he had booked two rooms – he must’ve been rather surprised at my sudden coyness, to say the least, seeing as we had been exchanging porny messages over the last few weeks to my blinkered delight.
He had, so I figured IÂ’d go back there with him (I know, I know) and have another drink, a pleasant dinner, and at least I could have a good kip in a decent hotel.

We checked in, and he handed over his Diner’s Club Card, paying in full for the rooms, I was relieved to notice – the last thing I needed was to have to pay for any of this!

Dinner came and went - very pleasantly, apart from the fact that I couldnÂ’t help but imagine that every other diner was sniggering behind his or her hands at the poor stupid woman sat with monster man (who incidentally had changed into brown SLACKS by this time) I yawned theatrically, and suggested that weÂ’d have a much nicer day tomorrow, should we both have a good nights sleep tonight. If he was disappointed, he didnÂ’t show it, and escorted me up to my room. He asked if he could join me for a drink, and feeling sorry for the guy, I agreed. He was harmless after all, that much was evident at this point.
After coffee and brandy, I excused myself and went to the loo, telling him that I was really tired, and that this was definitely the last drink before I was going to sleep.

I sat on the loo, head in hands, for about five minutes, swearing never to use an instant messenger again, before plastering another smile on, and going back to my bedroom.
There he was, in all his naked glory. “Well at least he’s taken off his plastic shoes” I couldn’t help thinking, bizarrely, as my eyes travelled slowly up, past his HUGE balls, pencil thin, very erect, very red, and very POINTED cock.

By the time my eyes reached his, heÂ’d definitely got the message, and scooped his clothes up, apologising profusely in embarrassment.
Next morning, I pushed an apologetic note under his door, citing work emergencies for my rapid departure. Poor Thierry – I haven’t seen him online since…..