He’s Spanish and I keep peeking at his profile picture because he’s so good-looking. What the hell does he want with me? We chat for a few days on the app and move to WhatsApp. He’s away, I’m away – I wonder if this can be sustained at all. He sends me many voicenotes – I can’t because I’m with family. He has a very sexy accent and I try to remember if I’ve ever gone Spanish.

And then it’s a Monday and I’m at work. I’m pre-menstrual which for me always spells danger. It’s a combination of being massively horny and angry. Essentially it’s like a madness, a malady. A Victorian lady with a malaise. We are supposed to be meeting on Thursday, but somehow he persuades me to meet that night, despite a terrible work outfit, underwear and not enough makeup. Luckily a well-known high street chemist is available to top up almost everything so I look better than I could have done. He tells me we can meet for a drink tonight and then again on Thursday because he’s off travelling on Friday. Ok babe.

I arrive too early and spend a lot of time trying to decide which part to sit in. Outside, inside, by the bar, on a bench, not on a bench. Inside I see him walk towards me and pretend to be on my phone. His hair is way greyer than the pictures but he’s wearing the coolest grey purple wash denim jacket. Hmmm. We chat for a bit then he suggests we sit outside. Within 5 minutes he is asking if he can kiss me, I say yes. It’s really good. I think about the last date in which the guy when I asked ” So what are you into?” He came back with “Nothing, really”. This is an upgrade. We are actually having a conversation. We talk about music and he tells me he loves Harry Styles. Wow.

We move to overlook the river, and he kisses me again. We keep kissing despite the people all around us. This is new. We kiss loads but it starts getting cold. We move inside. We find a table that’s fairly hidden from view and things start to get hot. He even holds my face while kissing. He touches me between the legs, over my thin trousers and somehow pulls my knickers to one side. He tells me to go to the loo and take the bra off. I come back and he holds my breasts, sizing them up. I feel disgusting, excited and ashamed all at the same time, is there CCTV, can anyone see us?

Someone goes to set up the cloakroom and we realise they can see us. We move and go for another drink and the evening is over. As we walk back to the tube I tell him he can come back to mine after all. “Really?” come the reply. “Fuck it, whats the worst that can happen” – I think, in my head.

He has somehow charmed me into bed. I don’t remember a lot about the sex except it was good. Can’t remember anything about his body. His penis? I couldn’t recognise it in a line up. I erased it because I fell for him, hard. I told you it happens once a year. This was the one. He leaves afterwards and I text him the next day.

He ghosts me.