Enjoying the Mata-Hari element of the impending assignation, I write my mobile number on a piece of paper and secrete it about my person. When I enter the dining-room, I fake a handshake with Hot Frog and slip the note between his fingers. I'm conscious of exuding pheromones like a bitch on heat, the significance of which is not lost on my male companions who respond with lecherous leering and in-yer-face innuendo. Throughout it all, CC and I share many special, secret looks.
After the meal, we go down to the theatre to watch the cabaret in which Hot Frog features predominantly, stripped to the waist and looking buff in a pair of red satin pantaloons and a yellow cummerbund. CC sits tight up against me giving a hilarious yet disparaging commentary on my paramour's performance. I feel a mélange of guilt and excitement. He’s such a terrific guy; he’d hate me if he knew…
With great flair and élan, Hot Frog smashes, walks on, then lies across a bed of broken wine bottles. I find this excruciatingly embarrassing and wonder what on earth I’ll find to say to him if/when I see him later. ‘Loved the show! Er...by the way, you’re bleeding...’
CBF retires early promising to wait up for me. CC and I repair to the bar where we embark on a deeply personal conversation. Because I’m nervous while marking time ‘til midnight, I spill out my entire life story including my excitement yet trepidation about the imminent release of my first solo book, The Toyboy Diaries.
I also reveal my real age (61) which doesn’t seem to faze him, as he immediately confesses to an irrepressible weakness for older women. The heady combination of alcohol and altitude does not prevent me from working out that I really, really like this man, who at 46, living and working within walking distance of me in London, could potentially be proper relationship material. But the lure of adventure is stronger than my morals...and so I continue on my nefarious course...
At 11.50 p.m. CC yawns, stretches and offers to walk me back to my room. Since I cannot very well tell him that I’m staying up to meet the horny Frenchman in an illicit after hours client/manager lurve tryst, I accept his offer, and we go up in the lift together to our floor.
He strokes my hair and looks down at me from his 6'2" height with tenderness in his eyes.