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hey, it's the end of another year, I deserve a treat. Then they wake up the next morning unsure of what they got and whom they were with. And even if you do remember, you never know at the time who has it and who hasn't.
    I'm a disease‐spreading vector. No one is safe, sure, but some of us are more at risk than others, even with all the precautions available these days ‐ the free clinics, the vaccinations, the public awareness campaigns.
    And it's important to me. There's no such thing as paid sick leave for call girls. And god forbid you end up in hospital.
    So I want to set your minds at ease as much as I can. I want you to know.
    I have had a flu jab.
    jeudi, le 27 novembre
    A late text from the Boy last night: 'We were taken out for free drinks after work. Am now in a tree.'
    It's cold out there. I hope his rapidly shrinking boy parts make it home safely and are up for warming again soon.
    The first time we met it was his birthday, about one year ago now. He was tearing up the dance floor in a club, almost literally ‐
    the bouncers had their hackles up the moment he 34
    and his equally large, drunken friends came in the door. They weren't the only ones. I couldn't take my eyes off this man who moved like water and threw his limbs around as though they were only nominally attached to his body.
    The otherwise crowded floor cleared a wide circle around their group. They took turns chucking each other around, laughing, like little boys. His eyes were shining, probably from alcohol. His curly hair and freckles stood out in a room of pale poseurs. I demanded a mutual friend introduce us. The club was too loud, he looked down and smiled at me, but didn't hear a word we were saying. I stayed on the fringes and waited. When he went out in the hall to join the queue for the toilets, I followed him.
    'Happy birthday,' I said.
    'Thank you,' he smiled. He didn't appear to recognise me. He did seem quite interested staring down my top, however. Hey, I thought. It's a start.
    I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He seemed puzzled but didn't resist. I pulled at the sleeve of his shirt to drag him to the smaller, quieter room. We found a corner of a red velvet sofa and snuggled together.
    'You can't do this,' he said.
    'Why not?'
    'You don't know me at all,' he said. 'My name, where I'm from.
    You know nothing about me.'
    'I want to know you,' I said, squeezing my hand around his arm, which was roped with thick muscles. His hands, resting lightly on my waist, were easily the largest and finest I'd ever seen on a man.
    Just then another woman ‐ maybe biologically not female, it was difficult to tell in the dark ‐ interrupted us. 'Love the boots, honey,' she said.
    'Cheers.' I was wearing leather knee‐highs with vertiginous heels. They were practically hobbling me, but worth it.
    35
    The Boy looked down. 'They are actually rather good,' he said, fingering the skin just under my knee. I melted. 'But I don't think we should go back to the others. You'd likely break an ankle dancing in those.'
    'Guess we'll have to find something else to do?' 'I suppose,' he smiled, and we groped a bit longer, until I caught a glance at my watch. It was time for Cinderella to make her escape. 'Come home with me,' he growled in my ear, fiddling with the zip of my left boot. It was the kind of order a woman dreams about. Irresistible.
    'I have a boyfriend,' I said. It seemed only fair to mention it. The Boy said he didn't care. I was technically in an open relationship, but knew this man was not one‐night material. He was far more interesting than that, there was too much crackling energy around him. 'Well,' I said, 'you can have me one night or see me again.
    Which will it be?'
    'I can't not see you again,' the Boy said. I shrugged ‐ tant pis.
    'Shameless trollop.' But he was smiling, and took my phone number. He followed me as far as the bouncers. The rest of his friends were still inside. There was a pause. I could have invited him back and wanted