No black PVC for me tonight, though. I opted for the devil in red instead. Short, clinging red dress, see through lacy red bra and thong, high red spiky heels and a pair of cheeky glowing horns. The devil was appropriate, I thought, because I was out to corrupt an innocent. I should explain about my missions. I look out for men who seem quiet, shy, too scared to talk to girls, and especially to girls like me, and I set about making occasions such as Halloween or Valentine’s day really, really special for them. I create a fantasy scenario, letting them enjoy all the (many) pleasures I have to offer without their having to initiate anything, without their having to pay (I’m not a whore, as I said, just an enthusiastic amateur), and hopefully without the crushing anxiety that usually attends their run-ins with the fairer sex.

So how do I choose my men? Well, let me tell you that I’m not so much of a Good Samaritan that I totally neglect what’s in all this for me. I just happen to be very, very turned on by shy, tentative men. They don’t have the swaggering arrogance of most of the men I’ve managed to entangle myself with, and they are very, very keen to please. I like dark hair, so they tend to be dark, and while they might at times be what some people would call geeky, it’s surprising how quickly all that falls away once they are naked, stripped of unfashionable clothes, and once you ruffle up their hair. What difference does it make to me if they’re a Star Trek geek? I’m not there to debate TV with them, am I? In fact, there doesn’t tend to be much talking at all…

The person whose Halloween I had decided to make special, then, was Paul. Paul is studying art at a college where I occasionally model for life drawing classes. That’s the exhibitionist in me coming out—but I suppose that’s a different story. Suffice it to say that although I’m sure artists would argue that life drawing has nothing to do with sex, and is all about the beauty of capturing the human form et cetera, I would beg to differ. They should be inside my head when I model, imagining all the eyes on my naked form, painting my erect nipples and trying not to be distracted by my neatly trimmed and, unbeknownst to them, tingling, pussy—

Paul wasn’t in the life drawing class, but I’d literally bumped into him coming out of a class next door, and he’d been so visibly flustered, apologising and stumbling over his words, looking down at his feet, too scared to look me in the eye – that I knew that, this Halloween, I was going