I'll see you after class ...

I’ve never engaged in any kind of role play before - mainly because I saw it as something that bored married couples did - except for a really dodgy French maid’s outfit I once bought over the Internet, which looked très fucking ridiculous and soon found its way into the bin. Plus the bloke I was seeing actually let me clean his bedroom before we had sex, and I refuse to believe it was to "help me stay in character".

My friend Oliver had agreed to help me in this particular challenge, and it didn’t take us long to agree on a scenario. Our first role play was based on the pretty common university student/lecturer scenario; Mr Smith and Miss Henderson having a one-to-one tutorial which inevitably ends up in some serious and slightly illicit shagging.

And so, a no-nonsense, slightly prim and proper student arrived at Oliver’s flat, complete with folder full of essays (actually a couple of magazines I was reading on the train) and dressed casually in jeans but with suitably provocative underwear hidden beneath.

"Hello Phoebe. Are you ready for our tutorial?" were the first words ‘Mr Smith’ uttered as he opened his door, dressed in a suit with his hair slightly dishevelled. Fuck me, Oliver had made the effort.

We sat at his kitchen table and as we stared at each other, I realised something important - I hadn’t planned this part. Shit. I had been so excited about playing out this fantasy that I’d overlooked a crucial detail: how the hell do we actually act this out? My improv skills are dodgy to say the least and I could almost hear "ooh matron" being heckled as I racked my brains trying to avoid anything that could sound like a Robin Askwith or Sid James line.

Oliver had obviously put some thought into it, however, and reached for something under the table. "I’ve got some material for you to look over, Miss Henderson. You can let me know if you need anything explained in more detail."

He handed me three porn magazines and sat back.

I started to browse through them, pleased that they weren’t 'barely legal' or 'gammy granny' mags, and felt my cheeks go a little red - not because I was embarrassed but because this was starting to be the hottest thing I’d ever done in my life.

I undid some buttons on my cardigan, showing a little of the red balcony bra I’d bought. He’d told me previously that red underwear gets him instantly hard and I intended to test him on that. I made him wait for a few minutes, studying the magazines, licking my lips and feeling his gaze fixed upon my mouth.

"I don’t understand this," I said, sliding the magazine across the table. "Maybe you can explain how exactly this works?"

He put on his glasses to look at the page I’d turned to, and I immediately started to ache. A handsome man in glasses has the same effect on me as red underwear on a woman does on Oliver.

As he stood up to walk behind my chair, the bulge in his trousers told me everything I needed to know and I undid another couple of buttons. He leant in and his breath on my neck made me instantly wet.

"This is a complex position, Miss Henderson," he whispered in my ear. "I could explain it to you, or I could show you."

He slid one hand inside my bra and I could hear him undoing his belt with the other. I was so turned on I forgot about the no-nonsense approach, gave in and turned around, pulling him in towards the kitchen table. He had my jeans off in record time but I made him keep his shirt and tie on. Oh, and his glasses.

My suspicion that role play was perhaps only for couples who’d become bored with their sex life has been revised somewhat and even as I stood in the shower afterwards, I was still horny, so to say it was a success would be an understatement.

It’s Oliver’s choice next and I get to dress as a hooker. If any money changes hands, I'm fucking keeping it.