What the hell would I do with a 22-year-old?

As Jeremy has found himself a girlfriend who seems to have a problem with our little ‘arrangement’, I’ve been forced to start looking around for a new playmate. I have lots of attractive male friends who unfortunately have attractive wives and girlfriends in tow, so the thought of having to find someone brand new is about as appealing as thrush.

Lucy’s boyfriend has some single friends, which in theory sounds good; however, her boyfriend is 22, as are his mates. What the hell would I do with a 22-year-old?

I’ve only slept with someone younger than me once and it was terrible. Lots of fumbling, rubbing three inches above where he should have been aiming for, and he thought for some reason that almost fisting me would be a turn-on.

However, for me, life without sex is like nails without varnish: bare and pretty unforgivable. So I decided to meet Lucy, her boyfriend and his friend Richard, a 22-year-old design student, for drinks and essentially a blind date. I voiced my concerns to Lucy.

“It’s not really a blind date. He’s seen your picture and thinks you’re gorgeous.”

“He’s obviously mental then. Why are you setting me up with someone unstable?”

“Shut up. He’s very attractive. Looks like that bloke off the telly.”

“Des O’Connor? Matthew Corbett? David Copperfield?”

“No, Russell Brand.”

“Russell Brand? Hmm. We’ll see.”

So, wearing my best undies and a slightly understated jeans and tight t-shirt combo, I made my way to the pub with a feeling of dread, hoping the pub had sufficient quantities of Jack Daniels to make everyone more attractive, including me.

I should learn to trust Lucy more. I spotted her with the other two at the back of the pub. When Richard turned round, looking like a younger, slightly more groomed but fucking gorgeous version of Russell Brand, I went slightly red and gave Lucy a huge ‘I owe you big time’ smile.

The evening went well but even though I could have straddled him on his chair purely for looking so hot, my fears were confirmed and we had very little in common: everything was completely superficial. I like my men to challenge me and the only thing he would have challenged me to was a game of tennis on his flatmate’s Wii.

Still, I wasn’t marrying the guy, and soon ended up back at the flat he shared with his mate John; nice but a surprising amount of scatter cushions for two straight blokes.

We soon started messing around; the kissing was great, but he was over-eager and I had to constantly tell him to slow down. The sex was good, but I got the feeling he wasn’t actually ‘in the moment’ and was nervously trying to cram in as much as possible or work through some mental checklist. When he stopped being so nervous, I caught glimpses of a guy who’d be pretty spectacular in bed.

My tolerance for disappointing sex has reached zero, but it’s unfair of me to expect someone to get it right first time or know exactly what I want. The last thing anyone wants is for me to turn into some drill sergeant, screaming “ASSUME THE POSITION SOLDIER!” after a shaky start or some misplaced tongue action.

So, I’ve shagged a younger man and although it wasn’t great, it actually wasn’t bad. At all.

I’ve got his number and I may give him a call at some point. He may not rock my world, but I’m quite willing to see if he rocks my bed. A girl has needs, after all.