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It all feels pretty normal up to this point, but then the nymph finishes doing her thing, and the coffee table that acted as her temporary stage is pushed to the side so the rugs can come into play. A volunteer is called forward for tequila body shots and a nervous but excited first-timer steps forward and obediently lies down.

I look around the room and realise that, though these women have been vetted by Le Jeune via an online form and are clearly attractive, I haven’t even asked myself if I’m attracted to any of them.

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I’ve never got past first base and I have no idea how it works. As the night approaches, I start to hope that something will ‘come up’. But then, the night is here and I have to ‘woman up’. As I put my outfit together I begin to feel empowered. I am a strong, independent woman who is thanking her lucky stars she’s been working out of late.

I’m bloody awful with these things at the best of times. Thank the Lord for said flatmate who clearly has a more interesting sex life than my own and lends me a corset, suspender belt, stockings, heels and a trench to cover it all up.

I had no idea how I’d feel when I entered the party, but apparently I behave just like I would at any other party and park myself and my new-found companion by the food back downstairs in the living room (also scattered with those for-one-night-only rugs).

The atmosphere is civilised, much like a networking event or house party. About an hour in, the numbers have swelled to around 50 and we gather for a talk from luxury S&M wear designer Darkest Star, who hands out lace blindfolds ‘for later’ and demonstrates some of her products.

I agreed to this in a yeah-I’m-so-cool-with-this kind of way. I meet and talk with women who I find so beautiful I can’t take my eyes off them. The door to the private five-storey house in Notting Hill is not easily found. But there’s hidden and there’s this-could-have-come-off-the-set-of-Harry-Potter hidden.

But there’s a big difference between fantasy and reality. Women who consider themselves more or less heterosexual – some even in relationships or marriages who come with their partner’s knowledge and consent – but who have a curiosity they want to explore. As I step inside, a fellow explorer swiftly skips through the doorway behind me.The thought never occurred to me, but it’d be the first thing I thought about in a room full of men.This may not be a perfect reference, because none of the women here consider themselves lesbians, or even bi-sexual.Which goes to show you really can’t judge a book by its cover.But, as I now stare up at the ceiling, the faux fur of the rug warming my back, I judge them by their tongues.The nymph remains statue-like, smile painted on her face.

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