'Tell me what you like', he said, his voice a low growl, his breath hot on my lips.

Hmm, now there's a question, I thought. The kind of question that's packing a pretty enticing offer, the certain promise of whatever it was I wanted. A girl, even a pony-riding girl, rarely comes up against such an enticing proposition.

I know, it sounds like I'm moving into top-shelf Mills and Boon territory here. But I'm not making this up, it really happened. I went to bed with a guy who had studiously dedicated himself to the pursuit of women and pleasure.

He was pretty sexy in a sweaty, grunty, Lenin-bearded, sunflower-tattooed, smooth-chested, gym bunny kind of way. Which made my attempt to formulate an answer something of a difficulty.

I mean, where did he want me to start? How much of my extensive, richly fertile imagination did he really want me to show him? I have a considerable propensity for compost. Could he handle it? You know, the parts of my answer that involved items normally reserved for a trip to the greengrocer, for example.

I considered my reply. In the end I pitched somewhere in the middle. Let's start with dirty talk. 'I want you to talk dirty to me', I said. He smiled, nodded, began to say something. 'No, wait.' I continued. 'This is what I want.

Tell me a story about you and me. Be as elaborate and as filthy as you like. Bring in other characters. At least one other man, ideally with a taut chest, strapping arms, and well endowed. I want you to describe it in detail. He is wearing a mask. And there's a woman. She is going to work on him, while he works on you. She is also wearing a mask. And is packing an impressive dildo. I will watch. At some point I'd like one of you to work on me with a small, white feather. But that's just to start, I'll leave the rest to you.

He gulped. Clearly he had not expected me to have such a precise idea of what I liked, and to be so demanding about it. To his credit, however, he was very obliging. Skilled. Expert even. Well, he'd barely got to the teasing with the feather business before I was screaming the kind of obscenity that generally only comes to mind at moments like this. That's when I know it's a good one. (Apologies to the folks tucking into an al fresco lunch next door, incidentally. Next time I'll close the window.)

And, yes, there's a point to all this. I'm sure you don't really want to know all about what makes me tick in the orgasm department - do you? Well, maybe not in so much detail. I mean, that would make you a voyeur. Like me.

What I want to impress upon you, as if you needed it, is the value of talking. I've watched as much porn as the next girl, and while it occasionally produces some unexpected thrills, it often lacks something in the imagination department. If only the plot lines were developed a little better. If only there were plot lines.

In my view, porn could learn a lot from literary types. Have you read Jeannette Winterson? She knows how to do good filthy, that woman. Properly juicy, highbrow filth. The kind that moves you, stays with you, does things for you.

And, actually, men like words too. A young, attractive guy contacted me online recently - his name's Derek, I don't think he'd mind you knowing who he is somehow - and we started chatting on IM.

After my initial disappointment that he was not interested in cosy nights in with a DVD, a walk in the country, or fine dining, so much as me getting out my bazookas on the web cam (quel surprise - I got over it), we did have a highly entertaining conversation. If you can call co-authoring 'One woman with long red hair, two well endowed guys and a steamy afternoon in the library' a conversation.

We switched from IM to moby just in time for me to hear him knocking out a considerable orgasm. It was a one-off (at least on my part), I don't think I'll hear from him again. But that's okay. Just like the story itself, the whole thing was about entertaining a fantasy, a beautifully written and particularly filthy one. It wouldn't be the same a second time.

You know, I'm single right now. So filthy adventures are entirely appropriate. It's consensual after all. But even when I find someone I want to spend night after night with, I don't ever want the filth to go away. I just want it to get filthier.