My strongest memory of Brisbane was sitting through a security briefing for upcoming work, normally a dull phone call necessitated by a government bureaucrat ticking a box on a form. I remember an immaculate white melamine wall to wall desk in a refurbished hotel room. I remember taking notes beside a grey phone and sitting at an angle to the desk trying to keep her in my periphery. I don’t remember the content of the briefing at all but I do remember clearly the difficulty I had concentrating. Some men are leg men, some prefer a sculpted behind. I am a stomach man. I find a toned stomach on a woman says a lot about the woman. As Tracey sauntered around the room sipping a Cointreau and ice her short silk robe highlighted a taught belly that made concentrating on the phone call all but impossible.

My brain wasn’t capable of processing much more than the notion that I was about to have sex with the woman behind me. I had neither kissed nor held this woman before and contact was limited to a few emails and a random dinner a few weeks earlier. I didn’t know much about her other than her brazen suggestion to have sex in Brisbane on my way through to my next job. I can’t remember the details of those emails and yet there I was, wondering how this would even work. I’m not a one night stand sort of person and certainly had not indulged in anything like this before.