Defiance 7

The flight from Glasgow to Heathrow was easier than I remembered. Certainly more straightforward than I'd expected. Getting the connecting trains was a humiliating business. Hey, ho. Swings and roundabouts. At least I was out the house. It's not normal for a 32 year-old woman to be living with her parents for 18 months. Believe me, if your mammy is Irish it's a different level of Hell. It's funny. As a kid part of me wished she was more like my dad. The kind of parent who'd shower their kids with unconditional love regardless of the circumstances. Someone who wouldn't force you back on the horse every time you fell. If I'm honest, if it hadn't been for mammy's no nonsense, plain talking I swear I'd have been driven insane.

When I got to The Grand they'd put me in room 750. I looked at the receptionist and said. "Are you having a laugh pal? I've been planning this trip for months and you put me on the seventh floor?"

He said it would be fine. The lifts were working. "Oh aye. That solves everything." Part of me wanted to go back. Then I thought 'Fuck it! I've never shirked a challenge in my life. Dolores Delevingne sure isn't going to start.'

It had to be The Grand anyway. The Grand is where Alex took me for our special weekend. I thought it was romantic. His budget was limited but it was the thought that counted. I loved that weekend until he said. 'Come back to Glasgow with me or it's over.' Well, it was over. Quitting isn't in my nature but part of me was sorely tempted. That was before he came swinging at me with ultimatums.

Occasionally I'd be getting changed in grotty toilets, dripping in mud and wondering if I'd done the right thing. It's not until life delivers you a proper challenge -- one you can really sink your teeth into -- that you get to truly evaluate your life choices. No, I did right. I thought going back to The Grand there might be a flicker of 'what might have been' but there wasn't.

If transactional relationships were to be my future my only regret was not finding them sooner. It seemed all killer and no filler. You choose what you want off the internet. He turns up -- packing some serious meat -- screws you and leaves. What's not to love about that?

It sounds easy but it proved harder than I imagined. Usually guys would start off keen but before I even finished explaining the practicalities they'd go off the idea. They'd suddenly remember 'Oh my hamster's at the dentist and then I've got to take my goldfish for his golf lesson.' If Alex had only said his rabbit was diabetic I'd have moved back to Glasgow to be sure Flossy got her insulin.

I figured James must be a trooper. When I explained my situation he actually gave me a discount. A tad patronising I thought. He then came back and said he was extending our session since it might take me longer to climax. No it won't! If you do as I say I'll climax in next to no time. If you start freestyling like Alex there won't be enough hours in the day. I was so desperate for a bit of cock for once I wasn't going to risk my sarcasm getting in the way.

When he opened the door it was like he'd seen a ghost.

"It's you. Of course it is. It had to be. It's fate. It's brought us together."

"Dolores. And it's not fate. It's called email."

"My grandad loved his racing. When he had his stroke he'd say 'It's just like Niamh O'Riordan said. 'There's no point crying. Just drag yourself up and go with what' you got.' That's exactly what he did. You gave him strength in his final months. His courage inspires me like yours inspired him."

I said to him "Look pal. Nice story but are we fucking or what?"

I'm not sure Glenn's grandfather would approve of his name being adopted as a sex pseudonym. Glenn says one day he'll tell wee James how his great-grandfather spirit brought us together. Aye. Every boy dreams of hearing how their mammy hired a mid-priced sex worker to screw her in a crumbling hotel. Very romantic. I'm in love with an absolute idiot but he's a heart of gold and a massive schlong. Hey ho. Swings and roundabouts.