He is the first man she has not been tempted to fuck long before the third date. She fancies him, yes, and – unlike lots of other guys she’s been with in the past – she’s not concerned that he’ll turn out to be bad in bed.

No – the problem is her.

She’s not seen him perform – perhaps that too is part of the problem – but all she can imagine is him swinging from things, hanging upside down, and well, if he can do those things, doesn’t it figure that he’ll also want to do them in bed?

She, meanwhile, is definitely not cut out for swinging from anything, be it circus equipment or chandeliers. She’s not built for it physically – she’s all tits and other curves – and even if she was, she’s lacking the confidence, too.

Opposites attract, she tries to tell herself – so what if the most energetic thing she’s ever attempted is the first week of Couch to 5K. So what if she’s scared of heights? It’ll be fine.

And yet, when they do go out for date three, she’s worked herself up so much she can barely eat.

‘You ok? ‘ he asks, as she pushes risotto around the bowl.

She could just tell him. She could be brave. But telling him feels like swinging from a metaphorical chandelier anyway.

‘I’m good,’ she says. ‘Just not very hungry.’ And then she drinks three more glasses of wine.

Back at his, the drink has numbed her nerves somewhat. She can do this.

She takes off her clothes, lies on his bed.

And he fucks her.

It’s the most vanilla sex she’s ever had.