Under topaz London skies I dive into my oasis of blue, surrounded by hunky men in trunks and the odd sun ray. The water calms me and the close-up of strangers' cellulite reassures me in an odd way.

Bathed in sunlight I bake on the terraces, watching said hunky men (and the odd dog) and wishing for a strong boy's body, bronzed and around 19 years old, so I could cruise them properly. Or a tall and slightly paunchy one, with wide shoulders and that man's pattern of hair, like my Tall Boy's.

Tall Boy has reported back from the locker rooms, and I am curious if such things are possible to go on between men and women, anywhere in London.

He mentioned his curiosity at checking out a well-known "sauna" together, which is essentially a swingers' club. I think I would be too jealous. After all, who wants to see their ideal guy (if it wasn't for that thing between his ears) cosying up to some size 10 beauty? Who wants old ladies lusting after his perfect dick? Who wants to watch him, watching me getting fucked by someone whose face I don't care to see again?

Frustrated from recent disappointment (are there no decent men? None?) I am back with what I had before: an assortment of men, each perfect and flawed in their own way, and none of them willing to commit.