During my single days in the early 90s, I could and often would spend an inordinate amount of time preparing myself for sex with prostitutes. Once I was fixated on having a sexual encounter, no amount of inconvenience could stop me. One evening after work, I scoured the free ads paper Loot and found an advert from a woman offering a massage in Maida Vale, North London. I didn’t know the area very well, and spent an age trying to find her flat. was in the days before mobile phones, and I recall marching into a pub and calling her from the payphone after getting lost for the umpteenth time. Eventually, after what seemed like the best part of an hour trawling the dark and unfamiliar streets, I found my way to the second floor balcony of a huge Victorian mansion block.
In the dimly lit doo