He's lighting up my life and I don't even know his name. He's already perfect.

I'll email you,” he says as if he's asking me into the cellar to taste his vintage champagne.

Guys like you would try to shag the button hole in a fur coat.

Lifting the bedcovers I see out of my one operational eye that my trousers are still wrapped around one leg and I now have a tie on. Now that was a neat trick – how’d I manage to get my shirt off without talking off the tie first?

Mandy (lentil eating, lesbian, long socks) in PR

I quite enjoy the banter actually. I mean, you don't meet many females who can come back at you as fast as you can throw it out at them. I prefer a more graphic dialogue as a forerunner to sex though: if they have the guts to spell it out for me in glorious Technicolor that always gets my interest.

Levelling my stare at him I drop a hint like a penny into a well, “You mentioned you were tied up. Win, you should have reserved that privilege for me.

Not that I did, bang her that is. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, how could I ever be sure about something like that?

We must have been very very bad in our last lives, cos karma's busy making macramé with us.

They're so retarded they think stereotype means typing with both hands.