Catherine Townsend: Sleeping Around

My friends keep telling me that I need to stay away from men who try to rescue me. But fate sometimes has other plans. Last weekend, Victoria stayed over at my flat, and on the morning after our huge night out, we started arguing over who would have to go to the corner shop for Nurofen Plus and bread.

Since I live on the fifth floor – and there's no lift – fetching provisions is no easy feat. Eventually she volunteered, and I climbed into the shower. Five minutes later I heard a banging on the door that leads on to the street, and descended the stairs wearing only a towel. Opening the door, I was shocked to find a fireman wearing a gas mask, and an ominous cloud of black smoke filling the hallway.

He followed me upstairs while I pulled on an old pair of tracksuit bottoms and a flannel pyjama top with cow motif – not sexy, but a baby-doll *égligée didn't seem appropriate, as it was sleeting outside!

I couldn't help noticing that the fireman was very cute – he had short, blond hair and mischievous blue eyes that gave away the fact that he could be enjoying the moment a bit more than he should.

I've always had a thing for firemen, probably because I harbour a damsel-in-distress fantasy. I stopped mentally undressing him when he stepped on to my terrace.

"We have to get out," he said. "OK, let's go down the stairs," I said, grabbing my laptop, handbag and silver Christian Louboutin shoes. "There's too much smoke," he said. "We have to go over the balcony. Don't worry, I'll be right underneath you." I'm terrified of heights. But not wanting to look like a scared little girl, I took a deep breath and climbed out on to the ladder.

Fear is an aphrodisiac. In experiments, groups of men have walked over two bridges – one stable and one shaky. The men on the shaky bridge were twice as likely to hit on the female researcher afterwards.

At the bottom, my hands were shaking and I lost the fireman in the crowd that had gathered. We'd made a connection, but how would I find him again?

The next night, Victoria suggested arson. "Just start a fire in the dustbins – and then run," she advised. I told her that I would feel just a bit guilty about wasting public resources and potentially diverting firemen from an emergency. So instead I found out where our local fire station is, and began loitering outside. After two trips, I found him.

Sliding my hands up his chest on our first date, I realised I could probably bounce coins off his stomach. He'd had my life in his hands, which turned me on so much we almost went all the way in his car.

I'd already decided this was going to be a brief fling, because The Fireman is sweet, but the only thing that we have in common is the fact that he loves to lift weights, and I love to be carried to bed.

Upstairs, I told him to pretend that he was investigating me for arson, and handcuff me to the bed. It was thrilling. Sometimes it's fun to get back in touch with my submissive side.