He said he worked in banking, but had probably only just started, as he had the face of a cheeky teenage boy. besides, is equities really banking, or is more one of the prolifigate spank-shops based around the city of London's Square Mile? They are all filled with similar in-your-face city boys, shiny suits over a candy-striped TM Lewin shirt.
He talked back with endless questions and snorts of derision - he knew it all, my efforts at friendly banter was pure bullshit in his eyes. I made saucy comments back and became abrasive myself before turning the conversation to Essex nightlife. He was from somewhere beginning with B. Brentwood or Buckhurst Hill, it's all TOWIE land - a far fetched reality TV show of loud personalities and preening image obsessed Essex lifestylers.
Ironically enough, the first words out of his mouth were about how much he hated his infamous local territory - Sugar Hut and Faces were filled with annoying clubbers, even though they all share the same attitude and upbringing, they are 'too cool' to admit an association.
Just when I'd finally found some common ground to talk about, he changed direction by demanding a dance. I was so pleased that the ordeal was almost over - I could stop focusing on the minefield of words and instead play with my curves in their raunchy new lingerie set.
He passed me a couple of twenties as soon as we got to the booth, and I started slowly undressing, with lots of eye to eye contact and playful winks to keep the guys attention. He had been so easily distracted at the bar I was surprised when he settled down like a meek little choirboy, hypnotized by my tits. His hands were not so well behaved though, brushing up my thighs and making repeat efforts to caress my bum. He'd touch me, id brush his hands off teasingly, he'd try and touch me again, I'd move back, he'd beckon me closer - it was an endlessly repeating dance within a dance.
We stayed for the original two songs and then for one more. I must have been a very sexy little girl to keep him so interested that he became forgetful. His cocksure attitude failed him at the last hurdle - he handed me three twenty pound notes as he left the booth, obviously forgetting that he had already paid me £40.
I like it when that happens - but just in case he realised his mistake, I scurried off in the opposite direction afterwards....