In one of Sex and the City's episodes, Carrie says something along the lines of 'A girl will always remember the first time she has sex; the first time she has good sex...' - and I don't remember the rest.

But I think last night was it, with Will Turner. Good sex, I mean. Or at least, the best I've had so far. Sure, it took a while to actually get to - he went on and on about postmodernism to the extent that I came very close to whacking him about the head with an art house cinema DVD, but I finally grabbed the bull by the horns and we ended up getting very heated on the couch.

Things started off slow and slightly awkwardly, and I remember thinking, 'Oh brilliant, he's so shy that he's probably going to stop after he's undone my top button,' but suddenly my bra was on the floor and we were heading upstairs.

After shooing the cat off the bed, he quickly finished making the bed while I casually examined his CD collection, then stroked my arm and murmured, 'Now didn't I leave you more undressed than you are now?' And woah.

I quickly discovered that we have very similar preferences in terms of where we like to be touched - ears and neck. Only Boy #2 has ever gone for the ear thing, but he was never so responsive as Will Turner. Even stroking his ears and running my fingers along his neck - never mind touching below the waistline - was enough to seriously distract him from any discussion of surrealist sculpture. 'So it's the ears and neck that do it for you, then?' I whispered. 'Would you not agree?' he asked. 'Yes,' I replied, 'Oh, yes.'

The way he touched me was marvellous too - happy to go down on me for ages and ages, although disconcertingly, very into his 69s. And he'd do those little kisses along the length of my arms, on the base of my wrists where my pulse beat, on the skin of my thighs, all those touches that I realised I've taught myself not to expect from boys anymore.

There was that moment where I asked him if he had protection and he looked at me apologetically, and said, 'Ah... I don't think so. It's just that I haven't had a girlfriend in a long time.' Which implies that he either sleeps around without protection (sound familiar, Boy #3?) or is fairly discerning about who he gets with. Hard to guess these things, I suppose. Anyhow, I had slipped one in my purse just in case, so we were alright.

Possibly the most surprising moment was when I was waiting for him to just jump in there like most boys have done in the past, usually with minimal concern for my own comfort or pleasure, but he continued to touch me. When I pressed him to go, he told me gently, 'No, no, you can't rush these things.' Oh my God - a man who finally 'takes his time and does everything right', as Salt 'n' Pepa would say. Hallelujah.

When he did, it was pretty good. The only thing stopping me enjoying myself was myself, really, but nothing I can help at the moment. Size wise, near perfect - not too massive, not microscopically small. Even when I started crying, as I often do, he proved himself to be the only boy who has ever asked me - with genuine concern, too - 'I'm not hurting you, am I?'

Amazing night. Amazing. I can't stop feeling like I want to tell every single person (parents and relatives excluded, of course) just how fucking fantastic we are in bed together. Perhaps it will wear off - I hope not - but for now, I'm beaming.


N.B. After quite a lot of searching, I finally found the specific SATC quote: 'In a single gal's life, there are three important firsts. The first time you have sex; the first time you have good sex; and the first time you see a guy-you-just-started-dating's apartment.' (Carrie, The Perfect Present) I personally don't know about the third 'first time' being that important at all, but then again, apart from Boy #2's apartment - or rather, his parents' apartment, but it was still so unbelievably amazing that when we broke up, I was more upset about not being able to go back than the death of the relationship - it has mainly been a rented student room.