That time my one night stand cleaned my house

Five hot English men and one single woman have dinner together. Sounds like the start of a porno, huh? Not a completely incorrect assumption...

A friend of mine invited me to dinner with his mate who was visiting from the UK. We had plans to catch up and it was his mate's last night here so we combined the two. Who am I to knock back hanging out with two British men? Absolutely no one, that's who.

I arrived at dinner to discover not two men, but three. The visiting friend was gorgeous and the third man, my friend's co-worker, I'd had a crush on for months so it was a win-win-win situation for me.

Shortly after, my buddy mentioned a couple more of his friends were coming to farewell the traveller and that he hoped I didn't mind. Didn't mind?! It took everything within me to not squeal with excitement. I'd always had a big thing for Brits.

When the other two lads rocked up, I seriously thought I was being Punk'd. So many ridiculously attractive men in the same place surely wasn't allowed. And here I was, bathing in them. Thanks, Ashton.

To say dinner was fun is an understatement. Five lads who'd known each other forever, giving each other shit like they were back in high school. It was sweet and really fucking hot. I barely said a word. I was too busy enjoying my private show to have any of my own thoughts.

After dinner we relocated to a bar - not many options at 10pm on a Tuesday but we found somewhere nearby with great lighting, so I was happy. I started chatting to the two guys I knew, until the traveller joined us. In a classic bait and switch (am I using that right?), as soon as the traveller joined us, they moved away so we were alone. When did they even have the opportunity to organise that?! I didn't mind. He was a babe and had an air of kindness about him.

The guy was probably sweet and very interesting but I'd tuned out long ago as I was busy figuring out if I could make a six-way work. How many dicks is too many dicks? I swiftly tuned back in when I heard this softly spoken man ask me, "So, do you want to get out of here?" I was impressed by how direct he was, and very turned on.

My brain went through the checklist:

1. Is my underwear okay for visitors? 2. Is my house clean? 3. Are my 'pits shaved?

I could answer "yes" to all three so I coolly replied, "Maybe" and glided off to the bathroom to double-check the pit situ. We good.

I returned via my friend and gave him the low-down. I thought I was being a gentleman (Gentlewoman? Gentleperson??) by asking him if he was cool if I shagged his mate and he couldn't have been more thrilled. I don't know if it was just a line but I chose to believe it when he revealed his mate had been here for 4 weeks and not managed to be intimate with an Aussie woman because he's too polite. I could understand the politeness, but I also have eyes and ears and can't understand how this adonis with a cream-yourself accent wasn't getting laid constantly.

I was overcome with a sense of duty to my country.

The bar was within walking distance of my place so Mr Polite and I wandered the quiet streets arm-in-arm and it was genuinely lovely. We chatted about his trip here, mine there, what makes us laugh, what makes us tick, our childhoods and our dreams. I hadn't had that kind of intimacy in ages and it was what I was super horny for.

It felt so good that I was ready to pack up my life and move to England immediately. I got the impression he was craving the intimacy too. It was nice we could give each other that. The chat was easy and flowed and we had undeniable chemistry. He kissed like a Mills & Boon character. I genuinely started to get sad that he was going home the next day.

At one point he asked me if I was Irish as he had a thing for Irish women and had never slept with one before. Yes, I'm of Irish decent and yeah, I'm kind of good at accents so I made the decision to speak with an Irish twang for the rest of the night. He'd made my night so it was the least I could do and hey, I hadn't role played in a looong time.

We went to my bedroom immediately and without a word, I nodded that he lie down. I busted out my (apparently) very convincing Irish accent, which I maintained until we fell asleep after our truly intimate, slow, gentle and incredibly satisfying sex. This guy was a big post-coital talker, which I typically love, but my tongue was getting sore from doing weird Irish things. Still, the guy was in Heaven and I felt warm and happy. I'd served my country and the Motherland well.

The next morning my alarm went off and he didn't move. I got up, he didn't move. I had a shower, put a full face on and even had breakfast, and still he didn't move. He'd been staying in hostels so I was happy he could sleep in a bed that wasnt filled with the skin cells and sweat of thousands of people before him. As I was about to leave, I went into the bedroom to make sure he was still breathing and to wish him - in accent - a safe flight home, inform him where the towels and toast were, and to let him know he could stay as long as he wanted to.

It was the best one night stand ever. Nothing trashy or regretable about it. I walked to work with the biggest smile on my face and the slightest concern that I'd just left a stranger in my house.

A few hours later I got a very apologetic message from an unknown number saying he'd accidentally smashed the mirror on the back of my front door. That it had fallen down when he opened it to leave. He confessed he'd cleaned it up as best he could and was so sorry. I felt sooo bad for him. The mirror had been smashed for months (on a door is a dumb place for a mirror anyway) and often fell to the floor. He'd gone to the effort of cleaning up and written such a nice apology that I left those two facts out of my reply.

I got home to a vacuumed hallway, steam mopped bathroom floor, made bed, used towel in the laundry, emptied bin and handwashed stuff he'd used and what was there from the day before! Bless!

Naturally I re-vacuumed, put everything back where it was supposed to go, moved the stuff on the drying rack to the dishwasher and changed the sheets, but still, a lovely gesture. I was moved and trying to remember where my passport lived. To be continued...