Catherine Townsend: Sleeping Around

I knew when I got the call from Evan, an ex-fling, that spending the bank holiday weekend with his friends at the beach would be trouble. He's a total player. But I haven't had a holiday fling this year, and I didn't want to spend the final sunny afternoons of the year watching horror movies and feeling sorry for myself because the amazing guy I've met lives in LA. So I agreed. Besides, there were going to be six boys and only two girls, and I liked those odds.

They picked me up on Friday afternoon and we headed for Brighton. Needless to say, the first night ended with several of us stripping off and heading into the pool for a bit of innocent fun. I'd forgotten how amazing Evan's swimmer's body is and by the end of the evening we shared a kiss. We continued making out back at the house, but, by that time, there was literally not one inch of floor space not occupied by drunken revellers.

The crowded conditions in the house made having a private moment in the loo seriously difficult. So Evan suggested that we get creative. "Let's play in the ocean," he whispered in my ear. I knew he wasn't talking about water polo, since his obsessions are water and al fresco sex.

I was sceptical. Much as I love the idea of having sex underwater, the reality is a bit of a letdown. I know from experience that having waves crashing over me From Here to Eternity-style will have me fishing sand out of my nether regions for days. Besides, birth control is a bitch underwater, due to the lack of lubrication and the fact that condoms don't work as well. As I told Evan, I fiddle with putting them on under normal circumstances, never mind with zero visibility!

Then again, I have always loved the feel of warm water against my skin, and the zero-gravity effect is amazing. As a 5ft-10 Amazon, it's probably the only way that I will get to experience the feeling of being lifted up and supported by a guy during sex, unless he's a bodybuilder. And I didn't want to let Evan down, so we bravely took to the water, clinging to each other with me shivering. I playfully wrapped my legs around him, but despite his best intentions the dreaded "shrinkage factor" had taken effect. As I ran for my towel I joked that it definitely would have been safe sex, as I needed a wetsuit to brave the freezing waves.

Later, Evan suggested getting frisky in the Jacuzzi. I've never been a huge fan of hot tubs. Where others see bubbling cauldrons of lust, I visualise a Petri dish of germs. Although I found the cramped conditions a bit of a turn-on – it was like being a teenager again, trying to find space at a house party to get it on – I was getting seriously frustrated. I suggested the closet, but he seemed to think that underwater sex was every girl's fantasy, and I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.

There was only one solution: the shower. It was cramped, and we had three people knocking on the door outside. On the plus side, we did discover several new uses for the massaging showerhead.

c.townsend@independent.co.uk