"Just popping out."

"Where to?" Tess turned to me in surprise, her long nose twitching, sensing something amiss.

"Just got some stuff to do. For McCabe."

"Like what?"

"Just stuff."

"That what you were called into his office for?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me, then."

"Can't. Not now. Gotta go." Sometimes Tess can be too persistent for her own good. It's her biggest failing: I love her to bits, but she is so nosey in the end it makes you want to bite your arm off rather than give her the information she craves. I just wanted to get on with this, get it over with as quickly as possible while Appetites was still quiet. The problem was, it was the closest cafe to our office, so quite a lot of us used it through the day. I didn't want anyone I recognised to be in there when I did my duty for str8guy. I bustled about my desk, looking busy and trying to ignore Tess, but she wasn't to be deterred.

"I'm getting really worried about you, Molly. You're hiding something. You never hide things from me. What's up girl? What are you playing at?"

I threw her an exasperated smile, but before I got a chance to reply Rod Eaves swung past. I was sure I detected a jaunty swagger to his gait which wasn't normal. Please God, he wasn't trying to impress me?

"Morning folks," he said breezily. He then proceeded to tell us a joke. "A gorgeous blonde is walking down the street with her blouse open, exposing one of her breasts." I started to blush at this point - this sounded too close to home - but Rod continued, seemingly oblivious. "A burly policeman approaches and says to her: 'Ma'am, do you realise you could be arrested for indecent exposure?'

"'Why, officer?' she replies.

"'Because your blouse is open and your breast is exposed.' "'Oh fuck,' exclaims the blonde, 'I've left my baby on the bus!'"

Honestly, he was trying to play Joe Cool and it was totally out of character. It was like watching your uncle acting groovy with your friends when your were at school. I shuddered. God help me, was I ever going to get this bloody task done?

"Excellent, Rod," I said. "So you inherited Bob Monkhouse's gag books when he died then?"

"I love that joke of Bob Monkhouse's," he replied seriously. My heart sank as he continued. "'They laughed when I said I was going to be a comedian when I grew up. Well, they're not laughing now.'" It actually is a funny line, but not the way Rod delivered it - like an adenoidal Dalek with a speech impediment - and especially not at a moment when I was aching to flash my fanny at a perfect stranger in the cafe over the road.

And that's a sentence I could never have anticipated writing.

By now I had my coat on, which I would have thought was sufficient indication of my intent to leave, but bugger me, no, in plodded Terry, his huge feet preceding him by some distance.

"Morning," he said. "Went to the cinema last night."

"Super." I hoisted my bag over my shoulder, looking as uninterested as I could. It was possible, indeed probable, that one of these two monumental bores was str8guy, deliberately provoking me. I studied them closely, trying to discern any hint of hidden amusement or gratification. Frankly, they both looked vaguely simple, and I was struck by the depressing notion that if it was one of these two, I had allowed myself to be drawn into this remarkable affair by seemingly one of the most boring men on the planet. Looks may be deceptive, but in this case they would appear to be utterly truth-defying.

"Yes," he droned. "The Jim Carrey/ Kate Winslet one. Can't remember the name"

"You can't remember the title? Of a film you saw last night?"

"It's long."

"Long."

"And dull."

"Sounds like something else I know."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Look I'm off. Sorry to leave the sparkling repartee here, but I'll see you later. You can tell me all about your film."

"Okay, I will."

Total irony bypass, that man.

My PMS induced - and Rod'n'Terry enhanced - ill-humour was clouding my mind, but as I stepped on to the pavement it was instantly replaced by trepidation. It's an extraordinary feeling. I felt it very strongly in the Headmaster's office yesterday. Fear almost becomes a physical entity within you. It takes over your stomach, leaving it churning and with the impression that its contents are about to rise up and out of your throat. And your head feels compressed, with an unpleasant roaring sound whirling around it. Your faculties seem reduced, until you are no more than a mound of fear with eyes which, alone, seem to be functioning at full power.

I looked around as I walked, barely able to feel my feet touch the ground, and willed myself forward. As I reached Appetites I slowed, trying to peer through the window before committing myself to the door handle, in case there was someone I knew inside.

And fuck, there was. George Innes was there, talking on his mobile phone and sipping a coffee. Making his morning bet, I presumed. I knew he wasn't str8guy - I had cleared him a few days ago - but I wasn't about to allow him to be the recipient of my first public flash.

I walked round the block slowly, silently encouraging myself, persuading myself I would be able to do it. Finally, I reached Appetites again. Please, please, please let him be gone, I chanted inwardly. I looked in and he was still there. Bastard! Get to fucking work, you skiver! But I had built myself to such a pitch of readiness I couldn't hold back and before I knew what had happened I was inside. Let the nightmare commence.

"Morning. What can I get you?"

I had difficulty, firstly hearing and secondly understanding what the waiter said. I looked blankly for a moment. "Coffee."

"What sort?"

Don't make it difficult for me, please. "Latte."

I studied the tables, trying to find the most suitable spot. Apart from George, there was no-one else in, so I had the pick of the place. I selected a table at the far corner which looked like it could offer a reasonable view to most of the other seats. Grabbing my latte and fixing an accusatory stare in George's direction I retired to my seat and set up my laptop.

I quickly logged in to chatmate and fired up the pen cam.

[molly] r u there?

[molly] ...

[molly] ...

[str8guy] Hello, sorry I was on the phone.

[str8guy] Where are you?

[molly] appetites, of course.

[str8guy] Show me

I quickly swung the cam in the direction of the counter. The waiter, with his back to me, had no idea his image had just whizzed through the ether. I carefully showed the rest of the cafe and swung the cam back to my face.

[str8guy] Not very busy. Is that George Innes?

[molly] yep

[str8guy] Bastard's supposed to be in Derby meeting some clients.

[str8guy] Are you going to flash him?

[molly] not on ur fucking life.

[str8guy] LOL. It's okay. I won't insist on that.

[molly] ty

We chatted for about five minutes, by which time George had departed, trying to ignore me as if, by refusing to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't acknowledge his. The ostrich approach, I suppose.

[str8guy] Show me polly

That was easier said than done, as it turned out, but eventually I found a spot on the chair beside me which was at the correct height and had sufficient light.

[str8guy] Lovely. Spread your legs.

[str8guy] Oh yes, that's it. Very nice.

[str8guy] Is that exciting, Molly. Sitting in the cafe doing that?

[str8guy] Is the waiter watching?

[molly] no, he's too busy washing up

[str8guy] In that case, stroke polly, Molly

[str8guy] Make it moist

[str8guy] For me

[str8guy] Stroke Molly's polly, make it moist, make it wet

[str8guy] Wet for me, wet for me, Molly

[str8guy] Molly's polly, on display

[str8guy] Molly's polly, in Appetites, for anyone who wants to see it.

[str8guy] Molly's polly, getting wetter by the second

[str8guy] There for everyone to see

[str8guy] My Molly's little polly, showing for me

[str8guy] Beautiful Molly

[str8guy] Clever girl, brave girl

[str8guy] Beautiful girl

[str8guy] Beautiful polly

[str8guy] Gorgeous cunt

I stroked myself slowly, feeling hideously self-conscious despite the emptiness of the cafe. I was beginning to think my challenge would fail, due to lack of customers, and my initial excitement was waning, but a couple of minutes after George left the door swung open and a man entered.

Fear instantly took hold again. I pulled my hand away and snapped my legs shut, feeling the redness burn across my face. For a second I thought I was going to be sick. The moment had arrived. Would I go through with it?