Alright, so it was more difficult than I thought... Much, much more difficult than I thought. Alright, I'm now crapping myself. str8guy is one clever bastard, I'll give him that. :-(

I went to Sheffield, because I knew they had a sex shop there. Checked the address in Yellow Pages and headed off, full of confidence. As I drove into Sheffield itself I began to get butterflies. I tried to deny they were there, but I couldn't. My hands were even starting to shake when I was driving into the multi-storey, though that might be something to do with the fact I scraped my wheel hubs on the way up.

It probably would have been okay if I hadn't bumped into someone I knew within five minutes of walking into the city centre - Gerry Malone, an old school friend I hadn't seen in months. I was banking on being anonymous in a big city I didn't know that well, and here I was immediately greeting long lost friends. I had visions of everyone I ever knew walking along the High Street as I sauntered out of the sex shop, with my purchases clearly visible in my see-through bag.

There's no way of seeing inside a sex shop, so you can't tell whether it's busy or empty, or whether your best friend is inside, or half a football team, waiting for a woman to roast. That makes it intimidating, I have to confess. My nerve completely failed me the first time I approached, and I walked on briskly, my head pounding with the sound of my nerves, my throat dry and tense, and my hands moist and shaking.

I walked to the end of the street, stared blankly into a shop window for a couple of minutes until I had composed myself and returned in the direction I had come. This time I was determined to do it, and I was almost trotting as I barged through the door.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw as I entered. I think I expected a big shop, with all the stuff on display, ready for you to help yourself. It wasn't like that. There were videos, DVDs and magazines on racks, and a few toys, but not much. My heart sank. I had anticipated being able to wander round the shelves with my shopping basket and pick up all the items I wanted. I could have done that quickly and quietly, and only the transaction at the end would have offered scope for embarrassment.

But as I looked around, I couldn't see most of the items I required. Fuck it, I was going to have to ask. I'm beginning to think str8guy doesn't leave anything to chance. He probably knew something like this would happen.

The guy behind the counter was youngish - mid thirties maybe, and a bit geekish looking. He smiled sweetly enough, clearly trying to put me at my ease, and said hello. I mumbled something in reply and returned my gaze to the shelves, willing the items on str8's list to magic themselves into view. They didn't.

"Can I help you at all?" the assistant said.

"Um, yeah. I've a few things I want." I felt my face start to burn as I inched towards the counter. He was staring at me intently, a vaguely amused expression on his face. I wondered how often he encountered this sort of situation.

"Okay, fire away," he replied amiably.

"Em, ah," I fumbled with the printout of str8's email. "A black dildo, large, and another, small," I began.

"Okay, I can do that." He was being very business-like, as though this were a normal transaction. Which, I suppose, it was for him. It was just me who was floundering in a sea of embarrassment. "Is it a long list?"

"Well, quite..."

"Can I have it, then?" No, no, no! "It'll be easier. All the stuff's in store in the back, so it'll save me going back and forwards." He held out his hand, still smiling, and it seemed such a reasonable request I couldn't find any reason to refuse.

But I cringed as I remembered what else it said on the email. It had my instructions for the evening, even a mention of my period. And all done in str8's humiliatingly patronising tones. Not making eye contact, I handed the paper over and prayed for hell to swallow me alive. He disappeared into the back and I was left alone in the shop, wallowing in shame, knowing the young man was reading about my intimate relationship with str8guy.

He was gone for about five minutes, maybe longer, in which time a couple of guys entered. They both exited when they saw me, and I felt sorry to have spoiled their day: I knew how much courage it took me to enter this place. Finally the guy returned, laden with items.

"Guessed the sizes of the outfits. You can try them on if you want, or just have a look, probably."

"Just a look, yeah." I picked up the nurse's outfit, which looked pretty small - but then again, I expect it was intended to be. "Yeah, it'll be fine," I stammered and fumbled for my purse. I'd brought cash to ensure I remained anonymous - I didn't want any credit card transactions here to identify me.

As I began to count it out, I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest and horror burned through my brain. I was subsumed by a cacophony of noise and heat and terror as realisation flooded through me.

In my email, str8guy had very clearly named me, little Molly Hadley. More than that, he had mentioned chatroom.com. More than that he'd told me to be in Freezone, with my cam on public view. And he'd given the time I was going to be flashing my tits on screen. The assistant behind the counter, the one with a smile wider than the Mersey Tunnel, had all the details he required for a glorious evening's entertainment at my expense.

Fucking str8guy. Engineered the whole thing.

I paid up, feeling completely exposed, as though I were already naked.

"Expect you'll be seeing me later?" I said wearily.

"Too right. Eight o'clock. Can't wait..." He waved my email from str8guy. "Want this back?"

"May as well keep it, mate. Hope you enjoy the show."

I left, heaving my see-through bag, laden with sex toys, and tripped through the streets of Sheffield. Such was my state, I barely registered the looks of the bemused passers-by.

And now it's five to eight. And I'm about to go online, with an audience of thousands, but two in particular. One familiar, and one new, a geeky young man from Sheffield who can scarcely believe his luck...

Fuck it, Molly. Every time you think you're in control you blow it. Do you never learn?

Where's those nipple clamps?