Bambi's best friend

I rang my Mom from Sydney airport - with one flight behind me and two flights yet to go - to just let her know that I'd be out of contact for the next 30 hours.

"Oh don't worry about me" she said "The man next door can always wheel me over to the shops if I need anything".

Did she say 'wheel me'? Really?

Seems that, what with all the snow and ice on the ground, my Mother had fallen over. Inside the house. Well, it was more of a sideways roll as she fell from a kneeling position whilst lacing her snow boots up. Anyway, it was enough to give her some serious deep tissue damage and put her in a wheelchair.

So I land back in Paris, kiss my husband, have a few drinks with friends and then hop on a small (and imperfectly formed) CityJet plane bound for chez ma mère - with a bag full of nursing supplies and a uniform to go with.

It was supposed to be a three day trip.

I ended up postponing my flight twice.

By the time I had delayed my return the second time I was actually getting cabin fever. I don't mind being woken up at 4 am because she's fallen on her way to the bathroom and can't get up again. I don't mind making three meals a day and endless cups of tea. But I just couldn't stand another evening of Bargain Hunt and Cash in the Attic on tv.

I needed me some fun.

So, I did what all thoroughly modern boys do these and cracked open the iphone. Now many of you will be familiar with the concept of Grindr or Scruff. For those who aren't, they're iphone apps that use GPS to it's best advantage - in order to tell you who is looking for a casual hook up and how many kilometres they are from you.

I know, it sounds seedy and often is, but it's a major breakthrough for the travelling gays. It got me some of the best sex I'd ever had last summer in Barcelona when, with husband sleeping off the previous nights excess, I managed to hook up with a very handsome man from the island of Madeira who happened to have the room directly above ours.

Anyway, I reached for Scruff - where the men are manlier - and took a flick through what was on offer.

Having made my selection, I told my Mom that I was heading out to "see a friend" and, snatching her car keys off the hook, made a run for the door.

The man in question was only 500 metres away, as promised. Literally, two streets away. And he was ready and waiting. He was as advertised - handsome, hairy of chest, strong of arm and not overly chatty. What he had omitted to say was that he was a thumper.

As I moved in for the kill, I grazed his nipple with my hand. Thump thump thump.

"What the fuck was that?"

"My leg".

Hmm.

I kissed him on the neck and there it went again. Thump thump thump.

Seems that whenever I touched a sensitive part of his body, he had an uncontrollable reaction - to thump the floor (if standing) or to shake his leg (if lying down). It was like fucking Thumper.

What can I say, Dear Reader? It was disconcerting. It was a reaction that I've never seen before in my life - and hope to never encounter again.

As he shuddered to his foot stomping, leg pumping, knee knocking climax I was relieved it was over.

I'm going back to Mom's again this week.

I'll be avoiding his part of the magic forest.