Catherine Townsend: Sleeping Around

I've always found aural sex a huge turn on, from the initial make-out moans to the screaming-while-hitting-the-headboard finale. But the next time I urge a lover to "talk dirty to me", I'm going to be careful what I wish for. Despite being witty and articulate by day, my new man Jonathan was stone-cold silent in bed. He was so quiet that I could actually hear the traffic outside, and in the run-up to orgasm he reminded me of a lion stalking an antelope on the African plains. His idea of talking dirty was telling me he has a penis.

So, in an attempt to spice things up, I started telling him in explicit detail exactly what I wanted to do to him. I even downloaded an adult podcast to his iPod - the noughties version of a cheesy 1980s phone-sex line - for some inspiration. Our next date, over candlelight and a bottle of bordeaux at a French restaurant, was more sexually charged than ever. I got so turned on listening to him tell me during dinner what he had for planned later that he got me to slip my knickers off and hand them to him under the table.

My master plan worked brilliantly - in fact, maybe a bit too well. Jonathan went from eerie silence to never shutting up overnight. His monotone play-by-play accounts of our sexual encounters became so detailed I suddenly felt like I was listening to a football-match commentary. "I'm caressing your right breast, now I'm touching your right nipple, now the left one, now your thigh - I'm going to score in a minute, baby!"

I admit that I've had my share of bedroom bloopers: I once called my ex-boyfriend to tell him I wasn't wearing any underwear before he could tell me he was using a hands-free in the car - with his brother. Still, I've never understood those who have a language barrier when it comes to talking dirty. The concept of "I want to [insert naughty verb] your [insert erogenous zone]" seems pretty straightforward, but apparently, some people find the idea as intimidating as speaking in front of thousands.

Not my friend Victoria. She admits to getting carried away in the heat of the moment. "My ex-boyfriend and I used to come up with all of these fantasy scenarios, and I would often talk about what would happen if we had another girl in bed. But when I started talking about watching him being pleasured by another guy, he jumped up and showered. I guess I went too far."

I had a similar problem with the newly chatty Jonathan. I'm a huge fan of filthy banter, but his stream-of-consciousness rants were turning into a serious passion killer -- especially when he started talking about a scenario involving me and my sister.

He was clearly making such an effort, though, that I didn't want to hurt his feelings. But the final straw came when mild-mannered Jonathan shouted mid-coitus: "Who's your daddy, bitch?" That night, the only involuntary muscle spasms I had were from laughter.

"Let's play a game," I said the next time we hooked up, "I'm going to tie you up and have my way with you... and if you make a sound, I'll stop what I'm doing."

We had an amazing night, but my technique will probably only work for so long. Maybe then I'll manage to convince him that blindfolds are out, and mouth gags are the new must-have erotic accessory for autumn...