I have never been the type of girl to let the break-up of a relationship get me down. In fact, within a week, I've shrugged it off like you do a coat that has become wet after a long walk in the British countryside.  Cast it aside on a chair and feel glad you have got rid of its weight.

I hold my worn-out self-love hand up and mentally say: "Next", like someone hailing a yellow cab in New York City. There is no point hanging around is there? When fun turns into a millstone around your neck it is time to get out.

When Jamie decided that he preferred his ex to me after six months of soul-searching and wasting my damn time in the process, I couldn't wait to see the back of him, to be honest. I hate dramatics, and a drama-fuelled man is far from appealing. It's like signing up to take on someone with emotional hypochondria.

Jamie and his ex. I swear to God I could write a Netflix drama about those two. They were like the famous saying, 'Those two would spoil another couple.' Drama after fucking drama which reminded me of the film Titanic where nobody wants to let go of each other in fear that they would drown. Understandable.

However, Jamie and Eleanor weren't on a literal sinking ship, just an emotional one and I grew tired of it. Plus, they had children together. DO NOT under any circumstances, if you don't have children, date someone who has them. Your life becomes quite pitiful.

When I first met Jamie, he didn't appear to be an emotional war zone; he hid it very well. He was funny and very cute-looking. He portrayed himself as this fun-loving guy who was into having sex wherever I chose, even if I knew I was being outlandish.

He came along for the ride and wasn't bad in bed either. In fact, Jamie was brilliant in a lot of ways until he received text messages from his ex. Then his happy-go-lucky persona disappeared as quickly as his cum used to slip down my throat.

Anyway, like I said, it's his loss. Now, I am ready to move on, and I'm all up and ready to get on with it. My bed has been empty for two weeks and that is far too long, so I am prepared tonight to find a replacement for Jamie.

I'm sat in bed, laptop on my knee, a Friends series on Netflix on in the background, sipping my glass of wine. I have my cheese and crackers on the bedside table in case I am feeling peckish as I hunt for cock, and my bedroom is twinkling with a dozen tea lights. Heaven!

I log into the popular internet dating website and enter the relevant parameters to find my next mate. (Six feet tall at least, within a five-mile radius, aged between twenty-eight and thirty-five). Some of the candidates look weird, others are beautiful, but their photographs have obviously been taken to capture their best side. Then again, I have hardly uploaded a picture of myself devoid of makeup, so I should stop being such a hypocrite.

Everyone wants to look their best when they need sex don't they? I like to add an ass shot as I lie casually on my sofa. I will add a couple of pics that hold a bit of mystery and then I will share one of me on a night out with the girls because that makes me look more fun-loving than I actually am. Oh and then a few holiday snaps that dish out that well-travelled vibe. Men love that.  Hunting for dick is strategic. I also know when a guy is doing the same when he is stalking down pussy.

It never fails to amaze me how much bullshit people put on their profiles, either. I scan through a few; some are so lengthy they make me feel like my eyeballs are ready to bleed. Guys, quick question, have you never considered holding back a little? Reading how you have just recently divorced and are heartbroken, but 'getting over it 'is not a sure-fire way of nailing pussy. Well, not mine, anyway.

In fact, I will put guys on dating sites into a few succinct categories:

1) The fun guy. The one who shares many photos of him out with his mates/at family barbecues (faces of others blurred of course) or he is golfing. Oh, and he has loads of female friends who clearly love him. In his own head. Now, he has either fucked them and left them heartbroken or he dreams of fucking them or they all know he has a cock the size of a mushroom. Or (which I think is the more realistic reason) he's just getting over his ex-wife so they invite him on girls' nights out, so he isn't crying like a cunt on his own in his designer apartment.

2) The Adrenaline Junkie/Mr Active. I am always suspicious about men who skydive. It makes me wonder if they can't just find excitement in the simple things in life. It's like they lack imagination. Okay if they are flinging themselves out of a plane for charity, I can kind of let it go. A bit. Then again, I hate people who announce they are doing stuff for charity.

Rock climbers. Why? Fucking relax mate.

Skiers. You can't see their faces because they are wearing goggles and a hat. They may as well wear a balaclava and be done with it.

Gym. Just don't do ANY gym shots. Seriously, don't do that in any capacity.

3) Mr Pots of Money. Yeah well, I watched Tinder Swindler, so you are being given a wide berth.

All the above are too FYI for my liking.

At the other end of the scale are the guys who put rubbish like, "I hate writing about myself. Message me to find out more." Yes, will do, Jack the fucking Ripper. I hope as my reader you are picking up on my sarcasm mixed with disdain for these guys. Also, these men usually have a photo of them with a cute dog and I think it's unfair on the dog. That dog should not be exposed to their own pussy hunting ends. (Take note, my male friends.)

I am obviously showing as being online, so the steady flow of messages to my inbox begins. One message grabs my attention. I click and look at the guy's profile before wasting my time bothering to reply to him; damage limitation is the key when you are in my position. He seems decent. It is a side profile picture, which would be a no-no for me, but the wording of his profile is quite decent. Not too much information, but not too scant to fear for my life if I message him. Plus, and this is a big plus, he has sent me a flattering message that isn't too over the top.

'Hi, Hailey. I've looked at your pics and profile; you seem nice. I love the short hair it's so funky. Message me back if you would like to chat.'

So, I do because flattery gets you everywhere with me; sad but true. Plus, I like references to my short hair because I think most guys like long flowing locks, and I can't be bothered with all that. I approach my hairstyle like I approach my relationships. I keep both short and sweet.

'Hi Ali, Thanks for your message. I'm glad you love my hair. You are easily pleased.'

I engage Ali in instant chat because that's how I gauge people. I like to see how quickly men answer my questions. If it takes five minutes per question, I will blow them off and block them.

Ali did okay so I warmed to our theme.

As you can see, not only am I fussy about who I fuck, I like a guy to possess enough intelligence to answer me right away. If they're witty, that's a considerable tick against their name. I nibble on a cracker and pour another glass of wine while waiting for Ali to answer a particularly probing question which I can't remember now. It was a soul-searching one...

'I have Skype. What's your addy? A. xx’

That did make me itch a bit.  I am always suspicious of someone who signs off just with the first letter of their name and adds xx. But fuck, beggars can't be choosers, and I lie down on my bed and eat more crackers because I have a feeling this is going to be a futile sport, but I have fuck all else to do.

Two hours later, I'm still chatting with Ali, and surprisingly, for me and my past track record, he seems to possess a higher intelligence level than most guys I have picked up online. Some people have a gaydar or a fuckdar. I have a fuckwitdar.

Ali is witty and funny and has a nice air about him. He hasn't engaged me in a perverted chat.  I relax to his theme, which involves in more flattery. The only thing I am worried about is this: if he is as excellent as he comes across, he might want more than no-strings-attached sex.

Who gives a fuck what his intentions are? I know mine. We agreed that he was going to pick me up at 10 p.m.

I hop out of bed, grab a shower and start getting ready. I have Ali sussed already and refrain from letting my excitement overtake me. I force myself not to play with my pussy in the shower, which is no mean feat seeing as I am horny, revved up, and ready to go. I want to save myself for this evening and the potential events.

I decide to wear my knee-length black leather boots, black G-string, a short black skirt, and a black polo neck. I'm hoping to capture the vamp look, plus the outfit compliments my bleached blonde hair. The only flash of colour I use is a slash of coral-coloured lipstick to enhance my full lips.

I have been told my lips are my best facial feature. Only men say that; you can imagine what's running through their minds when they do! It makes me slightly horny, I must admit, to have a guy compliment me on my lips when I know all they are really thinking about is having them plugged tight around their cocks.

Ali is late, but this is because he has managed to get himself lost. However, the fact that he has rung me to tell me about it has redeemed him in my eyes. I hate tardiness, but I am okay with that if there is a genuine reason. Plus, I am horny as hell. He finally arrives, and I jump in his car. The fact I know I am taking a risk turns me on. Still, I am a 'live for the moment' kind of girl, and despite the fact I might not be romantic per se, I do believe in a little serendipity.

Ali is really nice. At first, he seems a little shy and nervous, so I let him jabber on until I can see him visibly relax. I zone out a little as he starts to talk about his work; who talks about work when they will potentially be getting a fuck?

I look at his side profile as he concentrates on negotiating his car through the motorway traffic. Ali is Asian. I've never fucked an Asian guy before, and I admit I am partial to a bit of interracial porn in the privacy of my bedroom. It's such a turn-on. For me, Ali is like a packet of Refreshers: colourful and fresh, and he makes me feel fizzy inside with anticipation.

We drive around the city, and it looks like Ali has got himself lost again. However, he has an inbuilt satellite navigation to find a back alley as he pulls his car into one. I suddenly feel self-conscious and absent-mindedly pull at the skirt riding up my thigh without noticing. However, the excitement is the primary emotion dominating my mind right now.

Ali turns off the car engine and undoes his seat belt. Leaning over, he kisses me, and boy, can he kiss! I can feel my pussy starting to warm up as his long, lingering tongue explores my mouth, making me feel like I will explode from the inside out. He takes my hand and places it on his cock that is straining against his jeans, and I'm gone. My mind moves into a blank-out horny mode that always gets me in trouble as I gently drag my fingernail down the restrained shaft of his cock, knowing this is a surefire way of making him feel my touch despite the thick denim material encasing him.

He groans, and I let his hands roam under my skirt, up my thighs as his fingers find my G-string and move inside, and I enjoy him exploring me. His fingers expertly play with my pussy, and it feels seedy and dirty, what we are doing. We are in a back alley where we could get caught at any given moment, and couple all of this with my mental, horny blackout mode. It's an almost unbearable, intoxicating mixture.

I lean across and decide to unleash his cock and relieve it from its constraints. Unzipping him, I pull out his cock and realise he is circumcised. Oh, joy of joys! I feel my stomach flip with excitement. Circumcised cocks are my favourite but to be fair when I am horny any cock will do.

I move Ali's hands away from my pussy and lean across from my seat, determined to give him some attention. I have an unbearable urge to feel his cock in my mouth. He leans back in his seat, a welcome recipient of my advances, as I take him in my mouth. The head of his cock feels massive, totally filling my mouth. As I suck him, I can taste his pre-cum, and judging from the noise he is making, it won't be long before he shoots his load.

At this point, I realise I should be berating myself for behaving like a slut, but I figure life is too short to give myself an internal guilt trip. We are two responsible adults; I believe life is about making memories. I reckon Ali is worthy of being branded on my mind.

I stop sucking him and look up, smiling before leaning back in my seat; reaching to the side, I find the little wheel that will recline my seat. Ali follows suit, which ensures we have room to fuck. I straddle across my chair and move on all fours, hitching up my skirt. Somehow, Ali managed to manoeuvre himself, so he was behind me. He pushes my skirt up around my waist and moves my G-string to the side before making the tip of his cock against the opening of my pussy. He takes the time to tease me until I feel like I will lose all sense of thought before he plunges himself inside me. It feels delicious as his cock fills my pussy. It feels like he is going to split me open like a watermelon.

I grab his hand off my thigh and encourage him to pull my hair. He is initially reluctant, but as he hears me coming and feels my juices dribble down his cock, his reticence disappears. He grabs my hair in both his hands and pulls my head back as the rhythm of his cock increases to a faster pace, so I can literally feel his balls banging against me. It's all too much for him, and suddenly, he succumbs to his orgasm and shoots his load inside me.

As we move back into our seats and I adjust my skirt, I want to ask Ali to kneel outside in the filthy alleyway as I stand over him and watch him suck his juices out of me, but I figure there will be plenty of time to introduce Ali to my many sexual predilections.

After some post-sex chat, Ali drops me off back home with a goodnight kiss and a promise that he will text me later, and I know he will. As I walk into the house with a sore, sexually abated pussy, I think I will become Ali's dangerous slut. In fact, I don't believe it, I know it!