Up all night: after sexy strangers in the city of romance

One of her books is titled Rose, so I've been asked to perform my English Rose act and present her with 100 of the flowers at the end of it.

Neanderthal has come to chaperone me and is hovering around the buffet, eating aubergine caviar and gulping down champagne, so I don't feel so bad leaving him while I get ready. I'll be giving him plenty of attention later when we go to one of our favourite Parisian sex clubs (or club échangiste as the French call them), Les Chandelles.

I've always found it fascinating how the French word for striptease is effeuilleuse, which also means to pluck petals - just as I do in my dance, plucking giant petals from my hips.

As I finish in thorn-shaped nipple tassels, the audience claps as the birthday girl's husband passes me the bouquet of 100 roses.

Neanderthal and I make our escape as the disco starts - it's getting late and we don't want to miss Les Chandelles.

The outside of the club is disguised as a boarded-up shop. A second door inside has a camera above it to let the manager decide whether you're sexy enough to get in.

A statuesque man tells us it's quiet tonight. Just 20 couples and six single women inside.

I'm hoping for some interesting ladies.

Neanderthal is more than enough man to handle. We descend the staircase into the dark.

It's not an S&M club, so it's cocktail dresses rather than gimp suits all round. Four people are groping on the dancefloor - one of them naked. We cruise past several booths to check out the action. Everyone seems engrossed.

At the bar we spot a lady in a tiny black skirt, drinking a cocktail on her own. Before I can point her out Neanderthal has pulled out the stool next to her and perched. But we discover that Isobel the American is here to "just watch people".

I sigh. It's getting late. The booths are a no-go, unless I want to spend the rest of the night batting off men. (Not altogether terrible. "No" sounds so much sexier in a French accent.) I drag Neanderthal all the way back up the staircase to the smoking parlour at the top of the club. It's empty, so we are making our own entertainment when the door opens. It's Isobel with her cocktail. She sits and sips her drink on a chair opposite with a slight smile and we carry on in front of her.

I'm enjoying putting on a show for her and it feels like a different kind of threesome - or foursome, if you count the waiter clearing glasses, completely deadpan.