What happened next?

So, in the previous post, I was just about to kiss the Kiwi for the first time, and was rudely interrupted by loud cheering. After I blushed, I laughed. Then I explained to the bewildered Kiwi exactly why the entire crowd at the bar was cheering me on. The perfect moment was lost on the dance floor. We didn't kiss, and retreated to a dark corner.

What happened next was I broke one of my cardinal rules, and decided to take the Kiwi back to my hotel room before I had kissed him. If I am going to have a holiday fling, there are certain boxes I like to tick, which help somewhat to know beforehand if a man is going to be any good in bed. I've learned the hard way that it is barely worth taking your clothes off if the sex is going to be bad, so there are a couple of things I like to check first.

1. Eye contact. A man must be confident enough to look me in the eye and hold my gaze.
2. Conversation. If a man can't hold a conversation, forget it.
3. Mirroring. Very promising body language. Shows he's interested and paying attention.
4. Dancing. Good moves on the dance floor = good moves in the bedroom.
5. Kissing. I won't sleep with a man who can't kiss. This is usually an important check point for me, because I believe that kissing tells so much.

I should stick to this list a lot more rigidly than I sometimes do, as I have found it reasonably successful in the past. It's a fair indication only though, not a guarantee.

The Kiwi ticked four out of my five, which I thought was enough. So I took him home with me, whereupon he ticked the fifth. And sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth.

The next morning I got back on the bus with about a minute to spare before we left to go to the airport. And I smiled all the way home.