There are many ways people hide their shyness. Some methods are more successful and logical than others. Being introverted can also be situational. I saw that in myself.

I travelled to many places people thought were dangerous. My choices seemed foolhardy to some, but this was my place to be me.

While travelling through five continents, separated by work to finance it all, I lived life to the full. I drank just a little alcohol, I chatted easily with locals and fellow travellers alike. It was me.

Making short-term friendships with people taking similar routes was commonplace. All manner of topics were discussed. 'Right place, wrong time', or the reverse, was my excuse for not having sexual encounters amongst my anecdotes. This was true, however, I did not cite shyness as the cause, though I should have done so.

The day I signed up with the dating agency was not one I felt would be pivotal. It was in the 'Yeah, might as well' category.

I had chosen an agency whose name was the one many used for the whole industry, not just them. It wasn't a conscious choice to pick this one, it just happened.

This was the age when letters were how most people communicated. The internet? Still largely the preserve of the technology crowd. I did make the 'bold' step of buying a mobile phone, but this was as far as I felt I needed to set foot into the brave new world that was emerging.

Being excited by what might arrive in the post was a curious bonus of signing up with the dating agency. New contacts to write to, the details of those I might be interested in, it was a new adventure and one that was a positive experience for me.

Sometimes, just the exchange of one letter was enough to show to one of us we were unsuited. It wasn't a case of being too picky, it was that honesty revealed it was never going to be worthwhile for either of us to drag it out any longer.

After a few months with the agency, I received a letter that stood out from all of the rest. Her words just clicked with me and my reply was in the post quickly. Within days, she had written back to me. I felt positive and this was an unusual experience.

The frequency of our letter exchange increased. We wrote about nothing in particular. It was fun.

'Exciting news! I have a new man. I'm hopeful this could be the one,' she had written.

Cynics may doubt my words, but I was genuinely pleased for her. I knew she was uncertain about how I would react. The way she wrote so passionately about her hopes we could remain friends and continue to be so was powerfully expressed. I shared her sentiments.

In her letter, as well as talking about her new man, she explained she wanted me to come to her forthcoming birthday celebration. I have always believed this was her way of showing her wish to keep in contact was genuine, not least as it would involve meeting in person for the first time. A part of me felt sad it was someone no longer available showing such faith in me, but I decided to attend the party would be a good way to show her my hope she had found happiness was genuine.

I lived in a city a couple of hours away by bus from the location of the party. The city the celebration would be held in was an hour away from her home in a small town with almost as many fruit fields around it as there were people. Making a friend in these circumstances could have seemed like a consolation prize, but we seemed well-suited as potentially close soulmates and this mattered.

An invitation to her party came with a list of accommodation in the town. My choice of a cheap chain establishment was influenced by its proximity to the party venue, not just me being a skinflint!

Meeting an attached friend in person for the first time? Maybe you need to walk in the shoes of an introvert in specific circumstances to understand. I wanted to be the 'me' in my letters, like you might in romance, in reality. This was true, despite friendship being what was at stake and no more.

The venue was a bar that became a nightclub after the hours permitted for the former to open had been exhausted. On the day of her party, I got a text from my friend to confirm where she would be standing.

'I'll be in the main bar. They start dancing in the other half by nine.'

I remember the wording to this day.

As soon as I arrived at the bar, my friend spotted me looking nervously around and called out my name. We smiled, hugged and I wished her a happy birthday.

The word 'birthday' had just left my mouth when I was approached by a woman, as my friend looked on.

"My friend wants to dance with you, but she's too shy to ask," the woman said, pointing towards the would-be dancer.

I'm told that my friend, who I had only said two words to, stifled a laugh, having heard what had been said. I know this to be true, as she repeated the account of her birthday bash often.

The woman's words explaining the significance of the shyness of her friend are forever etched in my memory.

My barrier had been identified in another before we had even spoken. My cynical 'too good to be true' thought? I had to keep it under control, and I did.

The comically poor dancer that is me and the woman were almost thrown into each other's arms by her friend. We began to 'dance'. We were smiling. She placed her lips on mine and we kissed. And we kissed. And we kissed.

We danced for a period I cannot estimate. I was in a different world. I was in a different galaxy. Her friends were elsewhere making their nights special, my friend and her party of guests did the same. I know this from conversations my friend and I had in the years that followed this night. At the time, we were entirely oblivious to anything but ourselves.

I felt sure what I had enjoyed would be remembered for a long time and it would have been, but when she slipped away briefly to update a friend and arrange a plan of safety, she came back, smiled, and said, "We're going home now."

The taxi ride to somewhere beyond the edge of town was spent kissing in the back seat. Two shy people wanted to do more than kiss whilst on the journey, but having to wait just made everything even more intense.

I had read of people slamming a door shut behind themselves and 'ripping their clothes off'. I had never experienced it until then. These were different times, and so all she needed to do was reassure me she had birth control matters in medicine's hands and drag me onto the sofa. The bed was another ten steps further, and she couldn't wait. That brief reference to the 'ten further steps'? I can hear her saying these words decades later.

Shared shyness meant it wasn't a confident expert and a nervous novice. We were equal.

Those who judge by timescales, dimensions, and other measurable criteria should look away. It was quick, it was messy, but her tightness brought the modest guest I bring to such parties a feeling of adequacy to dispel any lingering worries.

As soon as I had shot into her vice-like body, we kissed continuously once more. The only breaks in our lip-sucking were to shift cramped limbs and for her to touch my cock in an impatient wait for us to fuck again. My shyness banished for the night meant the wait was far shorter than might otherwise have been the case.

The experienced and confident would undoubtedly have followed with adventure, creativity, and variety. For whatever reason, this did not matter to us. All she wanted to do was fuck. Trust me, if you're the shy type and there's someone whose body dimensions mean she's going to squeeze your cock just by it entering her, repetition isn't something even a worrier frets over.

I'm not sure if any lessons were learned from episode one. The second round was just as chaotic as before and just as much fun for us both, I dare to suggest.

Power naps for a couple of hours? That only happens in the movies, or with the experts, doesn't it? I had assumed so, but after what seemed like seconds, but, more probably, two hours, she was pushing on my shoulder to wake me and stroking my cock into life. In the movies mentioned, it would have been the turn of sensual foreplay to take centre stage, but she just needed to fuck again and so we did.

Did we fuck four times, or was it five? If I knew, I would say, but a shy boy's counting skills can let him down when drawn wildly outside his comfort zone, as I had been.

Her experience? There were smiles and noises to suggest it had been positive. Unfortunately, I was still too bewildered by what had happened to me to remember to ask.

We showered and dressed, then she drove me back to town in time for my bus in the early afternoon. With time to kill, I sent a text to my friend, the one I had spoken just two words to on the night of her birthday and on the first occasion we had met in person.

My text apologising for my lack of attention to my friend on her birthday found her saying she had guessed what had happened after seeing me dancing with the woman. She said my confirmation she had been correct had added to what had been a memorable celebration for her too.

The teasing about my disappearing, or barely appearing at all, act was a feature of the friendship the birthday girl and I shared thereafter.

The confident and self-assured people's tales would have had added spice and variety in comparison to what we did. Would they remember a night similar to mine forever? Probably not. To the nervous, shy, and cautious out there, this one was 'just for you!'