What is it about this Rainy City?

Julie Burchill once famously observed (if you are an avid JB reader like self) that London is a city full of people who are so busy reading Time Out and neurotically hurrying to exhibitions that they haven't the time to fulfill the simple things in life, like finding someone to shag. I have to say based on the last few months I would be forced to agree, having lived a celibate yet cultural London existence.

I came back to Belfast this weekend for my friend J's B'day. I got a taxi straight to the pub,and we stayed there for a few hours, and then headed back to the flat for a party. I was already pretty pissed by this point,and enjoyed dancing about to Abba and flirting shamelessly with this random boy who was there (a friend of a friend). We ended up snogging to Avalon.

Now, this is where the story gets complicated. By about 4am, everyone had left, apart from myself; J; D, J's boyfriend;random snog boy; and G, a friend of D's who is staying, as he, his wife and baby live far away and he has to crash. Random snog boy wants to stay and have sex with me in the lounge. G also has to sleep in the lounge. I have to sleep in the lounge. No-one knows what to do. J and I go for a conflab in the bedroom and D joins us. J has dug an inflatable mattress from somewhere and is halfheartedly unwrapping it, saying that G can always kip on that in the bedroom if I want the lounge to have sex with random snog boy. I'm not sure. We start to giggle. Then G enters and smiling his most charming smile says, "F, are you sure you want to sleep with this guy? He doesn't even know your name". (If that was one of my criteria, I wouldn't have a sex life, but anyhow). By this point I've lost interest in random snog boy anyway, and know would just be going through the motions. So I say no, not really, and G says, don't worry, I'll handle it, and leaves the room to go through to the lounge and tell random snog boy to go home, sans shag. G and I then retire to our separate sofa beds in the lounge. I'm ready to drop off when G starts asking me what I saw in random snog boy. I tell him it's flattering to have someone pay you attention. He said he thought he wasn't good enough for me. He then most randomly asked me if the fact I had a PhD made me less likely to sleep with people! I said no. He then reached out of his sofa bed and reached out to my sofa bed with his arm across the 2 feet of floor that divide us. We held hands. The tension was fizzing. We were looking at each other, silently holding hands. He begins to rub my hand. Still, we say nothing, just squeezing hands and very gently touching plams. I can feel a kind of nervousness in my stomach. G whispers to me, "Can I come and sleep in your bed", and the tension breaks. We are all over each other, it is so sudden and urgent, and (cliche though it is to say) we just click with each other. We seem to know just what to do and how, and it is sexy and fun and uninhibited and silly and great. We proceed to have sex all over the place for the next hour or so, as quietly as possible, as J and D are asleep next door (though as I told J the next morning and now she has told D, maybe such discretion was wasted). As we lay in bed together the next morning, G told me he felt many emotions, but not guilt. He sends me saucy texts through the day, making me giggle, esp when I am in posh restaurant having dinner with J and D. I feel guilty though. The boy has been married for all of 2 months, has a baby girl, and another on the way. What is it about Belfast? There must be something in the air, because these things just seem to happen here. So now I am heading back on a plane to a far more cosmopolitan city, one where I can indulge my love of art and theatre, but I can guarantee that won't happen.