Agent Provocateur

1st February 2006

The best Valentine's present I was ever given, and I swear the AP people haven't bribed me to say this, was a set of fabulous lavender-grey lace Agent Provocateur undies. The box contained a bedroom bra (you know, the one that's cut so low your nipples peek over), a suspender-belt, and two different styles of knickers. Now, that's what I call stylish: no scrimping, no boring black or white, and no ambiguity over what sort of bargain was being struck. This was underwear that screamed, "Put me on and fuck the sex god with the credit card." Which is exactly what would have happened there and then had I not been sitting in the Ivy at the time.

My beloved and I made do instead with some sub-table frottage and were only slightly distracted by the sight of Nigella Lawson sitting opposite. Mind you, if Nigella isn't an aphrodisiac, what is?

My Valentine's experience doesn't usually yield top-dollar knickers and diners. That's the way things go when you fall in love with poor boys. In any case, I'd stay clear of restaurants on the 14th, unless they're 100% naff-proofed. There's nothing worse than Valentine-themed menus with everything stewed in jus de passion fruit and puddings called "chocolate orgasm". Better to stay home with a dozen oysters on a bed of ice and a bottle of champagne. I have always thought that lovers' feasts should be light and delicious morsels that arouse the taste-buds while leaving you tantalisingly unsatisfied - needing something more to sate the fire in your belly. In the same vein, presents should be light and unpretentious. Costly in time, rather than cash alone. Few things touch my heart like a home-made card delivered with the proper air of mystery. I prefer hand-gathered posies to roses and home-baked heart biscuits to expensive truffles. One imaginative treat for your lover, if you have the stamina, is to devise a Valentine's Day treasure hunt. This can be a small-scale voyage around your house with love tokens hidden behind curtains, in the cereal packet and under the duvet (the treasure should be you in some AP lingerie). But I prefer the full-scale urban odyssey around art galleries and public spaces, taking in erotic paintings and seductive views. Cryptic texts work better in this scenario. Ideally, the clue-setter should stay one step ahead, but leave teasing markers to show where they have just been. A single seamed stocking sprayed with scent left on a bench or railings, or dangling from the erotic poetry section in Foyles work well for the bold. This game puts new meaning back into "the chase". It's up to you to decide where you're caught, but a hot-house at Kew always works for me.

As night falls this Valentine's Day the most seductive treat you can share with your lover is Agent Provocateur's very own elegant pillow books: Confessions and Secrets. The naughtiest, sauciest volumes of erotica on the market, packed full of groin-teasing short stories. Have you ever read erotica aloud to your beloved? No. Well, you really ought to try it. Just try saying, "She was so wet and when she lowered herself onto him his cock pushed through her, deep inside..." without finding yourself in much the same situation. Try and quell the mounting tension as you narrate the tale of the taciturn "master" who writes a list for his slave with the day's tasks: "Salad for lunch. Make in advance - going to fuck you before lunch. Be in bedroom at 12. Dress on. Remove sandals and knickers. Handcuffs and black paddle on bed." Talk about giving people ideas. Before you know it you're face down on your pillow, hands bound to the bedposts, being soundly chastised (quite possibly with AP's own brand kinky little luxury paddle - the smartest smack in town). There are a myriad scenarios in these volumes - so much more instructional than a sex manual. They give a whole new meaning to the well-worn phrase: "Are you sitting comfortably?"