Warning – this story is why the whole thing's rated. There's quite a bit of language and it's embarrassingly dodgy. Oh I blush, I blush!

Anna

It felt right at the time. The way that he turned his head towards mine with his mouth slightly open and his eyes shut. He held me close and slid his hands down my cropped jeans so that they rested on my lower back. I felt his rough fingers there and thanked God that he hadn’t gone any further.

I smiled at him as if I was enjoying this simple feeling, and he leant in to kiss me. He kissed long and soft and wet. I used my teeth. I wasn’t sure if this was right, so I told him that I was innocent. I was really innocent.

“I think you’re a bad girl,” he said. It was a line from a teen movie.

I smiled and kissed him again. I told myself that I liked teen movies and that I needed to loosen up. I needed to make myself fancy him. I needed to make myself like this.

Those kisses dragged on. What was it with tongues, anyway? They’re not even particularly sensitive, so kissing can’t be that enjoyable. Maybe it was just the idea, I thought. Maybe it was just the sharing, or the whole train-in-tunnel thing that Freud talked about. So maybe it was all about sex, really. Kissing leads to fondling, which leads to oral, which leads to sex. Sex, sex, sex. Reproduction. Survival. Were we really all that primitive? Or was it just guys? Or was it just him?

I remembered to shut my eyes after a while, when his hands were rising up under my top. With my eyes shut, I could only vaguely remember what he looked like. Dark hair, dark eyes and a drunken fuzzy outline.

Would I be doing this if I hadn’t been drinking? I wasn’t sure, but would he be doing this if I hadn’t been drinking? Had he chosen to dance with me because I looked so drunk and easy? Had he been able to tell that I can never find the words to say no? Or had he just found me attractive? Or was I just the first girl he’d reached when he’d wanted to pull, and right now he was kissing my face off as a result of coincidence?

He moved his head to the side and I sucked at his neck. Holy shit; I’d become a vampire. I’d never seen a boy with a hicky before, and wasn’t sure if it was the done thing, but the way he’d moved his neck made me feel as if he was directing me and I didn’t really have a choice.

“That’s so good,” he muttered. “That’s so good.”

It didn’t feel good to me. His neck tasted of chemicals and my lips were getting sore. I had sensitive skin, and hoped that I wouldn’t get stubble rash. That was the last thing I needed; I’d never be able to live it down if I went home with the marks of the night still on me.

“Do you think you’ll regret this in the morning?”

I smiled. I was already regretting every second of it. I almost forgot to reply. “No, I don’t think so.” I paused. I didn’t want to spend all of the night kissing and talking about kissing and thinking about talking about kissing. I wanted to get to know this guy. Didn’t he want to get to know me? “So tell me about your life.”

He told me that he was in a band and that he played the bass. I told him that I played piano badly and added an air-piano gesture. I asked him if he’d ever write a song about me and he said that he would. He said that it would be hot and naughty. Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?

He ran his hands down my back again. “You have such a great body,” he said.

I knew that I didn’t, and told him so.

“You do,” he said. “It’s all taut.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say, but the club was buzzing with seventies remixes and I felt the urge to sing, not kiss. Hell, I knew all of the actions to Blame it On the Boogie, and was not going to pass up the chance of displaying them to the world.

I grinned. Perhaps he thought I was smiling at him, because he leant in to kiss me again. I responded, but accidentally went to the wrong side. It wasn’t embarrassing like in films; it was just something that happened. I corrected myself and kissed him again. I bit at his lip, sure that this was something that boys were meant to do – but hey, it felt right. Shit, maybe I was one of those bad girls.

When he’d finished, I glugged down some tap water. It was hot in the club and I knew better than to get dehydrated. I hadn’t been on alcohol for two hours already but I was still bloody pissed, and didn’t fancy a hangover. Besides, water made me want to pee, and a toilet break was a great excuse to leave him to talk with my friends.

“So,” I grinned. “Let’s have a deep conversation about life and such.”

I was one of those annoying, chatty drunks. I could talk about shit continuously, and forget what was true and what wasn’t. I could talk about art and music and literature, thinking that I sounded really clever but just sounding drunk. It was because I liked finding out about people and telling them about myself. I liked making friends. I wanted to fall in love some day, and you fall in love with people, not kisses.

He smiled back at me. “Let’s not,” he said.

“Pourquoi?” Oh my God, I’d brought out the French. I was far gone.

“This is far more fun,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

Bullshit.

He held my arse and cradled me like a child, kissing my lips and making my chin wet with his saliva. He kissed all of my cherry lip gloss off and reached up for my cheeks, stroking them and making me thank God that this wasn’t a bad skin day. I didn’t want to be too frigid so I let him continue, despite the fact that I was uncomfortable. How can you have kisses but no conversation? There was so much more to life than the physical. Couldn’t he see that? I kept my eyes open for every second of it and looked over his shoulder at the people dancing there. I didn’t know what to think about myself – about what I was doing. I only wanted to be normal, but I was acting like a complete slut, and knew it. There just wasn’t a balance. His hands crept down my jeans and I knew that they wanted to go further. I let him get on with it.

“I’m Anna, by the way,” I said blandly.