He was about twenty-one, had jet-black hair, dark skin and the jawline of an American soap actor. He was stunning. His eyes held mine while he covered what seemed like the mile and a half to our table. He put the drinks down, still staring. A smile crossed his lips, revealing teeth that I wanted to tap to make sure they were real. My heart thundered so loudly that I was sure it was drowning out the ridiculous ‘Shudupa Ya Face’, that was blaring from the speakers. He stared a bit longer, then slowly, in a soft Scottish accent said, ‘Are we leaving?’
My brain screamed, searching for a witty reply that would have the others clutching their sides, but my power of thought had deserted me.
‘Yes.’ Yes? Was that it? Was that all an educated, smart-mouthed female could come up with? My first encounter with love at first sight had rendered me witless.
He put his hand out and I took it, still lost in his gaze. I followed him outside, where he turned right and started walking, saying nothing. After about a hundred yards, he stopped, put his hands on my face and kissed me slowly. I felt my legs buckle underneath me. God, what was happening?
We kept walking, turning left, then right, until we were entering one of the big posh hotels on the seafront. We passed it every day on the way to the beach and it definitely wasn’t the kind of place that would have ten people to a suite, with a bloke in a sombrero playing guitar and a comatose drunk called Sock Man. We took the lift up to the sixth floor, then entered his room, where he turned and kissed me again. Only this time it didn’t stop.
He unbuttoned my top, dropping it to the floor, then slid my skirt over my hips to join it.
Meanwhile, my enthusiasm for the situation was made clear by the fact that I had somehow managed to remove his shirt and trousers. I should probably have stopped and considered whether I wanted to lose my virginity to a complete stranger, but it felt so good that nothing short of a tranquiliser dart could have stopped me. We tumbled onto the bed, kissing, groping. Before I knew what was happening, a condom appeared and then it was on and his naked body was pressed against mine.
‘Lift your hips,’ he whispered, nuzzling my ear.
What did he mean? How high? Somehow this just wasn’t the time to say, ‘Excuse me, but I haven’t done this before so do you think you could possibly draw me a diagram of the exact angle of elevation which you require?’ I knew I should have paid more attention in biology when they were giving ‘The Talk’. Or maybe rewound the steamy bits in 9 ½ Weeks.
I tilted my pelvis and he slid slowly and gradually inside. My body welcomed him eagerly. He continued to move out and in, sending glorious waves of ecstasy coursing to previously unstimulated areas of my anatomy, until eventually he came shuddering to a halt, just as a new feeling deep in my pelvic area caused an explosion I’d never felt before. So that was what all those orgasm articles in Cosmo were raving about then.
He collapsed beside me, then turned and touched my face.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered.
I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I gasped, breathless. I didn’t know what else to say. My mother had always taught me that if someone gave you a compliment you should smile and thank them. I don’t think she meant that to apply after a stranger had just been intimate with your tickly bits, but then I wasn’t sure of the rules of this new game. What exactly are you supposed to say after a guy has met you, said ‘Are we leaving,’ followed by ‘Lift your hips’ and your only utterance has been a feeble ‘Yes’?
I searched my brain for points of reference. I was sure this was when the guy rolled over and was snoring within ten seconds. Why then was his finger tracing the outline of my nipple? Now my stomach. Now my thighs. Good God, he wanted to do it again! Was this normal?
He pulled me on top of him and without thinking I was suddenly moving, using muscles I didn’t even know I possessed.
We made love twice more, once in the bath, and it was starting to get light when we fell asleep, me still with an inane grin on my face. So this was it. Virginity gone. After years of fumbling with my on-off ex, Mark Barwick, resisting the temptation to cross the last line, I’d had my first sexual experience with a man I couldn’t have picked out in a line up only a few hours ago. It should feel so wrong, and yet it just felt perfect.
The sun streaming in through the window woke me at ten o’clock. For a moment I didn’t know where I was, then I remembered. I started to get up when pain forced me to slump back down. My legs felt like they’d run a marathon. I stumbled to the bathroom, gathering my hastily discarded clothing as I went. I looked in the mirror. Big mistake. My face was red, my eyes looked like a road map and my hair had clearly exploded during the night. I couldn’t let him see me like this – the shock would scar him for life.
I dressed and did the best repair job possible before surreptitiously making for the door. I had
