This is the story of how the girl discovered her sexuality in that one night. The same night she lost all respect for herself. The same night she termed herself as a slut.
I have made a passing reference to this story in my post about moving From “This tastes like medicine” to “Whiskey on the rocks, please”
Yes, the girl had been drinking in a car-o-bar (in a boot of a car parked at the guys’ house) with her best friend and two guys, friends of a friend, she had written in the previous post. Truth: They were friends of her the-then boyfriend, the guy she had liked from a far because she loved the way he moved on the dance floor.
She had been dating him for a month. Of the one month, he had spent two weeks at his parents’ place, the three nights they were on the same bed, they had not made out, and before she could even taste his lips, he flew to England for his work.
In the meantime…
The girl was building a friendship with his friends, who had supported her through a very difficult time. She thought they would make good drinking buddies. And, they were.
Only, this was the first time the girl got completely sloshed.
She did not remember much from that night, except the one time she had to use the loo and could not even walk to the washroom and he had to sit her down on the pot. When she came out, he kissed her. And, she responded. She loved it. She had been craving the affection for a long time.
He touched her, all over, and she arched in desire. They were stupid drunk and had no idea what they were doing. (Not an excuse, just the truth.)
He wanted to remove the flimsy t-shirt and the denims that kept him from her. He walked her to a room.
This is where memory fails her.
Then, she was on the bed, without her top, her denims pulled down to her knees and his face between her thighs. She enjoyed it, but the brief episode of passing out reminded her what she was doing was absolutely wrong.
She started crying.
He got up, stood beside her. And, with his pants at his ankles, he hugged her and tried to calm her down. He seemed to have come to his senses too. He quickly pulled up his pants and apologised profusely.
He covered her up and let her go back to sleep.
The next morning, she did her walk of shame. With her smudged kajal and crushed clothes, she walked back to her house along with her friend.
And, on the way, her friend revealed that she had ended up having sex with the other guy. (Moral: Do not drink till you lose your memory. The girl did not learn this till much later.)
And, she lay in bed with a bad hangover and tears in her eyes. She did not know what to do.
Her body wanted him. Wanted him bad. This was the first time she understood what the tongue could do. But, what about her boyfriend? How will she ever be able to explain to him what had happened that night?