always vaguely wondered what it would be like to be with a woman; I had occasionally masturbated while thinking about Beyoncé, and I’d even half-heartedly come out as bi to Cat when we were 17. We’d talked about it in whispers, and hugged melodramatically, and then somehow I just sort of … forgot about it. Maybe I should seize the moment, have a line of ketamine and a little light lesbian sex. But I’d just read an article in the Guardian about ketamine damaging your bladder, and I can’t even handle cystitis without wanting to scratch my insides out. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted Jane to taste my cunt. Apart from anything else, she was obviously a cunt connoisseur, and I wasn’t sure mine would be up to standard. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being the subject of a painting that said something like You need to trim your pubic hair, or Your cunt did not taste as good as that other cunt.
So I shook my head.
‘Another time then,’ she said, already on her way to the toilets.
I looked around for Alice and Dave, but they were dancing in a corner, foreheads together, grinding into each other like a pestle and mortar. I needed wine, a pint of red wine, preferably. There was none in the bar area so I walked around the edge of the room, picking up every bottle I came across. They were all empty or dark with cigarette ash, the butts floating on the surface like drowned flies.
I took out my phone and texted Cat. At a party with Alice and Dave. They are basically having sex on dance floor. Help.
She replied straight away: If you can’t beat em join em, mate. And she put a wink emoji at the end. She knows I hate the wink emoji.
Eventually I found a half-full bottle of vodka on a windowsill and took a swig. It was like a delicious slap in the face, if there can be such a thing. I stood there for a while, drinking and watching the people on the dance floor. Almost everyone was in a couple – a relatively recent one, judging by the level of groping that was going on. I turned and looked out of the window, over rows of graffitied brick walls towards the glow of the Olympic Park, the party behind me reflected in the glass. Fuck this, I thought to myself, drinking a bit more vodka. I was not going to stand there staring mournfully out of a window like a Jane Austen heroine. I too could have a casual fuck. I’d turned over a sexy new leaf. Conceptual artists wanted to have lesbian sex with me. I would find a man and I would snog him. Maybe I’d even bang him if the snog got me in the mood.
I took another swig from the bottle – a longer one this time, till my gag reflex kicked in and my body started to buzz – and then I walked with purpose into the thick of the party, giving what I thought were sultry come-hither looks to the men I passed.
Everything is a little bit blurry after that. Or soft-focus – let’s go with soft-focus. I remember dancing for a while, standing in a big circle, opposite an angular woman in dungarees who was waving her cigarette around above her head, the tip striping the air with fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jane emerge from the toilets. She felt her way around the room, her hands against the wall, clearly not trusting herself not to fall over. I looked down at my vodka bottle and was surprised to find it almost empty.
I don’t remember how I met him. The first thing I remember is pushing him out of the circle towards the fire escape, both of my hands on his back, the two of us stumbling and laughing. And the next thing I remember is being pressed up against him, him stroking my face and murmuring to me in his sexy Irish voice. He had green-brown eyes and very red lips, and stubble. He smelled a bit like he hadn’t washed in a few days, but there was something appealing about that, something raw and masculine and unconventional.
I kissed him first. I’m proud of myself for that. He kissed back and pushed me against the fire escape railing so it dug into my back. I closed my eyes and let my hands wander over his arse, using his body to turn myself on. I’d bloody done it. I was touching another human being. I’d broken the bloody spell.
‘Come home with me, like.’ He breathed into my ear, hot and damp. ‘I want to see what’s underneath that T-shirt.’
It occurred to me that the answer to that question was ‘an old M&S multi-pack bra’.
‘I don’t know …’ It was so fucking nice to feel the warmth of another human being, but the world was beginning to tilt and lurch, and the vodka was threatening to reappear.
‘Your tits are so firm,’ he said, running a hand over the pointy edges of my ribcage.
‘Those aren’t my tits,’ I said, picking up his hand and moving it upwards.
He laughed. ‘Thank fuck for that. Come to the toilets with me.’
That’s when Alice’s face appeared over his shoulder. She gave me two thumbs up and ducked away.
I pulled away from him and called to Alice. ‘Wait!’ I began to walk back into the warehouse.
He grabbed my hand. ‘What, you’re not going, are you?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Thanks, though.’
‘Swap numbers then?’
‘Sure.’ He gave me his phone and I typed in my number with the slow deliberation of the extremely drunk.
My phone buzzed in the taxi on the way home. Gonna dream about you tonight ;) Finn x
I smiled to myself. I’m going to have sex with you, Finn, I thought. And if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have sex with me back.
I couldn’t quite believe how bad my hangover was the next morning. I could practically feel my brain knocking against the sides of my skull when I moved. I lay on my back, as still as possible. What had happened to me last night? Why did I feel like I’d been rubbing a cheese grater against my cheek?
I had a sudden vision of an empty bottle of vodka and a fire escape and a hand fondling my ribcage. Finn. Finn and his stubble. I’d snogged Finn.
Even though I was concentrating very hard on breathing in and out and not vomiting, I felt very pleased with myself. I had kissed an actual man – I had not forgotten how. And although I couldn’t imagine enjoying anything at all at that particular moment, I had a feeling I’d really enjoyed the kiss, too.
Not only that, but I had been about two units of alcohol away from fucking him on a ketamine-covered toilet cistern in Hackney Wick. I closed my eyes and thanked the universe that I hadn’t had sex for the first time in years while in a vodka coma. I wanted to remember such a momentous occasion.
I was woken again by Alice opening my door, which was a little awkward, as I wasn’t wearing any clothes. She handed me a cup of tea; as I took it, I had to clutch the duvet with my chin so she didn’t get a flash of nipple.
‘Feeling rough?’ she said cheerfully.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do we have any Haribo, or crisps or anything?’ I took a sip of tea. It seemed to curdle in my mouth.
‘I’ll get you some later. Tell me about the guy you snogged!’ Her arms were crossed. She was far too excited about it.
‘I don’t really remember …’
‘He had great hair. Reddish.’
‘Did he?’ I said, putting my tea down and delicately lowering myself onto my back again.
‘Yes!
