CHLOE

Two years earlier 

It has been a week since we first slept together. He came into the Flute a couple of days later during one of my evening shifts, accompanied by the same group of mates, and asked me if I wanted to hang out again. Worried about offending him, or worse, alienating myself from a potential group of friends, I accepted and found myself once again alone with him in his bedroom. I had hoped the second time would have been more enjoyable, given that I knew what to expect now. I was wrong. It hurt just as much as the first, and I was too shy to ask him to be gentle for fear of highlighting my inexperience. Thankfully it was over quickly again, and I wonder how many times I will need to go through this before it feels good, or at least stops hurting.

Friday is my night off from the pub. He texts me to say there is a house party on the estate and wants to know if I want to go with him. I accept readily, if only because he won't expect me to have sex with him at someone else's house, and maybe I can get to know him and his friends a bit better. I'm sure that beneath the one-word answers and monosyllabic grunts, they are intelligent, interesting people. 

The evening is warm and close as I walk across the grass between my high-rise block and his. I am wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a short sleeve blouse and sandals, and I have made an effort with my makeup, trying out a sexier look I found on a YouTube tutorial and feeling a little selfconscious but overall good about myself. He looks me up and down as I approach the group huddled on the corner by the OneStop corner shop, and immediately I feel overdressed compared to the rest of them in tracksuits and trainers, including a couple of girls I have never seen before. He doesn't comment on my appearance and I don't want to draw attention to myself further by asking him to wait while I get changed, so I fall into step with them as they make their way across the estate, kicking litter and shouting at each other as they go.

The music is blaring from the windows of the house and can be heard before we have even turned into the street. I follow them at the back of the line as they file through the front door, high-fiving people I don't know and shouting unintelligible greetings. Cans of cider are passed around, and this at least I can stomach better than the wheaty taste of cheap lager. A couple of them make their way out to the garden and spark up, but he and a couple of others, myself included, stand in the tiny, crowded kitchen and talk. I don't really understand much of what is said. They seem to talk in some sort of code, with weird slang for things and nicknames for people: Wizz, Meat, Damo. Pods, Slammer, Red. No one seems to be known by their real name.

I manage to make one can of cider last the same length of time as they drink two or even three. It isn't enough to relax me, and even by the end of my second can I am still keyed up and on edge, feeling totally out of my depth, if a little tipsy. He hasn't said much to me most of the evening - no one has. So I feel a small rush of relief when, after a whispered conversation with the owner of the house (I'm guessing), he leans over to me and asks if I want to escape for a bit somewhere quieter. He leads me down the hallway and, to my surprise, up the staircase two at a time onto a small landing with three doors, one of which is firmly shut, one clearly the bathroom, and the third which is ajar. He pushes this one open and inclines his head for me to enter. 

It is someone's bedroom: small, with a double bed crammed into it, cheap furniture and no pictures on the walls. It barely looks lived in, and resembles student digs. I perch cautiously on the edge of the bed while he closes the door behind us and comes to sit next to me on the bed.

"Just thought you might like to get away from the noise for a bit."

"I'm fine," I laugh nervously. 

"You having a good time?" 

"Yeah," I lie, nodding enthusiastically, hoping he believes me.

"C'mere." He leans towards me and I let him kiss me, wishing I fancied him just a little bit so that this might be pleasant, but instead all I can focus on is the ratty stubble on his chin as it grazes against mine. His hand reaches for my chest almost immediately and I squeeze my eyes shut as I let him touch me, determined to be normal and just enjoy this like any other girl would; unable to understand why I can't. 

My heart sinks when he pulls away from me to yank his tshirt over his head, and while he unbuttons his jeans I reluctantly follow suit, hoping there will not be enough time to get very far before someone comes up the stairs. He lies on his side in his underwear, a truly unappealing sight, and slides two fingers between the gap in my thighs, rubbing them against the gusset of my knickers and watching my face for my reaction. I struggle not to grimace but if he notices, it doesn't bother him. He reaches to the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down, reaching for his semi-erection and rubbing his hand up and down it a couple of times to make it stand tall. He catches me looking at it, and when I look up he nods towards it, the expression on his face almost one of pirde. 

"You gonna suck it, then?"

I am unable to disguise the horror on my face this time. "What?!"

"You gonna suck my dick? Don't matter if you've not done it before. It's sort of hard to get it wrong."

I am frozen, unable to speak. There is not a fibre in my body that wants to go anywhere near his penis, with my mouth or any part of my body. 

"Just put it in your mouth. Gently, like."

"I - I don't want to."

I have found my voice, finally. 

He smirks. "Just try it. No need to be shy."

"No... I said I don't want to." 

"Come on." He wraps his hand around it and moves it up and down again, as though this will entice me. When I still don't budge he reaches for my hand and tries to force me to touch him, but I pull so hard against him that he lets go and frowns at me. "What, you want me to do it to you first?"

"What?!" I feel horrified, embarrassed and humiliated that I am so stupid. 

He leans over to me slowly and kisses me again, but this time I don't respond to him. Alarm bells are ringing in my head, telling me to get the hell out of there, but I feel frozen to the spot. I am still afraid of making a scene, of embarrassing him as much as embarrassing myself. He moves over me so he is lying on top of me and kisses my neck a couple of times, his stubble rough and scratchy against my bare skin. He gives my breast another squeeze, wriggles down my body so his face is level with my stomach and begins to ease my knickers down. I grab his hand in a panic and he looks up in surprise.

"Stop."

He frowns again. "What's the matter?"

"I don't want you to do that."

He sighs in annoyance and sits up. "What do you want then? You wanna have sex?"

"No - I'd like to go home please."

"Ah, fuckin'ell. Seriously?"

"Yes, please. I don't feel well." 

"You just need a couple more drinks. Let's just chill here for a bit. C'mon, lie down and we can just... do stuff."

"I don't want to do stuff." I am shaking now as I roll off the bed and stand up, reaching for my clothes as tears prick my eyes. I don't want him to touch me, and I definitely don't want to touch him.

"You can just give me a wank if you want? I'll finger you, or whatever -"

"NO!" This comes out as a strangled cry, and he doesn't bother to conceal his smirk as to my horror, tears spill down my cheeks.

"Fuck's sake, alright, no need to throw a fit. I didn't realise you were frigid or I wouldn't have bothered."

I can't answer him as I clumsily pull my jeans on and slip my feet into my sandals. I am too ashamed, too humiliated. He pulls his clothes on, and as I yank the door open he follows me down the stairs. A couple of lads from the group are in the hallway and chuckle like buffoons as I push my way through them blindly. I hear comments like, "didn't take long" and "that was over a bit quick", and finally his voice, "yeah, she's fuckin frigid mate. Can't be arsed with it." 

I run from the house, tears of humiliation and relief streaming down my face and their laughter ringing in my ears as I scurry across the estate in the direction of the miserable, grey high-rise block that I call home.