He started to knead at her breasts, quite roughly. His face became pink; his expression was a strange, almost sneering excitement that she didn’t understand or recognise; it shimmered and vanished. At least the bored lethargy had completely disappeared now. His other hand grabbed her behind and pulled her tightly to him. Her hips hit his. Then he kissed her. Not in the slightest bit the way she’d been kissed before. Kisses from her parents and siblings had fallen smooth and gentle, brief and neat on her cheeks and forehead, never her mouth. His kisses were hard. Insistent. Exhilarating. His lips seemed to want to be inside her mouth. His tongue was! She tried to copy what he was doing. He murmured and groaned. He called her wonderful. Ah, now she was wonderful! She watched their reflections in the mirror. He was stooped, melting into her. His head bent in that way looked so sweet! She put her fingers in his hair and started to comb his locks as she might if one of her sisters or her brother felt miserable and needed cheering up.

‘Oh, you minx.’

He seemed pleased. He put his hands on her neck, clasping her hard to him. She liked the feel of his warm hand actually on her skin; it was a bit closer to how she felt in bed when she ran her fingers over her thighs or waist. She really didn’t understand what all the fuss regarding breasts was, not exactly. She honestly couldn’t feel much except a sense that she was making him happy. Suddenly he moved his hand inside the low neckline of her dress; his fingers wiggled. Oh God, he was touching her actual nipple. Her stomach turned to water.

This, this was what the fuss was about!

She should stop him. She must, but it felt so lovely, and the way he was moaning, repeating her name as though he was almost praying to her, well, it was wonderful! She felt powerful, charged. He picked her up – oh, how easy it was for him to do that – and sat her flat on the unit that held the washbasin. His hand slipped along her leg. Down to her ankle, back up to her knee. He seemed to have so many hands. Naturally, instinctively, she opened her legs and like a bee to a flower his hand shot to the top of her thighs. His fingers worked quite roughly. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he seemed to be having such fun that she hardly minded the brusque force. When should she stop him? Soon. Now? She’d proven her point. It was wise to leave him wanting more. Although it was so very, very exciting. His face was so close to hers. It slipped from handsome to grotesque and back again. Spittle and urgency were all she noticed.

She was glowing. A woman. It was, quite frankly, rather awkward, not all that. She wondered why on earth the entire human race was quite so obsessed with it. Still, she’d done it with her brilliant Nathaniel and now she was a woman. A girl no longer. He’d clearly loved it. Grunted, cried out. The way he’d looked at her! So urgent and intent. It felt marvellous to know she could move him so.