His hands push against the walls either side of my head as he expels himself from my body so quickly I swear I can hear him pop out. He comes twitching, the plastic head of his penis contracting against my buttock. I feel a droplet of sweat make its way down the back of my thigh.

I turn around. I have tinnitus in the ear he’s spoken into. I shake my head again, like a pony. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. I pull my bra back in place and roll my dress down. I inspect the backs of my legs. There is a rip in one knee of my hold-ups, but nothing noticeable, not in the dark of the club. How long were we in here? Where are the girls? Are they still going? When there’s nothing else left for me to do, I look at him. Stuart Brandon Pierce. He has tied the condom in a knot and laid it on the side of the sink. He’s leaning against the wall, his sweaty back forming a halo of condensation on the white tiles around his shoulders. He’s buttoning up his formal trousers. His red braces hang loose about his hips.

‘Why did you have to pull out like that?’

‘I told you. I was about to come.’

‘Well, so was I.’ This isn’t technically true, but I want him to feel as bad as I do.

He slides down the wall, with a light skidding sound, wet muscle on ceramic. He sits on the floor.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘You were wearing a condom.’

‘I … I feel like climaxing together is a bit too intense for a first date. It makes me feel … very naked.’

‘You looked pretty naked for a first date.’

I shut the toilet lid and sit down on it. I swipe a hand across my face to push away the damp baby hair.

‘Did you enjoy it, though?’

‘Sure.’ I look around for my heels.

Stuart is on the floor, motionless. His face a mask of disappointment. My perspective from up here makes the whole scene look quite pathetic.

‘What’s up?’ I say.

‘You know,’ he says, bottom lip out. ‘I just really wanted you girls to have a good night.’ He looks like a beagle on a PETA flyer.

Before I know it I’m on the floor, too, taking him in my arms. I feel the sweat cooling on his back, the skin beginning to goosebump across the strong dorsal trapezius. He smells of mint and talcum powder. Holding him feels different from being fucked by him. It feels worse, in a way. I’m not used to holding anyone who I’m not in love with. I only know how to do it tenderly. I don’t want him to be sad, but his body feels different.