His eyes met hers, and she felt a flash of fear in case she saw anger, resentment, any hint that he thought she was a tease, or – worse – a silly girl who wasn’t worth bothering with. If she saw that, ever, even for a second, the whole thing would be over, and worse than over, it would be ruined, smashed, even the memories turned toxic and radioactive.

You’re beautiful, his gaze told her.

She pointed to the chair.

Most of us have never had proper sex, but we all know what an orgasm looks like. You open your eyes and your mouth really wide, and you yell ‘yes’ and ‘fuck me’ and all that stuff, and then you scream ‘YESSSS!’ Job done. You don’t get sweaty or mess up your make-up or put yourself at an angle where you look fat or ugly. Also, it only takes, like, a few minutes, and it happens dead easily or else you’re frigid. Thanks, YouTube.

I mean, I used to think the same.

He watched breathlessly as she unbuttoned her shirt, then his. She saw the tip of his tongue as he licked his lower lip. She could feel the heat in his skin. His chest was hairy. She was never sure if she liked that or not. Some days she enjoyed how smooth and silky she felt by contrast. On other days, the memory turned her stomach and made her vow never to see him again.

There was this one time with Ewan. We were indoors for once, in his bedroom. I thought I’d do a strip for him. So he put on some music and lay down on his bed and I started trying to take my clothes off.

It felt really weird. I didn’t know if I was doing it right and I wished I’d practiced in front of a mirror. Then I got really mad with myself because it seemed so pathetic, worrying if I was taking my top off properly. And whether it looked sexy or just really dumb that I was stood with my shirt and bra off, but my skirt and tights and shoes still on. And whether he could tell that my right boob’s bigger than my left. And I felt like such a massive twat, but I kept going anyway. Then when I was naked I let him feel me all over and rub against me, and he was really into it and I just wasn’t, it was like being humped by a Labrador or something, only he didn’t notice.

Two weeks after that, he dumped me. And I wasn’t sure if it was because of that day in his room. Like it might be my fault for taking my clothes off and letting him get himself off and not enjoying it.

It was intoxicating, knowing she could do anything she liked. She put her hands on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He half-raised his hands to touch her, then stopped. She waited a minute, wilful, even though she wanted him to touch her. It was still a shock to discover she could want as well as be wanted, that her body could feel pleasure as well as inspire it.