The night before it happened he was kissing me up against his living-room window. People on the street below were cheering. “Wow, we must look really hot,” I thought.
I’d met Sam* four years previously through a friend. He was tall, interesting and carried the quiet confidence of an Oxbridge graduate. We didn’t have a lot in common, but that didn’t matter much. Sam made me feel desired for the first time in my life. It felt great.
Things changed one Sunday afternoon. We were watching TV in his flat when he put his hand on my leg. Taking this as an obvious instruction, I started kissing him. Clothes were quickly yanked off, left in a crumpled heap as we rushed to his room. Though
