Ohmygod ohmygod he's making his way along my row. Don't look. Stay calm. Focus on… the textbook… that's it. Principles of Neural Science. Fifth Edition. Anything other than those calf muscles and toned thighs and that well-defined package in his shorts I'm so not glancing at.

The row is empty but he doesn't slow, each step directly linked to my elevating heart rate. I let my hair fall on one side of my face to form an impromptu curtain between us. Pretend not to be peeking through the auburn tresses.

Fuck, he's gorgeous. Chic geek. I shouldn't be ogling. Married women don't ogle, right? Besides, get a grip, he's probably half my age. Girlfriend. Subscription to all industry journals. Well respected in the chess club. Mountain biking on the weekends.

I jump when someone opens a soda can from the bench behind. Pray it's Diet Coke and everything will drift into slow motion as the guy rips off his tight T-shirt to reveal those sculpted abs and chest beneath.

His top stays on. 'Noisia' must be some student band I should have heard of. Would I lie if he asks my opinion of them? Maybe. I'd probably just focus on those lips I dreamed of kissing. The shivers as they wandered lower from collarbone to breasts to belly, my writhing body twitching beneath his fluttering tongue when his piercing eyes gaze up into mine from between my legs. I mean, fuck, this is only week two, I'm a gloopy mess and have never been this close to him before.

He smells good. Musky. Heavenly. Why am I so thirsty? Water. Need water... Gotta be in my bag somewhere. Front pocket… there. Oh Christ, it has Pusheen the cat on it. How embarrassing. Too late now, the bottle's in my hand. Ohmygod he's sitting next to me. I'm going to explode.

Our thighs brush as he slides his knapsack to the floor and I jump.

So thirsty. Why can't I get the damn lid off this thing? I must seem like a tit struggling with it. I can feel him looking at me. Dazzling blues behind those oval metal-rim glasses, taking pity on my ineptitude. Fuck fuckity fuck. What is with this lid? I'm gonna have to smash the…

"Allow me."

His voice, gravelly and oh so sexy, jolts me from my tumbling thought stream as he leans in and reaches for the novelty plastic canister. Our fingertips touch and I almost leap out of my skin. Don't remember ever being this skittish in my life, even on my wedding day. He gently prises the thing from my vice-like grasp and releases the lid with a simple twist, handing it back.

I can't speak. Daren't look at him. Consumed by a combination of dryness and humiliation, I can only sense his smile.

"For future reference-" he pauses a beat. "It's anti-clockwise to undo."

Turning redder than a Louboutin heel, I take a huge gulp of water and spill a third of it down my blouse. As if I wasn't mortified enough already. "Perfect," I mutter, brushing my top before realising it's making my boobs bounce.

I dare a glance. He's smiling. Whether it's at me, or just a general smile I can't tell. He parts his lips to speak, closes them and then goes for the second attempt. "Amy, right?"

I nod, dumbfounded. "How…?" Can't manage to finish.

"Will."

A second nod. "I've seen you around."

Under-fucking-statement.

"Not seen much of you. Did you get to many Fresher's events?"

His accent's clear. Precise. Definitely not local. South coast, perhaps. I shake my head.

"Not my scene. Doubt they'd let me in. I'm not cool enough."

I feel his radiance. "They'll let anyone in."

When signs of a cheeky grin indicating he's teasing aren't forthcoming, I scrunch my forehead. "Thanks!"

He looks away then swings his gaze back to mine. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant you don't need to let your…" he waves his upturned hand in my direction and the sentence seems to die in his throat.

"Mature status?" I offer, my earlier panic easing with each moment in his company.

He gives a toothy grin. "Mature status put you off having fun."

Tucking the stray locks of hair back behind my ear, I reflect a moment. "The fun would be sucked from the room if I turned up. The music would stop. Everyone would stare at the crazy woman with the mid-life crisis."

"I doubt that. But you have a chance to prove me right."

I blink.

"It's Vortex tonight."

He seeks a glimmer of recognition. I blink again. Twice.

"Club, loud music, dancing, plenty of beer. Guy I know says it's a banging night."

"Oh, right. Doesn't sound like me, to be honest."

"You must have been clubbing first time around."

I look at the desk. "This is first time around."

"No! Wow. Furthering your career or trying something new?"

"The latter." I pick up the medical text and wave it. "A clean break from accountancy."

Will whistles. "Fair play. That takes some serious bottle."

I prickle with pride. "Thank you."

"And," he says, leaning in with a conspiratorial air so I catch a noseful of his manly scent beneath the aftershave, "it proves my point."

After the piss poor start, I risk a jape. "What's that? That you can teach an old dog new tricks?"

His arm brushes mine as he laughs, making me shiver. "If you're not afraid to try, anyone can learn new tricks."

Dr. Reese breezes in, the quintessential lecturer; shock of unkempt white hair, tweed jacket, his tattered briefcase in tow. "Good morning all."

A murmur of good mornings roll around the tiered lecture hall as he unpacks a few well-thumbed books and prepares.

Will leans in again. "Think about it. Seriously. You'll have fun. My housemates will be there and if you turn up, I'll buy you a drink. No strings."

Our eyes meet, my pulse spikes. He has the most gorgeous aquamarine eyes, and lashes to die for, magnified slightly by his specs. He turns his lopsided grin to the front as Dr. Reese addresses us and launches into the lecture.

It takes me a long moment to gather my thoughts and pick up my pen before opening my Pusheen folder and start taking notes.

~o0o~

The afternoon sun streams through the library window catching the highlights in Gemma's otherwise inky straight hair as she swings her legs off the table upon which she's sat. "You should totes go."

I take a sip of water, without spilling any. "Oh I don't know. Not been clubbing for… well, I can't remember."

"You'll defo fit in. Me and Trace and Sash are going out out. We'll get your six."

"Out out?"

She rolls her eyes in mock dissent. "Not just out. Large out. The one too many kinda out. Freaky Friday!"

"Oh. Doubt I'll be much company then. Three drinks and I'm anyone's."

A broad grin spreads. "Fratdaddy's are in for some type two fun then."

I appreciate I've only known her a few weeks after chatting in the registration queue on day one and hitting it off, but I swear she should come with a decoder ring. It's like conversing with a text message; I half expect her to finish sentences with 'lol'. Presuming it'll get easier as I tune in, I simply nod as if I get it and keep quiet.

"A1 sorted."

"What? I was only agreeing with you."

She pouts. "Awww, c'mon, Amy. YOLO."

That one I actually know, thanks to my teenage daughter. I huff.

Gemma hops off the table and playfully pokes me. "Come on. Have fun. One night."

"But my family. I need to-"

"Call them. Right." She holds out her hand. "Phone."

I shake my head. "I can't just drop everything. I need to make dinner. Besides, I don't have anything to wear and I-"

"Phone." Her hand's unmoving.

I sigh and rummage in my bag.

A flicker of a smile crosses Gemma's face when she sees the state of it. "You call."

"And say what?"

"You'll be late."

"He'll want to know why. He's… inflexible."

"Jeez, make some shit up."

"What?!"

"All-nighter assignment? Lost car keys? Just dial, girlfriend."

I shake, scrolling through the phonebook. It feels wrong to be dishonest even though Shaun and I haven't exactly been on the same wavelength of late. For a while, actually, since I plucked up the courage to leave my old job and start anew. I suspect he doesn't like our temporary salary drop or doesn't understand my reasons. Sometimes I wonder if I do, but I've made the choices and intend to live with them.

Staring at Gemma with her shimmering lip-gloss, perfect teeth and hair like a Pantene commercial, I hit green, barely believing what I'm about to do. The soft purr of the ringtone against my eardrum is almost drowned out by the adrenaline. "Hi, honey… yes, I'm fine. Listen, would you be able to hold the fort tonight? I'm thinking of staying here for a bit."

Gemma rolls a polished finger in a circle indicating to spin the yarn but I'm listening to Shaun fumble excuses. He hates last minute alterations. "Oh. Okay… Sure. Okay, I'd forgotten what day it is. No problem, I can stay late another time." I shrug at Gemma. She grabs the phone.

"Mr. Whitman? Hi. Sorry, we're kidnapping your wife tonight." My face drops and I scrabble for the phone but she turns away, grinning, out of reach. "Girly night out, letting our hair down, shakin' uni stressors. We'll return her in the ay-em," she flashes me an impish grin, "mostly unharmed." She listens, twisting away from my flailing grasp. "They sell pizza to anyone, y'know… Aha… I'm sure Sophia will cope. Kids like pizza... Yep… Nope… Well you've got a few hours to man up then. Enjoy."

She presses and holds the power button and the device beeps off.

I'm slackjawed. "I can't believe you did that."

She beams. "You got lectures?"

I rack my spinning brain. "Medical Science at two."

"Come to ours at three. If you can't gank anything off us, we'll shop. Get you some slutpants to wow Mr. Physics Fit." I open my mouth to protest but she whispers, "Psyche!" and bounds away leaving me with just my dormant phone and an army of butterflies trying to perforate my body.

~o0o~

The music is deafening; a one-way trip to tinnitus I'm sure. Strobes illuminate the clouds of thick, drifting smoke and partially clad gyrating bodies on the dance floor like a hedonistic flicker book as I sip what's left of my second drink from a safe distance. The initial disquiet at being in the club and wearing unfamiliar clothing is fading as the alcohol takes hold, but I'm still a little wary.

I pick out Sasha and Tracy in close quarters, dancing as one, lips close. "Lezzing it up" as Gemma eloquently referred to it earlier. She appears beside me, effortless in the tightest white jeans, platforms and ravishing scoop neck, tits for the taking. I give a forced smile, leaning in, shouting over the din.

"They seem… happy."

She nods and we watch them kiss. Slow and languorous despite the driving beat, yet feeding off it. Swaying in sync, hands roaming and clutching over scraps of clothing that they clearly consider a hindrance. Sasha is the dominant part of the equation, pulling the brunette in for a deep tongue kiss, hands tracking south to squeeze her curvy rump in the jean shorts. Tracy snakes her hands in the opposite direction behind Sasha's head to entwine her dirty blonde locks and the kiss heats up.

I squirm. It's somehow hot to witness their expression of love in such a public forum. The freedom to do whatever pleases them is refreshing. I suspect they haven't been together long, still scoping one another out. But at the rate they're going, the dance floor will soon no longer be able to contain what they wish to share.

Gemma's voice startles me, her breath hot in my ear. "Don't look now but there's a guy checking you out. I think it's Physics Fit."

Of course I look. It's him alright. Dark jeans, ripped at the knee, below a purple checked shirt not quite buttoned to the top. Acknowledging him, he nods back and makes his way from his group of friends towards us, my heart rate overtaking the unyielding dance beat. His smile does things to me and I look away at the throng of clubbers. Sasha it seems is trying to climb inside Tracy's throat.

I hear Gemma introducing herself to Will above the suffocating music. She's easy going. Flirty. More his type compared to me, too dumbstruck to even make eye contact in case he sees through me. Sees how much I want him even though I mustn't. Sees my fear and misinterprets it as a green light to infidelity and lawyers and custody battles.

Panic kicks in. I've made a mistake and question everything. Question being here in this too-tight skirt that Gemma insisted was perfect in the store. Question the shirt with too few fasteners that shows too much. Question my sanity for leaving Shaun alone on our traditional sofa movie night.

I'm unsettled. Agitated. Scanning for the exit, jostled by the crowd streaming from the bar spilling drinks, I make another mistake, risking a glance his way. Seeing his eyes on mine, looking at me or through me I'm not sure, the panic switches to excitement in an instant. There's a surge in my core at being his object of attention even though Gemma's pouring herself in his ear, close enough that he could move a few millimetres and touch her maddeningly perfect curves, yet doesn't.

She brushes his arm and shares one more private item in his ear, then turns and winks at me before sashaying to the bar.

Fuuuuck. My safety net's gone. All of a sudden it seems there's only he and I in the club as the temperature doubles. He steps into my space. "She seems nice."

It takes a moment to find my voice before I babble, "Oh she is. Super friendly. Smart. Funny, even though I can barely understand what she's talking about half the time and I think she-"

He cuts me off. "She's not as pretty as you."

I'm floored. Turning to a gawping statue, I eventually stutter, "What?!"

Will leans in so close I fear he'll be able to feel my heart hammering through my chest. Despite the din, his voice has pinpoint clarity. "I said she's not as pretty as you. Nor as smart, nor likely as strong-willed. I admire that."

Flattery doesn't normally work on me. Too wily; seen it all. But whether it's him or the alcohol or the setting or a combination, my body tingles. An all-over shiver that has no discernible starting point. How can he be interested in me compared to her? Or any other girl here for that matter? I shuffle from one foot to the other in his imposing presence and almost gasp. I can barely believe it, but the evidence is obvious in my knickers. I'm wet? Fucking hell.

The revelation derails me even further. I've never known anything like it, even during my courting days. I'm hot for this kid and have no idea why or how. No frame of reference. Old enough to be his mother and yet… and yet.

His voice returns. "I promised you that drink."

He steps away, arm openly gesturing towards the bar. I hesitate, locating my voice. "I've probably had enough."

Cocking his head to one side and flashing me a grin, he calls out, "Sure? Not even one? I always try and keep my promises. And it is the weekend."

My head says I shouldn't. I don't like being too out of control. I can be reckless. Used to be reckless. I open my mouth to stand my ground, but something makes me pause. A tiny voice in the back of my head that becomes louder, rivalling the music. Perhaps planted there by his unwavering, panty-melting gaze. I weigh it all up and my resolve sags, then snaps under his magnetism. "One drink," I find myself saying before threading my way to the bar, positive his stare is burning through my wiggling skirt.

Elbowing through to the bar edge, Will pressed to my hip, he orders for us and the heavily tattooed barman retrieves four shot glasses and proceeds to mix what looks like Blue Curaçao, vodka and lime. The azure liquid fills the glasses to the brim.

I look from Will to the drinks and back. "Can he not count?"

Will takes one and hands it to me, grinning and holding his up for me to clink. "Bottoms up."

I shake my head, take a deep breath, tell myself everything's going to be alright and upend the mixture in unison with him.

It's sweet. Almost sickly at first until the vodka and lime kick in to quell it. He slams his glass on the bar and I do likewise as warmth spreads from my throat throughout. He's reaching for the second one almost before the alcohol is level with my chest.

"Blue Kamikaze," he announces. "Say goodbye to Kansas, Dorothy."

He raises the drink. Just one more slug and I have options as the potent mixture dissipates. Keep my head or throw up; either way is an exit strategy. Spend some time chatting with him, or find Gemma, probably orphaned by her face-sucking housemates. Maybe dance. I'm feeling that buzz, inhibitions fading with each beat. That irrepressible need to sway to the music. It's something I can barely remember doing in my twenties, but it feels natural. Sensual. Something I should perhaps do more. Embrace life instead of being chained to the job or being a taxi driver for Sophia's teenage wing spreading.

Our shot glasses meet briefly and then the blue is searing my throat again. Filtering through me, making everything glow, somehow enhancing his eye colour.

Light headed and floating, we chat. About what I doubt I'll remember, but I'm feeling more relaxed and our conversation is fun. We brush one another. Flirt, even. It feels new and exhilarating. Stolen touches electrify me and make me glow like the alcohol that flows through my system, probably killing off vital neurons I'll learn about in Year Two. But right now I don't care. He makes me smile. His voice, his proximity makes me drip.

Four more shots later my back slams up against the inside of the cubicle wall in the gents. His tongue is in my mouth, our lips crushing together and I've never felt so alive. The kiss is fervent, its rawness laced with bittersweet traces of alcohol and sugar. His hands sweep my hair back, cradling my head, our bodies grinding against one another.

I lock my arms behind his head and lose myself in his kiss. The heat is unreal. Amy the sensible ex-accountant and Amy the mumsy housewife are both gone, banished, replaced with Amy before-everything-mattered. The Amy I once was, when I wore ripped jeans the last time they were in fashion, sneaking into raucous bars then getting grounded for rolling back late reeking of alcohol.

My hands slither down his fine body, clutching at his shirt, untucking it and roaming the hot flesh beneath. So tight and exciting. His knee slides between my thighs and I grind against it. I can barely believe how needy I am. The state of my panties transfers a wet patch to his jeans but neither of us notice. The only thing tumbling through my mind is how fast I can get him disrobed to feel him nudging my slick entrance. To feel him split me open.

On autopilot I fumble his belt buckle, desperate to feel the texture of his shaft that's currently firm against my belly. I'm surprisingly coordinated, his fly unzipped before I snake my hand inside his underwear. Fucking hell. What a gorgeous cock. I grip it and glide his impressive length, feeling the foreskin slip away so I can rub my thumb over his flared tip, already drizzling pre-come.

Pulling away and crouching in the ridiculous heels, just enough awareness to know the floor is a bad choice, I pull his waistband down below his balls and wank his shaft. Before he's even had time to groan at the cooler air, my mouth is on his tumescence, warming it through. Circling the head, my exploring tongue charts him, sizing him. Fuck, he's long. I can comfortably take Shaun, but as I lower my lips on Will, I cough about two-thirds down.

Determined, I grab his waist and try again. He lets me do it at my pace, content to offer encouragement through gritted teeth as I fight my gag reflex and take him into my throat. There's no way my spluttering can't be heard outside the cubicle, mixed with the banter and hand dryer whirring and waves of music that flood in when the bathroom door bangs open. But I don't care, consumed by alcohol-fuelled lust, I choke him almost all the way down before tearing off him, coughing, eyes streaming.

Will looks down at me and rubs the spit bubbles around my lips with his finger, tracing under my chin and using the digit to guide me to my feet. His eyes are wide, roving my body, settling on my chest heaving beneath the shirt. With an unapologetic flurry, he grabs the material and yanks the poppers apart, spilling my bra to his hungry gaze. He grabs my tits and massages them through the lacy fabric, then scoops them out, pushes me against the flimsy wall and lowers his face to them.

I moan as he takes a cherry nipple in his mouth and sucks. It firms between his lips and he rolls his teeth around its circumference, making me buck against him. The other responds the same way under his nibbles and I grab his head to fasten him to my breast. Playtime is over. He bites harder, more urgently, and I can feel my knickers becoming more transparent by the second.

Pulling his face away, our eyes meet across the tiny space. He touches my cheek. "Fuck, you have gorgeous tits, Amy. Is the rest of you as exciting?"

Emboldened watching the way his cock reacts to me, I arch my hips forward off the wall and hike my skirt. His dick bobs and he reaches out to trace fingertips across my pussy lips, prominent through the material. I jump at his touch, then shudder as his hand cups my mound.

"Is all this wet for me?"

I bite my lower lip and nod demurely. His finger slips beyond the gusset and thatch of pubic hair to tuck into my folds. I gasp at the invasion but he withdraws, bringing his glistening digit between us. I watch mesmerised as he raises it to his lips and sucks my juices, eyes closing behind those sexy glasses.

When his eyes snap open, he glides his wet finger down over my chest, flicks a nipple, continues to roam the hump of my belly then again tucks it into my oozing snatch. When it returns wet, he proffers it to me and I hungrily taste myself from him, swirling tongue savouring my silky texture.

With a hardening expression, he grabs my hips and spins me to face the cubicle wall, pulling me back against his body. I feel his cock nudge my panties as I rest my palms against the cheap divide between the next stall and us, and wiggle my butt in his direction. I've never wanted sex so badly in sixteen years of marriage.

Again I feel fingers at my gusset, this time pulling it aside, then the next moment: glorious fulfilment. He sinks completely on the second stroke and impales me on his massive, slender pole. I puff against the cubicle wall, trying to keep noise to a minimum, but it's a losing battle. Our bodies start to slap against one another as I'm massaged internally by his gloriously hard meat.

Shoving back against his body using the divider as leverage, I consume every inch. The depravity of taking such a risk in the public setting has me teetering on the edge of an orgasm and I pull off him to ride the ridge, never quite tipping over. He rolls my fleshy rump, gliding his cock along my soaked slit between my thighs until I adjust the angle again and impale myself on his steel.

It's the fuck of my lifetime. Resting one forearm on the wall, I drive the other hand between my legs and roughly circle my aching clit, desperate to come. I bite my lip hard as he pounds away inside my sopping centre, my gasps becoming closer together until my entire body knots and I tense as the explosions begin in my brain and waves crash through me to flow over his relentless invasion.

My orgasm is an intense, panting affair, clutching him with my spasming channel as Will continues to ravage me. He grabs my hair and jerks my head back, bringing his mouth to my ear.

"Is that good, Amy?"

I nod.

"You like getting fucked?"

A second nod as the waves never let up inside me, threatening to make me buckle if he weren't holding me up.

"Are you a dirty girl?" he snarls, reaching around with one hand to maul my tits and pinch my nipples.

I can do nothing but nod, the power of speech reduced to mere groans as his cock continues to plunder my insides throughout my orgasm.

"I bet you are. Underneath that prim shell, I bet you're a filthy fucking girl. A real dirty slut."

He yanks his cock out and the next thing I feel besides the continued swells of release are his hands spreading my arse cheeks. I jump as he buries his tongue in my peach, slathering my rosebud. I'm taken aback and squirm. So different. So naughty. But I fight to pull away.

"No, Will. Come on, that's dirty."

"You said you were filthy."

"Not like that. It's… wrong."

"Thought you were all about learning new tricks?" He returns his tongue to rim my arsehole. I want to fight, but the tail of my orgasm is still rippling through me and each swab of his tongue lengthens it. I start to moan. "Oh, Will, please, no… yes… no, it's not… oh, God."

I twist to stare over my shoulder at him. It's fucking depraved. Skirt around my waist, his nose resting on my sacrum, tongue now probing my darkest hole, each stab widening me as his tongue forces its way inside, deeper and deeper.

There's no way it can be real. I convince myself I must be dreaming but the evidence – the delicious, decadent evidence – is plain. His worming tongue, his sheer animalistic desire to lick me there is intoxicating, the shackles of the taboo act beginning to drop away until I find my hips wiggling of their own accord. I shiver at the change.

Will pulls back and spits on my arsehole, then massages it in with his tongue. Then a finger. Then two. I'm beside myself as he explores where I've never been touched. Never occurred to me to even try.

I kind of want him to stop, fearful of the consequences, but the rush permeating my body swamps rational thought. I just moan, over and over, drowning in the way his actions prolong the previous orgasm, until it feels the most natural thing in the world for him to stand and press the dull tip of his amazing dick to the shiny, crinkled opening.

"Bottoms up, Amy," he whispers and begins the assault.

Ohmygod ohmygod it hurts. But it's unlike any pain I've known. Each millimetre that creeps into my bottom makes me simultaneously wince and gasp. Each time I think there can't possibly be any more stretching, he eases in further. Wider. My backside is on fire and I'm not aware my hand has crept to my clit again until I touch it and jolt, nudging him in further. I bite my lip hard to stop myself from crying out.

He whispers, "Fuck, Amy, you're amazing," and applies more pressure. The flange at the base of his head breaches the opening and is drawn in. There's a pop as he enters fully, to which I'm unable to stifle a groan, loud enough that there are sniggers the other side of the cubicle wall and lewd comments about someone having a good time.

As Will eases in further, that person having a good time is definitely me. With my virgin arsehole now stretched as wide as necessary, the going is easier and very soon I feel his pubes tickling my rump.

I look back at him, his mouth slack and gaze down between us. Never seen anything more erotic, stuffed full. "Fuck."

His eyes meet mine. "I intend to."

And with that, he draws out. I watch his immense cock reverse until just the head is trapped, sparks igniting the embers of my orgasm once more. I don't think it's even stopped since it began. His steel gliding back into the darkness makes me shudder as he begins a steady rhythm and I can't suppress any more noises. I just groan over and over. To hell with what anyone thinks, this is true freedom.

My fingers skip over my fully exposed clit, each circle coinciding with his now more urgent thrusts. My dogged gaze snaps from the action to his eyes and I beg him with words I never thought would pass my lips, "Yes, yes, fuck my arse."

I hear a whoop and some high-fives the other side of the wall and it inexplicably adds fuel to my fire. I start to rock with Will's rhythm, meeting him and pulling away, the glorious sensation transferred to every nerve ending in my body, our eyes locked.

My nipples tingle. My toes curl. My pussy clenches as another orgasmic wave engulfs me. I'm breathless in its wake, burning up. I sense a change in him. His breathing tightens too. His fingernails dig into my bum and I know the signals mean only one thing.

His hand once more snakes to my hair, gripping tight, spinning me away to face the uninspiring graffiti on the cubicle wall. "Gonna come in your slutty arse, Amy."

His admission affords me a curious sense of authority. "Do it. Fill my dirty hole," I snarl.

I crush my palm against my spasming cunt, juice raining through my fingers to the floor as he rams to the hilt and holds there, shuddering as he unloads powerful jets of spunk inside my distended arse. He pulls my hair hard so my back is arched, hissing my name and telling me how beautiful and nasty I am. My vision swims as I come like never before, a tangled wreck that unites brain and body.

The bathroom lights above me dance and flash while flares rocket around my supercharged frame. There's movement in my field of view but I pay no attention. I'm lighter than air, nothing else discernible until bursts of stifled laughter filter into my head and shapes form above me. The phone attached to a bare arm over the top of the cubicle wall is joined by a peeking head. A mop of sandy hair and a grin take in my predicament and I stiffen.

The head speaks. "You were right, Will, she is a dirty slut."

I swivel away from Will's grasp on my hair, suddenly grounded and stare back at him, his head shaking no at the intruder, daggers in his eyes. I yank my body away from him and almost cry out at his sudden exit from my arse, a drizzle of spunk trailing my thigh.

"What the fuck, Will?"

"I… I don't know what he's talking about."

I grab his throat, vaguely aware my skirt's still hiked and my used bum is now on display to the camera. "Try again."

His swallow ripples past my hand, before he begins babbling. "Tom kinda… bet me that you were dirtier than you appeared and wanted photographic proof and though I started out with that intention, when we got here I didn't care because I loved being with you and so I didn't video us but I guess he found us and…"

I can't listen. His words become a blur, my hand slackening momentarily as a tide of nausea hits that I fight back, then grip tighter. I set him a death stare. "I'm a fucking… bet?"

Will's scared and starts to shake his head then thinks better of it. "No… yes… sort of. At first. But you have to believe me, it was nothing like that in the end."

My world collapses. What have I done? How could I be so stupid thinking he'd be into me, with all the younger pussy available on campus? Jesus! Such a fool. I let my hand drop and he gasps, his fingers rubbing his throat. "Please, Amy, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Seething and shaking, I adjust my bra and refasten my top as he gabbers apologies, but I'm not taking it in. The poppers end up skewed and I throw up my hands, choosing to leave one undone and yank my skirt back down amid a wiggle of hips.

I fix him a stare I hope he remembers for the rest of his existence. Time slows as I inhale and launch a solid kick to his nuts. Tom, hanging above me, guffaws as his friend sinks to the grimy floor of the club toilet clutching his privates and I turn to glare up at the camera. I stick my middle finger up. "Hope you filmed that."

Grabbing the door handle, I storm out, banging the bathroom door theatrically and leaving them both behind as I forge through the horde of clubbers to the exit. Even in the cool air and beginnings of rain, my head's still spinning. My arse is sore. Adrenaline and rage and alcohol and fragments of orgasm fight for superiority in my body.

The internal tug of war continues, even after I board the train. I feel both lost and found. Disappointed at getting drunk, disgusted at being used, glad to have left with at least a shred of dignity, yet altered forever. Tears form and I wipe them away. I don't know how to feel. How I should feel. Despite the manner in which I handled it and the cold, stark reality of the guilt I now have to face at cheating, anal sex delivered a thrill I never expected. A thrill I know I'll need to repeat.

As the train glides past streets where inebriated youths stumble to rented digs, giving way to the residential suburbs where I'll totter in stinking of booze in unfamiliar clothing, I wonder if shared new experiences can propel Shaun and I forward. Show him the reinvented me – or maybe the me running from something I won't admit – isn't just the backwards step he thinks. Perhaps he'll be open to exploring my… other opening.

The world silently slips by the train window, indistinct streaks of colour through rain-smeared glass, and I settle into the seat, thinking, worrying, preparing. The rocky road to redemption and a marital even keel will no doubt be tough, moreso when I confess my shameful tryst with Will. But I tell myself honesty will be worth the pain. It has to be. I just have to hope Shaun can find it in his heart to forgive this old dog with her new trick.