Fantastic friends already, we slunk about the party mingling but really just following each other's traces, the air already thickening with alcohol and lust. An academic year of wanting felt like it was leading up to this moment. Upstairs we cornered each other in a spare bedroom laughing with a handful of fellow inebriates. 'Are you a couple?' asked the anonymous party-goer slumped in a corner. No, we replied, shooting a sheepish, almost guilty 'but-we-should-be' look straight into the other's eyes. 'Well then,' the girl in the corner slurred, 'you're going to fuck tonight.' 'Yes,' I said, 'yes, we probably will.' I smiled, took her by the waist, and we walked downstairs.

Outside the dying party we walked slowly with our arms around each other through suburbia, alcohol and affection warming our bodies and the 4am stillness enhanced by the soft sodium glow of the streetlights, a beautiful summer night.

In my room I felt transformed. Gone was the smooth, confident Jake. Instead, there was the fourteen year old me. I was whisked away to how I felt about my first love. I stumbled over words, I grinned inanely, overcome with happiness. I grabbed her for spontaneous bouts of hugging, I covered her body in kisses, and though we did have sex that night, we certainly didn't fuck. Our bodies moved in a haze of vodka and coke, but it was a beautiful symphony of bodies perfectly meshed and in synchronicity. We laughed about how it had taken us since September for this to happen. I marvelled at her adorable smile, her girly voice, and her perfectly formed little body and she just smiled and kissed me, her tiny lips finally meeting mine.

I saw her the next day, and the next, and the next. I'm smitten.