We were in The Anchor with this gang of boys me and Wendy had fallen in with. We weren't crazy about them, but they got us into pubs, and we'd agreed they'd be OK to practice on. When you're fifteen it looks better to have more boys around you than girls anyway.
That night I was trying lager. Someone had snuck in a bottle of cider too, and after every mouthful I passed my glass under the table for it to be topped up. There was one boy I hadn't seen before, closer to my age, Martin said he was a boxing champion. I thought he was cute, blond curly hair, angelic looking, not big like boxers on TV. Word passed down the table that he fancied me.
I needed some air, I wasn't feeling drunk, more dizzy. I realised quite quickly I didn't like lager, not even with cider in it. Me and this boy went outside together and round the corner by the concrete toilet block. We didn't talk much, he didn't say he liked my silver chain or ask what music I listened to, we just got on with some sort of kissing and groping.
I said I wanted to go back in the pub now. That close I didn't like him, didn't want to be out there with him. Everyone was outside now and we all started walking down Moulsham Street. It was icy and the boy had his arm round me. He wanted to walk fast, I had high heels on and was scared of slipping over. He still didn't say much, just picked me up and put me over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, and started running. I couldn't make a sound. He slipped and we fell on the pavement. Wendy helped me up and we left the rest of them.
When I got home the dirt on my clothes wasn't mentioned. I just said I had a headache and went straight upstairs to bed. I didn't see him again.