So there was that. Then there were the kisses that became starved, vicious, desperate, and movie scene worthy sweeping me down, bending me backwards. The exhibitionist in me delighted in the fact that we were on the dance floor, and inches away sat other party goers, some perhaps glancing in our direction. We weren’t being discreet, as his hand trailed up the thin fabric of my dress, in between my legs.

The scenery is the key, here. An adventure— something possible in the doe-eyed enthusiasm of youth.