A small hand with stubby half painted nails can help you up. You can see up the hand’s skirt as you climb to your feet, leaning heavily on the banister. You crave the flesh and lead it into the nearest bedroom.
You can fall into the arms of the wasted fresher, eager to add a notch to her proverbial bedpost. You can get caught on the rigged up webcam easing your fingers underneath her pink, lacy knickers, massaging the soft brown skin below her waist and then leaning into kiss her as she passes out on the carpet, her mini skirt riding up around her hips.
You can go too far, you judgement and moral centre having got thrown away with most of your clothes an hour or so ago.
You can wake up with a fuzzy mouth and an ulcerated tongue, a cramp in your shoulder and a carpet burn on your knee.
You pause in the door. Go on, head for the kitchen.
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