Slut.

Christ. I don’t know where to start. Always a good start to a story…

I didn’t blow The Director out. I actually went on the date. I also got blind drunk and turned into an absolute slut. Total slut. Wasn’t that the point of the date though? I went out looking to get laid and get laid I most definitely did….

The only problem is I don’t remember much of it. In fact I barely remember anything at all. I’m a non-drinker. I never drink. So the three large glasses of wine and two or three snakebite and blacks I drank last night on an empty stomach went down a right treat. I was obliterated but held it together pretty well. I wasn’t abusive, I didn’t cry and apparently he had a really good time. Of course he did. He went on a date with the slutty girl.

We stayed out much later than we’d planned and ended up in the same bar I spent most of my late teens and early twenties in. We turned into two eighteen-year-old twats, drinking far too much and indulging in a lot of making out when we thought we could get away with it.

That’s it though. That’s literally all I remember. I don’t remember our first kiss. I don’t remember getting the cab home or going to his place. I don’t remember the naughtiness that apparently went on in the back of said cab. I don’t remember screwing him although apparently there was plenty of that going on. I’m really annoyed.

I don’t understand why or how I got that drunk and man am I paying for it today. I feel like shit and I don’t look much better. We had such a great night. We had such a great morning. He drove me home (although he probably shouldn’t have) and thanked me for a great night. He also planned the next date. I kinda figured I wouldn’t get a call back after my slutty, drunken behavior but we’re having Netflix and chill on Thursday. I actually can’t wait. A second chance to make a slightly better impression of myself. He wasn’t entirely innocent of course. But then he’s a guy and an ex-squaddie at that. What did I expect?

I do remember us having some serious chemistry. Obviously… I also remember being completely at ease with him. I was petrified before the date. As soon as I met up with him I was cool, composed and utterly hilarious. The chat was easy. The banter flowed. It was as though I’d known him for ages. It was weird.

I would never have drunk that much if I didn’t feel safe with him. I do remember him grabbing my phone and texting Bestie with his address and details so that he’d know I was safe. I get the impression (from him) that it was a pretty amazing first date. It’s a shame I don’t remember half of it. I’m not even getting flashbacks. I actually don’t remember any of it. Which sucks because now technically, I’m going to need to go through all the first-time stuff all over again. I don’t remember how he kissed me. I don’t remember how he touched me. I don’t know anything.

We had round two this morning. And round two and a half. It felt amazing. That’s something I guess. But we didn’t kiss. It was a spooning quickie. I want more of that. I’m so annoyed that I don’t remember what happened last night. It sounded like I had a really great time.

Go on judge me. I don’t care. I’m judging myself. Who the fuck am I? When did the socially anxious, scared-of-everything girl become this alcoholic super-slut? Slash sassy vixen. That’s what he thought. I wasn’t a messy drunk thank fuck.

I need to over-analyse about this some more but for now my head is hurting and I want to nap. I’m actually quite disappointed in myself. Fucking shameful. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I actually remembered it. Pointless sluttery.

So here’s some advice ladies – don’t get good and drunk on the first date. You WILL sleep with him. You WON’T remember it. What a fucking pointless exercise.