A - Chapter One

People still ask me how the whole thing started, how I got the scar,
how I became involved with the drug money and the deaths and the whole
damn mess and I say Christ, how does anything start? It starts with a
girl.

Not that this was any ordinary girl, though. She was the most
incredible thing I had ever seen in my entire life. Every pore of her
body seemed to ooze grace. And sex. I mean, if this girl had burped I
would have been aroused.

She was standing by the dance floor when I first saw her. Just standing
there, playing with the glass in her hand as she sort of swayed in time
to the music that was blaring from the massive speakers all around the
club. Compared with every other girl in the place she looked like
Venus. Or is it Aphrodite? I was never too good with mythology.

Anyway, she was gorgeous. I couldn't say she was beautiful because she
had that dirty aura about her that instantly denies the categories
'pretty' and 'beautiful', and leans towards 'fuckable', but not in the
way that it was only her body and not her face that was attractive. It
was everything. There was just something about her.

She had scarlet-red hair that hung just above her shoulders. I couldn't
quite determine the colour at first because the lights in the club were
both bright and multi-coloured, leading to the sporadic pairings around
the dance-floor of attractive and unattractive people that would only
be realised, with a shock for whichever the attractive one was, upon
leaving the club.

I was faced with two options. One. I could just stand and watch her
until she walked away, thereby preserving my perfect memory of her and
affording the opportunity to invent various scenarios I could involve
in my (often prolonged) masturbatory fantasies. Two. I could actually
try and pull her.

Now, faced with many similar situations in the past, I have wisely
plumped for option one almost every time. The odd occasions when I have
gone for option two have, with alarming frequency, resulted in my
initial illusion of the girl as a minor goddess being shattered either
by swift and nasty refusal of my charms or by actually pulling the girl
in question and the illusion being shattered in an equally heartless
way when she has turned out to be entirely incompatible with me as a
kisser, or lover, or in some unfortunate encounters, both.

However, as I originally said, this was no ordinary minor goddess. She
was one of the few examples of God's existence I have yet to find.
Talking to her in any capacity, even if she were to instantly tell me
to fuck off would have been a bonus.

But that was the problem. No matter how I tried to kid myself, I knew
if I tried to pull her and failed it would make my later drunken
depression ten times worse. So I just stood there and stared for what
seemed like an age, continually drinking from my rapidly depleting
pint.

There was the added problem that I knew my previous attempts at
conversing with girls hadn't been the success I always hoped they would
be. I had no idea what to say to her. I abjectly refused to resort to a
line that could possibly start a conversation, keeping in mind to well
and truly ignore the "can I buy you a drink" line, which I am proud to
say I am yet to use.

My continual worry was that someone else with more guts than me would
suddenly step in and say something disgustingly crap which would
actually pull her. Or even worse, that that would happen the second I
decided to go for it anyway and sod the consequences, thereby leaving
me standing stupidly next to her and the aforementioned bloke, both
unconscious of my presence, as they proceeded to rip each other's
clothes off.

I was out with a few mates but they were dotted around the club, either
with girlfriends or, at least, girlfriends for the night, and it would
be worse than horrible if I couldn't immediately excuse myself and find
one of them to talk to if I was blown out.

The other worry was that my pint was fast disappearing as I tried to
combat my now constantly dry throat and I couldn't go to the bar in
case I was to return and find she had left or, dreaded though the idea
was, was with someone else grinding against her on the
dance-floor.

She kept glancing around every now and then and it struck me that the
reason no-one was with her might be because she was with her boyfriend
and was in the process of looking for him as she waited for his return.
I drained the final dregs of lager in my glass and placed it on the
table next to me, where some sickening couple were frantically eating
each other's faces off. I was horrified that it shocked me to see the
sickening bloke's hand up the sickening girl's skirt.

I realised I was being stupid. I was getting all worried and lovesick
about a girl I didn't know, hadn't spoken to and would probably turn
out to have the deepest voice in the history of mankind. Christ, she
was only a girl. I wasn't going to die if I spoke to her or not, and
the fact that if I wanted to touch any part of that unbelievable body
inside that unbelievably short blue dress meant I would have to speak
to her in some capacity first finally moved my back from the table and
towards her.

I moved about three inches before I stopped. What am I thinking of? She
isn't even going to look at me when I start talking to her. Not that I
could think of anything to say anyway. Bollocks, I thought, I'm going
over regardless. If she doesn't seem interested within the first few
moments, pretend you've seen someone you know and go over to the bar.
At the very least you can drink yourself into a stupor.

Incredibly, my feet were now moving. I was walking very slowly, but
walking all the same. Right towards her. She was about ten feet away
and looking into the mel?e on the dance-floor. That, for once, was a
good thing, the later I established eye contact the better, it gave me
longer to think of something to say. I haven't got anything to say! my
mind was screaming at me. I toyed with the idea of actually saying
"I've got nothing to say", but I really didn't think she'd see that as
being in any way amusing.

Compliments, I then thought. I remembered reading in some teeny girls'
magazine ages ago about how girls go all drooly when they're showered
with compliments. I didn't think I could face it though, give away too
many compliments and you're instantly open to a backlash. I'd always
previously thought that saying to a girl "Hi, you're gorgeous" would at
once seem charming, slightly witty for a first line, and an incredibly
nice thing to say. How wrong I was. The way it worked for me in the
past was - "Hi, you're gorgeous", leading to "I know. You're not. Now
fuck off." That was a real confidence-knocker and I haven't been very
sure about compliments ever since.

I was struggling to keep my mind on what I was doing as I realised with
horror I was now only about five feet away and her head was beginning
to turn around towards me. I began praying that I wouldn't faint as my
heart rate immediately rocketed and I thought that even worse than
being turned down by this girl would be to collapse at her feet. But
then again, there was the sympathy vote included if I was to fall
momentarily comatose in front of her.

No, I can't faint. Oh please God, don't let me faint. Give me something
to say, anything, just as long as I don't end up unconscious on the
floor. She was almost facing me now and I was feeling more and more
light-headed by the second. I noticed just in time that I was actually
going to knock her over if I didn't stop immediately so I did.

She looked directly at me as I stood before her, probably trembling by
this point. She had green eyes. She bloody well would have. Just when I
thought I could handle this situation calmly she looked at me with the
most incredible green eyes I'd ever seen. And then, as I started to
recover and was about to speak, she smiled as well, putting me back
another ten seconds.

"Hello," she said, calm as you like.

"Hello," I replied, still amazed I hadn't keeled over.

"Is anything wrong?"

"Wrong?" I said stupidly.

"It's just that you look anxious about something," she said, still
smiling heartlessly. Did she actually want me to collapse?

"No, no I'm not anxious, I was just walking." What the hell am I
saying?

"Are you having fun?"

"Fun?"

"Walking?"

"Oh, you know, as much as you can really when walking." My internal
organs seemed like they'd lifted about a foot each and for some strange
reason, I felt like my mouth had been replaced by my arse. This was not
going well. But at least my heart rate was returning to normal, even if
it was now stuck in my throat.

"No, I was you know, just walking so that I could come over here," I
said and already knew the stupidity of what I was about to say. I was
going to compliment her. And she was going to throw it back in my face
from point blank range. I forgot what I was going to say for a moment
and had to start again.

"Yes, I wanted to come over here, because, you see, I saw you when I
was stood over there and I thought that well, to me anyway, from what I
could see, and by the way, what I could see has been justified in every
way now that I'm standing here, that you looked, well, quite
nice."

There it was. The compliment was out there. She was still looking
straight into my eyes as my hands played havoc with my jeans' pockets
and I stared at her smile, waiting for the second it would twitch and
turn from the casual, friendly and downright gorgeous smile to more of
a grimace so that she could spit her insult back at me.

My heart had decided to return back to its previous residence in my
chest, but was beating like buggery again as I waited for her face to
change and what remained of her drink to go over my head.

"Thank-you," she said, her smile unflinching.
I thought that there must be some malice behind her remark, but
couldn't tell it in her smile or her tone of voice. She actually
accepted what I said without involving violence.

I was so surprised I started to smile too and immediately wondered if
that was a bad move, if she would now think I was taking the piss and
throw her drink at me anyway. But she didn't. She just carried on
smiling. And then she leaned forward and started to kiss me. I was so
shocked I didn't close my eyes for a few seconds and just stood there
looking down at her as her arms wrapped around my neck, her eyes
closed, and she started kissing me.

When I finally realised that we were now, to all intents and purposes,
kissing, and that she actually wanted to and had initiated the whole
thing, I started to relax, closed my eyes, put my arms around her waist
and kissed her back. I don't know if I was just in awe of her or the
fact that I was actually in this situation at all, but it was the most
incredible kiss I have ever had. Her right hand was flat against the
back of my head and was lightly stroking my hair whilst her left hand
remained draped over my right shoulder.

In another situation, with a girl I didn't care about, my hands would
have been all over her in a shot, going for her tits, her arse,
anything I could feel before the kiss inevitably ended so that I could
at least say I'd got somewhere instead of just getting off with her.
But with this girl it was enough just to have my hands on her waist,
for her to hold me as we stood there by the side of the dance-floor
kissing and licking each other's mouths, lips, tongues.

That first kiss seemed to last forever, but as she started to slow the
rhythm of her kisses, returning to just pecking my lips and I realised
she was beginning to pull away from me, ending our embrace, it seemed
like it hadn't happened at all. I didn't know what the hell to do, I
had been kissing her, she had been kissing me and suddenly it was all
ending. I opened my eyes to see that hers were already wide open. Okay,
that's it, I thought. My one moment of absolute bliss has come to an
end. Still, better to have loved and lost I suppose.

"You're lovely," she said and I suddenly felt faint again. As if
realising, she pulled me to her and we carried on kissing.

Now it's safe to say that this sort of thing hadn't happened to me
particularly often in the past, hence the weak knee situation. I have a
pretty good track record with women, nothing spectacular, you
understand, but certainly respectable. I've never been what you could
call a Casanova, having experienced many end-of-nights-out in solitary
head-spinning, room-swimming misery. Yet that is not to say I am
anything like some people I know who have to endure endless nights out
searching in vain for someone to get off with.

In twenty years I have fucked five girls, with only one of them being
anything like a girlfriend, or in popular terminology, a regular shag.
Three were simple one-night stands, whilst the last (and most recent)
notched up four messy innings before giving me the flick for someone
twice my size, popularity and good looks. Not that I am in any way
outstandingly unattractive. I like to consider myself as being
confidently average. I don't have the cocky reassurance of some, but I
am not a complete recluse or one of the unfortunates permanently
ostracised from any sort of normal society.

However, the girl that was presently attached to my face was, as I
would have believed, well and truly out of my league. Yet, there she
was, her mouth on mine, one hand behind my head and her other (sweetest
of all sweetest feelings) presently clenching my right buttock. She was
slightly smaller than me and I had to lean down towards her a bit in
order to get into a comfortable position so that our noses, teeth, etc.
didn't clash embarrassingly whilst the kiss was going on and whilst I
discreetly tried to slide my right hand lower to her arse so that if
the kiss ended that second, I would have one fleeting moment touching
her in an overtly sexual manner.

My hand moved ever so slowly down the back of her dress, reaching the
edge of the swell of her left buttock and stopped immediately, waiting
for a flinch or her hand to swiftly remove mine and place it back on
her waist, an infuriatingly coy manoeuvre I have often come across and
which never ceases to surprise or annoy me, especially when crotches
are already fully pressed against each other and the girl in question
suddenly becomes protective of her posterior.

Anyway, meeting no resistance at this early stage, my hand moved on
after a brief pause, following the perfect curve and coming to rest on
the peak of her backside. She showed no sign of distress at this and I
started to relax again, concentrating once more on my mouth movements.
After a while, the kiss began to wind down and she looked up at me. I
remembered my hand was still planted on her arse and quickly lifted it
back to her waist.

"I have to go to the toilet," she said.

That was it, it was over, I realised with dismay. "Okay," I
replied.

"Wait for me here, I'll be back in a minute," she said, kissing my
cheek and walking away.

I was in shock that she had gone and just stared ahead, not even
watching her walk away. She had said she would be back, but I knew that
there was little chance of her returning. I stood there by the
dance-floor for a few moments and then the slow songs started up,
signalling the night was about to draw to a close. Seemingly hundreds
of couples walked past me onto the dance-floor and I realised how
pathetic I must look, standing there waiting for a girl who had just
politely stood me up and gone home.

I looked at my watch and, upon finding it almost ten to two, slowly
strolled over to the bar, looking around in vain to try and see her
again. I had no idea which direction she had walked towards and there
were about a thousand toilets scattered around the place, even if that
was where she had gone. There weren't too many people at the bar by
this time, most other, normal people were dancing, looking for someone
to dance with, or going home early, either in disappointment or eager
anticipation of how their pull was going to be in bed.

This was the time of night when I would usually be on the lookout for
some likely, lonely female whose resistance had been well and truly
worn down by drink and tiredness and wouldn't mind if I had a brief
snog and grope either on or off the dance floor. Yet I couldn't bring
myself to do anything other than order a pint of lager and a double
whiskey. After tasting both my extraordinarily highly priced drinks, I
lit a cigarette and looked at the carnage before me.

The already dim lighting had been dimmed some more for all the raging
hormones in the club to find some more raging hormones to couple with,
without having to see whether or not they would really like to be
coupling with them in the harsh reality of full sobriety and daylight.
To be fair I was still stunned by what had just happened, and all the
drinks I'd had before were now callously catching up with me. I
wondered where the hell my friends were, there were five of us out
together and they surely couldn't have all pulled.

I decided to finish smoking and at least one of my drinks before I went
searching for them, and instead watched the people on the dance floor
and surrounding areas who were either in the full flow of passion or
desperately wondering whether they should go for it on this song or the
next. The club I was in usually played three slow songs to give their
clientele the chance of a romantic liaison, but all too often in my
experience cut the third song short, leading to much confusion, hurried
good-byes, and despair for those who were just waiting for the next
chorus to come on before they finally dived on their partner, when they
realised with horror that they no longer had a partner to dive
on.

I actually managed a smile as I watched one unfortunate who had managed
to get a dance with a girl-giant and was looking up from her ample
bosom in the hope she would look down, remember he was there, and
possibly get off with him. I finished the whiskey and ordered another
as two 'o' clock loomed and threatened to end my chances of getting
wasted, which seemed like a highly attractive proposition now that I
was alone again. I took another thoughtful drag from my cigarette and
continued looking at the dance floor, my head swirling slightly as a
late head rush hit me.

"Have you got a light?" came a voice behind me. I turned and she was
there again, the sight of her made me swallow the smoke in my mouth and
provoked an impromptu coughing fit.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to startle you," she said as I managed to
regain control of my breathing pattern once more.

"I'm fine," I said, clutching the edge of the bar to steady
myself.

"You weren't by the dance floor when I came back, but I saw you over
here so I thought I'd say hello," she said, holding a cigarette so that
I could light it, which I did.

"I thought you'd left or something. I wasn't sure if you were coming
back or not so I thought I'd get a few drinks in before last orders," I
said, realising I was making myself sound even more pathetic than I
felt.

"You thought I wouldn't come back?"

"Well, when someone tells me they're going to the toilet at the end of
the night, it usually means they're going home and can't be bothered
swapping phone numbers," I was saying, the words falling out of my
mouth as I tried not to sway too obviously.

"I wasn't trying to get rid of you, I just needed a piss," she said,
smiling again. Christ she was gorgeous.

"Christ you're gorgeous," I said before I realised what the hell I was
saying. I was feeling really drunk by this point and after I left
myself at her mercy again I realised that I really didn't care anymore.
I was going to compliment her whether she liked it or not.

Unlike any other girl I'd ever complimented before, this one actually
seemed to respond well to them as after I'd slurred my last few words
she just smiled, leaned forward and kissed me again. I was so surprised
I dropped my cigarette, stepping on it nonchalantly in a vain attempt
to prove to anyone who might have seen that I had meant to drop it. She
stopped kissing me after a short while and my eyes slowly focused on
her face again.

"Are you with anyone tonight?" she said.

"I thought I was with you," I replied. Jesus I was pissed.

"No, I mean are you with any friends?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I don't know where they are though."

"Do you want to find them and tell them you're coming home with
me?"

"I'm coming home with you?"

"If you want to."

I want to, Oh God I want to. "Are you sure?" I asked. What the hell am
I doing, trying to talk her out of it? This was the offer of a
lifetime, say yes quick before she takes it back.

"Yes," she said.

Thank God she did it for me, I was beginning to think I was about to
say something stupid and never get the chance to go home with
her.

"I've no idea where they are," I said. "Do you want to come and look
for them with me?"

"Well, I'm with some people too, so I'll have to see them first," she
replied. "You find your friends and tell them and I'll meet you by the
exit in ten minutes."

"Okay," I managed to say before she kissed me again and wandered
off.

I was sure I was dreaming by this point. The most incredible girl I had
ever seen had not only just got off with me but had actually asked me
to go home with her. Minutes after she had walked away from me again I
was still standing motionless by the bar. Her face was imprinted on my
brain. All I could see was the way she had looked when she was kissing
me. The sudden revelation that I was going home with the girl of my
dreams hit me and I felt myself beginning to sober up, as though
someone had just slapped me and thrown a bucket of water over me at the
same time.

I didn't even know her name. All I knew was that she was absolutely
gorgeous and that she had just asked me to go home with her. I needed
to find my friends fast to tell them so that I could get to the doors
early and thereby reduce the risk of missing her. I turned to the bar,
finished the whiskey waiting there, lit another cigarette and took my
half-full pint with me. My early elation began to wane when, a few
minutes later, I still hadn't even caught sight of my friends.

I didn't just want to leave without telling at least one of them where
I was going, we had all arranged to meet outside at half-two to get a
taxi back together as we were pretty far away from where we all lived.
That was another thing, I had no idea where the hell this girl lived,
it could be miles away. I shrugged away that thought as quickly as I
pushed my way through the gathering throng of people sitting and
standing around the area next to the second, smaller dance-floor of the
club. What did I care where I was going? Wherever it was, I was still
going with her. I'd go to the fucking Shetland Islands if it meant I
was sleeping with her.

My hope of finding my friends was fading fast and I was contemplating
just going over to the doors anyway to meet her when I saw one of my
mates, Stuart, sat down at a nearby table trying to stay awake as he
looked uncertainly at the three bottles before him. I almost ran over
when I saw him, I had to make it quick, there was no way I was messing
this up.

"Stu," I said, sitting down next to him. He looked up bleary-eyed until
he realised who I was and put his arm around me.

"Jackson! Where the fuck have you been? We've been looking all over the
place for you," he slurred at me, picking up one of the bottles from
the table.

"Here, have one of these, I'm fucking wasted, I can't drink it."

"No thanks," I said, showing him my pint. "Where is everyone?"

"Fuck knows, I think they've all pulled, my bird pissed off home ages
ago - tight arsed bitch she was, couldn't get anywhere."

"Well, I need you to tell the others I'm going home with someone
else."

"You've pulled as well!" said Stu, his face lighting up as he slapped
me on the back, far too hard it turned out. "Where is she?"

"She's waiting for me, I've got to go and meet her. I just wanted to
tell you before I went," I said, looking over to the doors in case she
was already there.

"What's she called?" said Stu, ignoring the fact that I was trying to
get away.

"What? Oh, I don't know," I replied. "Listen, I've really got to
go."

"You don't even know her name? You sly bastard - here, have a drink,"
he said, pushing the bottle towards me again.

"I can't, I've really got to go," I said, edging my way down the couch
we were sitting on.

"Have a drink, go on, for me," said Stu, his eyelids beginning to
close.

I saw her then, hurriedly making her way towards the exit. "I'll see
you tomorrow Stu," I said quickly, standing up.

As I did, he slid from my shoulder and fell face forward onto the seat.
I was still moving away when I saw he was going to fall onto the floor
if I didn't help him. I leant over and lifted him back onto the couch,
propping his head up on the table. Once I was sure he would be alright
I left my pint next to him and pushed my way through some people stood
around before finally making it to the exit doors.

She wasn't there. Shit, shit shit. I looked round frantically to see
where she could have gone. She wasn't anywhere. Everyone at this time
had decided to leave the club too and I couldn't see a fucking thing
through all the people around me. I stood on one side of the doors,
smoking all the while to make it look like I wasn't as nervous as I
was, before trying the other side. The mass exodus that had started as
soon as I had decided to go for the doors began to peter out for a
while, but I still couldn't see her anywhere. I thought of calling out
her name until I remembered that I didn't know what the hell her name
was.

"Fuck," I said aloud, leaning against the wall, my chance for happiness
having really slipped through my fingers this time. I tried in vain to
console myself and took a long drag from my cigarette when someone
tapped on my right shoulder, once again surprising me enough to cause
another forced impression of a tuberculosis sufferer.

"You should stop smoking you know," she said to me as I looked at her
through tear-clearing eyes.

"I couldn't find you," I said as my sight and lungs returned.

"It's a good job I found you then," she said, looking around anxiously.
"We have to go," she said, taking my arm and pulling me away.

"What's wrong?" I asked as she literally dragged me through the
doors.

"Nothing," she said, looking behind her, "I've just seen someone who
I'd rather didn't see me."

"Who, ex-boyfriend?"

"No," she replied, still pulling me along by my arm.

"Boyfriend?" I said, stopping.

"Nothing like that, but we really should leave now," she said, still
looking behind her.

We were now in the foyer of the club, and in the light of non-coloured
light bulbs she looked even more fantastic than before, I saw her blue
dress was actually purple, but her hair was still bright scarlet. I was
standing there looking at her while she stared back inside the club.
She turned to face me again, looking distinctly uneasy.

"I'll tell you about it later, but believe me, we have to go," she said
and we started walking away again. Once outside, she seemed to calm
down slightly and we went over to the taxi rank.

"Where do you live?" I asked, thinking it was probably a good idea to
know.

"We're going to my sister's. It's by the coast," she said, glancing
back over to the club doors.

"The coast! That's miles away, it'll cost us a fortune to get
there."

"We're not going there in the taxi, we just need to get to the train
station."

"There won't be any trains running at this time."

"They put on special trains on Fridays and Saturdays. Fuck, does this
queue want to be any longer?"

"Won't your sister mind us staying at hers?"

"No, she won't even be there, she's staying at her boyfriend's
place."

Best news I heard all night. "Oh, right."

The queue for taxis was as long as it was slow moving and we were
getting nowhere. I didn't particularly mind though, the thought of me
and this girl going back to her sister's house by the coast, presumably
with no-one there to bother us, was the only thing that was in my head
at that moment.

It all seemed right for once, my past pulls faded into insignificance
when compared with this one. She was gorgeous, a great kisser,
mysterious (I still had no idea what her name was - an incredibly sexy
situation to be in I thought) and she was taking me back to an
unoccupied place God knows where to indulge ourselves with each other's
bodies. I only hoped I wasn't grinning like a maniac at this
point.

She certainly wasn't. In fact she was looking decidedly dodgy about the
whole situation. I hoped to heaven she wasn't changing her mind while
we waited. She kept on fidgeting and looking back towards the club and
although she was holding my hand, she certainly didn't seem to notice
my presence with quite as much fervour as before.

"Where the hell is a taxi when you need one?" she said, clutching at my
hand.

I have always been impressed how seemingly small things, such as a
quick glance that catches you straight in the eye, or in this case, her
clutching my hand for that brief second, can make all the difference to
changes in your mood.

I was becoming as edgy as she was by then, especially with regards to
whether or not she still wanted to go through with the whole
taking-me-home business, but with that one gesture she put my mind
completely at ease again. She was eager to get a taxi so that we could
get away as soon as possible and she could fuck my brains out. Or so I
was hoping and praying as we stood there.

"Shit!" she cried, immediately wrenching me from my fantasy utopia
involving her in even less clothes than she already was.

She had been looking back towards the club when she decided to startle
me for that second and after doing so pulled me along the queue of
others to where various taxis were periodically stopping and picking
people up. She was practically dragging me along the line of people,
many of whom were less than impressed about being pushed out of the way
by myself and my new-found belle.

"What's wrong?" I shouted to her above the noise of the queuing
multitude, ignoring the various exclamations of displeasure we were
encountering by going before everyone else.

If she replied I didn't hear her, but followed suit anyway, slightly
non-plussed, but happy to follow her anywhere if it meant sleeping with
her, in fact, if it meant doing anything even slightly sexual with
her.

We reached the front of the queue and she jumped into the back seat of
a taxi before another bemused couple had the chance to. She was still
holding my hand and dragged me into the car with her. The slightly
bemused couple decided to turn into a rather angry couple at this
point.

"What do you thing you're doing?" said the bemused bloke, stepping
forward in what appeared to be a threatening, if slightly haphazard
way.

"We're getting in this taxi, what the fuck does it look like," my love
snapped before I had the chance to start stuttering explanations. The
bloke looked even more bemused than before as she reached over and
slammed the door, narrowly missing his leg.

"Train station please," she said to the driver in an altogether calmer
tone of voice, and one which I infinitely preferred. I decided at that
point not to ask her any particularly pertinent questions, although I
was highly impressed all the same.

"You don't mess around," I managed to say after a moment's adoration.
She looked at me, her hold on my hand slackening, whilst remaining
firm, an impressive gesture if you can do it.

"I just go after what I want," she said, moving towards me once more
and embarking on a prolonged and highly wonderful kiss.

How the hell had this happened to me? I was still in shock from the
first moment we had kissed, and here she was, kissing me again, in the
back of a taxi. The mind boggles, it really does. I had expected at
best a polite refusal of my approach, at worst a written denial to go
anywhere near me and a drink over my head.

None of the above had happened. She had made the running from the
start. That has never happened to me in the past, except once, when the
girl in question was so drunk I'm surprised she hadn't missed my mouth
and started getting off with the wall I had been leaning against at the
time.

And that was what made me nervous. This was too perfect. Far too
perfect in fact. I knew nothing about this girl. Yes, she was
incredible in every respect that I was aware of, but there had to be
something wrong with her. This sort of thing doesn't just happen every
day, you know.

She was a mass murderer. She was going to seduce me and then kill me in
a horrible way at her sister's place. I suddenly started wondering what
the fuck I was doing. Or more to the point, what the fuck she was
doing. What she was doing, literally at that moment I mean, was running
her hand up towards my crotch.

I was struck with two entirely conflicting thoughts. The first thought
was simple enough, go along with what's happening, for Christ's sake,
this is a girl who you've met in a night-club, is currently running her
hand over your dick and wants to take you back to her sister's place to
have uncomplicated sex with you. That I could handle.

The second thought was slightly more worrying. Okay, she's a girl you
met in a club, but there are all sorts of maniacs out there, all who
seem reasonable at first and then end up doing something completely
crazy. Like killing people. And it was far too easy this way. If I was
a girl who wanted to kill a bloke, this is exactly the way I'd do it.
She'd basically talked to me for a while and then asked if I'd like to
fuck her. Who the hell would say no.

If this had happened to me before I might have felt more at ease with
the situation, but as it was I was beginning to doubt her motives for
going with me in the first place. I mean it was only me. I knew damn
well that even though I wasn't bad looking in any way I wasn't the sort
of person this sort of thing happened to. I'm not particularly
confident around girls, I can be pretty edgy in fact - case in
point.

For fuck's sake, she isn't a mass murderer, she's just a girl who wants
to go with you. It's not as if it's never happened. It hasn't happened
particularly often admittedly, but it's not as though it's never
happened. Besides, her hand was working wonders moving around on the
now expanding jeans' material between my legs and at that point I
decided not to think about what was going to happen, but what was
actually happening instead.

Maybe this was my divine right anyway. I'd always had this theory that
everyone has at least one dream pull at some point in their lives. One
incredible pull that they never forgot, even if they got married or
something to someone else. This must be it. After all the knock backs,
all the disappointments, this was it. My one dream pull.

Unfortunately my theory also presumed that these encounters rarely
lasted more than one night. That's why they were so incredible, because
they were so brief, so intensely perfect. There was the catch, why a
dream pull could only last one night, because in reality very few pulls
longer than that ever continue to be dreams. You had to grab it while
you could as you only got one chance, after that you'd spend the rest
of your life remembering how great it was and wondering how it could
have been. Let yourself go, I thought, enjoy it while you can.

"Why did you ask me to come back with you?" I found myself asking her
to my disgust.

"What?" she replied, looking stunned that I'd broken the embrace, her
hand was still lingering around my genitalia. Get it back for God's
sake boy, don't fuck this up, this is your dream pull.

"I was just wondering what made you ask me back to your house," I
stammered, realising with horror that I was steadily sinking into the
quagmire of gibberish.

"I mean I don't know your name or anything - you don't even know my
name."

"My name's Niamh," she said.

"Really?" that was my favourite name.

"That's my favourite name." Shit, first you break her off as she goes
for your dick, then you say the cheesiest thing anyone could ever say,
even if they were the cheesiest person in the world.

"I thought it might be," she smiled.

"No, no really, I've always had a thing for Irish girls - you're not
Irish are you?"

"No."

"Well, your name is, and basically, corny though it may sound, it is my
favourite name." Stop talking you fuckwit and kiss her again, you're
being dull and nonsensical.

"What's your name?" she asked, incredibly still smiling even after my
previous outburst of bollocks.

"Jackson," I replied.

"Jackson's your first name?"

"Yes," I replied, knowing this conversation far too well.

My name has caused a great deal of difficulty throughout my life,
especially when I first started school, earning me a detention when a
teacher thought I was taking the piss out of her by saying my name was
Jackson, as when she asked for my first name, my second reply of
'Jackson' caused enough misunderstanding for my class mates to laugh,
the teacher to get offended, and subsequently mean I had to spend the
afternoon after school writing lines. Safe to say my parents were less
impressed with my first day than my peers.

"So what's your full name?"

"Jackson Quill," I said, waiting for the customary ensuing laughter.
None came. She was smiling at me, but the derision I usually noted in
people's faces when they first heard my name wasn't present in
hers.

"That's my favourite name," she said and leaned forward to kiss me once
more.

That was when I fell head over heels, irrevocably, completely, stupidly
and manically in love with her. What she said, the way she said it, the
way she looked at me as she said it and the fact that she had the most
exquisite mouth I had ever kissed before in my entire life all led me
to the conclusion that I had well and truly fallen for her. And she was
still rubbing my crotch. This was what true love was all about. I could
tell.