Everything We've Been Told Are Lies

I'm waiting in the dark as you slip out of your parents' house. You look both ways across the deserted street before you cross, glancing up over your shoulder at the window. I'm looking too, but I can't see any movement. Your father would be furious.

All at once, your fingers are entwined with mine and I'm looking into your pretty face. You're so excited, your eyes are glittering, even in the streetlights. We're close, but we don't kiss; instead, I cup the back of your head with my hand, feeling the mass of dark hair bundled tightly under your headscarf.

"Let's get out of here," you hiss, grinning.

I'm caught up for a split second: the flash of your white teeth lighting up the dark.

"Come on," you insist, tugging my arm, propelling me into motion.

"You look beautiful," I stammer.

"You always say that."

"You're always beautiful."

We're walking quickly now, down to the intersection, to the bus stop.

"You should get the balls to talk to Dad, in that case," you murmur, squeezing my arm.

I don't say anything, but my stomach clenches at the thought of it, of standing in front of the big man.

"Yeah, ok," I mutter, "I can see it. Hello sir, may I propose to your daughter?"

You laugh, following on with, "And in his head, he hears it differently. Sir, I want your daughter. I want to fuck her."

You emphasise the word, gripping me tightly as you do, and I feel the thrill. I want to stop, right now in the middle of the street, and kiss you. But, there are people about. It's bad enough that we're arm-in-arm at the bus stop. This is your neighbourhood, there are people here who may know you. They may know your family.

"I don't think...," I begin, but you're so close now, and it's getting harder to think straight.

"You don't think you want to talk to Dad? Or you don't think you want to fuck me?"

Just like that, you come out with it, and I'm reeling. You've been like this ever since school, towing the razor-thin line between propriety and indecency. You hide your long, lustrous hair in a scarf like you know you should, but you don't hide your thoughts, at least not to me. With me, you say anything you want because you know I want it too. Out of everyone in the world, we both have someone to tell our innermost thoughts to.

The bus arrives and we get on, sitting halfway down, not at the back. The back would invite trouble, sitting together without wedding rings while the old men stare: the razor-thin line. It's enough that you edge up against me, pressing your hip against mine more than you strictly need to, winding your fingers through mine as you look past me, out the window at the city streets going past.

We don't talk, at least, we don't use words. My thumb traces over the back of your hand, and it's agony as we ride the route for half an hour, until we've crossed into the next district. I feel you stiffen against me, and I see it too: our stop.

We don't speak until we've gotten off the bus, left standing on the edge of the industrial area. Suddenly, you're nervous and I am too. It's not a good place to be after dark, and especially not with someone as beautiful as you next to me. I feel a little prickle of adrenaline.

"You brought them?" you ask.

"Yeah, here, look."

I get a pouch out of my pocket and open the top. You glance inside hurriedly, then push the bag away and say, "Good, now, get it out of sight."

I tuck the pouch away and look at you, searching your expression.

"You want to turn back?" I ask.

"Never."

There is no little grin, no flash of the eyes. Your expression is serious and I understand that we're crossing that line now. I take your hands in mine.

"I love you," I say, and at last you smile.

"I love you too. More than anything. More than all this shit."

"Okay."

It's done, the commitment made. I hold your hand and we turn into the darkened side-street, walking quickly now. The streetlights are further apart here, and the hustle of the city quickly gives way to silence. The streets are deserted as we pass car repair yards and furniture factories. Up ahead, there are three figures coming our way, too far away to make out any details. They turn off into a side street and we lose sight of them.

I have a strange taste in my mouth now, approaching the intersection. More of the side street reveals itself as we get closer, but I can't see the figures. The buildings are shrouded in darkness anyway, the streetlights smashed. We stop on the corner and I peer into the gloom. I can feel how tightly you're gripping my hand. There is a chalk mark on the wall.

"Ready?" I whisper.

I don't know why I'm whispering, because there's no-one around. No-one I can see anyway. You don't answer and I turn to look at you, seeing your face half-shadowed in the light, your eyes on mine.

"We can go back, we don't have to," I say.

"No, I want to. You've no idea how much."

"Me too."

We step into the shadows. In the distance, there is a dancing flash of light from a phone, and I get my phone out too, turning on the torch, following along behind. The phone casts a tiny pool of light, just enough to see where we're going. Nervously, I flash it up at every doorway we pass.

"Here," you hiss.

I stop. We lost the light ahead about here, and I see an alley. It's pitch black, but there's another chalk mark. I push you behind me and lead the way into the dark. My heart is hammering in my throat and I want to run, I want to turn to you and call it off. We could just go to a café, we could get something to eat. We should be anywhere on earth but in this alleyway.

There is an old, rusted steel door.

I knock, hearing the echoes reverberating loudly in the alley, and cast a glance back down the way we came, to the rectangle of light that denotes the entrance to the alley, our only escape route. You're pressed up against my back, and I can feel your breath on my neck. You wrap your arms around me and I can feel a tremor in your grip.

The clank of the little spy window sliding open makes us both jump.

"Yeah?"

"Uh... Persimmon," I stammer.

The slot closes. My pulse is hammering. There is a crack of light, and then the door swings open.

"In."

I hesitate for a moment, peering through the doorway, but I can't see much inside. It's just bare brick walls and a huge man with a shaven head towering over me.

"In or out, but fucking choose."

You nudge me, and I step forward, past him, holding tightly to your hand, feeling utterly out of my depth. He closes the door behind us and returns to scrolling through his phone. I lead you down the passage and deeper into the building.

There are stairs going down and we descend into the basement, to an open doorway. I step through and you follow behind, my eyes wide in the dark as I try and decipher the scene in front of us.

The basement is large and low-roofed, criss-crossed with pipes that have been hung with fairy lights, giving scant illumination to the crowd that has gathered here. Against the far wall, across the expanse of chipped concrete flooring, there are deep purple lights and a man at a table with his hands on the decks. He's nodding rhythmically, bringing a hand up to his headphones, his face lit by the laptop screen.

There is no sound.

I turn to you, reading your face in the gloom. I can see the fire in your eyes. Silently, you reach up and unfasten your headscarf, shaking your head and letting your long dark hair cascade freely over your shoulders. I don't hesitate or hold back this time: I take your cheek in the palm of my hand and kiss you deeply. You respond, your tongue slipping into my mouth, and I'm suddenly on the edge of something I don't understand, a chasm. Your hands drift down my torso, cupping my backside and pulling your hips to mine, and I take the leap.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," I gasp, overwhelmed.

"Dance?"

"Yeah."

You break off, and I'm suddenly bereft, separated from your body. You've done something to me, and I can feel the bulge swelling in my pants. I don't understand what I feel. I don't understand you. I'm lost at sea, but I'm afloat, and that's all that matters.

I pull the pouch out of my pocket and offer it to you. Across the basement, someone calls out and the shuffling of feet increases. People are gyrating. A voice whoops.

You extract one set of earbuds and give the other set to me. I watch you slip them into your ears and press the little pairing stud. You're staring at me nervously, biting your lip, and I want to kiss you again, but then your face lights up in a wide grin and you begin to nod.

"Oh, yeah. Okay."

I slip the buds into my ears and pair with the music, hearing the tiny ping, frowning at you as you begin to dance on the spot, grinning at me like a maniac. Your hair ripples as your shoulders twist, and I'm just staring at you. I will ask your father. I will go through hell. You're worth it, whatever the consequences.

The music hits me like a wall. My eyes flare and you can see it, coming in for a kiss, hard. It's done, now, we're here, we've broken the rules and we're damned. I know that there are grave consequences, and even worse for you, trailing your unbound hair with a boy you haven't married, dancing to forbidden music in an underground hideout, but there is something glorious about being all the way down in the middle of it. We are utterly fucked. We are entirely alive.

You lead me by the hand into the crowd and we are enveloped by the press of bodies. The space has been transformed now, the music pumping as people gyrate around us, the warmth of their body heat enticing us to join them. A strobe flashes, capturing everyone in the moment, arms raised, faces smiling, frozen perfectly in time. You coil around me, brazen in a way that I've never seen before, no, that's not right: in a way that I have seen many times before, in glimpses, shadows, through the cracks. You wrap your arms around my neck and we dance and it's like heaven.

I know some of the music because we've listened to it secretly, sharing ear buds in a café or on the bus or walking through the park. The man at the decks blends it seamlessly, like he's been doing this all his life, in bedrooms, in secret and now finally out in the open. You abandon yourself to the freedom of it and I follow where you lead, enticed into dancing and kissing. I feel the sweat prickling on my skin, and the heat of your body beneath your dress. You take my hand and move it down, pressing it against your bottom so that I cup the curve of your flesh. I can feel the heat there, the desire, and it's stirring something powerful inside of me. The look in your eyes tells me that we're a long way from the safety of home now, out at last on our own in the wild.

We dance for hours, but then you take me by the hand again, and lead me through the bodies, out into the darkened space beyond the dancefloor. There are people here too, talking in low tones, and we slip the ear buds out. Engulfed in silence, I find myself staring at you. Your eyes are asking me a question and I know I need to answer.

I take you to the back of the basement, where there are tables stacked up against the walls. Looking over my shoulder, the crowd seems a long way away. The strobe flashes, catching bodies in flight, but now all we have is the silence, just the two of us together in the dark.

You kiss me unexpectedly, sliding your tongue into my mouth, wrapping your fingers around my wrists and bringing my palms up to your breasts, giving me permission. It's shocking, but also desperately arousing: I cup your breasts through the thin cotton, running my thumbs over the softness, feeling twin nubs hardening. You aren't wearing a bra, but you've always been petite. Now, it seems like the utmost depravity, the knowledge of your nakedness beneath the material of your dress.

Your hands slip around my waist, sliding into my back pockets and pulling me into you. I kiss you deeply, pressing you up against the wall as my body makes a decision. I'm past the point of propriety and so are you; we're somewhere else now, kissing and fondling, sharing our bodies for the very first time. It doesn't feel wrong after all. Everything we've been told are lies.

You hitch your skirt up and I stare in disbelief as you reveal your long, sleek legs to me. I've seen you in tight jeans, in dresses that came down past your knees, but suddenly I'm seeing all of you. I gape at the soft curve of your thighs, watching the hemline rise inch by inch. I can't believe this is happening, that the moment that has lived in my fantasies for so long is finally coming true.

Brazenly, you pull your dress up the last little way, revealing a set of plain white panties. I'm mesmerised, staring at the space between your legs. A deep, abiding urge rises up from within me and I can feel myself stiff to the point of bursting in my pants, but I don't dare move.

"You want to?" you murmur, serious now.

"Do you?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course. More than anything."

"Then, I want to."

Incredibly, you hitch your thumbs into the waist of your underwear and pull them down, revealing your vulva, framed by a patch of dark hair.

"It's okay, you can touch," you tell me.

My hand leaves your breast and I cup your slit so delicately. I can feel the heat there, radiating from you.

"Press harder, you won't hurt me."

I press my palm against your outer lips and I can feel moisture there. Your breath comes out in little shuddering gasps as I begin to rub in slow circles.

"This is...," I rasp, my mouth dry.

You interrupt me, placing your hand on my crotch, cupping the bulge of my erection through my pants. It sends a shock right through me.

"We can't," I hiss.

"We can."

"But...."

"Ssh."

You kiss me, forestalling all discussion. I feel your lips against mine, your crotch in my hand and the movement of your fingers tracing the shaft of my manhood. I hear the zip and suddenly you're touching me, your hand against my cock, wrapping around me, pulling me into the open. I let you hold me, your hand moving up and down my erection in time to my palm circling over your slit.

You break off the kiss and I can see the glitter or your eyes in the dark.

"I want you to," you whisper.

"Do you know what you're doing?" I ask.

It's a question that means so much more. I know you've never done it. You know the same about me. But the question isn't about the mechanics of it because I can feel the way you're guiding me towards that sacred space between your thighs. The question is about what it means, the consequences. Once it's done, there's no way back.

To answer my question, you pull my hand away from your crotch and guide my tip into that hot, wet space. I cup your buttocks and lift you up, feeling how light you are, pressing you against the wall as you wrap your thighs around my hips, like we've done this all our lives. With a sigh, you hold me in position and tilt your hips and I'm inside you, startled and overwhelmed by the closeness of your body and the look on your face.

Instinctively, I press further in, feeling resistance. I back out again, and you wrap your arms around my neck, supporting your weight so that I can manoeuvre, changing my angle. I push in again, and I can feel something inside you preventing me.

"Do it. I want it."

I press harder and you yelp, your body going stiff in my arms, but your resistance is gone.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck."

"Are you okay?" I ask but you just nod, biting your lip.

I look down and there's a smear of red. I stall.

"I'm okay. It's just... it's... I'm okay. Be gentle. I'm good."

I pull out a little, once more, feeling the tightness of you around me. You're breathing in little staccato gasps like you're in pain.

"Am I hurting?" I ask.

"Yes. No. It's okay. It's okay."

I slide into you again, feeling your heat envelop me. I don't understand what I'm feeling, or what's happening to you, but as I pull out and slide back in, I'm inching deeper inside. Your breathing is different now, still shallow, but not like you're hurting anymore. Or maybe you are; your eyes are screwed shut and you're biting your bottom lip.

"Keep going," you breathe.

I slide deeper, then pull out, pushing all the way into you this time, feeling you slickening around me. It feels like bliss, to be inside you, and I can feel the tension in your body as you hold yourself in position, allowing me to fuck you gently against the wall. It doesn't matter that this is the first time. It doesn't matter that we're in a basement and that there are people dancing. All that matters is when you open your eyes and I'm staring into your face, seeing what I'm doing to you and I know that I want to do this forever, for the rest of my life.

I thrust up harder now, and your eyes tell me to continue. I'm looking down, watching myself disappear into your body and it's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. I can't believe this is happening, after imagining it for so long, that we're finally doing it. You don't make a sound, but your breathing changes, turning to little hisses of pleasure and I feel your body shiver deep inside.

It triggers something in me too, a tightness behind my balls that I've never had before, a fire, an urge in my core. I pick up pace, and you feel it too, groaning in a way I've never heard as I pound into you.

Your eyes flare wide with shock and I almost stop to ask you what's wrong, but then your body arches and I feel it, transmitted from your walls, quivering around my rigid manhood, milking my erection. You cry out, but it's not in pain, and it's too much for me. I contract, my balls clenching fiercely and immediately I'm erupting into you, wave after wave, until I'm cramped and gasping.

You bury your head in my neck and you're making a sound like you're sobbing, but there are no tears. I'm rigid, spearing you, unable to breathe with the surge of ecstasy flowing through me. I don't know how long I hold you there, pressed up against the bricks in the dark basement, but it doesn't matter. I feel like I can hold you forever like this, like you're weightless.

It's all so wrong. It isn't wrong. It's the most right thing we've ever done, a blinding white truth that we've discovered, that we were never told about, a secret that they all kept from us because they knew just how powerful it was. I'll never stop doing this with you. I don't care what your father will say.

Finally, you relax and I'm softening, pulling out of you. You unwrap your legs from my waist and let me stand you on the floor.

"I love you," you tell me.

It's all there is to say. We return to the dancefloor and I can't believe what we just did. I can't believe there's a part of me actually inside you now, that you accepted it, accepted me. I can feel it, like a tether that's binding us together as you press your gorgeous body against mine, pumping and swaying in time to the music. Your lips meet mine and the world fades to white noise.

"I love you," I tell you.

You mouth the words back, your dark eyes wide and bright, your face caught brilliantly in the flash of the strobe like a photograph. I know that the way you look just now, caught in that moment, is going to be with me until my last breath.

The strobe flashes again and you're laughing like a little kid, head back, hair streaming down your back. I can feel the warmth of your hips pressed against mine, the crush of my crotch against yours as we move, and I feel....

The strobe flashes again and there's a big man, a bearded face.

The strobe flashes again and there are three more of them.

The feeling dies inside of me, all of a sudden, and I pull you to me, instinctively, wrapping my arms around you to hold you tight. Around us, the bodies are moving, but there's nowhere to go. The bearded men are everywhere. The strobe continues to flash, highlighting a raised arm, a baton, the disarray of a tumbling body, the freeze-frames of conflict.