You sway your hips to the music; tantalizing him, slowly bring him closer to you with a pull found only in the darkness of a dance floor. Finally you can feel his hands on your hips and a smile graces your lips. You keep the trace of fear and anticipation off your face as you feel his approval of you. He laces his fingers through yours and you keep on your mask of coyness. You feel like a different person, empowered by the night. You flaunt your newfound audacity. You feel his lips on your neck and your heart stops before pumping adrenaline through your veins. Subconsciously licking your lips, you head turns. When your lips meet his, something in your mind throws their head back in raucous laughter and wills you to turn around. You listen. He pushes you to him in a sudden need to have you closer. Your heart has stopped as you loop your arms around his neck, lips moving hungrily against each other, his tongue pushing against yours.
But then the world stops. Something isn't right. You want to taste him, remember him. But he tastes like nothing. He feels like no one. His tongue is slimy and smooth. And you suddenly realize that he isn't kissing you. He is only acting on the hunger for a body against him. You feel like you have lost yourself somewhere in the flashing lights and darkness. You need to bring yourself back; you need to feel something. So you reply to his kiss with more fervor, the trace of rejection gripping you with a fear that hurts.
Something inside of you has decided to be happy. So you are. When you are asked about it, you reply with the kind of girlish delight that is to be expected. You recount the story as you should. But as you talk animatedly about it, you hope that you will someday find someone who wants you.