[sandy6979]

Originally Posted by moonlightzz

Mark is a smooth talker. He could talk his way out of jail in a life sentence. He was really tall, and spotted an "armani" haircut. He was much older (at least to a teenager) at 19-20 years old and was a little on the plus side. I was 15 going on 16. We met each other during the retail job I was at. Though still nursing a heartbreak, the only reason I spoke to him was... he knows Brian. Yup, fate is cruel.

I guess part of me was still interested in knowing what my ex was up to. How was he doing? Was he still with that girl? Old flames die hard... It was during one of those times we were chatting (at least he was trying to chat with me) while standing idly waiting for customers Mark casually mentioned he knew I used to go out with Brian.

Whatever lingering feelings I had for Brian probably drove me to speak more with Mark. Gradually and naturally, we became close. The December retail came and went and I was back in school. I still maintained contact with Mark and did go meet him for simple coffeeshop lunches occasionally. Then he invited me to a "tea dance".

What in the world was a "tea dance"? Mentally I pictured people holding dainty cups of tea while trying to waltz with each other. Then I pictured Mark... Nope.. Uh-uh, no way in hell... It was decided that my baptism into the "tea dancing" scene was 1 saturday afternoon at one of the most popular spots of its time in Orchard Road and his only instruction to me was "dress to kill".

I was flusterred. How does 1 "dress to kill"? My regular going out fashion at that time was mostly tee and jeans with the occasional denim skirt. Dressing up meant looking at the extremely miserable section of a smattering of full-length floral print dresses that only saw the outside of the wardrobe once a year during CNY. After receiving help from my more adventurous friends, I manage to borrow my 1st tea dance outfit - a toga lyrca crop top and mini skirt.

As I stepped into my virgin tea dance experience, I was immediately captivated by the sounds and the light. It was... futuristic for me. Mark taught to let myself go in the music and move to the beat as I pleased. In short, the experience was fascinating and I eagerly looked forward to an invitation to the next tea dance.

The aftermath of tea dances were usually a meal and mostly hanging out at someone's place because we already expended our weekly budgets. It was during these hangout sessions that I was introduced to two extremely addictive substances - cigarettes and alcohol. There was always a generous supply of both.

On a sidenote, this was the year my folks were running a business with an uncle overseas. They flew in and out of town frequently. Hence, I was left in the care of an aunt who popped over every other day to make sure that the house was still a house and that I hadn't demolished it. She would always come by on Friday evenings to make sure I was all set for the weekend. She never came by on Saturdays or Sundays without leaving me a note on my voicemail, usually a day, beforehand. This was perfect. Schoolwise I was doing well enough to ensure that my parents didn't launch an inquisition on me.

Soon I had my second, third and subsequent tea dances, followed by the regular drinking sessions. During one of these sessions I had one drop too much and was totally feeling woozy by the end of the night. I don't hold my alcohol very well, even now. Mark volunteered to send me home. I was still awake, just unable to walk straight. As he plonked me on the bed and sat beside me, we had a moment.

That moment lingered on and gradually he leaned forward and kissed me. Kisses followed by touches which became caresses. I gave in to his advances and reciprocated. Not long after, my clothes came off followed by his. In the drunken stupor I was in, I could only react with sounds as I felt that familiar piercing sensation at my initmate part. Soon it picked up pace, Mark was fucking me.

I must have passed out as I woke up the next day in the same state I was in. My clothes were all over my room. Mark was nowhere to be seen. He did leave me a note, a handwritten single word note - "Thanks".

That thanks seems thankless