Well. It wasn't the sex that was embarrassing. I remember very little about the sex, as I'd been up all night and the person in question gave me free hallucinogens...
It all started with some high art. Well, highish. Well, wannabe-highish. I was acting in a St Werburgh's Amateur Dramatics' Society production of House of Bernarda Alba, by Lorca. It was the last night. I delivered my monologue, as a hunchback, in a spotlight, and just like every single bloody time when she helped me rehearse it, my friend Anya, who'd chosen that night to be in the audience, burst out laughing. When I reached the climax of the speech. "My heart is bursting like a bitter pomegranate!" I said, and she set the whole bloomin' audience off. Wrecked the show.
That's got nothing to do with Embarrassing Sex Experience, but it happened mere hours before it, and I like telling that story. So there you go, two embarrassing anecdotes for the price of one.
Anyway. That was in Manchester, and rather than hang around with a load of am-drammers and get politely tiddly, my plan was to drive, laughing-traitor-Anya in tow, down to London. Leaving after midnight, arriving in time for the night club Trade, which didn't open its doors 'til 3am on Sunday mornings.
You might remember the story of my sixteenth birthday party, when I snogged as many boys as I could lay my hands on. Well, six years later I'd got snogging down to a fine art, and I think me and Anya must have planned from the start that we'd find ourselves beds for the night / day / whatever. But we were vaguely sensible, and before we wandered off wide-pupilled with our New Best Friends, we got them to give us phone numbers, and swapped.
And thus it was that I found myself in Shepherd's Bush or thereabouts, not exactly sober or straight, at two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, in some bloke's house (some bloke called Kevin and I still have his card, and a tape he made me of Man Mashine (sic) by Man Mashine (sic) - it was 1992) with he and his girlfriend, Tracy.
The thing is, it wasn't just his house. He lived with his parents. And little brother. And, what with it being a Sunday afternoon, they and various other assorted relatives were all having roast dinner. So we slunk upstairs to his little-boy's bedroom with its single bed, and he and Tracy gave me some hallucinogens, and we did... well, I haven't a clue what we did but it was at least inspired by sex.
And then the door started to open...
Kevin was impressively athletic, and managed to leap out of bed and hold it shut before his little brother marched in.
"What do you want?" he called through the door.
"There's a phone call, for someone called Clare."
It was my laughing friend Anya, checking I was all right.
Hastily clothed, I was led downstairs by Intrigued Young Boy, and as I took the call I overheard the family Eating Their Dinner in the dining room.
"I don't know what they're doing up there," said Little Brother, "but they're making some very strange noises."
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