So in a desperate attempt to get over my French professor,
I sought the solace of a night club,
Confidence boosted by the heady mix of vodka and tequila shots,
My friends and I made it our mission to dance the night away,
Till our feet hurt,
Till the club closed,
Till we couldn't remember how we got home.
Then I met him - G.T.
Extremely charming, very sober, 1st year medical student,
Boy was saying all the right things,
We kissed & gosh, he was good at it.
Clearly, by my use of the word 'gosh' even you can accurately estimate the depth of my inexperience.
We went home together - both very sober & very excited,
No, I didn't sleep with him,
But I didn't do anything I didn't want to,
It was fun. Very fun.
He left (very blue) at 5.30am.
It sounds like a terrible cliche that I should've caught from the start,
But I couldn't see through the fog of his lips and hands all over me,
I allowed myself to think about what it'd be like to spend more time with him,
My dewy-eyes and untrained hand couldn't give him what he needed.
I'm usually more weary of fuck boys,
I don't know why I dropped the ball with this one,
I am both sad & glad that this happened,
Learnt my lesson the hard way.
(It really was)
