I can't exactly say it always happens, coz this is only the second time, but already I feel like saying, 'it always happens'. It's like I never learn. The first time I did E was with a pill head lassie I fell in love with almost instantaneously. Didn't know it was a chemical trick. She fucked my head about something rotten. And I still love her. There's a bit of her in my bloodstream. It just gets pumped round in weird mooncycles and spins through my heart every now and then. It's not exactly predictable. It just happens. Haven't seen her in ages.

Thought I'd never do E again, but here I am, and I have. Neil says it's mostly speed, but I'm feeling the same hot rush we got off of that stuff that I broke my E virginity with, and he claimed that that was 'pure'. I don't know. I think he's on some sort of initiating the old codger trip. Gets off on it. Teaching his grandfather how to fuck with drugs.

Anyway, here I am in some sweatpit club again, falling in love again, out of my face on E again. Vowed I'd never do any of these things again. But here I am. I never learn.

Started coming up in the taxi. Too early. Fun taxi ride, like. But I'd rather be doing the soaring now. Got really fucking edgy in the queue. Crowds and waiting oppress me. I need space, you know? And it's too crowded in here, and all. These club owners have no spirit. We're just cattle. Eight quid a head. Cram 'em in. Maybe the vibe here would be a bit more loved up if there was some space to move. But the vibe's shit. Just like the last time.

But now I'm thinking too much about it all. I came to dance. That's all I want to do. Let this drug take me to that other place. I mean, I'm dancing, I'm really moving, but it isn't with soul. D'you know what I mean? Last time, with Rina, it was with soul. Like we were dancing into each other's eyes. And everything else dissolved into nothing. Felt like singing that song 'I only have eyes for you'. Shite song, like, but I know now what it was all about. We could have been anywhere. It was too good. Rina, what a heart and head fuck. I really opened up my gate to her. Like I was a teenager again. And she went in and ransacked my garden with her hard-bitch-with-attitude mask and stiletto jackboots. You'd think I'd learn. But here I am, loved up and in love again. And I vowed, never again.

Her name is Lorraine. She's got a shy wee smile and frightened rabbit eyes. She looks kind of lost in this place. Her mates are whooping it up, standing on the platform, waving their arms like spastics. All of them in these shiny black dresses. All tits and lipstick. Fuck knows what they're on. Fuck knows what they're looking for. Get a really desperate vibe off of them. Get the same vibe off of ma wee Lorraine, but she's different, you know? She doesn't pull off the act like the others. The wee clingy dress is like a straight jacket on her. She's all constrained, like, not into the dancing at all, not even pretending very well. They've all got the big black pupils, all out of their faces. But she's not out of anything. Looks like she wants to cry. And I really want to give her a big hug or something. Except, I feel kind of constrained myself. Just not up enough. If I could get hold of another pill, maybe.

***

I get back from the toilet, and there's no sign of Lorraine. All her daft pals are there, but not her. And I'm feeling pretty bummed out now. Waiting for 'a table for one' in the toilets (coz I never can go, standing at one of these metal troughs like a fucking animal), I overhear these skinhead guys, and one of them says to the other, 'So, you gonnae shag that wee slag?' 'Fuck, no her, she's a fucking dog, it's the one with the tits ahm eftir,' replies the other. When I get into the cubicle, it's a long time before I can go. I hear a succession of guys enter and leave. They all speak in harsh tones. Like walk-ons from 'Trainspotting'. And all they talk about is who they're going to fuck, and what drugs they've taken. And I'm so desperate to piss and just get out of there I just can't go. I feel like a middle-class wanker trapped in a hell he just can't comprehend. And I keep thinking about these lassies I've been looking at all night. Doesn't matter how hard they seem on the surface, all I can see is their softness, their neediness. And I think about the arseholes who are going to fuck them tonight. And I kind of really hurt for them.

When I get back to the dancefloor, there's no Lorraine, and no way I can dance. The music's turned to shit, and it's so fucking loud I can't breathe.

The chill-out zone is an alcove off the bar where you can hear the music from both dance floors, and folk can just about talk if they shout. It's not exactly pleasant, but it's better than hanging out on the dancefloor with my ears bleeding.

I bump into Neil and Elaine. They're sitting at the edge of one of the overcrowded tables. I've sat down beside them before I realise they're having a domestic. Elaine is calling Neil all the wankers under the sun, and he's smiling away like crazy and keeps saying, 'But it's like this…' Except he never gets a chance to say what it's like. I sit and drink Elaine's cider until she gets up and goes off. 'Fuck, man, women... ' says Neil, winking in what he must imagine is complicity. I think about just getting a taxi home, but then I think about Lorraine again. I leave Neil and go back down the dancefloor to look for her. I don't know what exactly I want. I mean, the last thing I want right now is a fuck. I guess I just want to be round her, to fend off the wolves, you know?

I find her and she looks fucking awful. Her face is green. And it's no the lighting. Something sort of happens inside me and I just reach over and take her hand, stroke her fingers and look into her eyes. Her eyes look really desperate and sad. I ask her if she wants to leave, and she says she does. I mean, we've hardly said fuck all to each other the night. All I know is she's called Lorraine and she's from Muirhouse. That's it. Just something's clicked between us. And maybe it is just the E, but who gives a fuck?

We go look for our jackets and then make our way to the exit. I pass Neil on the way out, and he shouts out, 'You score, man? Fucking go for it.' I tell him to fuck off. 'Chill man, you know? I was just saying... ' he says.

When we get out the club I feel like I can breathe again. The wind coming up off the Forth makes me feel kind of invigorated. I want to just pick Lorraine up and run with her, you know? But she's kind of unsteady on her pins. We cut up some stairs off the Cowgate, and before we get half way up she collapses in a wee heap and starts puking. I get down beside her, and just start stroking her back. I almost feel like saying 'there there'. When she's finished, she gets up and pulls a bog roll out of her handbag and starts dabbing shakily at her mouth. 'Is it all away?' she asks. I take some bog roll off of her and clean her up some more. I feel like a fucking mother.

We get up the stairs onto Chamber Street and begin the fruitless task of looking for a taxi. Us and several dozen other disappointed looking clubbers. 'It's a long walk to Muirhouse,' I say to her. 'Ah dinnae want to go back there, ah want tae go to yours,' she says.

So we walk out to mine. My nice wee flat in Newington. 'Ahm fucked,' she says, when we get in the door, 'where's the bedroom?' I point her in the right direction, and then go off to the kitchen to make up some teas and dig out the jaffa cakes. When I get into the bedroom she's lying in bed with her tits hanging over the duvet like an offering. I get the vibe, straight off that she thinks there's an automatic price for my hospitality. I just try to ignore it, but I'm kind of trembling inside, and there's a wee lust demon tickling me downstairs. 'Like a wee lamb to the slaughter,' I find myself thinking. I give her the tea and the packet of jaffa cakes and run round the room, sorting the ambience. I light a couple of incense sticks and some candles and dig out my tape of 'Protection' by Massive Attack. Perfect come down music. I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit uncomfy. 'This is a barry flat,' she says, 'is it aw yours, like?' I tell her it's my mother's and her eyes go kind of wide. 'What? You live with your mum?' So, I explain to her that my mother bought it for me, and I can just feel my cheeks burning up: hoping to fuck she can't see it in the candlelight. She doesn't say anything to that, just 'you going tae get in or what?'

I get undressed and get in under the duvet. Then she just sort of opens her legs and waits for me. This embarrasses me no end. 'Listen,' I say, after a silence that's just too long, 'I don't want to fuck, you know? I just want to cuddle.' She looks at me, all confused, like… I don't know. 'It's not like I don't fancy you or anything,' I say, but I think I just add to her confusion.

At first we are a bit clumsy with each other, but then we kind of end up lost in kissing and stroking each other. And before I know it, the sweet sounds of Tracey Thorn's voice are buzzing round my head and I'm down between Lorraine's legs, licking her like crazy. And the taste of her makes me dizzy. She starts squeaking and oo-ing, like a broken doll; and then she yanks me up and I'm inside her.

I move inside her really slowly, protracting the moment until it's an unbearable ecstasy. And when we come, it's like a dying sigh. We just melt together.

After a while we sort of slip apart. I kiss her some then slip behind her, put my arm round her, and pull her into my protection. Like a big mother.

She yawns, stretches into me and mumbles, 'you're the nicest fellie ahv ever met.' I watch over her as she slips into sleep, feeling a mounting panic rise up inside me. (1,910 words)