It was a slow kind of torture.

My mates took turns leading me around the dance floor, and walking me through the stalls, buying everything I looked at for more than five seconds. They made a point of constantly touching me or kissing me.

My body was strung tight, and I feared that if one of them kissed their mark again, I would be embarrassing all of us.

It felt as if I was standing on the edge of a cliff and the slightest breeze could push me over.

Even a game with ...