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I was on a summer holiday with my parents and little sister, on the Petit Camargue delta — inhabited mostly by horses and flamingos. In a moment of hysteria my mother had booked us into what can only be described as a dole-queue resort, a vast community of mobile homes with a swimming pool, a stage for evening entertainment, and a nightclub open until four in the morning. My nights were based heavily around the nightclub, the doors of which would open around ten p.m. when all the sun-struck parents would waddle off to bed, while their young would begin swigging cheap Mexican lager and vodka-lemonades.

On the last night I was sitting at the bar minding my business when this skinny ginger number came up and sat next to me. She looked a lot younger than me. She ordered a snakebite — a pint glass of half lager, half cider with a shot of black-currant cordial. I ordered the same. Her name was Ceri and she was from Wales, a poor village somewhere or other. She was sixteen and she only got fifty-pence pocket money a week. We smoked and smoked and smoked.

Before I knew it we were on a wooden bench near the swimming pool, under the shade of a palm tree. I was stone drunk. All I remember is her saying, "Oh, just bloody kiss me, you twat," in this almost incomprehensible Welsh slur and grabbing me by the head. I slid my hand up her mini-skirt and pulled her knickers apart and awkwardly tried to do what I thought I had become quite good at. She put her small hand down my shorts and jerked at it. We must have been doing this for a good twenty drunken minutes until her impatience got the better of her again: "Come on then, are we going to shag or what?"

We made a break for a nearby field. It had been freshly plowed, so the surface was all dried dirt and stones. She pulled off her shirt and her bra to reveal her little breasts, then flicked away her boring white knickers. I ripped my shorts off and barely had time to think before she jumped on top of me. She grabbed it and tried to stuff it in, but she was so small, it could barely fit. After a while she succeeded, but I was so drunk and everything tasted stale from all the cigarettes and the rocks were sticking into my back I just couldn't keep the old boy going. I felt like I'd let the entire world down.

The next morning when I met up with Ceri she told me she'd lied about her age and some other things. She was actually fifteen, and had a boyfriend who stole her pocket money for fags. So that made me a pervert and a partner to adultery. She sent me letters and kept calling me up over the rest of the summer, but her spelling and grammar were so bloody awful I could barely understand her. But I still think about her now.

We met one night at a car wash — which, in the D.R., is really a car wash by day and an open-air dancehall by night, with bachata music blaring from six-foot speakers and ice-cold Presidente crowding the plastic tabletops. He asked me to dance and we stayed on the floor all night, shamelessly grinding and making out.

He brought me into his room and undressed me head to toe. He pulled his shorts off to reveal the largest and most handsome penis I have seen to this day. I blessed myself and laid back on the bed. It hurt the first couple of times; he had boundless energy and a mouth like an octopus. The song playing in the background was "Mi Primavera" by the salseroMichel, one of my favorite songs to this day.He had beautiful sable hair; he was tall and lean with a huge white smile and smooth skin. His name was Argenis. I was a volunteer living with nuns, so sex was definitely off limits in my house, and discouraged in general. He would pick me up at the end of the block and we'd ride into the city on his motorbike and dance the night away. One afternoon, I snuck off to his house, roosters and street dogs fighting for space on the dusty road. His mother and his little brother and sister were hanging out on the couch. They were pretty amused by this tall gringa with her questionable Spanish that Argenis had brought home.

He was sweet and lots of fun and I kept going back for more. We would romp around his room for hours and then play dominoes and drink Coca-Cola in the hot afternoon sun. I loved my little secret affair and loved my sore thighs on the back of his motorbike as he drove me back to the nuns' house. For the first time in my life, I felt like such a dirty, sexy woman.