I am sure that it will be her intention to stay faithful. Even as the adrenaline surges through her, and giggling dementedly, she binge drinks and knocks back shots. She'll be telling her friends how special you are as they accept a drink from the 'good looking fella' at the bar. As she staggers on to the dance floor and feels Kevin the builder's engorged manhood jabbing into her bottom, throughout the Lionel Richie medley, she will be thinking 'It can't hurt, it's only flirting. What he doesn't know can't hurt him'. Outside the bar, barely able to stand, she will be explaining, in that slightly pompous way, that she has a boyfriend and that Kev is being very naughty putting his hands up her top like that.
Then she will feel his breath against her neck, the warm night air will force the alcohol to surge through her body and the next thing she remembers will be the slow rhythmic slap of Kevin's pelvis against her arse and the faint sensation of humiliation and pleasure as he drunkenly slaps her behind slurring 'yeah c**t. Ah, yeah, you bitch'.
Desperate to please she will allow him to place his blunt sadness in her mouth, explore the darkness of her skull, and accept his desiccated DNA against the back of her parched and gagging throat.
As he wipes his penis on the cheap linen of his cheap bed in his institutionalized holiday box in the sun above the Adelphos Fish and Chip Palace, and lurches to the bathroom with the words 'I need a p*ss', she will feel the sobering effects of shame and the promise she made to man who trusted her.