Memories are all we have and all we are. They are fragile things and we are fragile hosts for such precious treasures. Each life ended is a tragedy - a lifetime’s worth of unique experience snuffed out in an instant. I keep mine safe, tending them often to check that nothing has faded or been lost. I hold them carefully above the relentless tides of time’s arrow even as those same tides slowly drown me. For as long as I live, my memories will stay fresh and vital.

The written word can never really pass the fullness of the past remembered to another. You will fill the gaps in my narrative with your own experience - the pictures in your mind will not truly match the pictures in mine. But perhaps you will read these words and see something of what I saw; feel something of what I felt. And so, maybe, some small part of this memory which means so much to me will live on in you.

I was at a concert in a field on the outskirts of the small town where I grew up. A mix of cars were parked in a snaking line along the country road to one side - most of us could drive by then. The band was local and not much older than me. The singer sometimes missed the high notes. The guitarist fumbled from riff to riff, his solos falling a half beat behind the drummer. The bass player had some talent and the drummer kept it simple and on time. They were very loud. We could only hear the steady thrumming of the petrol generator feeding the equipment between songs. Loud was good enough for us. The steady drum beat and base line was good enough. We just wanted to move, to meet and to dance.

I was old enough to buy alcohol legally, but only just. I was only a little drunk that night. I’d deliberately kept within my limits. My coming of age meant that drinking was no longer illicit and not as fun as it had been - no longer a game of dare with the thrilling risk of getting caught. Adulthood, and all the permissions and freedoms that came with it, still felt odd. It didn’t quite fit. Like a new uniform, but for life instead of school. I needed to grow into it.

I was drunk enough to be confident, my inhibitions firmly suppressed. I was sober enough to be myself.

We were all crammed full of potential - it spilled from us, greedy for new ideas and opportunities. We had almost no life experience to sate its impatient hunger so it pulled us, demanding that we try new things, meet new people. The protective bubble of childhood held us back, wrapping possessively and snugly around us, stubbornly resisting our efforts to burst out. That bubble could keep us safe for just a few more weeks before it would be forced to relent and set us free, leaving us to face the future alone but, at last, on our own terms.

We thought we knew it all. We thought it was our time and our world. A world just waiting for us to step forward and fill it with our ideas and energy. A world for us to change. A problem for us to solve.

God, I was happy then. Every day was a gift to be unwrapped. Every day held something new, something that I did for the first time. It was glorious. I thought I would always feel that way. I miss the careless optimism of the young - the unshakable belief that life will be good and full and safe. The lifespan ahead unthinkably long compared to the life already lived. If only we could go back to those unspoiled times. Revisit ourselves as were were in the full flush of youth and health, even for a day.

My teenaged body was tireless - I could run for hours and swim an ocean. I slept deeply every night and woke rested and ready for anything. My mind was fiercely bright and full to the brim with an education just completed. My earnestly held principles were untarnished by contact with the adult world and all its ugly compromise.

The field was beautiful: the grass green and vibrantly alive; thick and lush forest surrounding it on three sides. The late summer evening was gracefully giving way to a warm, dry and cloudless night. The sun was huge and red at the horizon, visibly sinking below the tree-tops. The sky was full of colours - burnt umber around the sun picking out warm orange rimmed clouds with a darkening deep purple-blue overhead. The stars were not yet brave enough to try to compete. The failing light made everything glow - a gorgeous red-shift picking out new and strange tones against the long shadows.

The first time I saw her, I did not know her. She went to the private all-girls school on the other side of town. I was at the comprehensive. We had lived in the same town for our whole lives, but our paths had never crossed.

We had both just finished our final school year. We waited nervously for our final exam results - our passes to life’s next stage; to independence. If we got our grades.

The light made her skin look alive - warmth and shadow shifting as she spun heedlessly around. I knew I wanted her from the instant I saw her. I fell for her in the way only a teenager can - completely and immediately.

She danced wildly with crazy energy - arms everywhere, jumping and stepping as if she hated repeating a move. She was chaos given human form, exuberant and hilarious. She loved it. She needed space around her or people were bumped, struck and sometimes kicked by a flailing limb. Her laughing apologies disarmed any anger. Her smile was like ice-water on a sticky summer day. It cut through everything and left you refreshed and wanting more.

Without exaggeration, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She was tall, nearly as tall as me. A black string necklace with a too-big metal pendant swung around with her movement drawing the eye as it caught the light. Sometimes it nestled between her breasts, sometimes it was flung out at an unlikely angle by her constantly shifting momentum. Her legs were long and tanned - the left was scuffed with sandy dirt and a hint of a graze, proof that she had fallen at least once that night. Her bare arms were slim and toned. She made graceful shapes with them one minute, watching and winding them above her head in clever and complicated motions in time with the drum beat. She flailed them around in a violent windmill the next, the beat forgotten, her head thrown back and her slender shoulders shaking with laughter.

She wore a white vest top cut short to show her tummy and low to show the tops of her breasts. Her tummy was flat and curved down into her low-cut denim shorts in a way that made me want to follow it down with with my fingers, to feel her skin against mine, to see whether the promises that her taut muscled body made could be kept.

The sunset brought out every surface and shape of her. The sun’s alchemical light transmuted her white cotton top into precious reds and golds. Stark shadows accentuated every surface. Her skin was a healthy tanned contrast against the light material. Her long dark hair, tied back in a careless ponytail, shimmered a deep crimson as she danced. I could not look away. I forgot everything around me and stared. My mouth hung slightly open. I was in a state of awe. I studied her like a difficult text. I wanted to understand this girl - this young woman. I wanted to know everything about her.

She wore light trainers and no socks. She was not wearing a bra but the tight material of her top both supported and showed off her athletic curves. She was excited. I was excited by her. She was an explosion of happiness. A joy grenade thrown among us. Her laughter was infectious. I watched her create a path of smiles, laughs and wide eyes wherever her mad dance led her.

I set off in pursuit. Being near her - making a connection, finding out her name - was suddenly the only purpose of my life. I would know this girl. I would love her. She would love me. I knew these things.

I was right.

I danced with her. At first I tried to dance like she danced, but it was beyond me. I could match her energy though. I threw myself into my dancing. I forgot about self-consciousness or embarrassment. I cared only about her. At first she frowned. Was she being mocked? But she quickly understood. She was being complimented; worshipped; pursued. The frown turned into an appraising half smile. Was I worthy? I grinned at her and shrugged. Take me or leave me, the shrug said. But take me, please, my eyes shouted.

She took me. We must have continued our mad dance for an hour. We each learned from the other, finding new moves and new directions to take our capering insanity. Others joined in. Sometimes she span away to dance with another supplicant. But every time she came back to me. We touched occasionally and accidentally at first. It was impossible not to. The touches became more frequent as the night wore on. The music slowed down. We moved closer.

By the time it was fully dark she was in my arms and we were turning slowly. We talked about ourselves and asked questions of the other. I needed to know this young woman. We laughed together - she found me funny. Her humour was wicked and often a little dirty. She swore a lot - relishing each shocking monosyllable. Her hands stroked me: my arms; my back. Once, gentle and tentative, my cheek. I held her lightly and chastely, as if scared I might break her. Or perhaps that I would break the spell we were weaving together.

Her eyes held mine and the time for talking was over. I could not think of a single reason why I would ever choose to look away. I was captivated. I had known her for less than two hours. I was in love.

She turned her face up a little - the barest tilt to bring her lips level with mine. She did not close her eyes. I did not need a second invitation and kissed her softly. I lost myself in her. I breathed her in. I remember everything about her scent that night. A delicious mix of delicate perfume, citrus shampoo and hot, healthy skin.

When the music stopped and the band began to pack up, my friends had to pull me away.

“Alright!” I half shouted, shrugging off an insistent arm. “Alright,” I said again, catching myself and calming down. She was laughing at me.

“You have a lift home?” I said. She pointed at a group of girls who were watching us and sniggering. She nodded, rolling her eyes at their behaviour.

“I can see you again?” I said. I tried very hard to sound calm. I failed.

She magicked a small blue Argos pen from the back pocket of her jeans and wrote a five digit number on the back of my hand. There were no mobile phones back then. It was a small town.

“You’re… interesting,” she said. “That’s my number. Call me.”

And then she was gone, running over to her friends. Some high pitched comments were made but I could not make out the words. She laughed and pushed one of them playfully.. She looked back at me before she left. I felt the click as our eyes met. I smiled at her so widely it hurt my cheeks. She smiled right back. My heart skipped two beats and my legs went weak.

“You’d better fucking call me!” she shouted.

I waved and gave her a thumbs up. I didn’t dare shout back. I did not trust my voice not to crack. I was so happy I was close to tears.

“Jesus,” said my friend. “She’s gorgeous. What the fuck was she doing kissing you, you ugly prick?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Don’t jinx it, for God’s sake,” I said. We went home.

************

She was not my first and I was not hers. But she was my first love. I thought I had loved before but I was wrong. I had not known. I had not understood. I fell for her like a rock from the sky - helpless and terrified of the crash that I knew must eventually come. I would never again feel with the same first-time intensity that stomach dropping free-fall - the knowledge that I had found a person that I wanted with my entire soul and that she wanted me back. It was unbelievable. A miracle. I wanted to believe in any God that would have me and to dedicate my life to thankful worship for the gift I had been given.

We were so young. My parents were strict and hers were stricter. We still lived as children - reliant entirely on our parents for a roof over our heads and food on our table. We had no place of our own to go to.

I loved my parents, they were kind and thoughtful. They used their teaching experience to set boundaries for me to rebel against carefully and cleverly. I never needed to push too hard. They taught me to value my future so that I shied away from risks that could really impact me. I never tried drugs. I never stole. They were at home in the school holidays, just like me.

She had a strong sense of duty and truthfulness. Her father was away a lot, some international thing. He was in Frankfurt. Then he was in New York. I didn’t really pay attention to her vague comments about him - I somehow knew that it was not my business; at least not yet. Something in finance, maybe. Something that paid for her schooling and her big house and his fast car. Her mother was no-nonsense and protective - she did not work and was mostly at home.

All of which made finding space for intimacy difficult. She could not sleep over at mine and I could not sleep over at hers. Our bedrooms felt wrong, somehow - they were places from our past and we both saw our relationship as the start of our future. Even if we had been willing, one of our parents was usually at home.

We kissed and we touched - but we could go no further. We needed a place to go - a safe space. Somewhere we could take our time. I did not want to be distracted, listening for a front door opening. I wanted to be able to focus on her completely. I wanted to caress her. I wanted to learn her body and coax her to a helpless climax. I wanted her to shout my name. I wanted to feel her shudder in my arms. I wanted her hair to fall around my face as I came inside her.

The wheat field was our answer. At dusk on a warm evening in late August, we walked hand in hand into the field of golden wheat - tall and ripe and ready for harvest. We found a spot far away from the road and the tractor lines and carefully flattened the stalks until we had space to place some blankets big enough to let us lie comfortably side by side. It was enough. The blankets were just enough to cover the sharpness of the stalks. We were invisible to everything except the birds. We were far enough away from the rest of the world that we would not be heard if we made some noise. We were alone together. It was our first time.

She lay next to me, looking into my eyes. Her eyes were dark brown - so dark that her pupils were hard to see in the evening light. She was smiling.

“I want you,” she said. She was good at finding the truth of things. She could make big statements with few words. She was direct and honest.

“I love you,” I said. I meant it. It ached through me. Love hurts, they say. My love for her hurt. But it was a good pain. The pain of healing. The ache of a need that I knew would be met. “I want you, too.”

She leaned over to kiss me and then lay back. “I’m so glad I met you,” she said. She pulled one of my hands to the topmost button of her shirt.

“Undress me,” she said. She looked vulnerable. “Please.”

“Yes,” I said.

I carefully unbuttoned her shirt - a scruffy checked lumberjack shirt with frayed hems and rips in the arms. She lay back and let me work my way down. I held her eyes as each button came undone. She bit her lip as I moved below her breasts. Once all the buttons were undone, I pulled her shirt open and savoured the sight of her.

Her breasts were held in a black lace bra. She was perfect. She wriggled out of her shirt and rolled it into a pillow. My hands moved to the button of her shorts and pulled them open. The shorts had a button fly, and I carefully undid them, one by one. I took my time. I pulled and she pushed her shorts down her long legs. She kicked them off, taking her shoes at the same time. Her shoes went to the foot of our makeshift bed. Her shorts went under her shirt.

Her panties matched her bra. I lay next to her, resting on my side and one elbow. I looked at every part of her, taking my time. I reached out to touch her skin. First her calves, feeling the shape and strength of them in my palms. She breathed more heavily as I started to touch her, watching my hands move over her skin. I moved up to her thighs, stroking very gently at first and then more firmly. She moved her legs apart a little, but it was too soon for that. I ran fingers lightly over her tummy, making her gasp. Her skin jumped under my fingertips.

“Tickles,” she said.

“Good,” I replied.

But I relented immediately and moved my hand up further. I brushed the tops of her breasts above the material of her bra. The skin was warm and soft. I cupped a breast in my palm, feeling her hard nipple through the lace. Our eyes met. She licked her lips. I slid my fingers up to her neck. I kept my touch feather light on her throat but pushed more firmly with my fingers against the muscles at the back of her neck, finding a pressure that was somewhere between a caress and a massage. She closed her eyes and leaned back into my touch.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” she said. “It tingles.”

I leant over her and kissed her.

“You’re beautiful,” I said. She opened her eyes. I looked at her for a moment. I wanted her to feel her beauty - to believe it. My desire for her was overwhelming. I wanted to taste her. I wanted to press myself into her. I wanted her on top of me. I wanted to feel her lips on my skin. I forced myself to hold back. I wanted us to take our time. So I just let my eyes wander where my fingers had led. I looked and let the anticipation build.

Eventually my eyes came back up and met hers. She must have seen my need. She laughed at me. It was a kind laugh. “I’m with you,” that laugh said. “I want this just as much as you do.”

“Now you,” she said. Her long fingers slipped under the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it up. I shifted my weight, caught between my desire to stay low and out of sight and my need to be skin to skin with the woman lying next to me. She tugged. I helped. My t-shirt was off. I laid it next to hers. I was wearing cut-off jeans. She fumbled the belt open and undid the top button. Her hand slid inside, under my boxer shorts, just for a moment. She took my very hard cock in her hand and gripped it firmly. She moved her hand up and down three times - pumping me. I gasped, surprised.

“Just checking how you're feeling,” she said. “I like how you feel in my hand. That’s a good start.”

She pulled her hand out and helped me get out of my shorts. She insisted that my boxers came off at the same time. I kicked my shoes off and self-consciously piled my clothes next to hers, making a second make-shift pillow. I was naked. She was not. I felt the power of the moment shift to her. She pushed me onto my back and lay on her side next to me, freeing her right hand.

She looked at me, then, like I had looked at her. She put her hands on my body, feeling my skin and gently kneading the muscle beneath. She focused on my chest first. I was in good shape. I was slim but well sculpted from regular exercise and swimming. She traced the lines of my chest and abdomen with her fingers, a look of quiet wonder on her face.

She leant over and kissed me on my stomach, just above my belly button. I tensed for a moment, wondering what was coming. I sighed when she moved up instead of down.

“Patience,” she said, laughing when I groaned.

She kissed my chest. The kisses were slow and a little wet. The saliva she left behind felt cold in the summer air. The rest of my body felt very hot. She kissed each of my nipples, teasing them with her tongue. She raised her head to mine and kissed me fully on my mouth. Her lips were wonderful - full, soft and agile. Her tongue slid between my lips insistently, finding mine and rolling around it. Her hand slid down to my cock and teased it. She stroked me very gently, barely touching me at all. My hips rose up involuntarily. She moved with me, keeping her touch light.

She giggled into our kiss and pulled away. She reached behind her back with her free hand and shimmied provocatively. Her bra came away and she tossed it to one side. He breasts were perfect - she was not a big girl but they were firm and sat high on her chest. Her nipples were taut.

“Would you… kiss me?” she said.

I leaned across and kissed her.

“No,” she said. Her eyes flicked downward. “Would you kiss me… there?”

I kissed her mouth again in answer. We did not have much space and we needed to keep low. The only way for me to kiss down her body was to shift onto my knees first and move my face downwards while moving my lower body upwards, towards her head. So I did. I kissed her bare breasts, one at a time. I pulled her nipples into my mouth, bathing each one with my tongue, following her lead and leaving them wet. She moaned when I did that. Her moan travelled straight down my spine and into my groin, like she had pressed wet nine volt batteries against me. I shuddered with the power of it.

Her panties were still on. I kissed her through them. They were damp before I began. I was turning this young woman on. She wanted me. Her body was responding to me.

I felt like a king.

I was kneeling next to her now, my feet just above her head and my knees below her shoulders. I leant down against her body. I had reached one hand across her on the blanket, holding myself up. My free hand tugged insistently at her panties. I pulled them down one side at a time while she moved her hips up to help me. I got the elastic hem past her hips and they were free. I stretched my arm out to slide them down her legs and over her feet. I placed them carefully, reverently, on the blanket to one side.

She was naked in front of me. I raised my eyes to look down the curve of her tummy and along her long, fabulous legs. I kissed slowly down her neat pubic hair, the same dark brown as the hair on her head. Her legs parted to let me in. I kissed the top of her lips and tasted her with my tongue, feeling the folds of her and slipping into them. I found the nub of her clitoris quickly. I teased my tongue around it, grateful that this was not my first time.

“Fuck me,” she breathed. An expletive, not an instruction.

“Fingers,” she said softly, between breaths. “Please.”

I reached under her thighs with my left hand and down across her tummy with my right. I was taking my weight on my left elbow. My body was twisted a little awkwardly but I did not care. I gave her my fingers. My right hand slid down past my probing lips and tongue, sliding between her lips and finding the source of her wetness. My left hand moved up, pressing between her buttocks and thighs. I slipped a finger of my left hand inside her. I was slow and gentle. My tongue and both my hands moved together. My only desire was to please her.

“Oh, fuck,” she said. “More fingers. More,”

I moved a second finger inside her. She was very wet, and very tight. I could feel her internal muscles gripping my fingers, as if she was trying to pull me deeper inside. But my fingers were at their limit. I tried to make up for their lack of length and girth by being firmer with my tongue and lips.

I put my entire being into pleasing her. I licked, kissed and nuzzled her, focusing mostly around her clitoris but sometimes teasing it directly. I could feel from her movements when it was becoming too much, when I needed to back off a little. I started to get a feel for what she wanted and what pleased her most. I pulled back with one hand and stroked her thighs and buttocks. Two fingers seemed to be her limit. I moved inside her in time with the small thrusts of her hips. She showed me her rhythm at first, and then I started to lead her. She was moaning with each exhale now. “Aaaah,” she said. “Aaaah, yes. Aaaah.” Her hips moved more forcefully, pressing up against my mouth. Her hand slipped into my hair. She gripped it.

“C’mere,” she said. I felt her other hand on my thighs, pulling them. She was guiding me to change position. I realised what she wanted and this time I moaned. She seemed to like the sensation of me moaning into her because her hips bucked upwards against me and her grip in my hair tightened.

I moved with her hand, trusting her and shifting my legs where she pushed and pulled them. She wanted me to straddle her, to put my knees either side of her slender shoulders. She wanted me to present my very hard cock to her face. She wanted us in a sixty-nine. She was going to suck me while I kissed and licked her. She wanted to do this with my cock above her, pushing down into her mouth. It was an incredibly arousing position. I promoted myself in my mind, from king to god.

I was very much on board with her plan.

Once she had my knees where she wanted them, I felt her fingers grip my cock. I kept my hips high at first. I did not want to lose control and choke or gag her. My focus on myself caused me to lose focus on my part in our mutual pleasure. She slapped my thigh twice, gently.

“Relax,” she whispered. “Make me come. I want to come against your mouth. I want you to come in mine. Race you.”

Holy fuck, I thought.

Her face lifted from the blanket and she pulled down on my thighs. Her strong grip guided my cock to her lips. She did not tease me. She pulled me into her mouth immediately. Her lips were wet. Her mouth was hot. My cock twitched and throbbed against her tongue.

“Fmmmk mmmah fmmmss,” she said, around my cock. Fuck my face. Oh, Lord.

I let her hands guide me, pulling me into her, pushing me away when I hit her limit. My fingers dug into her thighs, pulling her into my tongue. I moved my fingers more urgently inside her. My control was gone. Instinct took over. I lost myself in her. She was strong and took control for me. Her arms and hands protected her and prevented me from going too far. Her control freed me to thrust and push and grunt my way towards release.

“Mmmmf!” She said. “Mmmmmf! Mmmmf!”

I was getting closer with each urgent thrust. My lips were pressed against her, my tongue still rolling around her clitoris. She started to shudder. Her hips pushed up hard into my face.

“Cmmmming!” she said.

Oh, God, I thought. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I came hard, just after she hit her peak. I pushed down into her mouth, pushing her head into the blanket. I spurted over and over - I thought it might never stop.

She squealed around my cock, her elbows locked and her hands holding me back. She coughed and choked a little on the come spraying into her mouth and throat. I could not pull back - I was no longer in control of my body. I shouted out my joy and pushed my cock into her warm and willing mouth as I finally finished.

She had come too. She had leaked warm liquid over my mouth. It had run down her thighs and dripped onto my hands and the blanket.

I rolled away from her face as soon as my conscious brain was allowed back into my nervous system. I shifted my body as best I could in the small space we had until I was lying next to her, my face across from hers. I gazed at her, woozy and warm in my post-orgasm glow.

My come was all over her chin and cheeks. A little had trickled down her neck. She looked at me accusingly.

“Look what you did to me,” she said.

I pointed at my own wet face. I showed her my sticky hands.

“Look what you did to me,” I countered.

She wiped her face and neck with the corner of the blanket. I didn’t. I liked the feeling of her fluids on my skin. Her agile tongue flicked around her lips, tasting what I had left there. She sucked her tongue back into her mouth and swallowed visibly. She leaned over my face and kissed my cheeks. Her tongue flicked between her lips and across my skin, tasting what she had left there. She kissed me. I could taste both of us on her lips and tongue. She held me with her eyes for a moment, and then lay back.

“Fucking hell,” she said, idly hitting my chest with the back of her hand. “It’s never been like that before.”

“Mmmf,” I said, stretching. “You asked me to fuck your face. You said you wanted me to come in your mouth. You’re a bad girl.”

“Seem to be,” she said agreeably. We lay together for a little while. The silence was natural. Soft sounds of nature - the rustle of the wheat stalks and the faint sound of bird song - made a soothing lullaby. I think I dosed. She held my hand, fingers rubbing my skin.

“Have you got your breath back,” she said, eventually. “Because I want this,” she took my cock in her fingers and squeezed, “inside me.”

“Mmmf,” I said again. My cock was getting hard again in her hand. Being eighteen was the best.

We shifted to face each other and kissed. My hand explored her back, buttocks and thighs. Her skin was smooth and warm. I loved the contrast between soft and firm - so different from my body which was all hard. I squeezed her gently.

She took her makeshift clothes pillow and moved it down to her tummy. I looked at her questioningly. She rolled onto her front with the pillow under her. It lifted her gorgeous arse a little, presenting it to me. I understood and moved on top of her. I kissed her shoulders and neck. My erection pressed between her buttocks and slid upwards. I moved that way for a moment, loving the feel of her soft flesh around my cock.

“Inside me,” she said. “Right now.”

I reached down and guided myself into her. She pressed back immediately, greedily taking me deep inside. My tummy pressed into her arse as I filled her completely. I groaned.

“You’re perfect,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

I started to move in her. I pressed my whole body against hers, my face buried in her hair. I went slowly at first, pulling out almost completely before pressing firmly back into her, pushing as far as I could go.

“Oh,” she said, each time I thrust. She had a deep voice for a woman. Now she was husky, breathless, a little hoarse. She sounded incredible.

I increased my pace, my excitement rising. She pressed back into me, matching me. We were bouncing against each other. It was a deeply carnal experience. She liked to make noise. She liked it when I did.

“Fuck,” I said. “Oh fuck.”

“I want…” she began, but seemed to lose her train of thought.

“I want,” she said again. “You to pull out. Please. Don’t come in me.”

I knew she was on the pill, we’d talked about it. I also knew that she was really worried about getting pregnant.

“Mmm,” I said. “I’ve got you.”

She moaned, then, and seemed to let go. Her moans became louder and longer. “Aaaahhhh. Aaaahhhh.”

I was losing myself, pumping into her. I put my hand on her beautiful arse and stroked it roughly. I was thrusting as fast as I could. Her moans joined together into one long sound. I whispered my love for her, my mouth against her ear.

"I love this," I said. "I love being in you. I love how you feel. I love you." I was young. I did not care if it was corny. I had to express the feelings washing through me or I would explode.

I tried to hold on, to last longer, but I was getting very close. When I felt my orgasm starting to get away from me, I thrust into her three times more, going hard and deep. I pulled out and gripped my cock. I pumped myself twice and came hard. I aimed myself up, away from her sex and over her arse and back.

"Oh fucking hell," I said, as I came on her perfect skin.

"That's right," she agreed, her voice low and wicked.

I collapsed sideways, falling on my side next to her.

She wriggled until she was lying against me, her breasts pressed into my chest. She took my hand and moved it between her legs.

“Finish me off,” she said. “I’m so close.”

"Mmmm," I agreed.

I slipped my fingers inside her folds and found her clitoris. I gently slid a little further, finding her wetness and pulling it back to make her little nub slippery. I jumped slightly as her hand was suddenly next to mine. She put her fingers over mine and pressed my fingers into her.

"Like that," she said. "I need you to be a little firmer with me now." She pulled my head down and against her breasts. I kissed every part of her that my lips could reach.

When I had learned what she needed from my hand, she moved her hand lower. She pushed her own fingers inside herself and masturbated. She was not gentle. Her forceful movements gave me confidence and I sped up my movements to match hers. We brought her to her climax together.

“Oh god,” she said. “Oh fuck. Oh yes.” Her eyes were closed. I watched her as she orgasmed. She bit her lip and arched her back. A gorgeous red flush spread up her chest and neck. I saw sweat break out on her skin. She was absolutely glorious. And for that moment, she was mine, completely. And I was hers.

“I love you,” she murmured a little later.

“You do,” I agreed. “Lucky me.”

“Fuck’n right,” she said.

************

I lived on a high for the short weeks left before our lives moved on. We were together every moment we could get. I remember it all. I met her friends, she met mine. We met each other’s parents. I think my mother loved her more than I did. I lived through vivid fantasies of our life together - a wedding; children; a home. We found time to be together again. We took advantage of our friends. We used her car. We found ways to be in love. There was always an urgency to it - a knowledge that we had to fit a lot into a short time. We made the most of what time we had.

We both got our grades. She went to a Scottish university to study languages. I went to a place in the East of England. We were hundreds of miles apart, doomed by the limited technology of our era to be linked only by letters and the occasional hard to organise phone call.

It could not last.

It did not last.

Our time together was too short to hold us through the much longer times apart. Other young men turned her head. Other young women turned mine.

We broke up in a tearful but honest phone call before Christmas, each asking for and getting permission to let the other go.

"I'll never forget you," I said just before I hung up.

I kept that promise, my love.