This is a story about young love.

Young, embarrassing, sticky love.

Love that we thought safely hidden by the shadowy embrace of a moonless night. How wrong we were…

Stars in the sky during a blue moon in Sussex, England

(An old photo of mine, taken during a blue moon)

You probably know, if you watch the news or have a friend that rejoices in telling you useless, geeky facts, there’s a very big meteor shower occurring right now: The Perseids! If you get a chance, go outside and look for them. It’ll peak at around 100 shooting stars per hour (though by the time you read this, they’ll probably have passed — so do it next year!)

(For more TMI this Thursday, hit up Lilu’s blog!)

This story takes place almost ten years ago, in August, during the Perseid meteor shower. I was 18 and drunk and dizzy with the affections of a certain girl. She was 15 and perky. And lavishing me with lingering looks and touches. It was only a matter of time before things got out of hand.

We barbecued and she laughed at my little jokes. We strolled at dusk through beautifully-lit woodland and she walked beside me, catching my eye and smiling. And when the night’s festivities were finally through and we settled down on the castle’s lawn to rest and sleep, she lay very close to me.

By most measures we had a romantic night that could only lead in one possible, carnal direction… right?

Wrong.

I failed to tell you that this was a party. We were 20 friends having the night of our lives.

I failed to tell you that she was also in a relationship. With my cousin.

But I was young and horny… and she was even younger and even hornier… and you know how I have a thing for pretty young girls…

So there we are, under a blanket, surrounded by a big group of our friends.

We’re all looking to the heavens and counting shooting stars. Occasionally someone tries the classic: ‘There! Over there!’ which of course, by the time you’ve looked, it’s gone. Minutes pass, meteors perish with a dazzle and our chatter slowly dies down as the magic becomes mundane. Sleep begins to take hold when her hands suddenly fine mine.

A firm grip and a meaningful, deliberate squeeze that speaks much more than a spoken word ever could.

My fingers trace teasing, tantalising designs on her palm and wrist.

Her body moves fractionally closer but the tiny increase in body temperature is palpable.

My fingers continue their gentle slide along the smooth underside of her arm.

Her breath warms the side of my neck and then, as my fingers lightly tickle her she shudders, her head dropping to my collar bone.

My hand moves from her shoulder and up her neck, under her ear and she bites me, she bites my neck hard.

My whimpering is only just audible but of course I look around, nervous that we’re being watched, that someone might’ve spotted us — but no, everyone seems to be asleep or looking at the meteor shower. Her bite has become a soft kiss and yet again I can feel her hot breath on my neck. She shakes — with nerves? — as my hands encircle her waist and pull her closer, my concern for eavesdroppers and voyeurs diminishing by the second.

Her body pushes closer and I can feel just how hot she is. She squirms as my fingers tease her waist and hips. With a hard kiss on the lips I smother a moan as my arm and hand and fingertips slide yet further.

Craving her flesh I hastily pull down my pants and undress her with my spare hand until she’s almost naked; bare enough that neither of us feel restricted. My fingers then find their mark and she rolls on top of me, her body convulsing, her hips grinding against mine.

This was a stupid move for an obvious reason: I’m fairly certain our foreplay had been heard already but our friends, in a moment of true Britishness, had decided to ignore it. But that wasn’t all. When I’d rolled onto my back there’d been a quiet click, a terse snap. Our small and sweaty under-blanket world was instantly illuminated in blinding white light. Someone had brought a huge torch, just in case of emergencies.

Those that were still watching the meteors turned to look. Those asleep were woken by the kerfuffle. In a truly Austin Powers moment they all saw our mid-thrust silhouette. There were screams from the girls and cheers from the boys.

To this day, I’m told that my silhouette was very generous.

Art or engineering?
Shrek & Sebastian

Sebastian

I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.

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