It Was A Dark And Windy Night

I guess you can’t always plan you life sometimes things happen in a way you never expected them to. You could have gone your whole life thinking that you would never fall in love, or that you would grow up to be a secretary, and then you grow up and get married with seven children and become a stay at home mum.

You might also plan that your first time will be some romantic event, maybe following on from a candle lit dinner and some cuddling in front of a good movie; and then when it actually happens it is in a tent, in a field during a thunder storm.

Yes, that’s my story. I was going to start off all dramatic with the lines “It was a dark, windy night in Southern England” or something similar but then I started to ramble a little. But it was indeed, a dark night, as in fact most nights are, and it was in Southern England.

I had been on a trip with some friends, there were about five of us when we started out on the Friday afternoon, those oversized rucksacks on our backs with camping mats rolled up inside them, tents, little gas stoves, all those things you have to carry when you do a Duke of Edinburgh Award or similar thing.

The plan was to head into the moors, climb a few hills, take some photos and then camp for the night, the same thing again on Saturday and then we would head home on Sunday, back in time for the Sunday soaps and to get last minute assignments written up.

It was a perfect plan. We’d spent the week discussing what route to take, studying the maps of the local area working out exactly where things could go wrong. We were well trained and prepared.

But you can’t plan the weather, and when the skies opened on Friday night it wasn’t surprising to hear the complaints the “I’m so cold and damp” and “Why didn’t I pack spare socks? My feet are freezing.”

Saturday morning showed no signs of improvement and with dry clothes almost non-existent I couldn’t really blame people for wanting to go home. I just wasn’t prepared to give up myself, and so five became two, with one of the guys insisting on staying to keep me company.

I wasn’t about to complain, we were pretty close after all.

I guess you’re wondering who I am? Kirsten, female, nineteen years old. People have told me I’m pretty and I guess I get my fair share of attention but I never really understood it. I’m just your average kind of girl. Red hair that refuses to behave in the mornings, cut into a shaggy bob at the moment, framing my face. Green eyes. Yes, classic type one, never let me under a sunlamp. Always pale with those little freckles over my nose that everyone says are cute. Is cute a compliment?

My companion that dark and stormy night on the moors? Andy. He’s also nineteen and perfect in my eyes. He’s a couple of inches taller than me with black hair, cut short but it has those little curls. I guess my description isn’t so good but use your imagination a bit. Chocolate eyes with these little flecks of green.

I should pull myself out of my daydream about his eyes and get on with the story shouldn’t I?

It was Saturday afternoon, the three others had packed up and headed back into town, instructed to call us when they were home safe or if they had any problems on the way back. We were sensible.

It was also getting very cold and wet outside, the sky had been darkening since the others had left and so Andy and I had tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags and shut the door of the tent, determined to sit out the storm and continue the hike on Sunday morning for a few hours before going home.

The rain drummed on the canvas, sounding not unlike the college samba band, although, the band has a lot more rhythm and at several times I was worried about the tent taking off!

As evening drew in and the light faded we braved the rain to boil some water on the gas stove to make instant noodles for dinner before retreating back inside.

It was after our very basic dinner that Andy revealed the bottle of vodka in his rucksack and we each had a few shots, then a game of truth or dare started to emerge as the alcohol took effect and we both began to lower our inhibitions.

The first few truths were simple, favorite color, most embarrassing moment and such like but as the bottle reached half capacity things were getting more risque. Moving onto dares such as “I dare you to kiss me” and finally “I dare you to do a strip tease for me.”

Yes, the alcohol was a factor, but I know I was still capable of saying no, this wasn’t a drunken mistake, it was some tipsy fun; and his lips had felt so good when he had kissed me.

Sliding out of my sleeping bag I knelt before him, the tent not being tall enough to stand in and slowly unzipped my jacket, letting it fall from my shoulders before starting on the buttons of my shirt.

Andy’s jaw dropped as my shirt fluttered open revealing the purple lace bra underneath.

“My god Kirsten…” He began as I shrugged off my shirt and started to undo my jeans, awkwardly getting them off in the confined space until I was just in my matching bra and panties.

I crawled across the small space between us and gently kissed his lips.

“It’s cold, let me in your sleeping bag to warm up.” I whispered as I pulled back from the kiss, unsure how far he would be willing to go.

That was when everything changed, the tentative game of truth or dare was forgotten as he unzipped his sleeping bag and stripped down to his boxers before reaching out to draw me into his arms.

“Do you want…?” He asked as I pressed against him, feeling him strain against his underwear.

“Yes.” I replied, smiling as his hands snaked around my back to undo the clasp of my bra.

Looking back we could have done things a lot better, I’d certainly dreamed of a much better scenario than that bumpy and over eager encounter we had. With a bit more thinking maybe we would have realised the importance of foreplay the fact that you can’t just spread legs and shove it in.

But these things come with practice, right?