Our drive down was charged with excitement, and with all the anxiety of a young relationship. In our borrowed car we crept through west London, over the flyovers of Notting Hill and out into the countryside. A hot early summer's afternoon and an adventure. You taking me to a place where you had been as a child, been with others, a place with real significance and memory for you, and of unknowns for me.
Would we have enough to talk about on the journey? For the weekend? Would it be the same as you remembered, as I imagined, when we arrived? Would I live up to your expectations and would I respond as you hoped to the place that you were taking such a leap in sharing with such a new lover?
The holidays and experiences of youth filled our conversations that afternoon. I told you about places with similar significance to me, both connecting with you and aware that our lack of shared experience made our relationship brittle and risky. Old relationships were skirted around and sensitive details avoided on both sides. How did I feel, knowing you had brought previous boyfriends to the same place, yet wasn't able to ask about them - because of my own nerves as well as your selective retelling?
We did not run out of things to say, but the hours went on, and the landscape opened up more than the conversation. Over rolling hills we both exchanged carefully chosen anecdotes and stories, a well-rehearsed exercise that was both affirming and lacking in depth. Our nerves were clear to see on both sides.
Although we had only known one another a short time, I was completely besotted with you. Whilst I tend to fall for people quickly, this felt different and the stakes felt high. I had thought that there was no hope that you would ever look at me twice, let alone take me to this place so important to you. I was initially attracted by your humour, the way you put people at ease, and your striking appearance. Your hair the colour of fire, your face astonishingly pretty, with strong features and dancing eyes, and your whole body was perfect. I felt so lucky in that moment to have arrived with you, it was unbelievable. My heart raced at the thought of the weekend here with you, with the chance to get to know one another in a new way and to enjoy each other.
Eventually the mighty arches of a ruined priory appeared in the distance. It was as spectacular as you had described and more romantic than I had imagined. A dilapidated pile nestling below the heather-strewn lick of a hill. The last of the evening sunshine, low and orange, cast long shadows across a treeless landscape and between roman arches.
As we walked in to the old fashioned pub that also served as the hotel reception, we were met by a slightly miserable woman in her 50s. She told us about the strict rules and timings for meals, and handed you the key to our room. An old man, a hiker with a dog, watched us over the rim of a heavy mug of tea, picking at the crumbs of his slice of cake.
We climbed up a creaky spiral staircase, grasping the thick sisal rope which wound steeply up the central column of the stone stairs. The key turned easily in the heavy wooden door and light flooded into the landing as you pushed it open. Our eyes adjusted and we found ourselves in a large bright room. Ancient floorboards and dusty rugs led towards a slit window through which the evening sun was streaming in.
The only furniture apart from a small chest of drawers was a dark four poster bed, its mahogany frame and columns almost reaching the simply plastered ceiling. We flung our bags down and turned to one another with a non-verbal exchange of relief to have arrived. You kissed me with a real passion. Your body pressed against mine, your lips opening, allowing my tongue to play with yours. I pulled you closer still, enjoying the feeling of you against my chest. I lowered my hands to the waistband of your grey jeans, and you put your hands on my hips, slightly pulling my leg between yours. You broke off our kiss despite my best efforts to sustain it. "Let's have a drink and think about dinner"
Downstairs, the old fashioned dining room attached to the pub was almost empty but for a middle-aged American couple talking loudly about their Welsh heritage. Dinner was filling and cheap, but disappointing - like the 1950s never ended. Meat stews, mashed potato, bread. The beer was good though, and we chatted about our plans for tomorrow - a walk up on the ridge, a picnic, waterproofs because of the forecast rain.
Returning to our room at closing time we laughed about how bad dinner was, more than a little inebriated from the ale. As you locked the door behind us, I held you around the waist, hugging you from behind and around your belly. I kissed the nape of your neck and felt you relax into me as my kisses crept to the side of your neck. I placed my hands on your shoulders and gently massaged them. You took your hairband out and I ran fingers through your beautiful red curls, gently releasing them over your shoulders. You turned your neck to kiss me on my lips. Yours were already warm and I was filled with excitement. As you turned your body round to face me, you leant back on the door, allowing me to push up against you.
Our mouths opened and your tongue explored me. Our teeth briefly touched and I think we both realised how filled with energy we felt. As we kissed, I slowly moved my hand up your side, stopping as I felt the bottom of your bra beneath your clothes. Your warm breast fitted perfectly in my hand, and your increased breathing told me to continue. Using my thumb, I felt your nipple becoming erect to my touch under your shirt. I gently pinched it between my thumb and forefinger.
