I slowly made my way home; my thoughts totally focused on what had just occurred in a small, dimly-lit room: my first sexual encounter with an older man forty years my senior.
A plethora of mixed feelings and emotions engulfed me as I relived every moment, every move, every touch.
After enduring weeks of subtle flirtations through suggestive looks, words and actions, he had finally decided to make his move on me.
I lay awake most of the night; my mind set in playback mode. Images flashed before my eyes, in vivid detail, of everything that happened between us in that cold, dark basement below the long, white building and its unsuspecting residents.
The risk of being caught only seemed to heighten the tension and add to the excitement of a highly, sexually-charged atmosphere created by our intense, erotic encounter.
Following that first encounter, our relationship grew as we became more sexually drawn to each other and discretion was a must.
Living in a small, very conservative town where everybody knew every one, discretion was the name of the game.
We could only meet at work, during normal working hours, in various secluded areas around the cluster of buildings of different shapes and sizes that resembled an Abbey in its layout and structure.
From his perspective, my lack of resistance, and most importantly, my seemingly positive response to our first encounter in the basement, was exactly what he had hoped for and this emboldened him even more.
He was ecstatic and he eagerly looked forward to the next meeting.
As I had anticipated, the second encounter took place exactly two weeks later in a different building, a single-storey structure that stood separately from the main group of buildings. Inside were storage rooms.
It seemed like the ideal place for what he had in mind. There was less human traffic here, especially on a Friday afternoon; workers were anxious to finish their work shifts and head home for the weekend.
