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Simon Radcliff was my first encounter with sex. He was my older brother's best friend and I thought he was drop dead gorgeous. I was eighteen, horny and naïve. Three of the deadliest combinations where the possibility of making love is concerned. If you add a willing male participant in the form of a twenty year old man who has tickled and wrestled with you since he was fifteen then disappointment can be the only outcome. I had breasts, they were the latest and first weapon in my armoury of attention getters. I was beginning to understand just how to use them; leaving my bedroom door slightly ajar so that Simon caught a glimpse whenever he stayed with us. Allowing my dressing gown to open as I picked up Hughie our cat. Ensuring that part of my dressing gown went with the cat as I handed him to Simon. Now, when I look back on the things I did, I cannot believe how desperate I was to be noticed by him.

I was lying in the garden one Saturday and absorbing what little sunshine we were getting that summer. The best place was a flat area known as the croquet lawn. It was also the highest point in the garden. From there one could look down on the house and sweeping drive. My mother had gone to pick up daddy from the station which was a forty mile round trip. Elliot, my brother had just screamed down the drive on his new motorcycle. I picked up my mother's binoculars (she is a keen ornithologist) and I was idly scanning the roof of our house. My attention was drawn to the spare-room window. I was surprised to see Simon there. I had no idea he was staying that weekend. I could see ...

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