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When a night of vague nostalgia convinced me to add my name and address to one of those "old friends re-united" websites, I never expected anything to come of it. I'd keyed in my old High School, recognized maybe six names in the list, and joined the club out of curiosity more than anything else. Then I changed my mind and tried to get out, but the complexities of cyber-registries have never been one of my strongest points. I braced myself for another storm of poorly spelt e-mails offering sex aids and pharmaceuticals, and forgot all about it. Until about a month ago.

I was trashing spam when a name in an e-mail address rang a vague bell just as I hit "delete" I punched "restore" and double-checked... Lawrence.Bacon@.... Hey, I knew a Lawrence Bacon - but it was one helluva long time ago.

Lawrence Bacon was the first guy I ever slept with. I was 17, he was 20; we met at the office where I was working evenings, and were together for a year, until he left me for some blonde whom he met at a club. I'd like to say I was broken-hearted - in fact, I may have been for a week or two (the mind blocks out the memory of those sobbing phone calls late into the night), but I soon got over it... got over him... got on with the rest of my life. And now, all these years (ahem: decades) later... I clicked "open" and I knew it was him straight away. "I was doing a search for friends I'd lost touch with; I was so thrilled to find you on the site," and so in a similar tone of delight, as if it was just a few weeks, not years, since the last time he'd so much as looked at me.

I hit reply, and responded in kind... "great to hear from you, blah blah blah, what are you doing, gush gush gush..." and I tried to imagine what he'd look like now. People say, look at the father if you want to know how the son will turn out, and Lawrence's pop really wasn't that bad for his age... I shuddered at a sudden thought. The last time I saw Mr Bacon, he was probably younger than I am now. Which means Lawrence would be even older - mid-40s. Was he married, were there kids... I wondered how long it would take for him to write back; suddenly I found myself feeling very curious indeed.

Over the next few days we exchanged all manner of details. He was divorced; he had children, a daughter who was away at University in England, and a son who'd just returned. Holy Shit, even his kids were older than he was when we'd been together. Where the hell does the time go, these days? He was still living in the same town as well... I'd drifted a clutch of counties over since then, but we arranged to meet, and all day my mind kept meandering back to the time we spent together - and forced me to admit that, once past the sex, I really couldn't remember anything.

I was still a virgin when we first started dating and, though things certainly improved with practice, I hoped Lawrence had more understanding recollections of our first time than I did. You've heard people describe embarrassing moments of their lives as "not my finest hour"; between the panic, the pain and the sheer discomfort of a piece of carpet in the back of a van, this was not my finest 10 seconds.

But there were good times as well... such as the first time he ever went down on me. I was absolutely astonished. Of course I knew all about it - like most healthy 17-year-old girls, I'd already read my fair share of articles, and even seen a few dirty movies, hijacked from my girlfriends' brothers when they were off doing boy-things. But I was certain that those were the only places where guys actually did things like that and, as Lawrence's tongue traced its way down my belly and thighs, as I realized with amazement that he was closer towards my pussy, I don't know what shocked me the most - that it was actually happening to me, or that it was happening in such a normal room, in a normal house, in an excruciatingly normal town.

On the street outside, I heard a car drive past. Could the people inside have even dreamed what was occurring just 20 feet and a few walls away from them... could they have ever dreamed that I was lying there with my legs spread, and a tongue teasing around my cunt lips? And would they have believed it if they could?

He brushed my clitoris, and I almost screamed as I felt that nerve-jangling flicking for the first time, and every tiny movement of

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