One afternoon, the third, I think, I asked him to help me with the suntan lotion. Inevitable, really. I lay on my front, waiting while he fussed with the bottle, and had to suppress a sigh at the first touch of his hands. Very tentative at first – I could actually feel him trembling – but firmer once he realised that I wasn’t going to break. I started to drift off at the touch of his hands on my back, although it was clear that the straps of my bikini top were hampering his stroke. As I raised myself to reach behind and undo them, I found myself face to face, as it were, with a very interesting bulge in his trunks. Maybe that was when I made my decision.

I’m afraid I made my intentions obvious that evening. Ben’s family had gone out for a meal, Derek and I had stayed behind, and eaten by the pool. Eating had merged into the disposal of a couple of bottles of burgundy, and we were well into the third when the others returned. Only Ben took up the invitation to join us, and soon Derek was snoring, leaving the remaining bottle to just Ben and me.

I went to powder my nose, and having done the necessary returned to my sun lounger, Ben’s eyes following me all the way. I had thrown a cotton wrap-around dress over my bikini, stopping above the knee, and as I sat back I put my feet up, raise my knees and nonchalantly allowed my knees to drift apart.

There was no mistaking the moment Ben realised what I’d “forgotten”. Now, these days, I gather, there’s a thriving industry in pubic barbering, but back then it wouldn’t have occurred to us to do anything but to let that area run free. Being a natural redhead, I was blessed with a lush, fiery bush around my nether regions – so much so that on those rare occasions I could get Derek to go down there he’d always make the same joke about jungles and machetes. Now, I was displaying this jungle to this innocent young lad. And was he taking in the display? Oh yes.

I could feel myself moistening, and my lips swelling and opening, preparing for the animal act of mating. He too was getting into the feral spirit, the shape of his generous equipment becoming deliciously defined in his light cotton trousers. I was looking straight at his crotch, and licking my lips, when I noticed that we’d both gone quiet. I looked up. He looked up. Our eyes met....