I’m sitting here by my kitchen window sipping an iced elderflower cordial, watching the heavy rain of a summer storm closing off most of the daylight outside and listening to it beating against the glass. And a soft illumination is lit within me, a memory. A memory of such vividness and poignancy that it feels as if I’m completely transported within myself back to that time and place.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, a slight breeze taking the edge off the sultriness of the previous few days. But my boyfriend and I had been returning to the campsite when a dark storm cloud loomed unexpectedly over the nearby hilltop. The air immediately changed and it felt like rain any moment. We decided to try a shortcut through the forsaken old country estate we’d noticed on the way to town. You could see the derelict old manor house through the trees from the narrow country lane we were on.

We hopped over the crumbling stone wall beside the padlocked gates, and it was just as we were making our way up the curving driveway that the heavens opened and the sudden summer downpour almost instantaneously drenched us. I erupted in shrieking laughter as he took my hand and we sprinted in a direct line for the manor through the swishing knee-high grass, each of us with a bag of shopping swinging precariously in our Free hand.

The abandoned residence itself was an impressive Georgian country house. Though dilapidated and boarded-up its bygone splendour was still very evident beneath the decay and neglect. And the luminous bluish-purple of a breathtaking flowering wisteria covered the whole of the left side of the frontage.

It looked like a house I saw in a movie once, or in a dream. I wasn’t sure. It just felt like I’d seen it somewhere before. Maybe it was one of those déjà vu things.

We sped across the weedy, crunching gravel of the forecourt to the big front door but it was locked. So we dashed round to the side in the hope of finding another way in. There was a huge greenhouse built against the side of the property, and we hurriedly scraped open the rusty-hinged metal-frame door and squeezed through the little gap we’d managed to make.

The rain was coming down so hard I was actually really worried the enormous deteriorating structure of the greenhouse might not hold. We needed to shout to be heard above the deafening din of the relentlessly intense rain across all that glass.

We made our way along the internal walkway, dodging little waterfalls of rainwater coming through missing panes in the glass roof, ducking between exotic plants that had evidently enjoyed being neglected and had grown with riotous profusion into great looming colossi, and avoiding broken glass and decrepit plant pots that were smashed and scattered over the dirty, cracked tiles of the path.

The walkway opened onto a circular central enclosure where a rotted wooden bench lay broken in pieces to one side. We sat and rested on the wobbly brickwork of a raised planting bed, huddled together, shaking and giggling.

From one broken pane in the sloping roof high above came a particularly thick cascade of rainwater dropping and splashing onto the floor right in front of us. The sound of the water hitting the hard tiled floor and the swishing sweeps of driving rain across the expanse of the glass engulfed me in a lovely warm feeling, a hypnotising aura of cosy intimacy deep within me, infusing all my soul. His arm was warm around my shoulder. I felt blossoming in the pit of my tummy an intense yearning to be consumed by a ravishing sensual communion. Which is to say, I suppose, that I came over Horny as fuck all of a sudden.

I held his chin and kissed him tenderly on the lips, imparting a sense of the sticky confection within me. “I want you,” I called into his ear. “Right now. I need you right now.”

As he responded to my kiss, I undid his jeans, slid my hand inside his boxers and massaged his soft cock. I stroked him into a beautiful, silky-smooth erection. Smooth and fleshy and firm and eager.

My Pussy throbbed and my tummy melted as I imagined him inside me. I slid to my knees and took his thickly scented flesh into my mouth and sucked like a sugar addict. I craved the scintillating rapture I knew would soon flood me when we were fucking.

My feverish fingers rubbed my hungry Pussy until I was fingering myself as I sucked him and licked that obscenely gorgeous and furiously robust shaft of his, relishing my power over him as he twitched and convulsed in response to all the unbridled worship my mouth was lavishing on him.

Then I stood and caressed his head as I leaned my head back with my eyes closed, lost in the moment, listening to the thrum of the rain. I then straddled his hips, lifted my skirt and pulled aside the crotch of my panties. I guided his firmness into the lips of my soft opulence as I lowered myself down on him. Uuh! It felt so fucking good to feel him entering me and pushing up inside me.

He held my hips as I fucked him. And I fucked him so Hot and sweet, wrapping my arms around his head and slowly riding his thick pole up and down, and up and down, tenderly, responsively, appreciatively, taking his whole length again and again, wringing every last pulsing throb of enthusiasm from his excited flesh, accentuating and echoing every fleshly vibration, trembling in our wet, chilly embrace, losing myself in the intoxicating sensations flowering and reverberating within my nerves until he came. His delicious explosions of semen up deep inside me made me quake and shudder in my narcotic, sensual trance.

And I came too, all over that big aching, sensitive cock, and he tensed and groaned loudly as I held onto him for dear life.

After a fading moment he lifted me off his cock and we both flopped down onto the messy, weedy raised planting bed, both panting and sighing as we lay there recovering side by side, pleasure still pulsating through us, the rain still hammering across the glass roof of the greenhouse.

All the world seemed so very close in that moment, and yet, at the same time, also so very far away.

That was forty-five years ago, and I remember it like it was today. It’s one of the sweetest, most precious memories I have. It has stayed with me through many twists and turns in my life, many ups and downs, joys and hardships, other relationships, and even marriage for a brief spell; many other stories that have changed and aged me. I feel that brief connection as strongly today as I ever did, that exquisite manifold fusion, between the two of us, between my external life and my inner self, and between my core and the cosmos.

I still feel him inside of me. And the thrilling affinity we shared in that time and place remains as real and true as anything I’ve ever felt. He was such a sweet young man, and so brimming with a sense of the joy and adventure of life, he didn’t deserve to die so young, but later that year, after we had returned to our respective universities, I got news that he’d died in a car accident. As you can imagine, I was heartbroken. I became completely lost in sorrow and my life just collapsed around me. I didn’t finish my studies. For many years I was propelled into an unexpected and unnerving orbit of seemingly endless restlessness, wandering from job to job, from town to town. It took a long, long time for me to adjust to the thought of the world without him.

I made it through of course, and now here I am, a retired teacher (after eventually having returned to complete my studies at a much later date), settled and happy, with three cats and a daughter from my marriage who visits regularly. Life is good. But I still miss him.