In the darkened privacy of the locked motorhome, I can’t feel anything of the outside world. Reality doesn’t exist in these moments, it holds no sway over our actions and our feelings, for all its power and effort. It can’t break this moment, it can’t tell us how to live our lives, and it sure as hell can’t prise our entwined bodies apart.

For these moments, we can live in ignorant bliss. Actions, no consequences and endless possibilities.

Yet, still reality bites back in my conscience, the one place I’m vulnerable when it comes to us. When all I can sense is the heat of your breath on my skin as you kiss my exposed neck as you methodically unzip my overalls to shrug them off my shoulders. Or the weight of your body on my lap as you sit, kneeling astride my legs as I sit on the sofa, my arms wrapped around your chest as yours loop around my shoulders, staking your claim to my body. When all I can feel are your fingers through my hair, tracing patterns down my face, your kisses falling from my forehead to my lips. When all I can smell is the champagne drenching your hair and overalls, sticking to your skin. When all I can taste is the alcohol on your lips as you frantically part mine with your tongue to open up my mouth to your greedy exploration. When all I want is to be buried inside you, to hear the gasps from those kiss-bruised lips and the melodic sound of your voice urging me on, crying my name in pleasure.

When you invade every one of my senses, reality still manages to hit me, even through my arousal, and you can sense it, breaking our illicit embrace to pull back away from me, hesitantly.

“Mike, what’s wrong?” you murmur lazily, turning your attention to my neck, sucking, kissing, the tip of your tongue running purposefully across my jaw and back to my lips when I don’t immediate answer your query.

I don’t believe you’ve just asked me that. What’s wrong? What’s fucking right? But, you don’t see it, you don’t see that what we are doing is so completely wrong that I can’t begin to describe it. Yet, you make me feel so right in other ways that I can’t possibly give up. I make you sound like an addiction. Well, you are. We’ve had this conversation many times before. I’ve tried to break this off, tried to make you see sense that we can’t continue like this, but every time you break me down and I crawl back on my knees desperate for you. Every time, you seduce me back into your arms and we end up like this, breathless, aroused, together, and I can’t do anything but succumb to the craving you stir in me.

That is the difference between us and something I will never understand. You see nothing morally wrong with this, nothing wrong with our stolen kisses or passionate embraces. Nothing wrong with the depths of sin into which we plummet every time our lips meet and our bodies entangle. Nothing, because you love me more than anything. Nothing wrong when we spend hours in each others arms locked tightly against each other after the sweet afterglow of orgasm, when you sleep soundly and untroubled against my chest. My beautiful sleeping lover without a trouble passing his thoughts. And for that, I don’t know whether I am eternally jealous or forever troubled. Just as you did when you were young, when nightmares would wake you in the middle of the night and you would come creeping over to my bed, pulling at the covers desperately until I woke up and let you in because I knew if I ignored you, you would simply give me a wounded look, your eyes would well with tears and I would never get any sleep unless I gave in. You would fall asleep in minutes huddled against me, clutching my hand, looking to me to chase away the monsters that you were convinced lurked in the shadows and feeling safe next to me. Now I have to chase away monsters of another sort: those that want to have what I have right now, the taste and touch of your skin, caresses of your fingertips across responsive nerves. But they would not be so gentle with you, and for that reason alone I would not let their demanding paws touch you. My own jealousy prevents me even tolerating the idea of your body in the hands of another, even if I question my own relationship with you. They would waste you, clueless how to pleasure you fully, how to experience everything that you can offer. And I know they would hurt you, selfishly pursuing their own desires.

Or perhaps I always underestimate your capacity for manipulation ... you would probably play them with such dexterity as you play me, weaving your alluring web until they are wholly caught, entranced by you and unable to let you go.

You assure me that no-one will touch you, for you are my exclusive property. Yet, it is conditional, there is always a catch. As with so much in life there are sacrifices to make. Mine is how can I prevent you straying without succumbing to the insatiable demands you make? How can I refuse when I know it would only lead to you seeking out new outlets to vent your desire, and then I will have the ignominy of knowing that someone else has touched you. That I could not stand even if it was what you wanted. So, I believe it when you say that there is nothing wrong at all with us because you say you love me and that’s all that matters. I listen to your warped reasoning that it is simply a physical extension of our relationship just because you have me addicted to you, hooked on the taste of your lips under mine and dependent on the pleasure you so easily give me.

I have often questioned how I can love you as much as I do if I am willing to perpetuate this ... you merely reply how could I not do this if I do love you? Because, as you so often murmur to me whilst you slide yourself into my arms in a bit to lure me from my reticence, what is sex if it isn’t the ultimate expression of love? And what greater love is there than that which you have for me and I for you?

However, it does nothing to quench ever-present fear that our guilty little secret will somehow see the light of day, or that I’m violating and tainting you, however willingly you beg for me. The guilt remains, the guilt at what we are doing, what we’ve been doing for years now. I feel as responsible now as I did the first time you leant over and nervously kissed me and I irrationally responded. What the fuck was I thinking back then? Probably exactly what I’m thinking now.

Nothing. 

You snared me back there and since then I can’t stop this, can’t stop the urge to please you, to pleasure this beautiful body that is screaming for my touch.

You had none of your self-assured nature back then and you must have agonised for aeons over this leap of faith. Because it was an impetuous leap, the stakes far too high for you to fail so it doesn’t surprise me that it took you so long to knock up the courage. That night in particular was no different from any other, my salad days in F1 when I had just begun what proved to be a long career, but even then they were demanding of my time and I hadn’t been home for a while. Before that, I had the time to come home regularly to see my family, you especially, who our parents would always moan took our separation incredibly badly, particularly as my absences became greater. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to find out just why. If I told anyone that now, they wouldn’t believe me, but I genuinely had no idea. Even you were surprised, perhaps relieved, that I hadn’t managed to see through your mask to reveal your true intentions.

We had the house to ourselves that night, I’m not sure why, but I had been told to give you a good talking to. Yes, you were in one of your moods, your depressions, though I just dismissed it as teenage angst, the usual trials and tribulations accompanied with those troubled years. Though I think they were worried, you had just turned seventeen and still you didn’t seem to be growing out of your swings of temperament. If anything they were worse, only I was never there to see them. Yes, as soon as I saw you, you changed and I saw nothing in your demeanour that so alarmed them. How was I to know?

You were in no mood for talking about whatever your troubles were, as if you hadn’t a care in the world, and I all but dismissed their worries about you. It must have been a while since I had properly seen you, so we had plenty to talk about as we watched the usual standard of evening television. Looking back, I probably should have sensed something strange about your behaviour, even our parents saw the change in you whenever we were together. But you’ve always been, what’s the word, clingy, even as a child. I’ve grown up with you sitting on my knees, wrapping your arms around me, the play fights and the embraces. So, I saw nothing in the way you joined me as I laid out on the sofa, resting against my stomach and curling up with me whilst we watched TV with a bottle of something I had sneaked home for you as a peace offering for not coming back when I promised. Occasionally, I would say something and you would look up at me and laugh, before nestling back down like a child. Because that is always how I’ve seen you; as something to protect. To me, you never grew up.

I must have fallen asleep, the combination of the low murmuring of the TV, the tiredness from travelling and the warming sensation of the liquor, and you seemed happy just to lie there, quite obviously not about to tell me what I wanted to know. But I admit never in my wildest imagination did I believe that I would be roused from sleep by the sensation of two hesitant lips brushing against mine, so faint it could barely be called a kiss accompanied by fingers being softly raked through my hair. Stirring more coherently, the initial haze of sleep melted as soft caresses carefully explored by face, stroking my lips before being replaced by another, slightly more emboldened, kiss.

Realisations stupefied me when I opened my eyes to see you kneeling on the floor besides me, gazing at me with such intensity that it took me another few seconds to realise the emotion burning behind those blue eyes.

Lust.

Yet, in my seconds of floundering, you took my surprise as acceptance and it wasn’t until you leant in and kissed me again did I regain control over my shock and realise that I had kissed you back purely on instinct. One hand stroked my face, the other nestled beneath my head to knot fingers in my hair, you were shaking with longing, taking advantage of my momentary loss of my senses until I grabbed at your wrists to disentangle myself from you, and with that action you broke from my lips, suddenly flustered and thrown off-course.

You had just kissed me and I had no idea what I was supposed to say to you.

In a matter of seconds, your visage changed from curiosity to panic, biting your lip to quell rising tears; you had realised you had miscalculated, that you have made a mistake from which you could never recover and a situation you could never salvage. And in doing so, you left me under no illusions that you were no longer what I thought you were.

Before I could speak, could try and make some sense out of this, your sobs broke the awkward silence. I had never seen you cry before this ferociously and it was heart-breaking to endure as you collapsed against the sofa, frantically trying to save yourself from your actions but finding not the words nor the breath to vocalise them without choking back the tears. Stunned, I could only listen as you sobbed your apologies, begging for my understanding and pleading that you would be anything I wanted you to be, if only I take you, give you what you crave. Guilty secrets spilled from your lips as you obviously felt honesty was your only option: your longing, your troubled dreams that had plagued your life for as long as you can remember. I was too shocked to feel the revulsion I naturally should have felt as you told me of your fantasies. The way you have always known that what you felt for me went far and beyond the norm, falling into a sexual fantasy given years to grow and consume until it became your obsession. The way you dreamed I would be your first, slipping into your room in the dead of night to take you while you slept, to wake you up with my body pushing into yours and my hand across your mouth to silence your cries of surprise and pleasure. I guess I never wholly took it in at the time, only later did I remember and the full force of your revelations strike me. All the friendly hugs, the innocent touches were all so that you could feel me, a double edged torture as you got to be in my arms but could never incite what you desired, always scared that your body would betray you and I would realise your unnatural arousal. And when you couldn’t have me, frustrated tears would fall and you would lock yourself in your room and dream of a world where you could attain such happiness and peace. But your hand was a poor substitute that only served to leave you more empty and lonely.

The one thing you feared was my rejection, you whimpered, tugging at my conscience, stories of being worthless, of feeling unloved and unappealing.

And then there were your apologies, for putting me in this position, for being such a sick and twisted creature. You said you would forgive me if you disgusted me, if I hated you for these revelation, because you hated yourself even more than I ever could. I don’t know how or why, but the next thing I remember is feeling your lips beneath mine, the sweet taste of the innocent and then you were in my arms, clutching me so tight I couldn’t have pushed you away had I wanted to and pulling my body against yours so I couldn’t mistake the extent of your arousal.

You begged for me, urging me to be your first, as if I were the only thing that could possibly make you happy. You all but offered your body as a personal sex toy, demanding nothing from me but to be touched however I saw fit.

Yet, despite the tears, perhaps because of them, because I could no longer trust my own rational though, I asked you quietly to go to your room. At first you didn’t move, still clinging on to a hope that I might forget and forgive your outburst. You must have seen my stony gaze because then you crumpled as if I had just struck you, no longer able to restrain the full force of your tears as you now begged for me not to send you away as if I couldn’t stand the sight of you. I had to tell you to go a second time, raising my voice more forcefully than I had intended, snapping at you to just leave, before you finally looked at me, with horrific realisation, and you ran to your room to suffer alone.

Looking back, it was an act of cruelty to send you away in the manner that I did, though at the time you possibly felt you deserved it and I was too confused, too taken aback to be able to think straight, especially with the sounds of your sobs ringing in my ears and those tearful eyes pleading with me. I don’t know how long I sat alone, trying to contemplate what I should do, even how I should explain your hysterics to our parents on their return. How long I sat with you watching me, sitting on the stairs trying not to make a sound to alert me of your presence, I don’t know. Suddenly, I just knew you were there, though I didn’t acknowledge you, needing my head clear to think and your cornflower blue eyes seem to verge on the hypnotic to the extent that I don’t trust myself to look into them without being willing to do anything to help you

That didn’t matter as I sensed you slowly gather yourself up and move slowly towards where I sat on the sofa, my arms curled around my knees, worry lines wrought across my forehead as I tried to ignore you. But all you did was to sit gingerly beside me, not saying a word, though a sly glance out of the corner of my eye noted your tear-stained face, flushed and puffy. 

We had never had awkward silences between us until that point. You had changed our boundaries, now I had no idea where I stood, what we had lost and what, if anything, we had gained. You were the first to speak in muted tones, more apologies and promises to never mention this again, to stay away from me if that is what I wished, even telling me that you would make sure you were somewhere else when I came home to visit in-between races so that I didn’t have to lay eyes on you and be reminded of your existence.

They say lives are full of defining moments, of turning points and crossroads, and it was then that I realised I had to make a choice. The sombre tone of your voice was betrayed by the soft tremor of anguish and I could see in your eyes that you thought I now loathed you. Perhaps it was the fact that you were willing to give me up completely, to cut yourself wholly from the one thing you craved most because it was what you thought I wanted, despite how much it would hurt you, that spurred me into action. You thought yourself selfish that night; it was then I realised that you were quite the opposite.

Unsurprisingly, you were hesitant when I turned to you and, without saying a word, brought you into my arms, yet it turned into silent tears – gratitude, relief, sorrow, a whole cauldron of emotion – as you realised that your worst fears were unfounded, and I gently raised your chin to kiss your forehead as further reassurance. Of course I couldn’t hate you and I mentally chastised myself for allowing you to think such things and perpetuate your pain. Though I couldn’t cure it, I knew that would take us down dark alleyways we are forbidden to tread, yet you must have caught me in a moment of weakness, where my attentions were too focused on soothing your state of mind, as I never really noticed you move closer to me, your legs clinging around my waist as you nestled against me, one arm looped around my neck while the other hand, resting gently on my leg, began to move suggestively on to my inner thigh. And even when I did, you more resembled the frightened child I had often had to comfort in its childhood so I merely held you tighter. 

Perhaps that was my undoing, you were always that child in my eyes and I never recognised that you were now a sexual creature possessing the keen manipulative talents I soon came to discover. Too late, I realised what you were doing, seeking to coax a positive reaction from my body that my conscience could not argue against. And what was my first thought, to push you away, to shake sense into you that this was morally wrong? It was admiration, funnily enough, for your resourcefulness, your persistence and your determination. And your ability to this time catch me off guard so that when you kissed me this time, you were harder to throw off, your body wrapped tightly around me in. My conscience must have picked this time to go on holiday, else it was too taken aback to react, for I put up little resistance after trying, unsuccessfully, to grasp at the hand stroking my thigh and getting dangerously close to succeeding in its aim.

And then you pulled away, your lips leaving mind and our eyes met, and suddenly I felt a cold dread. Not fear of you, nor of what you wanted, but of what I knew you were going to ask me and of the answer I know I would be forced to give.

You asked me to tell you truthfully that I couldn’t want you like this, that it was impossible for us didn’t feel anything other than platonic love.

The question hung in the air, weighted with all your hope, all your expectation and your bottom lip quivered as the silence continued and I didn’t answer, though you did your best to disguise it. I prayed that you would move your hand away because I suddenly got a glimpse as to how your mind worked. Oh, you could probably have been able to tell if I lied to you from my eyes, but what you wanted was to hear me admit what you have longed to here, to hear the words come from my lips because only then could you believe them truly. But for you to believe I didn’t want you, I could not let my body be affected in any way by your touch. You knew my argument would be that it is not just wrong but impossible for us to feel this way, that you are mistaken in what you feel. And if it was impossible to feel this way, then it would be impossible to physically react this way. You were testing this theory in the simplest way possible.

You had completely outsmarted me. And you knew it.

I couldn’t let you keep the initiative like this, you had unsettled me far more than I felt comfortable with, so I gave you your answer, pushing you backwards to fall back against the sofa and pressing you down. Only then did I realise the extent of your arousal and I could no longer deny my own, your earlier efforts apparently successful. I gave up trying to find reason in this madness when you reached up to kiss me again, it was too late to stop ourselves, your hands already unbuttoning my shirt, mine sliding up your t-shirt to find warm skin to tease and caress. You had started this, yet I was the one who had to take it further as suddenly your prior confidence melted as I responded and began to gather you up into my arms to best touch you. Shaking hands eventually unbuttoned the rest of my shirt and, with a little help, pulled it off and let it fall on to the floor. I must say it surprised me when you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, and when my fingers gently lifted your chin to see your expression, I could see tears running down your cheeks, the moisture making your baby blue eyes sparkle. You had spent so long fretting over getting my compliance that you had never seriously thought it would ever come to this moment and now you were full of virgin nervousness, terrified of doing something wrong. Slightly glazed, your eyes fluttered closed as you obediently lifted up so that I could slip your t-shirt off and then you lay back, half-naked before me, on the verge of sobs, thoroughly aroused and distressed.

Soothing the panic away, my lips found other uses: kissing, licking, gentle nips across your chest, worshipping every inch of exposed skin, murmuring how beautiful you were, how much I adored you, all the compliments I knew your shattered confidence would need to hear. It worked because you began to groan for me, my name leaving your lips and you lay still for me, letting me do anything I wanted to do. I admit, I floundered, still adamant that we should not be doing this, but aware of how much you wanted this, how much my own body would be willing to sacrifice morality for satisfaction with you. A gasp when my mouth found your nipples, a moan when I ground my hips against yours. Oh, to have you so responsive to me was amazing, spurring me on to go further than my intention, to undo your jeans and hearing the anxious delight in your voice as you begged me to take you.

I didn’t. I had enough of a conscience for now not to allow myself to go that far. I could just about cope with this, with kisses and caresses justified with a twisted logic that I was only trying to soothe you. My curious hands, however, had other ideas, pulling down your jeans and underwear, and for minutes all I could do was just gaze at you lying near-naked beneath me in rapture. Somewhere in my mind, reason popped up and informed me that this was impossible and in a strange way, I could cope with that. Better impossible than down-right wrong, as if being impossible meant that we couldn’t possibly be doing this so we had nothing to feel guilty about.

Nerves were getting the better of you though, but my reassuring words worked wonders to calm you down – I wouldn’t have done this had I thought it would overwhelm you far more than you could have coped with. A part of me was aware that even this could be too much, the culmination of a lifetime’s fantasy could destroy the last bit of your sanity, I wanted to know that you could handle this, that this was truly what you wanted and what would restore you to the you I thought I knew.

I did it anyway, the strong musk of arousal overwhelming my senses. I saw the realisation light up your eyes, the fear at letting yourself go, but most of all the desire for me. I let my hands wander across your body until they found you hard and responsive, your hips arching up to encourage me as you buried yourself against the sofa, biting your lip in pleasure. I got to know every inch of your body before gnawing curiosity forced me to slide down and take my first intimate taste of you. I heard you cry out, groaning my name, writhing uncontrollably, so much so that I pulled forward so that my arm could wrap around your waist reassuringly and my other hand offered to yours to clutch tightly. Giving you everything I could, I let my tongue work wonders on your throbbing cock as you subconsciously thrusted up so that you went deeper and deeper. You couldn’t last long, this overwhelmed you. So many emotions exploded as you came, shrieking my name, before breaking down in sobs more of relief than anything else. You couldn’t put into words what I had done for you, but I could tell even just a little from the intensity of your kiss.

And after your tears subsided and the shock at what you had done fell away, you looked at me with utter adoration and complete conviction that we had done the right thing. I had no idea, but some part of me decided that if it stopped your tears then it could only be a good thing, irrationally buying into your warped logic that this could only be possible if it were right. A hesitant hand reached out to caress my face, running down my cheek and across my lips. You smiled a mischievous smile when my tongue lapped at the fingers brushing gently and I sucked on the intruder, seeing your eyes flicker again with arousal. You seemed utterly fascinated, letting two fingers delve deeper to run across my tongue so I sucked harder, letting my own fingers rest against your full lips. You understood immediately, copying my actions and fucking my fingers with the same fervour as I gave you the first lesson in your education. Your mouth was so hot, your tongue learning to lick and explore; I scared myself by the fact that I was aching to replace those fingers with my cock. But you weren’t ready, not yet, so instead I let you practice like this, seeing your eyes close involuntarily as you relied on your sense of touch to mimic my actions. The expression of peace on your face, the vigour with which you sucked, I found myself aroused at the sight; it was obvious what you were thinking of, what you were fantasising, and god I wanted to thrust in you like you were dreaming. The sight of you like this was too much, without a thought I took your free hand and placed it on my groin, letting you see exactly what you were doing to me. You froze, staring at me, before you started to caress my straining erection through the thick denim. I pushed your hand down harder, a rougher touch, sucking your fingers with unrelenting force and feeling you do the same.

And when I couldn’t bear the tension any longer, I broke free. I had no conscious thought of what I was about to do, it was purely instinct that made me hold out my hand to you. Two blue innocent eyes stared back at me, acknowledging my unrealised question. And you took it without hesitation, knowing that in a few minutes you would experience the full culmination of your fantasies and only then did I realise what I had asked from you and now you had accepted, I wasn’t sure I could suddenly refuse.

We walked to my room in silence, I only just remembered to pick up the evidence of our discarded shirts as you pulled up your jeans with a flush of self-consciousness. I saw your shiver, looking at me with a beseeching, lost gaze. It was obvious you wanted this, but I could still see the fear at actually going through with it. I absent-mindedly thought about giving you a stiff drink to calm your nerves, but I wanted you clear in your mind that this is what you wanted and perhaps it had been the drink in the first place that had started this all out. In the end you didn’t need one. You stood in front of me, shedding your jeans slowly, apart from your underwear, and then murmured, fully aroused again, for me to finish it.

Sinking to my knees, I pulled them down, letting them drop to the floor before standing up to admire the trembling figure before me. I let you do the same to me, letting you take your time in exploring unfamiliar territory, until we were both standing in front of each other, and I felt a rush of blood at the awed and longing expression in your eyes. And then, and then you whispered that I was as beautiful as you had dreamed and suddenly all thoughts of not taking you went out the window with what little remained of my conscience.

I led you to the bed, watching as you lay out in surrender, your eyes closed and waiting for me to strip you of your innocence thoroughly. But I could see the tension in your nervous body. Oh, you wanted it, but it did not mean that you weren’t scared. I suddenly remembered that it was even worse for you, this being your first time. So, I took it slowly, letting my lips explore your body, kissing away the tension. My mouth took you to the height of arousal before a firm hand squeezing your cock stopped you from climaxing. Sweat-sheened and shivering, this time in delight, you moaned my name in frustration, begging for more and I don’t think you really registered when I motioned you to turn on to your stomach. Completely taken aback, the cry from your lips when my tongue pressed inside you was rapture in itself, and I was convinced you were as ready as you would ever be as I felt you gyrate roughly against the bed for friction against your aroused body, muttering something incomprehensible.

Gently, I kissed the small of your back, stroking the inside of your thighs, and I asked if you were ready. The moan I received in reply was evidence enough for me. Conscious of hurting you, knowing how, despite the willingness of your voice, anxiety might prevent you from relaxing enough for this to hurt much less, I murmured in your ear that I would only be a minute. I’m not sure what I found, the first available solution that came to hand in the bathroom next door, but anything was better than nothing and you were regaining some of your coherence whilst I dithered, enough for some of the fear to creep back in. I quickly destroyed them as I stroked your body, running my hands between your trembling thighs and hearing the gasping breaths muffled by the pillow under your face. 

This was wrong. I knew that. I knew what I was about to do was more wrong than you can get, but somehow I had convinced myself that your well-being far outweighed any other considerations. And seeing your reaction to my touch, I couldn’t help but want you in this way.

Preparing you with thorough care, I felt the tight muscles restrict even further as my fingers coated your entrance with the lubricant, pushing further and further inside to completely cover you in an attempt to make it easier. A nagging doubt in the back of my mind told me you were not ready and that you wouldn’t get past the pain, despite your aching cock informing me otherwise. But when my fingers found your prostate and you almost screamed in delight, the pleasure distracted you and your body relaxed to the intrusion. Extraordinarily responsive, I knew you had to have this and I whispered to you in warning, withdrawing my fingers.

Yet, you surprised me fully when you told me no and turned on to your back to face me. You were flushed, utterly aroused again, but this time with a confidence you before lacked. I watched mesmerised as you stretch out, parting your legs, whispering for me to take you this way. I must have protested that it would hurt you much less if you were on your stomach, but you flatly refused to listen to my suggestion, telling me in a breathless tone that you wanted to see me, wanted to be able to kiss me or else you didn’t think you could do it yet.

As always, I did as you asked, but first letting you lean over to pick up the bottle beside you on the bed and gesture for me to straddle your chest. Your fingers were nervous, unsure but eager as they applied the lotion to my erection, and I let my fingers run through your hair in encouragement at your actions. I could see the unashamed fascination in your eyes, your gaze flicking from your fingers to my eyes, watching my reaction at your caresses. And when I had to grasp your wrist to pull it away before you took me too far, I swore I could see a faint smile of smug satisfaction.

You were every bit as tight and wonderful as I had come to expect when I pushed into your virgin body with one hard thrust, believing that it would hurt you much less than a cautious and slow entrance. You moaned at the heady mixture of pain and pleasure as I moved rhythmically inside you, yet you never once objected, giving yourself over to me so wholly and in complete trust. You were so tight but arousal just about kept the pain at bay, and my lips preoccupied your mind from discomfort. Too aroused, too inexperienced, I knew it wouldn’t be long before you came so I abandoned the slow gentle thrusts for a rougher, quicker pace to compensate, anxious to time my climax with yours. Gasping for breath you came quickly with my name on your lips and your arms clinging on to me, the eroticism of the situation releasing me quickly as I sunk into you for a final time.

Hesitantly, I looked up, after the last flickers of orgasm died down, to meet the eyes of the one whose innocence I had just ended. The look of bliss on your face made me forget every moral objection to our union.

We must have lain there for a while, content enough until you then whimpered for more, enthralled with the sensation of my body pushed deeply inside yours, and I delivered, groaning with pleasure every time you let out a howl of rapture, your young body writhing, trying to come to terms with overwhelming feelings until we had to stop as I had you exhausted and sore, but utterly content. The mind was willing for more, but you could no longer disguise the groans of mild pain, and I felt a sudden anxiety that I was more rough with you than I had intended. Yet, you smiled at me, blissfully happy before you settled yourself in my arms to sleep a satisfied sleep. I think you purposefully ignored my warnings that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea in the world, lying naked in a post-coital embrace in my bed, nothing we could say would possibly explain this away had our parents chosen that particular moment to come home and to check up on you only to find you not in your bed but in mine. One look in your eyes though and I could tell that you couldn’t care less if they knew, and the last thing you said before you drifted off to sleep was “they can’t take you away from me.”

Do you realise just how true those words were? They never did come in and we fell asleep like that all night. In the morning, you woke me with another kiss, your expression one of total happiness, and I couldn’t help but take you again, this time in relative silence as my lips muffled your groans, conscious of our possible audience, merely heightening our arousal.

They never suspected a thing. I don’t even think they realised we were in the same room, shows how much attention they paid to what we did. Oh yes, you snared me back there and since then I can’t stop this, can’t stop the urge to please you, to pleasure this beautiful body that is screaming for my touch. I can’t stand the tears that fall when I try and be the voice of reason, the way salt rivers run down your cheeks and you collapse on your knees begging me not to cast you away, pleading with me to carry on as we are. Promising everything I could ever want if only I stay with you.

I have tried to end it many times. Not because I don’t love what we do, but because I know it is so wrong, and the longer we play this game, the more difficult it becomes to be without you in this way. And every time I try, I end up in your arms again, kissing away your tears and falling for your smile. When we were younger, there was a time when I felt so guilty I tried everything to make you realise that we couldn’t carry on this way. We were at home again, me back from my career, you back from yours at wherever you were racing. We had a huge argument out on our kart track, the biggest in a long while. I was shouting at you to see sense, and you were screaming at me that I could not do this, that I couldn’t decide what was best for you. And then you suddenly changed tact and the next thing I know is you’ve shrugged off your overalls, so they are hanging teasingly around your waist and with a seductive smile you slipped off your t-shirt, smiling slyly at the horror in my expression, that someone might see what we were doing. You laughed, told us that we were alone, that no-one would see and then you told me to take you, letting your overalls fall down on to the asphalt.

I tried to ignore you, ignore my own arousal at the sight of your half-naked body flouting itself in front of me. Then, the verbal attack, murmuring a list of all those who had expressed an interest at tasting your body, from your fellow racers, numerous mechanics, even a couple of pitlane bosses. If you couldn’t seduce me with your body, you would make me crumble through my jealousy, whispering the names of those you’d like to take you, of all your propositions, of the various things they had promised to do to you whilst you were out of my reach in some European country and I was at the other side of the world.

You denied my possession and you dared me not to give in.

I did, of course. I couldn’t help it, I just had to have you, had to take you and from then on my conscience has always taken a backseat. You groaned in pleasure when I forced you down on to the hard track, ripping off your clothing and I took you harder, more roughly than I had ever done before, the fleeting contortion of pain in your expression firing me further to stake my claim on your body and making you scream your retraction, that no-one else would touch you.

You kept your promise thoroughly. No-one else has ever touched you.

Yet, if I for one second believed that I possessed you, I would be fooling myself. Almost smugly I would smile when I heard the press make their comments, referring to you as the pitlane virgin. Untried, so innocent, a good little catholic boy waiting for the woman of his dreams. We lie beautifully, don’t we. You especially. You haven’t been pure for so many years and I delighted in being your first, the only one to be allowed to touch you. Watch you blossom into the stunning creature you have become and I have taught you so much over the years. And I reap the rewards for my tutelage. The expression of rapture on your face in climax, the pinnacle of beauty when you come. Only for me, the only one who sees that.

But power, no I have none. Not where we are concerned. If anything, I belong to you, no matter how much I might kid myself. You’re clever, god you’re clever, a sly intelligence you hide behind naïve charm. The most deadly kind because you strike without warning in such a beautiful manner that I almost hope to fall so that I can see you in action. You know I would - I will - do anything you ask of me, how those blue eyes awash with a look of guileless innocence can make me move heaven and earth for you, fulfilling your every whim and desire. Like now: how can I resist you, an unruly cherub, blond hair ruffled and sapphire eyes gleaming with a devilish spark of arousal, dirty white overalls slung around your waist a more suitable colour than the brilliant white it started the day as. Yet for most observers, it is the most suited colour to you, naïve and clean-cut. Right now, however, the irony of angelic white is not lost on you; all it does is accentuates the bulge in your pants and that this heavenly creature wants me to strip and take it and make it scream profanities that would take it straight to hell.

You like this, playing the innocent, because you know it reduces me to helplessness, the need to protect you, to please you comes through even stronger when you turn on that doe-eyed expression framed by perfect child-like lashes. Your smile simply kills me, breathtakingly beautiful even after these many years. Not the one you give to the cameras, but the one reserved only for my eyes. Like now, when your full lips break from our kiss and you run your fingers through my hair, smiling, a touch of knowing satisfaction creeping on your lips because you know, despite all of these doubts, my visible concern, that you’ll win again.

You always have done.

~The End.