She ran her fingers through his hair, because that’s what lovers did in the movies. His hair looked like it would be coarse but it was wonderfully soft. She thought this was a show of tenderness, but she hardly knew him. He pulled her hand away—was she doing something wrong?—and moved it to his penis, thick and hard. She held it and marveled at how solid it was. It turned her on to feel him, but what was she supposed to do? She just held it the way she might hold a softball bat while waiting for the pitcher to toss the ball.

“Like this,” he said, and he put his hand over hers. Then he moaned. The sound was so animalistic, so loud, it broke her out of her spell. She looked at the beach to be sure nobody was there, but then again, she wished someone would show up. She wasn’t turned on anymore. She felt sick, sick! How could she do this in the pond her parents took her to? She imagined Maureen standing on the shore in her pink dress, her hands on her hips, watching …

He grabbed her by the hand and led her to the private nook where their clothes waited. The sight of her shirt hanging in the tree made her want to put it on. The air felt cold against her damp skin. Her legs shook. She looked around in the trees hoping someone would show up and interrupt them, give them a reason to flee.

She stopped, suddenly sober and scared. “I need to go home.”

Home, home. She’d never wanted to be home so badly, never even understood what home meant to her until that moment.

“No, this is where it’s at.” He picked her up like she weighed less than a sack of flour and set her down on the sand. It felt cold, hard and damp. He knelt over her and stared at her breasts. He dragged his fingertip down her breastbone, down her hard stomach, and let his hand rest over the soft patch of pubic hair. She had so much she wanted to say but she didn’t have the words. “We can’t go. It would be like waking up from the best dream ever.”

“But you’re—” He put his hand over her mouth. “I’m—”

He hovered over her with his elbows next to her ears, pinning her down. She could feel the damp warmness of his skin, smell his musk. He reached between her legs and with two fingers he made a part. His finger dashed inside. “Oh Jesus, you’re dripping. See? You want this.”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on. I’m sorry. Please. Maureen wouldn’t want us to—”

“Shhh, don’t worry about her. We haven’t touched each other in months.”