The Beach At Redpoint

The sharp wind cut across the curved spine of the sea wall, the chill whipping through our damp clothes. We were holding hands, pasty, fish-white from the spray of the sea and the drizzling rain. She would turn and look at me occasionally but didn’t say anything, I just smiled at her. Neither of us complained about the cold or damp. We were warm with the alcohol.

Across the water, the fiery lights of Grangemouth soaked the sky above Redpoint an eerie phosporesecent orange in the growing twilight. Nothing mattered, we were together and it had come to this. I had bought her on stolen wine and tonight was ours. I couldn’t explain the growing fear in my gut, I shouldn’t be afraid but I was.

After a mile or so we came to the shack and climbed through the hole in the fence to get to it. The inside smelt of salt, rotting wood and mouldering paper. There wasn’t a mattress or anything else to lie on so I spread my heavy jacket on the ground. We sat in the growing darkness and she produced some tea light candles from her pocket and lit them around us. After a while, shivering and quivering, our bodies met.

That tiny shack at the beach was absolutely the perfect place for my first time.
When we came together, I could feel the hairs growing on my chest.
I saw my future.
I saw my past.
For a few minutes it was like being alive.
They lived happily ever after.
All my questions had been answered.
All my fears disappeared.
All that was left was a kiss.
Every move we made was a kiss…