A few summers ago, in our early 20’s, my boyfriend and I took advantage of a pleasantly warm (for Britain) Sunday afternoon and decided to drive to a lake a couple of hours away. The drive wasn’t particularly special – we talked, joked, played our favourite music obscenely loud, and watched while the scenery got progressively more rural and more beautiful.
When we arrived, we parked the car so we were overlooking the lake and a bit of lower grassland where people were walking by or sitting. We got out of the car, wind pulling gently through my long, wavy brunette hair that I’d left loose, and rustling my skirt around my thighs. I don’t often wear skirts, but I’d made the effort seeing as the sun had too. My boyfriend smiled at me; he has a gorgeous smile. I sighed happily, taking his hand, and wandered to the water’s edge. Other people were around, paddling or kayaking – some were more hardcore and actually swimming. The sun might have been out but the water would not be warm. I leaned my head against his shoulder; I wasn’t particularly short, but he still stood a head taller than me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, his thumb running light circles on a patch of exposed skin on my hip, his finger occasionally dipping under my waistband. My skin tingled where he touched it.