I guess you can't always plan you life sometimes things happen in a way you never expected them to. You could have gone your whole life thinking that you would never fall in love, or that you would grow up to be a secretary, and then you grow up and get married with seven children and become a stay at home mum.
You might also plan that your first time will be some romantic event, maybe following on from a candle lit dinner and some cuddling in front of a good movie; and then when it actually happens it is in a tent, in a field during a thunder storm.
Yes, that's my story. I was going to start off all dramatic with the lines "It was a dark, windy night in Southern England" or something similar but then I started to ramble a little. But it was indeed, a dark night, as in fact most nights are, and it was in Southern England.
I had been on a trip with some friends, there were about five of us when we started out on the Friday afternoon, those oversized rucksacks on our backs with camping mats rolled up inside them, tents, little gas stoves, all those things you have to carry when you do a Duke of Edinburgh Award or similar thing.
The plan was to head into the moors, climb a few hills, take some photos and then camp for the night, the same thing again on Saturday and then we would head home on Sunday, back in time for the Sunday soaps and to get last minute assignments written up.
It was a perfect plan. We'd spent the week discussing what route to take, studying the maps of the local area working out exactly where things could go wrong. We were well trained and prepared.
But you can't plan the weather, and when the skies opened on Friday night it wasn't surprising to hear the complaints the "I'm so cold and damp" and "Why didn't I pack spare socks? My feet are freezing."
Saturday morning showed no signs of improvement and with dry clothes almost non-existent I couldn't really blame people for wanting to go home. I just wasn't prepared to give up myself, and so five became two, with one of the guys insisting on staying to keep me company.
I wasn't about to complain, we were pretty close after all.
I guess you're wondering who I am? Kirsten, female, nineteen years old. People have told me I'm pretty and I guess I get my fair share of attention but I never really understood it. I'm just your average kind of girl. Red hair that refuses to behave in the mornings, cut into a shaggy bob at the moment, framing my face. Green eyes. Yes, classic type one, never let me under a sunlamp. Always pale with those little freckles over my nose that everyone says are cute. Is cute a compliment?
My companion that dark and stormy night on the moors? Andy. He's also nineteen and perfect in my eyes. He's a couple of inches taller than me with black hair, cut short but it has those little curls. I guess my description isn't so good but use your imagination a bit. Chocolate eyes with these little flecks of green.
I should pull myself out of my daydream about his eyes and get on with the story shouldn't I?
It was Saturday afternoon, the three others had packed up and headed back into town, instructed to call us when they were home safe or if they had any problems on the way back. We were sensible.
It was also getting very cold and wet outside, the sky had been darkening since the others had left and so Andy and I had tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags and shut the door of the tent, determined to sit out the storm and continue the hike on Sunday morning for a few hours before going home.
