Being caught having sex in the kitchen by my parents.

Sometimes I long for the teenage times of working all day, drinking all night, and fucking all weekend. (It would be nice to have that now, come to think of it).

Back then my boyfriend would stay over most weekends. We barely made it out of my bedroom: we would venture out only occasionally for food, drink and a quick shower. The rest of the time we spent sleeping, talking, and of course shagging. Though there was a lack of privacy, given that I was still living at my parents’ place, we still managed to get through boxes of condoms with some consistency such was the voracity of our love-making.

During one brief break, I remember staggering downstairs with him one evening. My parents had gone out and we had the house to ourselves. Dressed only in towelling robes, we began to snack on some food to fuel our appetites: peanut butter on toast for him, Marmite sandwich for me. Being English meant we had to have a nice cuppa too, and I brewed up the kettle to make a big pot of tea.

Whilst it was boiling, my boyfriend sat down on a chair and called me over to him. I turned around, and he was grinning at me. I smiled back at him, a little confused, but followed the direction of his gaze. It led of course, to his crotch. I looked closer, and through the towelling, I could see a bulge. He looked back up at me, smiling even more and with one small motion, undid his robe and grasped his hard cock in his hand.

I stood there for a moment, pondering his erection.

And decided to walk towards him, opening my robe as I did.

I slid myself on top of his thighs so that his cock was pressed up against me, and pushed my breasts into his face, the way I knew he loved. Sucking furiously on my nipples, he grabbed my arse hard, and ground himself against me, until he could feel I was wet enough to take him. He lifted me by my hips, swivelled and adjusted my position, and then pulled me down onto his cock roughly. I remember crying out and trying to wrap my legs around his waist so that I could grind my clit against him harder. He moved in me deeply. I felt him pulse and knew that both of us were near, and as we were about to come, I heard,

“Oh sorry Girl! We didn’t know you were…um…in here. Er…”,

and I turned my head to see both my parents backing out of the kitchen, blushing furiously.

We were both stunned. Too in shock, to speak. Our bodies said it all: moments before at the point of orgasm, now, numbness, softness and all sexiness out the window. There’s nothing like the anti-aphrodisiac of one’s parents walking in, to kill the moment.

With shame on our heads, we shuffled off back to my bedroom, and kept ourselves hidden from view for many hours. I was too embarrassed to face my parents properly for some days. And even though my parents are open-minded, progressive people, I felt uncomfortable with what had happened. It wasn’t just that they knew their daughter was having sex (in their house) that was making me cringe: it was that they had seen their daughter in the act (and pre-orgasmic) that was so embarrassing.

This incident was never discussed or spoken about, but I knew that they knew. And that’s a little bit too much information for any parent to have embedded on their brain in my opinion.

Still, it didn’t put my boyfriend and I off: we were back shagging again some hours later, albeit with less gusto and noise. He had a great appetite that boy.

But he hated Marmite, so it would never have worked.