In the moonlight, Ruth's face was bathed in a lambent glow, flickering blue, like a close-up of a 1940s film star. I don't think she ever looked more beautiful. It was all I could do not to cry. Satie's music flitted through my brain, wafting eccentrically in the breeze of the moment: sadness or joy; love or friendship; beginning or end? Duality, uncertainty, a piece unresolved. I longed to tell Ruth I loved her, unburden myself of the weight of emotion tormenting me. I tried to say the words; I tried to say any words, but found speech beyond me. I wanted to explain what she meant to me, how I felt as I held her in my arms, how I yearned for her when we were apart, but I couldn't express it because I didn't understand it myself.

And I couldn't bear to lose her. We had shared countless intimate moments over the hot, hazy weeks of that summer, an endless cavalcade of joyous experience, a youthful, zestful exploration of sensuality; but neither of us had spoken of love, neither alluded to anything deeper than lust or, maybe, affection. Would I frighten her off if I confessed my feelings; would such intensity break the brittle web connecting us?

My mind was awash with such thoughts as Ruth began to kiss me again. She rose above me, lips edging towards mine, her beautiful nose a chiaroscuro image of desire in the moonlight. Eyes open, she watched me intently as she piled kisses, one on the other, over my face, her lips caressing my every pore. Delicate as down on a newborn chick, she brushed against me, planting a long, tranquil kiss on my eyelid, flecking my cheek with fleeting dabs and sweeping down towards my ear, all the while becoming more insistent, more vigorous. Tentative pecks gave way to forceful kisses, her tongue rolling around my skin, grazing it with its rough texture. As she reached the tender area behind my ear she began to suck, drawing my skin into her mouth, causing a wave of pleasure to surge through me; my body flushed with excitement, raising beads of perspiration on my brow as this most erogenous of zones was expertly stimulated by my lover.

She continued her ministrations, sliding down my neck, her tongue marking her progress with a moist trail, until she rested on my throat, directly beneath my chin. A deeply erotic place, vulnerable, tender, I shook as she kissed and sucked, grazing my soft skin with her teeth.

Her hand was on my breast, fingers spread around it in a cool embrace. My nipple, stiffened and proud, pressed against her palm, and as she began to roll her hand around the gentle pressure sent tingling waves of pleasure through me. Her head was still on a downward trajectory, tongue tracing a line towards my chest and veering off towards my left breast, where it took over from her palm in stimulating my tensed nipple. She planted her mouth on my breast, then raised and lowered her head repeatedly, causing her lips to drag up and down, gripping my nipple, then releasing, gripping, releasing, gripping releasing...

With her hand she explored my body, travelling down my leg, up my inner thigh, over my pussy and onto my stomach; onto the other leg, round my knee, a gentle, soulful traverse of my thigh, nail dragging against my soft skin, and nestling into my bush. Lazily, her fingers rested there, splayed out towards my pussy, as she made love to my breast with her mouth. Gradually, almost surreptitiously, her fingers edged downwards, seeking out my warm slit, sliding into its moist folds and transforming my worry into euphoria. A feeling of warmth swept over me, a blanket of pleasure enveloping me, its subtle textures coaxing me to the edge of delight. Ruth was barely touching me, in truth, her fingers merely stroking my labia, but such was the swell of emotion surrounding me that simply the feel of her hand between my legs was enough to turn my quim to jelly. I didn't have an orgasm that night, just a series of reverberations within me, a fire which wouldn't quite light, a spark which never kindled. But I didn't mind, I was content just to have Ruth with me.

I don't know if perhaps she sensed my tenseness, but her lovemaking that evening was especially tender and solicitous. She held me in her arms, stroking my hair over and over again; I could do nothing but lie there, in the care of the woman I loved. I had no idea whether I was ridiculously happy or mournfully despondent: I loved her beyond my understanding but was so scared to say so it was ripping me apart. Suddenly, dragging me from my dilemma, she leaped up and held her hand towards me, indicating I should follow. I did so, gripping her palm and allowing myself to be pulled to my feet.

"Time for a swim," she said.

"What?" I exclaimed, incredulously. "It's after midnight. The water will be freezing. We'll drown."

"Ah Harriet, the pragmatist," she replied tenderly, holding my gaze. "Let your hair down, my sweet." She would brook no argument and, still holding my hand, pulled me to the edge of the lake.

"It drops evenly until about six feet out, then there's a sudden dip and you lose the bottom totally. Stay with me."

At the water's edge, with the moon casting its beneficent glow, she looked so beautiful. The light caught the contours of her body, emphasising and glorifying them; as she moved, lissome and lithe, the gentle lapping of the tide reflected in slow motion upon her delicate flesh, shadows rippling up and down her body, a dance, slow and easy, a performance of natural beauty peformed on a backdrop equally compelling.

She winced and caught her breath as she took her first step into the water. Smiling, she turned and looked encouragingly at me. Following her lead I, too, stepped from the bank. The cold was far more intense than I expected and I screamed involuntarily. Laughing, Ruth plunged onwards; another couple of steps and the water was just above her knees. She pulled my outstretched hand towards her and I stepped, crab-like, forwards. It was so cold it literally took my breath away; I could scarcely breathe and was reduced to short, shallow panting.

"Two more steps, now," Ruth said, smiling. Holding both my hands, she stepped sideways, once, twice, taking me with her, and we stood between waist and chest deep. Our hands were slightly raised, out of the water, a bond which seemed to me at once fragile and unbreakable. Fragile because I couldn't fathom how to express my feelings without losing her, and unbreakable because I couldn't conceive of her letting me down. What a confused spell the emotions weave around us.

We stood facing one another, hand in hand, bodies gradually - very gradually! -becoming attuned to the cold. Ruth gave me one of her enigmatic smiles, the ones I can't understand to save my life, but which melt my heart every time I see them. I felt her fingers increase the pressure on mine, and then she launched herself sideways into the cold, forbidding water, dragging me with her. I was taken completely unawares and with a shriek felt myself slide under the surface, collapsing into a murky underworld, frozen and black and formless. The water was so cold it didn't feel liquid at all: it felt so thick, so viscous, it was almost solid; it seemed to be hammering at my senses, overpowering, all-conquering, unbeatable. I was disorientated and had no notion where I was; I had no idea how far under the water I had reached, or even where the surface was. All I knew was that Ruth was still holding me, and that was enough; even in my confusion I wasn't afraid.

To this day, I will swear that we tumbled round and round, down and down, through the murky depths of the lake for minutes on end, even though I know it probably all took a matter of seconds. Real time and perceived time are sometimes totally unconnected. Finally, with a whoosh and an enormous rush of air, we breached the surface and rode upwards out of the water, before sinking back again, momentarily, beneath the watery canopy and then bobbing up again into the moonlight. Considering the turmoil we had been through, everything seemed remarkably calm, untouched by our experience. The moon still beamed affectionately on us; the lake had returned to its calm, lazy lapping against the bank; and Ruth still held my hands in hers.

We were beyond the reachable bottom of the lake now, unable to stand. Treading water, we came closer together, until we were hugging each other, an embrace like none we had ever experienced. Locked together, our legs bicycling beneath the surface, we laughed and looked at one another. The feel of her skin on mine, as she gripped me tightly, was electrifying. My nipples, already rock hard with the cold, were ultra-sensitive to the touch of her body. The moon shone. The water lapped. Life continued around us and yet, at that point, everything stopped. This was a magic moment, one in which only we two existed, where ours was the only story in the world. And then she said it.

"I love you."

I collapsed into an uncontrollable heap, treading water and embracing her, my life ripped asunder by what I had just heard. All the pent-up emotion of the evening careered out of me, a dam-burst, a release both violent and keen, racking my body with emotions so strong they were almost physical. I sobbed, deep, chest-heaving sighs and loud, air-gulping wails. I folded myself into her, unable to think, to process what I had just heard. Sometimes joy can be too pure to understand. In the course of three words my world had been turned inside out, upside down and round about; the uncertainty which had been gnawing at me, eating away at my confidence, was replaced by the shattering realisation that Ruth was in love with me.

Nobody had ever said that to me before. At least, nobody who meant it.

She continued to hold me, my lover, a protective arm around my neck, drawing my head to her. There was no need for speech, no cause for affirmation; the violence of my response was a more eloquent statement of my reciprocation than any fine words. Through my sobs, fleeting notes of Satie ran through my mind once more, echoing and dissonant, but this time there was to be a resolution, an ending to the piece. We started the evening as lovers, playing with one another, a celebration of the slight, the ephemeral, simple and straightforward. Somehow, in the course of that evening, we slipped through the loop, became transformed. Ambiguity became reconciled, doubt proved.We turned to joy not sadness, happiness not despair. Our tune was not to be a dance of death but a hymn to romance. The lovers had fallen in love.