I've no recollection of the walk from Eagle Place to Tavistock Square. It would have taken fifteen minutes, but it floated past in an instant, Miliza by my side, holding my hand, offering the promise of heaven.

We swept to the eighth floor and she led me down a claustrophobic passage, its light so yellow it was jaundiced, and she opened the door to her room. She ushered me through and followed, locking the door behind her. In the middle of the room, beside the bed, I turned to her.

"I've never done anything like this before," I said.

"Don't worry, it'll be nice."

It's often the little details you remember. That make the difference. That create the mood. She cocked her head and smiled, almost quizzically, perhaps supportively, most likely collusively. The movement stretched her neck muscles, making her appear at once vulnerable and seductive. A flood of desire swept through me. That was the moment the seduction ended and the consummation began.

We embraced, and I felt her body on mine for the first time, breast to breast, hip to hip. Her face was inches from mine, breath wisping against my cheek, and it felt more intimate than anything I'd ever experienced. Suddenly, I was petrified, too nervous to move, my brow icy cold and hands hot. The enormity of what I was doing sunk in. She bent forward and kissed me, and I felt her lips, so sensationally soft, brush against my own. Her mouth opened and her breath mingled with mine, while she ran her fingers through my hair, gently pulling me closer to her, increasing the intimacy, tightening the bond. She tasted sweet, her mouth a small, wet haven which I wanted never to leave.

Her hand dropped to my shoulders and onto my back, fingers etching their lust on my spine, writing of passion, desire, romance, tracing their way the length of my body to my pelvis. Flattening her hand, she slid it onto my hip and then my buttock, which she smoothed, seduced, pulled towards herself. Still, our kiss endured and I was dizzy with desire and lack of air, but would not let it end. Her hands continued, following the slopes of my flesh, the contours of my body: waist and stomach, upwards, upwards, to my breasts, and then she held them, held me, her thumbs grazing my nipples, over and over, over and over.

Finally we submitted, we parted our breaths and stood nose to nose. She began to unbutton my blouse, so slowly, each button a milepost closer to her goal, and when she reached my stomach she folded the blouse over my shoulders, letting it fall, letting me stand before her, aroused and ready. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. She smiled and nodded, appraising my body, then stood back and peeled off her tee-shirt. I held my breath as she undressed, completely, divesting herself of tee-shirt and bra, jeans and panties, and she was naked, naked before me, naked for me, naked and ready to gather my love.

She nuzzled her head against my shoulder, letting her nipples flick against me while she reached round and unhooked my bra. It was gone before I knew it and she slid my panties to my feet, and as I stepped out of them and stood before her I felt prouder, happier, more frightened, more alive, more certain than I have ever known. This was right, and it was perfect.

"I just want to look at you," I said. "You are so beautiful."

"You too. My English rose."

"Without the thorns."

"Oh sure, without thorns."

She stripped the quilt from the bed and we lay on the sheets, side by side, staring and touching, my hand on her cheek, finger against her lip, letting her bite, letting her claim it, letting her slide it into her mouth. And we kissed, our faces tilting, mouths reaching towards each other, tongues extended. Her hair fell round her shoulders, so thick, a carpet of finery, replendently black. We kissed, soft and gentle, then harder, then harder still, exploring, inciting ardour in our minds. Tongues mingling, teeth clashing, then sliding apart, while I kissed her cheek, her ear, the nape of her neck, while I traced downwards, down to her throat, where I bit and sucked and stroked and loved.

Finally, the flow of kisses reached her breasts, but I was too nervous to kiss them straight away. I felt overawed by the prospect, by the knowledge I was about to kiss a woman's breasts for the first time. I drew my hand upwards and gripped tentatively, squeezing gently and feeling her warm and soft in my palm. Her nipples were much darker than mine, and far longer, beautiful to the touch, bewitching to the eye. I longed to suck, and lowered my head towards her, extending my tongue, flicking delicately against her breast. Closing my lips, I drew it into my mouth and sucked, gripping the nipple with my teeth as I explored this new sensation.

She sighed, holding my head, easing me into place at her breast, exhorting me to suck as I began to flick my tongue across her areola. I was conscious how stiff I was, my neck muscles aching from the tension, and I relaxed onto her, letting my face rest on her soft skin as I continued to lick and suck. The warmth of her flesh on my cheek was extraordinary, divine, sending shockwaves through my head and down my spine.

My hand was wavering across her stomach, uncertain how to behave, suddenly virgin-shy after all these years. I just didn't know what to do, in what order, and I was concentrating too hard. Miliza sensed my uncertainty.

"Relax," she said, drawing my face from her breast and kissing me once more, running her hand up my waist towards my breast and enclosing it softly. I was happier with her taking the lead and settled back contentedly. She edged down the bed and began to kiss my neck and shoulders, chest and breasts, finally alighting on my right nipple and teasing it into her mouth. Her tongue, so delicate, so soft, so warm, began to draw unknown sensations from me and I felt a shiver slide down my body. I sighed and she looked up in amusement, before falling, once more, onto my nipple.

All the while, her hand was gradually sliding down my stomach, fingers stretched, easing across my skin, spidering towards my mons. She flattened her palm against it and smoothed her fingers across my baby-soft skin, sneaking downwards, ever closer to my sodden pussy. As she touched it for the first time a jolt of energy erupted through me, as though I had been electrocuted, and involuntarily I squeezed my thighs shut, trapping her hand between them. I laughed and ran my hand through her hair, easing my legs apart again and leaving myself open for my new love.

Her fingers began to probe, flickering across my lips, nails grazing gently against them, then sliding inwards, gathering my juices and slipping easily inside me. Immediately, she drew her fingers up again, running her index finger directly against my clitoris. I squealed as she stopped and placed the tip of her finger against it, pressing and teasing, before beginning to slide round and around it. I started to buck my hips as she elicited deep-rooted sensations from me, my clitoris suddenly bursting to life with its new attention.

Sliding further down the bed, she began to drag her tongue down my chest and belly, following the line her fingers had taken minutes before, leaving a gently cascade of kisses on my flesh, a delicate trail denoting her love. As her head approached my pelvis my heart began to hammer in my chest, another moment of imminent sexual revelation impressing itself on my senses. I parted my legs as wide as I could and waited for the moment.

And it arrived.

Her tongue dragged downwards over my mons towards my slit, her hair falling on my thighs and tickling deliciously. She was progressing in slow motion, but finally she reached her goal and I felt her breath on my pussy, then her lips on mine, and then her tongue edging forward, probing gently, purposefully, parting my lips and entering me. I was wetter than I think I've ever been, my body racked by pleasure, muscles rigid and fingers clenched. She began to lick, tracing her tongue up and down my slit, the hot wetness of her mouth leaving me breathless. My clitoris was crying out for attention and I bucked beneath her, trying to manoeuvre myself into position. She quickly took the hint and sealed her mouth around it, sucking it into her mouth, playing her teeth against it, rolling her tongue over and across.

"Just suck," I breathed. "Hard. Suck hard."

She fell onto me once more and did as I asked. My thigh muscles were rigid, calves almost cramping, and my abdomen was tensed to the point of pain. I felt on the edge of a precipice, teetering, on the verge of collapsing into an abyss and not certain whether I wanted to be saved or not. And then I knew. Fluttering, flashing, frenzied sensations were building in my stomach and womb, circling and clashing inside me, building in strength and speed as though readying themselves to be unleashed. I was panting rhythmically, loud enough to attract the attention of any neighbours, my hands gripping the sheet and twisting it this way and that. Miliza sucked and sucked, occasionally flicking her tongue across the sensitised tip of my clitoris, and finally I succumbed.

With a scream I gave in, my muscles relaxing for an instant as my climax erupted from my womb and sped through every inch of my body. My eyes blazed, sparks of light dancing before them; my ears were popping with the buzz of hysteria; my skin was alive, thrumming with energy. I couldn't keep quiet, the intensity of my orgasm leaving me with no control over my faculties. I panted and moaned and sighed and screamed and I never wanted the moment to end.

The greatest moment I've ever known. An unexpected zenith at the nadir of my life. A beautiful interlude.

And I knew I was in love.

Miliza and I made love for the rest of the evening. It was slow and extraordinary. It was warm and precious. It was intimate and breathless. It was magnficent.

We were magnificent.

We fitted together. We were one. We were together. We should never be parted. I rested my head on her shoulder and whispered my love in her ear. Drowsily, she smiled and crinkled her nose.

"You do?"

"Uh huh."

"How much?"

"As much as it's possible."

"Enough to lick me again?"

"Oh much, much more than that." I delved down the bed once more and pressed myself to the beauty of my lover. I've no idea how often I came, or how often I made Miliza come. The whole afternoon and night was one long climax.

In the early morning, about four am, I lay in the bed and watched her sleep. She breathed through her nose, almost imperceptibly, the smallest, most delicate breaths, he mouth turned in a faint smile. I cried as I watched her. She was the most perfect thing I had ever known, but in a few hours I would shower, dress and leave.

And I would probably never see her again.

Overcome by the prospect of my loss, I began to long for some memento. I could take a picture with my phone camera, but that felt too close to str8guy. It felt sordid, soiled by my experience with him. Instead, I resolved to draw her. It was the most intimate way I could think to record this most intimate of experiences.

Fetching my notebook and pencils from my bag, I sat on the chair beside the chest of drawers and began to sketch. Miliza was still asleep, stretched innocently on the bed, her body naked and alluring. I was still in tears, the joy and sadness of the moment overwhelming me. I sketched quickly, finding a pleasing likeness and when I had finished two sketches I put my notebook away. I resumed my seat and watched over my love until she awoke at dawn.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"What time is it?" "About six."

"What are you doing over there?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Come back to bed. Are you crying." "No."

"You are. Come here."

I went and lay in her arms, and she smoothed my hair over and over, cradling me to her breast. I never wanted the moment to end.

But moments always do.