Alison and Simon came over the crest of the sand dune and walked down through the gorse bushes towards the beach hut.
“It’s too small,” said Alison.
“We will have to be creative,” responded Simon.
“It’s not much bigger than an airline loo.”
“It’s definitely bigger than that.”
“But it is so public, everyone will see.”
“I am not embarrassed.”
“Well, I am.”
“How do we get in?”
“I have the key here…. let me see.”
“It is bigger than I thought….”
“I told you so.”
“But still not much bigger than an airline loo.”
“Much better equipped. No smoke detectors, either.”
“No prying stewardesses for that matter. Does anyone come along this path much?”
“Just other beach hut owners.”
“I hear they are very hard to rent.”
“You can’t, they all belong to families. This one has been in mine for a couple of generations.”
“Have you ever…. before….”
“Don’t ask, Ok?”
“OK.”
Simon shut the door
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“About time, too, after all this kerfuffle.”
“We’ll have to do it standing up then.”
“Take you shorts off.”
Simon eased his shorts open and dropped them onto the floor.
“….and the boxers….”
He dropped the boxers on top of the shorts.
As she bent over to examine him more closely, she ran a hand down his buttocks:
“What the fuck possessed you to sit on that stupid thistle, anyway?”
*
“By the way, what is a thistle?”
“It’s the emblem of Scotland,” said George, “and found all over the moor lands as many a young couple has found out to their dismay.”
“So, they were fucking on the moors?”
“More than likely. There are lots of moors near the beaches in Dorset where Bill lives.”
“Anyway,” said Giorgio, “what do you think happens after she takes the thistle out?”