It began a lifetime ago, early 1966. I’d just turned eighteen, still a child in the eyes of the law back then, but in truth, I’d become a man the day I stepped aboard my first ship in the summer of ’64.

Two trains and a taxi had carried me to the quayside at Birkenhead, where my new home was being eased through the cuts, tugs nudging her towards the berth on West Float. When the accommodation ladder finally touched down, I was waiting with my suitcase, swinging the twenty kilos with ease as I took the steps two at a time.

A nod to the quartermaster on gangway watch, then I went straight into the main deck accommodation and up two levels to the deck officers’ quarters. My previous ship had been her sister, nearly identical, so I walked into the cadet’s cabin with confidence. It was empty, fresh linen folded on the bunk. I checked the top bunk for a matching set, but it was bare. I smiled. No sharing this trip.

Leaving my case on the bunk, I circled the stairwell to the chief officer’s cabin. My knock on the open door was met with a brusque, “Come in.”

“Err…” I hated this part, always nervous meeting the man who’d be my immediate boss. “I’m the new cadet.”

He looked me up and down, gave a soft "Humph", and after a pause, he continued, “You’re on with the second mate tonight. Twelve on, six off.”

I swallowed my disappointment. It had already been ten hours since I’d left home, and now I was staring down a twelve‑hour watch. Bottom of the heap – that was my life. “Right, sir,” was all I managed.

Young and fit, I got through the night, then slept straight through my six‑hour break the next morning.

Mid‑afternoon, halfway through my next stint, I ducked into the duty mess for a cup of tea. Like everyone else, I wore a white boiler suit. Mine was almost clean, but theirs were blackened, smeared with oil and grease, and their faces were streaked with the day’s work.

Six pairs of eyes swivelled towards me.

“You the new sprog?”

“Err… yes. I’m Ken.”

“We’ve invited a few tarts from the Blossoms to a party tonight. You’re welcome to come along. My cabin.” The speaker grinned. “I’m Bill, the third.”

A party with free booze, maybe even a girl. Though the Blossoms was about the roughest pub in town, not somewhere a near-kid like me would dare go alone. I smiled. “Thanks. See you then.”

Then I went back to work, looking forward to a night off and some fun.

Later, showered and fed, I wandered down to the engineers’ alleyway around half‑past eight. The chatter guided me to the right cabin, and I tapped on the open door.

“Come in, laddy,” came Bill’s unmistakable growl. He was perched on a chair with his arm slung around a very tarty‑looking woman sitting on his lap. “Take a can,” he added, nodding at a heap of Tennant’s lager.

I bent, grabbed one, found a spanner, and punched two triangular holes in the top. Essential business done, I scanned the room for a spare patch of deck. Four burly engineers and a scattering of women filled every corner of the cramped space. The only free spot was the bit I was standing on, so I folded myself down by the door.

My first swig was interrupted by a soft voice at my side. “Hello.”

I turned. She wasn’t like the brassy types I’d noticed when I arrived. Young, her face was still rounded with puppy fat, and her near-black hair fell in a sweet, curly fringe. There was something about her, an undefinable but instant attraction. I wanted her, but I was far too shy and inexperienced to make a pass, so I just smiled and greeted her.

“Hi, I’m Ken.”

I can’t recall exactly how we bridged the social gap, but it happened easily enough. The Beatles and the whole Merseybeat scene. Football. She supported Tranmere and despised both Liverpool and Everton. Not much overlap, but what we shared had some depth.

The evening drifted on, but the thick fug of cigarette smoke eventually overwhelmed me; my eyes were streaming. Out of simple politeness, I said, “Maggie, I need some fresh air. Want to join me?”

We slipped out and climbed to the boat deck, leaning against the rails, still chatting comfortably. After a few minutes, I noticed her shivering. I put an arm around her shoulders to share some warmth, then said, “Let’s go to my cabin. It’s too cold for you out here.”

She smiled her agreement, and I took her hand. My cabin was even smaller than the third engineer’s, barely enough room for one. I let her sit on the bunk and settled beside her, my arm resting behind her. She tipped her head onto my shoulder, and for the first time I really took in her clothes: a cheap, slightly outdated dress – it looked like something from the fifties – and a thin beige cardigan that had seen better days.

Our conversation faded. She shifted so she could look up at me, her face close, open. The moment hung between us. I leaned in and brushed her lips with mine, a tentative crossing of the space we’d spent the evening closing.

Slowly, I pushed in to meet her tip, flicking around, wanting to connect. I tightened my arm, pulling her closer, then shifted my other hand to lie against her breast. Sensing no resistance, I squeezed gently and felt her soft moan vibrate through my lips.

My fingers moved higher, finding her dress’s top button and working until it released. One by one, her buttons parted, revealing a sliver of bra and flesh. My hand slid beneath, touching her warmth, and then she moaned again.

“Perhaps we shouldn't," she started, then the sentence dissolved into another moan as my hand pushed under her bra, finding and stroking her hard nipple.

Another protest escaped her: “Someone might come in.”

I shook my head. “No, I promise no one will disturb us.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as Maggie's lips moved against mine. The cabin felt impossibly small, the air thick with the scent of her cheap perfume.

When we broke apart, Maggie's eyes searched my face. There was something about her gaze, as if daring me to judge her for being here, in my cabin, with someone like me.

"You're the one shaking now," she said.

"I know," I admitted. "Sorry, I…"

"Don't be sorry." She placed her hand on my chest, fingers spreading over my shirt. "I'm nervous too."

The confession emboldened me. I leaned in again, kissing her with more certainty this time. Maggie responded in kind, her hand sliding up to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting tentatively at first, then with growing hunger.

My free hand found her waist, feeling the curve of her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. Maggie shifted closer. She made a small sound against my mouth that drove me to distraction.

When her hand moved to the buttons of my shirt, my breath caught. She paused, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.

"Is it alright?" she asked.

"Yes," I managed. "God, yes."

Her fingers worked the first button free, then the second. Each one exposed more of my chest to the cabin's cool air. My hand tightened on her hip, then slid higher, tracing the line of her ribs, and through her dress I could feel her breath quicken.

"Your turn," I said, surprised by my boldness.

Maggie sat back slightly, reaching for the remaining buttons down the front of her dress. I helped her ease the fabric off her shoulders, revealing a worn bra, not the delicate things the other girls I had dated owned.

She was watching me, gauging my reaction. I met her eyes as I shrugged out of my shirt completely, letting it fall to the deck.

"You're beautiful," I said, and meant it.

Maggie's laugh was breathless, uncertain.

"I mean it," I said, cupping her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "Maggie, I mean it."

This time when we kissed, something shifted. The nervousness didn't disappear, but it transformed into something else – anticipation and desire. My hands explored the bare skin of her back, while Maggie's fingers traced my shoulders and my chest.

We sank back onto the bunk together, limbs tangling. I rolled slightly, propping myself on my elbow to look down at her. Maggie's dark hair spread across the pillow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hand found my fingers and intertwined.

"We can go slow," I said, though my body screamed otherwise.

Maggie whispered. "I just want it to be right."

"It is right." I kissed her again, softer this time. "It is right."

My hand traced down her side, over the curve of her waist and her hip, coming to rest on her thigh. The hem of her dress had ridden up, and my palm met bare skin. Maggie gasped against my mouth, her own hand sliding down my back to grip my belt.

Other than the sounds of our breathing and the distant hum of the generators, there was silence. My hand moved higher along her thigh, and Maggie's fingers worked at my belt buckle with trembling determination. When she freed it and moved to the buttons of my trousers, I felt my entire body tense with anticipation.

She slipped her hand inside, and the moment her fingers wrapped around my cock, I groaned – a sound of pure need that embarrassed me even as it escaped. It was achingly hard and had been since we'd first kissed. The sensation of her touch, skin on skin, was overwhelming.

"Maggie, I…" I gasped, but the warning came too late.

The pleasure crested faster than I could control; my body responded to her touch with mortifying speed. I shuddered against her, coming in her hand with a strangled cry, my face burning with shame even as the waves of release washed through me.

"Oh God," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I couldn't look at her. Here I was, the supposedly tough seaman, and I'd lasted all of thirty seconds at her touch. What must she think of me? I turned my face away, wanting to shrink into nothing.

Maggie's hand – still wet with my release – cupped my cheek gently, turning me back to face her. Her eyes were soft and understanding.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Look at me."

I forced myself to meet her gaze, expecting mockery or disappointment. Instead, I found tenderness. "It's alright," she whispered, using her other hand to brush the hair from my forehead. "It's alright, love."

"It's not…" The words caught in my throat. "I wanted it to be good for you."

"It is good." Maggie's thumb traced my cheekbone. "You think I'm disappointed? You're shaking like a leaf. How long have you wanted this?"

"Since I first saw you," I admitted. "Every minute."

"Then no wonder." She smiled, and there was something knowing in it, worldly in a way that reminded me of the gulf between our experiences. "You're wound tight as a spring. It's sweet, actually."

"Sweet?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"Yeah." She kissed me, soft and brief. "Sweet that you want me that badly. Sweet that you're nervous. Sweet that you care whether it's good for me." Her hand was still against my cheek, grounding me. "Most men don't, you know."

I swallowed hard. "I do care. I just wanted to be better at it."

"Better?" Maggie shifted closer, pressing her body against me. "The night's not over. Unless you want it to be?"

I could feel her warmth, the soft press of her breasts against my chest. Despite my embarrassment, despite everything, I felt a stirring of new desire.

"No," I said firmly. "No, I don't want it to be over."

"Good." She kissed me again, deeper this time. "Then relax. We've got time. And now that you've got that first one out of the way..." Her smile turned playful. "Maybe you'll last a bit longer for the second half?"

I felt myself smile despite everything and felt the knot of shame in my chest begin to loosen. "You're being very kind about everything."

"I'm being honest." Maggie's hand slid down my chest. "Besides, I like you; I like that you're nervous. I like that it matters to you." She paused. "It matters to me too."

I gathered her closer, burying my face in her hair. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for." Her fingers traced patterns on my back. "Just kiss me again and stop apologising."

So I lost myself in the taste of her, the softness of her lips. We kissed for long minutes, hands exploring with less urgency now, learning the landscape of each other's bodies. Maggie's touches were patient and deliberate – trailing down my chest, across my stomach, making me shiver.

When she pulled back and shifted her weight, swinging one leg over to straddle my hips, my breath caught. She sat back on my thighs, looking down at me with dark eyes. Her dress was still bunched around her waist, brassiere askew. I had never seen a more beautiful woman.

"Let's see about that round two," she murmured, reaching behind to unhook her bra completely. I watched, transfixed, as she let it fall away.

My hands found her hips as she moved forward slightly, grinding against me. The sensation made me gasp – I was already responding; my shaft began to harden again. Maggie noticed, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

"See? Nothing wrong with you at all," she whispered, continuing her slow movements against me.

She reached down between us, wrapping her fingers around my growing erection, stroking me slowly back to full hardness. I groaned, my grip tightening on her hips. The sensitivity was almost too much, but she was gentle, coaxing rather than demanding.

Maggie rose on her knees, reaching under her bunched dress to slide her knickers down and off. I helped her, my hands shaking again – but this time with anticipation rather than pure nerves. When she positioned herself above me, I could feel her heat, the wetness of her arousal.

"You ready?" she asked softly.

"Yes," I breathed. "Please, yes."

She sank slowly, taking me inside her inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming – hot, tight, perfect. My hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks. Maggie made a soft sound, settling fully onto me, her thighs trembling slightly.

"Oh God," I gasped, "Maggie…"

She began to move, rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I tried to match her movements, thrusting up to meet her, but the pleasure was already building too fast, too intense. I had imagined lasting; I had imagined making her feel good, but my body had other ideas.

"I'm sorry," I managed, the words breaking off into a moan.

"It's alright," Maggie murmured, continuing her movements. "It's alright, love. Just let go."

The permission undid me. I came with a shuddering cry, my hips jerking up involuntarily as I spilt inside her. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful in its intensity. I collapsed back against the pillow, chest heaving, mortified once again by my lack of control.

Maggie stayed where she was for a moment, then carefully lifted herself off me. She lay down beside me, pulling her dress down to cover herself. I couldn't look at her.

"I'm useless," I said quietly. "Completely bloody useless."

"Stop that." Maggie's voice was firm but kind. She pulled me toward her, arranging us so my head rested on her shoulder, her arm around me. "You're not useless. You're just... eager. And new to this, I'd bet."

I nodded against her shoulder, unable to deny it.

"Hey." She kissed the top of my head. "It gets better. Practice makes perfect, right?" There was teasing in her voice, but affection too.

I wrapped my arm around her waist, holding her close. "I wanted it to be good for you."

"It was good," she said. "Maybe not in the way you meant, but good. Being here with you." Her fingers combed through my hair. "That's rarer than you'd think."

We lay together in silence for a while, the ship's gentle vibration lulling us into drowsiness. I felt the tension slowly drain from my body, replaced by a warm contentment despite my embarrassment.

"Will I see you again?" I asked quietly. "Or was it just tonight?"

Maggie was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to see me again?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Very much yes."

"Even after...?" She gestured vaguely at what had just happened.

"Especially after." I propped myself up on one elbow to look at her. "Please, Maggie. Let me take you out properly. Let me... let me try again. Get it right."

She smiled, reaching up to touch my face. "The pub tomorrow? Around eight? In the snug.”

My crestfallen face probably gave away my panic. “I can’t. I’m working all night.”

“Day after?”

"I'll be there," I promised. "Eight o'clock sharp."

"Good." Maggie pulled me back down for a kiss, soft and lingering. "Now hold me for a bit before I have to go, yeah?"

I gathered her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her body against mine; despite everything, or perhaps because of it, I'd never felt quite so content.