My first love was called Paul, though his real name was David. His dad was also David, so he got to use his second name. He was my best friends' brother, he was 15, I was 14 and it was a very hot, steamy summer.

He was madly into watersports and skateboarding (the first time round, work out the year from that!), and swam like a fish.

He went back to boarding school and we corresponded... but his parents decided they didn't like me and split us up, just before his birthday at Christmas.

We met up again by pure chance, about 3 years later and it was all still there... my insides did the somersault thing, he was just the same gorgeous, caring and wonderful boy who thought I was beautiful. We arranged to meet up one weekend but he couldn't make it. I got a letter from his sister. He'd been windsurfing and had come up under his sail. He'd hit his head on the boom, suffered a fit and drowned.

I still think of him, fairly often and I have his letters still... the day my sister ripped the stamps off them for 'a charity' was I think the day I finally realised I wouldn't cross the road to piss in her mouth if her teeth were on fire.

LTS