Catching them at it

If I remember clearly, Peter was about 13 that time he slept over at my house. His parents had gone away for the weekend and my mum and dad had agreed he could stay with us. He was to sleep in my bed while I slept on a camping bed on the floor of my room.

Mum and dad had clearly intended to ensure the pair of us were exhausted and not likely to stay awake too late. The evening’s activities included a long walk blackberry picking and what felt like hours of frisbee in the local park before some enormous servings of fish and chips that we picked up on the walk back to the house. We were tired and full and even two energetic young lads like us could only stay awake chattering about the kids we hated in school and the girls we wished would notice us for so long before flaking out.

I awoke with a start to find Peter leaning over me, shaking my shoulder, then shushing me firmly when I started to ask him what was the matter.

“You won’t believe what I’ve just seen, come on!”

“What?” I asked, “What is it?”

“Hush! Come and see, but keep very quiet.”

The pair of us in our pyjamas crept along the landing. He led me to the door of my parents’ bedroom, which was slightly ajar. They must have had a bedside lamp on, from the light that was shining out of the gap in the doorway.

Peter put his finger to his lips, then peered through the gap into the bedroom. A grin quickly stretched itself across his face, he turned back to me and nodded me in the direction of the gap.

I looked into the room. There were my parents, on their bed. Dad was kneeling up between Mum’s legs and peeling off his pyjama shirt.

“Are you sure we won’t wake them?” Dad whispered anxiously.

“They’re out cold, I checked in on them ten minutes ago.