I was 17.

I used to walk a couple of miles to my girlfriend's house late at night so we could make out and talk. In that order. One night she asked if I wanted to come inside. Climbed through her window, and eventually we ended up having sex.

That walk to her house became a lot more common after that. We had a routine: sex, then clean up, and I would hide in the closet until her dad left for work, because he'd always check on her before he left. We'd know it was time to wrap things up when we heard water running from the shower turning on.

Valentine's Day, 1995. Sex all night. Water comes on, but my girlfriend is close to orgasm, so we continue. Finish up, get dressed, and I'm heading to her closet when she says something. I stop, and at that moment the bedroom door starts to open. I make like wallpaper and flatten myself behind the door.

It didn't work.