My First Time in the Carrelet Cabin: Nervous Waves of Discovery

The carrelet cabin juts out over the crashing ocean, ten meters high on rickety stilts. Wooden planks creak under my bare feet as I lead Pierre across the swaying bridge. Heart hammers like waves below. Sixteen, innocent, but burning. He’s older, steady eyes promising secrets. Door clangs shut behind us—rustic table, rough benches, salt air thick. No turning back. Fingers tremble unlocking the latch. Desire mixes with terror. What if it hurts? What if he laughs? Ocean roars drown my gasps. I pull him close, lips crash awkward, hungry. Hands fumble his shirt. Pulse races wild. This is it—the edge.