I've no idea why I'm doing this; drinking wine and eating pizza in my place, topless, wearing only a pair of jeans, with the guy next door who I hardly know.
I feed him a slice of stuffed crust. 'I don't know you from Adam.'
He chuckles. 'I don't know you either,' he says with his mouth full. Rude.
So we sit and talk for a time about what I'm studying at uni. I tell him that I'm into Literature, and that my thesis is all about Agency and women; in fact, the paper is titled Agency and Women in Literature. A bit boring, but that's academia for you.
So he asks me about what I mean about agency. I tell him that I'm referring to the sociological and philosophical concepts of agency, as compared to the agency theory of business involving conflict resolution between principals and agents - the principal-agent problem. What I've been studying is the literature where the author clearly shows that the female protagonists are showing the capacity to act in the world, rather than be acted upon.
'Sort of like rolling initiative in a roleplaying game,' he says.
I like this man. He makes me laugh.
So I tell him that the point of what I'm on about - women in literature actually seizing control of the situation, rather than being acted upon, taking a stand, engaging with the society in the story instead of being some wallflower from a Bronte sisters period novel, and god I am getting so turned on by this for some reason. As I look at him, I note that his eyes haven't glazed over, he hasn't feigned boredom or attempted to change the topic or mansplain to me. He's been genuinely interested in me.
Or maybe my boobs. I suspect he's been staring at my boobs all night long. Why I've not made a move to cover them up is beyond me. It's like I want to, but every time I think of getting up to reach for a T shirt or my blouse, I forget what I was doing and sit back down again.
'I need a cup of tea,' I tell him. I really do need a cup of tea. Pizza makes me thirsty. I swipe a T shirt from the clothes horse next to the washing machine in the kitchen and put it on while I wait, barefoot on the cold linoleum, for the kettle to boil. I feel stuffed full of pizza, thirsty and so horny.
I hear him get up from the sofa in the living room. I keep expecting him to come into the kitchen and do something. A few minutes later, there's a flush. I feel relieved.
'Do you want sugar and milk in your tea?'
'Actually, mind if I come back in a couple of minutes? I've just got to get something from my flat. Won't be a second.'
I hear the door slam. I sigh. Well, that's the mood killed. I go into the living room alone, with one mug of tea, and sit down to watch the TV.
There's a MP3 on the table. Must be his. Out of curiosity, I slip the headphones on and press play. At first there's nothing.
Then the music fades in, some sort of samba track, just percussion. It seems to be going on in an endless loop, a sort of tribal drum piece, very driving. I get up to take the empty mug to the kitchen, but instead I find myself dancing in the middle of the living room and my T shirt's already on the floor and I have no idea when I took it off again. It might have been before I even sat down and picked up the MP3. I feel hot again, really horny, and I pull down my jeans and step out of them so I can dance naked.
As I'm dancing, I imagine me and him in bed together, afire with lust, me and him moving together, me pulling him deep inside me, our bodies hot and hard and humping, and my hands are touching my breasts and sneaking down towards my thighs.
God, I want to fuck, right now, so much.
My cigarettes and lighter are on the table in front of me. I light up and continue to dance, naked, smoking, my hips just grinding as the music plays. It's just going on forever and I'm daydreaming of fucking everywhere - here, in the corridor outside, in the uni library, me spread across a table in the Student's Union bar with him pounding me from behind and everyone standing around cheering, oh god I want to do that.
The music reaches a climax, and so do I. My body is shaking, and I have to lie down on the sofa to finish the job because my knees are giving way, and when I do come, the pleasure just shoots through my whole body and I am arching in the sofa, my breath catching. I let out a moan, and collapse gently into the sofa again, and my eyes close and I just drift.
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