‘No one can see us here,’ she said.
His insides flipped. He could barely make out her features, the whites of her eyes, her teeth. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him, why she would want him, she who could surely choose whomever she wanted. He heard Phyllis, a few days ago in the holiday cottage: I wish you could see how handsome you are… Any girl would be lucky to have you. He breathed in deeply, tried to somehow make the words part of him.
‘Are you all right?’ Angie asked.
‘I’m all right.’
From somewhere, he couldn’t tell where, cries and laughter carried on the air, the screeches of female students in a protective drunken pack. A second later, a group passed the end of the ginnel, an amorphous mass of limbs in the dark.
In breathless silence they waited, he and Angie, in their hideaway. The noise receded. The air stilled.
Women like strength, Adam had said. Christopher pushed Angie back against the wall and sealed her lips with his own, pushed his tongue into her mouth. Not too far in, Adam had said. You don’t want to choke ’em to death. But don’t mince about on her teeth either.
The taste of beer and cigarettes. Their bellies touched, her hands on the small of his back. Her ribs rose against his, her breasts pushed against his chest. He was already hard and willed himself to keep control. He kissed her again, and she gave a quiet hum of what he hoped was pleasure. He stroked her face and hair, her neck, the hollow at her throat. Her skin was soft, impossibly so. He pressed his mouth against the brush of her eyelashes, her cheeks, her neck. She smelled of something warm, a spice, maybe an oil. Her skin had blended its scents together into a mix that was her, Angie, and eyes closed, he breathed her in. He kissed her mouth again, that hollow at the base of her throat.
His blood raced. He dared to let his hand slide to her breast. She caught her breath and gave a soft oh. Dear God. She arched her body into his. Gaining confidence, he searched out the hem of her blouse, pulled it from her jeans, slid his hand beneath. At the touch of his fingertips on the naked skin of her belly, he stopped.
‘Angie.’ He rested his forehead against her chest a moment.
‘Hey.’ She lifted his chin with her finger and kissed him gently once, twice. He felt himself swell, insist against the flat of her abdomen. He wanted to strip off all her clothes, her underwear, he wanted to…
‘Is the wall all right?’ he said. ‘I mean, is it comfortable? Is it dry?’
‘Let’s go somewhere.’ She led him out of their secret passageway and nodded towards some trees, bunched and silhouetted, nearer the halls. He listened for people but heard nothing.
There were shrubs too, a hedge – no more than a miniature garden, or a large flower bed. Behind the hedge, the shadows became blackness. He could see her, but only because she was so close to him. She laid down her sheepskin coat.
‘It’s grassy here,’ she said. ‘You probably can’t see, but it’s OK.’
He took off his rainproof jacket and laid it next to hers. The chill air bit him through his sweater, its teeth blunted by alcohol and desire strengthening by the second. No more shrieks in the air; all was silent now.
‘There’s no one about.’ She sat down on her coat and patted the space next to her. ‘Come on. Don’t worry.’
He crouched then sat beside her. He could smell damp soil, flowers. ‘Is this OK?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean this. I don’t want you to feel you have to.’
She gave a half-laugh, a sarcastic laugh. ‘I think those days are long behind us, Christopher. Women acknowledged their right to desire some considerable time ago. This…’ she slipped two fingers into his waistband, ‘is a political act.’
He nodded. Dear God. ‘Absolutely. Of course.’
She let her hand trail up the inside of his thigh, sending electrical currents through the rest of him. She was leading again; that would not do. Women wanted power, strength. He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her to the ground, covering her mouth with his, her body with his. He kissed her neck, unbuttoned her blouse and slid his hand inside. He wanted her naked, so badly it shocked him – the urge to rip her clothes from her and feel all her skin on all of his, the length of their bodies pressed together. He drew away and lifted up her blouse.
‘No.’ She pressed her arms down to her sides so that he could not pull the blouse over her head. ‘If someone were to come…’ But her fingers were at his waist once again, unbuttoning, unzipping. She pushed her hands down the back of his underwear, ran her fingers over his naked buttocks until she was holding them, pushing him towards her. He caught his breath, astonished. She wanted him, but clothed, perhaps as some safeguard against embarrassment should someone catch them. Her blouse fell over his hands. He reached beneath, and up. She did not object. He met the swell of her breasts, her nipples, felt the surge within him as they rose to his touch. Too much, too much. He stayed dead still and rested his forehead against the base of her neck. Breathe, Christopher. Breathe.
She pushed him back a little, drew his glasses from his face and threw them onto the grass. His world fogged, its lines faded, its colours bled. Her hands were beneath his sweater. She felt for and found the hem of his shirt and yanked it roughly from his jeans. The night fell cold on his belly and he shivered. She lay back on her coat and he eased her legs apart with his own, sank his face into her belly and traced his lips up to her small, round breasts. With every moment, he expected her to stop him, but she did not. Her bra had come loose – she must have unclasped it though he could not remember her doing it. He took her nipple in his mouth, could not believe what he was doing, what she was letting him do, and his blood bubbled through his veins like lava. He wanted all of her at once, wanted to suck her down like milk through a straw. She was pulling at her jeans now, wriggling out of them, just enough. He lifted himself up, let her pull his jeans and boxers as far as the tops of his legs. At the breath of cold air, at the touch of her fingers wrapping themselves around him, that feeling of panic came again. He groaned and closed his eyes.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘No one’s here.’
‘I can’t…’