Pissing off Germaine Greer

Pissing off Germaine Greer.

The little boy gets what he wanted from Santa. Aw, sweet. Wiping his dick clean on my sheet, he lies on his back, a shiny chest. Sex wasn't so bad, at least it wasn't like a Nicholas Sparks novel where they have sex whilst 'shine Jesus shine' plays. 

We light a cigarette at the window; because 1) I want to smoke and 2) smoking after sex is supposed to be the best smoke ever. My boyfriend, Alex (2.5 months) is sat next to me. We’ve moved the bed closer to the window so we can sit with our skinny backs against the cold wall, blowing smoke outside so not set the smoke alarm off and wake the house up. I gaze at Alex, who’s puffing away not so elegantly on a Mayfair – yuck, stick to roll ups.

The boyfriend drags and exhales, looking nonchalant, very 1960s. He has dark brown hair styled like James Franco, a fifties type quiff. All he has to do is run a hand through his hair, and it goes into that style – lucky babe. He’s quite skinny; boyish chest hair which looks speckled on. He has little bits of stubble round the mouth, chin, neck and cheek. I lean forward to kiss his cheek. He turns and reciprocates; only it’s on my mouth, and he tastes of Mayfair.

This would be the time in a relationship where we talk all night; getting to know more about our most intimate thoughts. We’re sat naked, and we’re both still sweaty; our bodies have no secretes, just the odd climbing frame scar. But Alex doesn’t talk, nor does he want to. Because he’s a boy, and boys don’t talk. They fuck. #boys.

I stroke his shoulder, and prod, trying to elicit something. I play the girl game and become coy. I get rest my head on his shoulder and open my legs a little. It’s the kind of thing that pisses Germaine Greer off.  

We look like a quirky art poster. ‘Look at this feature: two naked students; smoking, straight after sex. See how the girl has her legs parted, showing the female form? And the boy, with subtle features, not yet a man, no? And the….’

‘Hey’

He turns his head, no answer.

I smile.

‘What’s up?’ He says,

‘Nothing, it’s, well. I love this time of night.’

‘Yeah.’

 ‘Do you ever think about the future?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno. Maybe, like, what job I’ll do. Where I’ll live’.

Inspired

I wrap my hand around his waist, and open my legs further. His eyes inadvertently look down. Poor baby boy, he’s a slave.

‘My sister never used sleep well. She’d crawl into my bed round this time, and we’d have a cuddle. I’ve always loved this time of night.’

‘Ha Ha, You used to cuddle your sister?’

Perv. Cock’s now half erect, imagining me and my sister, two pre-pubescent girls getting it on in their jim jams.

‘Not like that, we were twelve and ten’.

‘Oh.’

We sit in silence for a while, my small room. Vintage posters on the walls; two empty bottle of whiskey for decoration on the bookshelf; copies of Vogue circa 1981-2014 in a stack.

He inhales on his cigarette, and then stumps it on the window sill; crushing embers of orange, red and black everywhere.

‘I’ve got to be up early…’     

To what?.... Fly to Syria and join Save the Children?…...Write an essay?.....fuck someone else?.....teach deaf kids how to play the guitar?.....Huh?

‘Ok.’

That’s all. He lies back down on the bed, and pulls the duvet up over his shoulder, so only his stupid sexy quiff is all I can see. I should shave the fuck bald.

I’m left naked by the window. I hear a giggle, turn and see the boys across the road have come back from their night out, both are watching. Two stunned little boys. I could make them do anything. But I don’t. I push my breasts up seductively and their eyes practically implode; one, so drunk grabs his crotch. I give the finger. Turn so all they can see is my bare little white arse. Moon them. And pull the blind down. Win for me.