Elizabeta Brooke: Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

Within a week she'd managed three 'connections'. Once after a lecture, there'd been a split second behind the stage curtain where she'd brushed her lips against his and rested a hand over the bulging erection straining his jeans. A couple of afternoons later she'd found him watching her in the cafeteria, and had licked and tongued her icecream with such blatantly sensuality, she'd excited herself probably more than she had him.

Then, there was the pool. She'd known it was his afternoon for swim training, and had secreted herself in the nearby bushes to watch him with binoculars. When she'd arrived, his team-mates had been leaving the pool, all apparently worn out, yet Billy continued to lap, seemingly effortlessly, for a further quarter hour. Then he'd levered himself out.

Water had dripped from his hair, and his skin had been tinted by the late afternoon light, giving him the appearance of a great golden otter. He'd shook the water off himself, then glanced over his shoulder with a furtive, hunted look. Dee had known then that she'd do something reckless.

She'd followed him into the empty change-rooms, ignoring his stuttered protests as she pulled him into a cubicle and pushed him back against the door, already panting with the desire to have him. And he'd simply stared at her, that helpless desire in his eyes that she found impossible to resist.

She'd drawn out the moment as long as she could, but it was probably only a couple of seconds before she'd thrust her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth down to meet hers.

His hands had hung limply at his sides, as though he were fighting her passively, but it only lasted a matter of seconds. Then he'd groaned and pulled her close, kissing her back, frantic to take whatever she was offering, as though frightened it wouldn't last.

And it hadn't.

Although to be fair to him, it would have lasted longer if she hadn't provoked him. But she had, slowing the kiss from brutal to voluptuous as she'd moved in on him, pressing her belly into his heavy erection and grinding against it in slow, circular movements. She'd known he'd be helpless to prevent his ejaculation, and exactly as before he'd been embarrassed and ashamed by its prematurity.

But Dee had kissed him sweetly and told him she'd done it deliberately to excite herself, and not to worry. She'd promised him that when the time came for them to make love, he'd be fine.

Then she'd slipped away unseen but the look of shock on Billy's face as she'd said the words, "when we make love," had stayed with her a long time. It made her wonder where he'd thought their relationship was leading, if not towards sex.

In a corner of his room, Billy sat in the dark, rocking. He ignored his empty stomach and the stubble that grazed his forearm to stared out the window, unable to think of anything but her.

When we make love. The words mindlessly repeated themselves inside his mind — the same words he'd been hearing for days.

He couldn't hide forever. And part of him didn't want to. That wicked part wanted her to find him, to kiss him again and to make him come. But the next time would be the time she didn't stop. He knew that. Then it would be all over.

If only he could go back time.

It wasn't at all the way he'd imagined it would be. She wasn't the way he'd imagined. The virtuous, almost virginal woman of his fantasies had always been pliant in his arms, allowing him plenty of time to kiss her gently, to realise what they were doing was wrong. And to stop. But this woman, this… voracious temptress was like a whirlwind, giving and taking without time for second thoughts.

Although, in all other ways she had lived up to his expectations. She was more beautiful than he'd imagined, and sexier than he could have believed a woman could be. And what she did to him…

Billy bit his lip as his penis stirred to life again, and he damned it. Damned her.

She was like a runaway train, dragging him around sharp bends, racing him down steep slopes, scaring him half to death — and then showing him heaven's door. It felt so good, but it couldn't be right. Wasn't right.

He'd turned into a rabbit, always looking over his shoulder, wondering when she'd pounce on him next, and the anticipation was agony. But worse was the knowledge that he wanted her to pounce, and when she did, he couldn't get enough of her. At least he wasn't fooled by her euphemisms. Her actions betrayed her. She didn't want to make love with him, that was what she did with the Dean. She wanted to fuck Billy, and God help him, he wanted to fuck her so badly his body ached for it.

If only he'd never gone to her, never spoken to her. She must have looked past his clumsy words that day and seen into his heart. He'd deliberately tempted her to adultery and to his eternal shame, she'd succumbed. The corruption of his soul had infected her, and now he was responsible for her sins as well as his own.

It was almost more than he could bear and he began rocking again as a sob welled up within him. But it was forestalled by a loud knock.

His head jerked up in time to see the shaft of light beneath his door blocked for a second. He heard a sliding noise — something pushed through, then the shadow was gone.

"Go away," he whispered, staring at the intrusion. It was probably an invitation to another dorm party he'd never attend. Why did they keep asking him? Couldn't they see he didn't want to be disturbed. Nothing was more important than Dr Williams and what he'd done to her.

But after a moment he stopped rocking and crawled forward, his hand patting the floor blindly until it touched something. A letter.

He crawled back over to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. The sudden brightness stabbed at his swollen eyes and it was a moment before he could see to inspect the envelope. Then he was surprised. It was a courier delivery. His name and dormitory address were clearly marked on the front, together with the name of the courier company, but there was no return address.

He read the front again. Billy McKenzie. Not the 'Mr W. McKenzie' of his mother's letters, or the rarer 'William R. McKenzie' of his only other correspondent, his mother's great friend, Rev Marsh.

Then who was it from?

A faint scent drifted up to him from the letter, a subliminal fragrance that marked the sender as unmistakably female and Billy felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. His heart raced as his blunt fingers fumbled with the seal.

Then it was open, and as he tilted it to shake out the letter, a lock of mahogany hair slid out into his hand. He stilled instantly.

Outside in the corridor people were talking and laughing, but in the vacuum of his room, Billy was isolated from reality. A premonition whispered to him, tonight, Billy.

He stared at the shiny lock of hair in his palm, imagining her cutting it, putting it in the envelope, then sending it. Her hair. Her beautiful hair. He lowered his head to sniff at the soft mass, feeling his stomach lurch again, this time with a stab of desire. I'm going to fuck her, he thought, but the concept still seemed unreal. His hands shook as he closed his fist around her precious gift and reached inside the envelope with thumb and index finger.

His thick digits were too clumsy at first to extract the delicate piece of rice paper, but eventually he had it out and open. The lettering was bold and yet elegant, exactly what he'd expect her writing to be like. It said simply, Be ready at midnight. Dee.

Dee? She wanted him to call her Dee?

He read the note again, at least four times. All his dreams. All those fantasies he'd tried to suppress. And now, tonight. There could be no question of his denying her, no arguments. She'd come to him, and he would… He would break God's sacred commandment.