Elizabeta Brooke - Never - an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

"Well she ain't no Dolly Parton, but they ain't pimples either. A good handful," the smarmy bastard had replied, his eyes taking on a far-away look. "You should have seen her, dude. All hot and sweaty in those leotards the same colour as her eyes, just clingin' and stretchin' over those high tits and that tight ass. And those legs. Oh man…"

A collective sigh rose, and Billy found he had to leave. Not only was he likely to put Pog in hospital if he heard another filthy word come out of his mouth, but he was seriously in danger of bursting into tears. Back in the dorms he turned his shower on cold and stepped under it fully dressed, but the pain inside his mind wouldn't go away. Tears coursed down his cheeks and he knew no amount of running or reading or praying was going to save his soul.

He didn't just love Dr Williams, he wanted to pull that slender body against his and hold her. He wanted to take her clothes off and see those beautiful curves for himself and he wanted to touch her and kiss her and…

He wanted to fuck her.

" Nooooo," he wailed, smashing his head against the tiles, cracking them, then softer, "No," as he slid to the bottom of the shower, blood mingling with the water that ran into his eyes. "No. Please," he sobbed. "What am I going to do… God?" If only he could hear the voice inside his mind as his mother did. God always listened to her, but then, she wasn't corrupt like Billy.

"Don't let me hurt her, God," he prayed, hugging his knees as the icy water ran over him. "Just make it stop. Make it stop."

"… so help me, God."

"Amen," Dee intoned, her voice joined by twenty others in the small campus chapel.

Coming in late, she'd slipped into the back row, hoping to avoid recognition and for once luck was on her side. There wasn't a single staff member present. Only one face was familiar amid the congregation, and he sat three rows ahead of her, unaware of her presence.

"Now we shall sing," the dour faced Minister instructed and Dee felt around for the hymn book on the seat beside her. The congregation rose in unison and Dee with it, but the book stayed idle in her hands. The hum of muted conversation, the fluttering of pages, stark stone walls softened by a stream of yellow light flooding through the stained-glass windows all gave the impression of worshipping inside a beehive. It should have been distracting, but Dee was oblivious, caught in the grip of a remembered moment of discovery: standing with his back to her and bathed in the golden light, Billy was flicking the pages of a book she couldn't see.

His head was bowed, elbows tucked in, pulling the fabric of his pale blue shirt tight against the muscles of his back. Muscles that were engraved on her memory. Her gaze dipped to the darker blue trousers, tracing the curve of his hip and the long thighs, lingering on his taut buttocks. Her lips parted on an involuntary sigh, which was masked by the wheeze of the organ's introduction. The book trembled in her hand.

A moment later a discordant blend of voices rose around her but Dee's unfocused eyes were mesmerised by Billy's back where muscles seemed to ebb and flow like ripples on a milk-blue sea. His hair was the soft foam topping the waves, and she was floating, drifting, forgetting the deadly undertow she'd been fighting for two days.

The undertow.

She tried to focus on it.

This morning it had been a palpable entity. She'd fought it for hours, dressing and then undressing in a emotional merry-go-round of guilt and recriminations. Yet strangely, in Billy's presence, the memory of that anguish was faint, and in its place a tranquil, almost euphoric bliss permeated her body, leaving her mind free of misgivings.

Even a memory image of her husband, with his benign face and leonine mane of grey hair wouldn't appear to her. James had been gone a mere two days and was apparently forgotten. She'd remember him tomorrow when he returned, but not now. Not when she was so close to Billy.

And that was the danger, of course. The proximity. It was addictive.

This morning as she’d lingered over make-up and perfume she'd told herself she only wanted to see him out of curiosity. Not to talk, or to touch. Just to see. And she'd accomplished that, with no damage done. But to stay longer would only be inviting trouble so she glanced around. The hymn, with its ritualistic drone, was lumbering to an end. This was the time to slip out, while the congregation was reseating itself. She bent and exchanged the hymn book for her purse, pausing to smooth down her tight, white linen skirt. Then she straightened, pushing back her shoulders to resettle the matching jacket. The hand that touched her throat trembled.

Should she risk a final glance at Billy? She'd probably never have the courage to see him like this again. Just quickly, she told herself.

So for a precious few seconds she drank the perfection of his body, imprinting his physiology on her brain, trying to encapsulate the emotions his presence evoked in her. The aliveness, so like the lightning of her youth. Then the moment was over. She was about to leave but before she could move, a car backfired outside the Chapel. The congregation jumped, and Billy turned.

Instantly, as though he'd known she would be there, his eyes locked on to hers and Dee couldn't break away. The fresh bruise on his forehead caused a flicker of distraction, a moment to wonder, and then she was lost in his eyes. Murmurs of annoyance rose from the people around her at the sound of another, quieter bang before the offending vehicle roared away, but they were all peripheral. Exactly as it had been in her office with her hand in his, the totality of her being was absorbed by his presence. The nexus was upon her again and she was just as unprepared for it as she'd been the first time.

The congregation settled back into their pews and the Minister cleared his throat, but Billy didn't move, and neither could she. Her palms grew moist. She knew people were staring but she was trapped in a waking dream where she wanted to turn, wanted to run, but was unable to move. It was terrifying, and yet wonderful because underlying the superficial embarrassment she was revelling in the sensation of being hypnotised by her own desires — of being out of control. And the look in Billy's eyes sharpened her hunger.

Then it was over. The Minister's voice cut through their visual intercourse as righteously as though it were God himself speaking.

"Let us pray," he intoned, and Billy shuddered, snapping of the trance. His gaze dropped away from hers and he turned obediently back, but his shoulders remained rigid with the shock that had been written all over his face — shock, mixed with helpless desire.

Around her, people were bowing their heads, as though cowed by the Minister’s words, but Dee was experiencing a revelation. Billy couldn't challenge authority. That's why he hadn't pursued her. She was a woman he desired, but he also saw her as an authority figure, someone to obey, and that one factor created a vast shift of power in their tenuous relationship.

Except for one tragic occasion in her past, Dee had never let herself be dominated by anyone — James, the University Board, or even God himself. She'd been strong and she hadn't known it. But now she did. Her desire wasn't helpless. It was deliberate. She'd chosen to watch Billy, to fantasise about him, and now, to follow him. It had all been in her power and she could unchoose just as simply. If she wanted to.

Of course, freedom came with responsibilities, and she needed to consider the repercussions of any actions she might take. But there was no rush. James was coming home tomorrow. And besides, Billy wasn't going anywhere. He'd been smouldering along quite nicely for some time now. Another week or two wouldn't alter his feelings.