Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

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Dee’s hands tightened against her thighs, her breath quickening in the dark and silent room, her eye steady against the telescope. The boy/man she was watching had perfect skin, velvet black enhanced with an intricate pattern of ochre stripes. He was seated in the traditional position with his didgeridoo stretched out before him as he played, and against the backdrop of a colourless, grey dormitory wall he looked startling primitive. Like a time traveler.

The only other occupant of the room was a pale, naked dancer, her arms writhing above her head in a sinuous parody of the corroboree he had danced earlier that evening as his visiting troupe had performed for the graduating arts students. Her feet stamped the soft carpet in a mimicry of his dust-raising movements, her full breasts jiggling provocatively above him.

She was at one moment a striking snake with her head and arms stabbing the air, her long straight hair a swirl of arctic white. Then a hunter stalking, crouched low to the ground with the enticing curve of her buttocks thrust backwards.

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