‘What is it, are you afraid of not standing up to the comparison?’
In response, she climbs onto a cut log, and takes my face between her hands.
‘No fear, just awareness,’ she says, putting her lips on mine.
I should be triumphant, because I got her to kiss me, but I’m not. Instinctively, I put my arms around her and pull her close. Her body is small and soft, and strangely it doesn’t disgust me.
I open my lips and find no resistance. Her eyes are closed and I close mine too, hoping that by imagining her beautiful and slender, this unusual sensation will pass. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like a feeling of vertigo, of falling.
Her tongue is soft and enveloping and moves around mine with a maddening and calculated slowness. Her little hands hold me gently, and I find I don’t want her to let me go. I’m too busy trying to analyse this bizarre situation for one. For the first time in my life I’m not leading the game, and I don’t know if I’m horrified or thrilled. This woman is the polar opposite of my ideal conquest, and yet here I am, pinned to her lips by an impudent kiss. I should feel defeated by this. It is a clear demonstration of my inferiority, but somehow I don’t care. She has a skill, and there’s nothing left for me to do but take advantage of it.
In fact, I take advantage so much that I don’t notice when the kiss ends, and I stay there I am, lips parted and eyes closed.
‘Hey, Sleeping Beauty! The demonstration is over,’ she says, pulling me by the ear.
My eyes open wide, shocked.
‘Nothing special,’ I inform her. An obvious lie.
‘Same here,’ Sara replies cheerfully, and she seems much more sincere than me, which bothers me more than it should.
Until today, I have never met a woman who was able to resist one of my kisses.
Still, she kissed me, if we want to be precise.
‘Do you think, now that we have satisfied our curiosity, we can go back to the party?’ she asks me.
I would like to tell her that, perhaps, I would like much more to stay here. To admit it aloud, though, would be too humiliating.
‘Sure,’ I mumble, realising that I’m still holding her hand.
Come to think of it, maybe it’s not such a bad idea to go back inside. Perhaps a little alcohol will make me come to my senses.
Best avoid the prosecco, though. Poor quality booze is to blame for this strange feeling. I’m sure of it.
6
Sara
Three months later
Mondays ought to be struck from the calendar, that much seems obvious to me. I don’t know why someone didn’t do it years ago, I think to myself, gazing at my cup of coffee as if it might offer some words of comfort.
‘I don’t think your telekinetic powers are working,’ says Eleonora’s voice, rousing me from my trance.
‘Hmmm?’
‘You’ll never move that cup with the force of your mind. I’d try using your hands instead.’
I manage a smile. ‘I’m really flagging this morning.’
‘Why, for God’s sake? With a new semester starting next week, and the opportunity to inspire enquiring young minds all over again…’
I give her an eloquent look. ‘Young minds messed up by the world of social media. Their engagement with their studies gets worse every year. I’ll be communicating with them using pictures before long.’
‘Hey, don’t knock it…’ she says with an ironic smile. ‘We’ve got to move with the times, stay open to new methods of of teaching!’
‘Call me old-fashioned, but I like to think that the most important part of teaching is actually knowing your subject.’
‘You’re just old-fashioned, babe,’ teases my colleague.
It’s true though, that I’m having more and more difficulty with the new courses. It’s proving increasingly difficult to find bright and motivated students, despite the fact that enrolments for the Communication Sciences degree have been growing exponentially. As a result, I find myself holding lectures in front of bigger and bigger audiences. This year we had a flood of applications after we lowered the requirements of the entry tests. My instinct tells me this is going to be a tough year.
‘I’m exhausted before I’ve even started,’ I confess, and in that same moment Professor Costa enters the room. I jump to my feet and smooth down the fabric of my skirt. The professor wears his usual, far-away expression – the look of a man who spends his evenings poring over heavy, complex tomes. For me, there’s nothing sexier.
‘There you are, Dr. Doria. I’ve been looking for you.’
I try not to seem too flustered and pay attention to what he is saying. All in all, this day is taking an interesting turn. I can see Eleonora grinning to herself. She knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.
‘How can I help, Professor?’
‘Well, I need to present a research paper to ‘The Traces of Man’ magazine at the end of the month. And you know know how much I admire your eloquence and insight.’
I gloat inwardly. ‘Thank you Professor. That’s certainly an honour coming from you,’ I mumble, trying to concentrate while my hormones perform a wild rumba. That unkempt beard and dreamy expression, like some doomed poet! It makes me go weak at the knees.
‘And so I thought I would entrust the article to you.’
‘Really?’ I ask, startled. ‘The Traces of Man’ is a leading periodical in our field. And he wants me to write for them?
‘Really?’ echoes Eleonora, as surprised as I am. She is in the last year of her doctorate and hoping to land a contract at the end of it.
The professor runs a hand through his hair. ‘I can’t think of a better person. The name on the article will be mine, naturally. ‘
My excitement fades immediately: I should have known it was too good to be true.
‘Naturally,’ says Eleonora with obvious sarcasm. The professor shoots her a sideways glance, putting his folder of notes on the desk with a resounding thud.
‘This work for me will stand you in good stead, Dr. Doria. Don’t forget they’re about to hold a competition for a professorship. This will certainly be an opportunity to get noticed. And something to add to your resume, too, why not?’
‘I’m sorry, professor, but what use is the article to Dr Doria if her name doesn’t appear on it?’ Eleonora intervenes. She isn’t one to mince her words, and if she’s not careful she can kiss that contract goodbye.
The professor’s cold look confirms my fears. ‘Let me evaluate you. I will be on the committee.’
And there it is. Technically it’s bribery. I know Eleonora wouldn’t agree to it, but at the end of the day what am I being asked to do wrong? Write an article? I can easily write an article, especially if it will facilitate my entry into the university.
At thirty, an achievement like that is almost impossible, but I might actually manage it!
‘That shouldn’t be a problem, Professor. I’ll get to work right away and have it with you by the end of month.’
He nods approvingly, and my heart skips a beat. I need to calm down and stop acting like a little girl.
‘Very good, doctor. I should also remind you that the Semiotics course begins on Wednesday and you have the second group, the one with surnames running from P to Z. Tomorrow we’re expecting the marked exam-papers from the autumn session…’