‘I love the way that the spires all look so similar, yet when you look more closely each has its own distinctive design’, commented Andrew rhetorically.

Heather was not listening to the sentence, but to the words. He had the sexiest voice she had ever heard. Even now after several months, there were still certain words, certain off the cuff remarks which would catch her off-guard and leave her desperately wanting to own every section of his body instantly.

When they had first met Heather, could not believe that Andrew actually fancied her. She was silly and unsophisticated, yet Andrew was so solid. He had such confidence that she felt nothing went wrong when he was with her. She had so many faults, always seeming to say such inappropriate things. How could he possibly like her? But he did. She was sure of that now. For many weeks she had not allowed herself to believe it, telling herself that he just saw her as frivolous entertainment, an interesting novelty to liven up a winter’s afternoon. She would not have minded this, for she found him so unbearably attractive that she could not resist spending time with him. And the sex was all-consuming. Before Andrew there had only been a couple of times with a lad from her sister’s year at school, and once with Ryan. She tried to forget the mistakes she had made with Paul during the first week of term. She had told Andrew – he was far less bothered about it than her. She cringed when she thought of how bad sex could be. With Andrew it just never stopped. Every time he would leave her wanting it again, knowing that there were still places he hadn’t taken her. She often fantasised that she was a man, wanting to know what it felt like to be inside him. She had asked him about things he had done with men in the past, but he was always coy, cleverly cloaking his past in mystery and only occasionally letting out titillating anecdotes. Andrew would always let her know how much he enjoyed her body. He would single out regions of her, which she would never have thought of as sexual and then worship them tenaciously, leaving her gasping. The breath would catch in the back of her throat, she would be warm, damp and aching with desire even though she might still reluctantly have been almost fully clothed. His continuing adoration over the last few months, forever, had worn Heather down to the point where she was convinced of his love for her and her obsession with him. And it was not just sex. Somehow every new thing she discovered about him intensified her feelings for him.

The sun had now disappeared and Andrew’s pink neons and orange streetlamps were taking over. He tugged her hand commandingly as he strode forward.

‘What would it please you to do now?’ questioned Andrew courteously. He was of course mocking her, for she had insisted on walking endlessly through the city streets even though it felt well below freezing that afternoon.

‘What are you offering?’

‘Well we could get something to eat, or go for a quiet drink? Cinema? Or would you prefer some home entertainment?’

Heather laughed. ‘MMMmmm. Can’t say no to that one, can I?’

‘Right, orgasms at my place, then!’

Already Andrew was hailing a cab to take them half a mile back to the university. Heather spent the three-minute journey anticipating which bit of Andrew she would devour first. Andrew spent the journey pretending to read film listings in a local newspaper that had been left on the back seat.

* * *

Later on that night Andrew and Heather lay between the crisp sheets of Heather’s bed. Earlier in the evening they had made such a mess of Andrew’s room that they decided to have a bath and then spend the night in the calm tidiness of Heather’s room.

Heather loved the warm comforting feel of Andrew’s body pressing against hers through their nightwear. Every now and again she would make contented purring noises, as if she had such an excess of contentment that she could not contain it. When they lay together she knew nothing would ever come between them. She had only known Andrew for four months, yet already she knew this was the man she was going to marry. They had talked so much, discovered each other so much. She totally trusted him. Andrew was the first man in her life who had ever actually meant anything to her - apart from Dad. In fact the more she thought about it, the more she realised that if she had to choose one person to remain in her life she would without hesitation choose Andrew over her father now.

‘Dee, will you marry me?’ asked Heather in a contemplative voice.

‘Aren’t you meant to wait for a leap year?’

‘No, I don’t mean Will you marry me, I mean do you think we’ll get married at some point in the future?’

Andrew hated it when Heather questioned him like this. Sometimes he thought that she was so short-sighted, caught up in the sunshine of today without ever considering that the weather might not be as fine tomorrow.

‘Maybe. But then again I might win a million pounds tomorrow and trade you in for a better model.’ Andrew tried to joke his way out of the question.

‘I’m serious Andrew, I’ll never leave you. If we ever split up you’ll have to leave me. I didn’t realise how much I’d miss you over the holidays. By the end of those two weeks I needed you so badly.’

Heather continued for a while; Andrew eventually kissed her to quiet her. He knew how much he felt for Heather, but there was no point in expressing it. That would only tempt fate. He was only nineteen years old. Forever was far too long to even contemplate.

At some point during the conversation they fell asleep, although neither of them could remember when.

Heather breathed slowly. Fuzzy people sat in front of her. A lecturer was pointing a stick at a screen. It was dark. The man’s muted voice talked about plant cells. There was a girl also. She was sitting next to her. She looked like Catherine from her course. The two of them were talking about something. The lecturer did not seem to be disturbed by them. Catherine’s hand was on Heather’s knee. It rubbed back and forth in a sexual way. Heather was wearing her Levi’s. The girl’s hand moved along the inside of Heather’s thigh. She could feel herself becoming hotter. Then the girl slipped off the bench, down onto the floor in front of her. She was hidden from the lecturer and the other students by a row of seats. The girl popped open Heather’s top button, then undid the zip. She slipped her warm fingers down inside Heather’s jeans. They massaged her buttocks, gently pulling them apart, then around, pulling her jeans down to her ankles. She was not wearing underwear and almost immediately felt the girl’s warm breath on her crotch. Hands pulled her forward, forcing her to slouch. Still the lecturer’s voice was droning. Catherine’s fingers were now pushing up across Heather’s stomach, pressing into her breasts. There was a warm, wet tongue exploring her, teasing her, then pushing deep inside. She ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. It was short – not like Catherine’s long soft locks. That seemed strange. The lecturer was closer, now. She felt a hard surface beneath them. Now they were lying on desk in the front of the auditorium. The lecturer smiled at them friendlily as he continued his explanation of molecular cell biology. Catherine was on all fours lapping at her like a cat. Heather felt burningly hot. She reached down to Catherine, touching the swell of her breasts, but now they were small and boyish. Catherine smelt familiar – like Andrew. Heather moved down under the blanket, which was now over them. She kissed her way down to a taut stomach. Then lower. Sleep started giving way to reality. Catherine was Andrew. She sat across Andrew’s chest, searching with her lips, then she took him deep into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around, now totally sure that she was not still dreaming.

She felt Andrew’s hand on her leg. She let it reciprocate the motion of her mouth for a few moments, then abruptly swung around and mounted him.

‘Good morning! Your early morning wake up call, Monsieur Carter’, she whispered in a husky French accent.

She then pulled the covers back over her head, plunging herself back into dreamtown for the final few thrusts she needed to take her over the edge into a vividly real orgasm.

* * *

Several hours later Andrew was making breakfast. He poured some water - still boiling - into the cafetiere, savouring the noise of the water fighting with gulps of air that vigorously expelled themselves from amongst the coffee grains. The breakfast was to be truly sumptuous - fresh coffee, grapefruit and buttery croissants. It was not so much for their enjoyment, but to make the others on their corridor jealous.

Whilst the kettle had been boiling he had scoured away the beer and ketchup stains from the table and laid two places. Placing the cafetiere in the middle, the scene was nicely complete as Heather bounded through the door.

‘Two for you, and none for me’, said Heather defeatedly as she tossed two letters onto the table. One of them had a local postmark, and appeared to be a greetings card. The address was scrawled in a crooked child-like script. The other looked more intriguing. It had been forwarded from his parents' house. The address was hand-written - the angular upright lettering clearly indicating that it was from a man. The most enigmatic feature however, was that it was a thin blue airmail envelope with a Fijian stamp.

Andrew passed them across to Heather who opened the card first. Often they would open each others mail and read the contents out to the other. It gave Andrew a thrill - he had no secrets from Heather.

‘It’s a birthday card!’ exclaimed Heather. ‘Happy Baaaaaa’thday Andrew, lots of love Sean.’ Sean was a toy sheep from a popular television show. Heather owned one of these mass-produced, rather cute looking, creatures, and had imaginatively called it, Sean.

Andrew smiled at Heather’s rather endearing ploy, and played along with suitably silly comments. He was curious about the second letter and eventually had to prompt Heather to open it. Using the grapefruit knife she sliced it open.

‘Who’s this one from, then? A forgotten Aunt or perhaps an illegitimate child?’ joked Heather.

Andrew shrugged, then commented over the coffee, ‘How many bastards can a man have?’

Heather looked at the neat lines of handwriting on the single sheet of A5 paper she now held. Somehow it felt wrong to be reading Andrew’s letter.

‘Are you sure you want me to read this - it looks’, she paused to look at him, ‘hmmm, kind of personal.’

‘Hurry up and read it. I’m curious,’ replied Andrew.

Heather put on her posh reading voice and started reading:

Whilst Heather had been reading the previous sentences she had been giving Andrew suspicious looks, but now she was feeling worried. A horrid feeling lurked in her stomach. She paused and read the remaining few lines. As she reached the end of the next sentence her world stopped, sickeningly. Her throat muscles had tightened. She stared hard at words that just would not blend into the rest of the letter. Every hair on her body stood erect. She felt very unsteady – she was standing up and running. She could hear her screaming voice echoing off the corridor walls.

It was screeching, ‘No!’