Frankie Fey - 16. Frankie Hosts a Forum & Makes a Flamboyant Exit

Frankie had thought long and hard about how best to present himself to the “Forum-To-discuss-Student-Concerns-Regarding-Gender-Equality”. He needed to grab his audience’s interest and generate controversy if he wanted to stimulate debate, so he talked it over with Lydia.

‘I love this place,’ he said seriously, ‘but there's a fascist element.’

‘Fascist?’ Lydia sounded surprised, but clearly wasn’t. ‘Go on.’

‘The school’s democratic processes have been hijacked by vested interests that make laws to suit themselves.’

‘What vested interests?’

‘Fanatic feminism.’

‘I’d gathered that was to be on the agenda after hearing about some of the male students’ activities over the last few days. So, what did you want to talk to me about?

‘Are you sure I have the approval of the powers that be?’

‘There's been talk for a while about problems regarding gender equality, but those rules were put in place by student demand. Therefore they should only be changed by student demand. If the University Council were to impose change, they would be accused of dictatorial behaviour. Revolutions arise from the bottom, they are not imposed from the top.’

‘Excellent. That leaves me with only one question, would Security come and prevent me from continuing if I gave my talk naked?’

‘By naked I presume you mean physically, not mentally exposed?’

‘Yes. Not a stitch from toe to topknot. I see it as a symbolic gesture to show I have no hidden agenda and I'm not trying to impress or distract with bells and whistles. It will also be a test of their tolerance and acceptance of difference. If they can listen and think about my ideas and not be distracted and upset by seeing my dangly bits, then they’ve passed.’

‘And I imagine you will get quite a kick out of the experience?’

Frankie grinned. ‘Of course.’

‘But you're not an exhibitionist.’

Frankie’s eyes opened wide in horror. ‘Heaven forbid! Exhibitionists want to shock! I’m seeking approval! I want to discover if people can like me for my essential self, not for my conformity to externally imposed norms. If they do accept me it’ll be a real confidence builder.’

‘You never seem to lack confidence.’

‘That’s because I keep testing it—challenging others to disagree with me, to dislike me, to reject me.’

‘Have you ever been rejected?’

‘Not by anyone I care about.’ Frankie shook his head as if confused. ‘Don’t you find it odd that no matter how eccentric my behaviour, people still seem to like me.’

Lydia laughed. ‘Disingenuous boy! You know perfectly well it’s because you take great pains to be likeable. You're friendly, never morose, always helpful and polite, clean, neat and sweet smelling, generous, modest, good looking and don’t seem to take yourself too seriously. There’s nothing about you to dislike, so something minor like challenging the social structures of a prestigious University while completely naked on the stage of the Great Hall in front of the entire student body, would be irrelevant to any sane person.’

Frankie giggled, then gazed at his mentor in mute appeal. ‘It’s not my fault, Lydia.’ The sigh was tragic. ‘I can’t help being like that—it’s my character.’ He shook his head and shrugged sad acceptance of his fate.

Lydia laughed. ‘Cheeky monkey; such a cross to bear. But you’ll cope. I guarantee they will love you even more after the meeting. In fact I’ll put money on it.’

‘How much?’

‘I’ll take you to dinner in the city if I'm wrong.’

‘You’re on!’ Frankie laughed, then kneeling before her he pleaded, ‘Lydia, will you do me the honour of introducing me to the students at the meeting? I need you to add the essential touch of gravitas, in contrast to my levity.’

‘Yes, on condition you get someone in the special effects department to make sure I look impressive and queenly.’

‘You already do. But he’ll make sure you're even more regal than usual.’

*****

Laurent had concealed his doubts about Frankie's plan, while helping to ensure its success with a little stage magic. The midnight blue, velvet front curtains were drawn halfway across the unlit stage, leaving an opening into a black, impenetrable, empty space. When the Great Hall was filled with chattering students, a soft golden glow appeared deep inside the darkness, which slowly increased in intensity to reveal a beautiful Peacock Chair in which Lydia, draped in something vaguely classical, was comfortably ensconced while reading a very large book.

Laurent had placed the chair about a metre above the stage floor on a matt-black, wheeled platform, so from the auditorium the golden apparition appeared to float in an amber haze as she drifted silently towards the front of the stage. She looked up as if surprised to find herself there, and removed her spectacles. An expectant hush descended. Calmly placing her book to one side, she leaned slightly forward and spoke in a soft, conversational tone. With the assistance of a tiny microphone pinned to her blouse and a state of the art sound system, everyone felt as if she was speaking only to them.

‘As many of you know, your fellow student Frankie Fey has been concerned by three recent suicides, and set himself the task of preventing them in future. He presented his ideas to the University Council for their opinion, and they decided they were worth considering, but as you know, changes to social protocol must be made by a student majority. That means the final decision on Frankie’s proposals is in your hands. To ensure you all get the same message, Frankie has been asked to explain his ideas and thoughts to you all today. Then, over the next two days I suggest you discuss the ideas with your fellow students before voting on them.’ She paused to let her words sink in, then, in a respectful tone as if announcing the Governor General, ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome Frankie Fey!’

Polite clapping morphed almost immediately into cheers, good-natured laughter, then even more spirited applause as Lydia’s peacock chair drifted into the gloom at the side and Frankie slowly emerged from the darkness, gradually becoming solid flesh as he fake jogged towards them like a naked young Apollo into the soft amber glow About a metre from the edge of the stage and grinning widely, he suddenly tripped. Eyes wide in fear, arms outstretched, he catapulted forward, landing in an ungainly forward roll that looked as if it would take him over the edge into the orchestra pit. At the last second he stopped, buttocks perched right on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. Taking a huge breath he shook his head in amazement at his escape, heaved himself to his feet, then fastidiously flicked imaginary dust from an imaginary suit.

By now aware it had been a stage trip, his audience howled with laughter and stamped their feet. Instead of a boringly serious rant, here was someone who could make them laugh—no mean feat.

Wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, Frankie bowed deeply. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said with genuine gratitude and nervous modesty; his voice, like Lydia’s, seeming to speak to every individual due to the tiny microphone concealed in his hair. ‘First, I want to make it clear that I like and admire this university, the staff, and the students, and I am not a misogynist; my best friend in this place is Lydia.’ He blew her a kiss. ‘And I love the gardens! They make me feel I’m living in Elysium… at least they did until three young men suicided. I was so shocked that anyone would choose to do that while studying and working in such a wonderful environment, that I determined to discover why.’

His audience were completely silent, absorbed. Already his nakedness was irrelevant. What's not to admire in a man who takes his subject seriously, but not himself? From that minute it was the content of his talk, not the man that held their attention.

‘Obviously, the students had problems that to them seemed insoluble. But this is a caring environment with friendly staff, people everywhere, counsellors available, few stresses… so it couldn’t have been caused, or even prevented by the university—could it? Students and staff are equal in all possible ways.’ He paused slightly. ‘But what do we mean by equal? Are we equally tolerant of all human behaviours that do no harm? Do all rules benefit everyone equally? Are we all equally rational? Do you consider all religious and political views to be equal?

‘The university’s gender-neutral policy is based on the notion that treating people equally means you are treating them the best possible way. But that’s irrational because we’re not all the same either physically,’ he looked down at himself with a laugh that was echoed by his audience, ‘or mentally. Of equal value, yes. But not the same! Mental differences are not so obvious, so please try to remain calm while I offer a few generalisations.’ He looked away as if to think, then cast his eye around the auditorium before speaking with authority.

‘In general, males like to protect; females like to be protected. Males like to provide; females like to be provided for. Females have their eyes on everything; males tend to concentrate on the job in hand. Females like to gossip and talk about themselves; males talk about general topics and don’t like to gossip. Men become depressed if they are unable to provide, protect and be useful to others; females get depressed when they don’t get what they want. Men write poems and love songs to women, women love to receive them. Both males and females like to express their sexuality through dress, but there equality ends. Females may wear what they please, but due to social and peer pressure, males may not. He stared thoughtfully out at his audience. ‘I suppose many of you are thinking I'm a disgusting exhibitionist because along with other men I've been swimming naked in the Recreation Pool, and am now standing on the stage of the Great Hall with my man-bits hanging loose. I wonder what the reaction would be were I a female? Possibly admired—albeit grudgingly. So much for gender equality. Males should not be denied equality in choosing how to dress because females don’t like to see their hairy chests or legs, or be reminded that they have external genitals. Why should males have to wear dangerous and uncomfortable board shorts to swim in? Equality has nothing to do with liking or approving of something. It is outside one’s personal opinions.

‘Too often in this university, males are denied equality of expression. Females have the right to criticise men, while denying males the same right. Men can be labelled misogynistic-woman-haters, but no such criticism may be levelled at females. All men admit they have no idea what goes on in women’s heads, whereas most women are convinced they understand men perfectly, certain that males are just like them; that we are being deliberately perverse by not acting like them. But we are not females with penises! We are complete opposites! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sole reason humans have survived for about three hundred thousand years!

‘We do not have a gender neutral society in this university, we have a female-oriented society in which females feel comfortable and many males feel neutered—out of place, constrained by unnatural rules about their behaviour, dress and language. It’s good that both genders are treated equally regarding lodgings, food, equipment, facilities and support, but I repeat… equal does not mean the same.

‘What can we do about it?

‘We can provide male-only spaces to which men can retreat and be thoroughly male without females judging, criticising, interrupting and taking over the conversation, then gossiping about it later with their friends and his enemies. Men cannot be natural in the company of women, because their evolutionary survival has required they impress, appear capable, on top of things, are brave, calm, strong, inventive, able to protect and provide for a female in order to breed. It’s that simple. A few thousand years of living in towns and cities protected from the natural world has changed nothing in our essential behaviour. If a man admits to problems in front of a woman, he knows she will think he’s weak and unmanly and will tell her friends and then he will not get a wife. Animal behaviour is basic, not complicated. Only when there is no fear of females seeing or overhearing, can males share experiences, fears, hopes and failures without shame. Because other men understand and have similar problems and are usually non-judgemental in whatever advice or commiseration they offer. And will not gossip about it.’

Frankie stopped and gazed down thoughtfully. His audience remained completely still.

‘This is the important bit!’ he said sharply. ‘I learned that all three men who suicided were not offered counselling by a man, but by woman who has since resigned. The myth of gender equality allowed that to happen, so instead of being able to honestly confide their problems to a man trained to advise, support and understand them, they were forced to see a female counsellor to whom they could not confide because that would be against their basic survival nature!’

The shuffling of feet filled a short silence.

‘According to two psychology texts I read recently, female humans become sad when they are displeased or dissatisfied, while male humans become sad when they are unable to please or satisfy others.’ He held up a hand to forestall an outcry. ‘Yes, I am aware that is a generalisation, but it’s based on the empirical evidence of several psychologists’ investigations of the suicides of farmers on drought-stricken farms, and failed businesses. Without generalisations, discussion is impossible. Surely rational generalisations are preferable to opinions based merely on one’s personal likes and dislikes?

‘When an unhappy young woman seeks counselling, among other things she will be offered sympathy and advice to be proud of herself simply because she is a woman and therefore deserving of respect. I discovered that similar advice is offered to male students here, because female counsellors appear to believe in the feminist myth that men and women are mentally interchangeable. But sympathy and platitudes about being worthwhile simply because you are a man, are no help. A man needs to know that he’s not a crybaby; that he is brave for seeking help and trying to improve his circumstances, and for his determination to be useful and to please. It’s the opposites thing again. Females want to be helped, males want to help; it’s how we survived.

‘Six out of ten successful suicides are by men, because they genuinely want to escape their despair at being unable to extricate themselves from their problems. Few suicide attempts by females succeed, because their intention is to get attention and sympathy and help from others.

‘It’s not only in mixed lounges that men are not able to relax and be natural, it’s also in the halls of residence. There is always a female somewhere, watching, commenting and gossiping, so men don’t like to visit each other. And if they do, a female ‘friend’ is sure to arrive to see what's going on and report back. If she’s asked to leave the man is branded anti female! Queer. Not a real man. What it boils down to is that there is no place on this campus for male students to be certain they can relax with other males, undisturbed by females.’

During the uproar following that comment, Frankie ran off stage and returned wheeling a large whiteboard.

‘I have four proposals,’ he said when the commotion ceased, writing clearly as he spoke. ‘First, two of the three residence blocks should be changed to single sex, while the third remains mixed for those who prefer it. Second, unless they ask for a female counsellor, males should be counselled by males. Third, as well as a mixed lounge there should be both a male-only lounge, and a female-only lounge and recreation space, and single-gender clubs should be allowed. Fourth, it should be University policy that it is an unfriendly act to make remarks about others in public—no exceptions.’

He put down the marking pen and turned to his audience. ‘Ok, that's it. A copy of this talk, together with explanatory notes is available on the Internet at www.frankiefeynonsense.net. I realise this is called a forum, and earlier I said we’d have a debate, but I now think an open discussion would be counter productive, because your responses to these proposals must be yours alone, not influenced by people around you with loud voices and opinions. If you feel like it, discuss them with friends, then in two days time we can all vote by secret ballot for whatever solution we think best.’

He bowed to enthusiastic applause from the men; muted acclaim from the women, then gallantly took Lydia’s hand and escorted her off stage.

The changes were approved in full by ninety-eight percent of the university student population. During the next two weeks rooms were re-allocated, belongings moved and friendships strengthened. Males and females now had their own common rooms as well as a mixed gender one. All clubs were permitted to be exclusive to one gender if the members desired it. The rules regarding harassment also underwent an overhaul. An aggrieved claimant had to prove psychological or physical harm before a charge could be laid. Counsellors had to be the same gender as the counselled. In short, commonsense was restored, and male students discovered that females made good friends and were often witty, smart, intelligent and fun to be with, once you weren't terrified of being accused of disrespect.

*****

Frankie became engrossed in his literature studies, devoured numerous supposedly great books, studied art history and discovered that artists were more truthful recorders of history than official sources. He loved art but wasn’t prepared to put in the time to learn the skills required to actually make it, excusing himself by saying that artists need an audience, so that's what he’d be. He couldn’t learn to read music, but taught himself to pick out tunes on a piano by ear, and loved to sing.

Acting was his favourite occupation and he performed in a dozen plays both ancient and modern, removing his clothes as often as he could persuade the director that the script demanded it. He enjoyed philosophy immensely, also tramping, sprinting, gymnastics, dancing, and swimming, but he took part in no competitions or team sports and refused to watch them. ‘If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing,’ he would explain. ‘Turning it into a mini war with winners and losers removes all the pleasure for me.’

He turned nineteen.

Frankie and Laurent's shared interest in the theatre, music, art and healthy living increased their pleasure in each other’s company, and was in no way inhibited by their secrecy. Neither wanted to attend University socials and dances, going instead to gay dance venues in the city. They also spent occasional weekends with each other’s family, and made several overnight trips further afield.

And then Laurent was offered a position as director of theatrical studies at Dunedin University in New Zealand. He was reluctant to leave Frankie, but both knew their relationship wasn’t permanent—yet. Perhaps when Frankie had made his way in the world and experienced everything he was capable of, including those things that are best tackled alone, they might get back together. But even if they didn’t, the experience had been exactly what both needed and would never be forgotten.

*****

The three paid up members of the Rationalist University Society of Independent Intellectuals held a moonlight meeting beside the lower pool to confer honorary membership of their club on Frankie, in the hope that his fame would boost both their prestige and membership of the Society. After crowning him with a wreath of oleander, having no laurels, they presented him with a hand-painted certificate recognising his status as a talented young man whose modest demeanour concealed an incorruptible intelligence, rationality, honesty and physical excellence. Frankie accepted the honour with gravity, then laughed wildly and tossed his three devotees into the pool before scampering off to a rehearsal.

Later, over a liquid supper, Frankie's three admirers analysed his character in the hope of learning how they too could become widely accepted and admired. Under the spotlight of their critical gaze they realised that although he wasn’t really special, he was nice to be near simply because he was nice to be near; his breath was sweet, his skin meticulously clean and glowing with health, and his eyes suggested he had a genuine interest in the opinions of whomever he was with.

After rather too many sips of sweet sherry they came to the gloomy conclusion it was his deliberately cultivated ordinariness and refusal to advertise his successes that deflected antagonism and prevented jealousy. It’s easy to like people who are not obviously better than you. And that sent them into a slough of despond because above all else they did not want to seem ordinary! They wanted to stand out, to be noticed, to be the envy of all. Nauseous from the vile sweet gunk they’d been imbibing, they lapsed into alcoholic torpor – still unable to comprehend that Frankie only stood out because he was the only person on campus who managed to seem as though he wasn’t trying to.

*****

As well as dancing and acting, Frankie loved to sing in a pleasant baritone that was usually more or less in tune. As a tribute to his spiritual mentor, Orpheus, son of Apollo and godlike poet and musician, Frankie purchased a second-hand lyre on which he accompanied himself when singing his own poetry set to tunes he made up as he went along. On summer evenings for a few days each side of full moon, devotees, both male and female, gathered on the grass in a quiet corner of the Gardens around a slab of marble that looked as if it should hold an urn or statue. As the bloated yellow moon rose above the surrounding trees, they were transported to Arcadia when a naked bronze statue of a young man in elegant contrapposto materialised on the plinth, lyre pressed lightly against his left flank, right hand reaching across as if to pluck the strings.

Frankie would sustain the pose (a copy of the sculpture of Orpheus by Charles H Niehaus) for fully five minutes before plucking the first notes from his instrument and singing softly. Later, wandering among amused admirers, his songs of sweet lament forced laughter and tears from even the most misanthropic eye. [Mainly, according to those not under his spell, because he was tone deaf.] Then, as mysteriously as he had appeared he would vanish into the trees, followed by the young man he had selected to assist in the removal of bronzing cream before sharing his bed.

*****

In the middle of his final term at the University, Frankie turned twenty and took a two-week refresher course on economic theory where he renewed his acquaintance with Prudence, who had remained as eccentric as ever, delightedly informing him of the house she had built on acreage in the country, thanks to the continuing success of their speculative enterprises two and a half years earlier. They spent several evenings together discussing the course, during which Frankie let slip that despite all his experiences, there was one thing he had not yet crossed off his ‘to do’ list. He had never had sexual intercourse with a woman and felt he owed it to himself to rectify the omission.

Prudence sympathised, because she had a similar problem in reverse. In an uncharacteristic surge of generosity she offered to satisfy Frankie's curiosity on condition he join her in performing a balletic extravaganza as the last act of the Annual Student Variety Concert to be held during the last week of term. Naturally, the idea of ending his university days on stage in a blaze of glory was immensely appealing, so he accepted.

The Concert program consisted of items written, composed and performed entirely by students, and included one-act plays, poetry, stand-up comics musical interludes, a short operetta, and a concluding masterpiece - Frankie and Prudence’s much-anticipated ballet. They named it “Afternoon of a Satyr”—a wry comment on Debussy’s L’après-midi d’un Faune. The music was composed especially for it by fellow student Constance Randie whose tunes and melodies were described by herself as musical collages—by others as plagiarism. Frankie would be the satyr, Prudence the ravished nymph. As always, there would be only one performance of the concert, it being mainly a fun, in-house production, to which there was usually no problem getting tickets. But leaked information that Frankie would be performing a sexy satyr dance, triggered a scramble for tickets.

One afternoon during rehearsals Prudence said bluntly, ‘Lay off the young men until after the performance. I realise you're robust and saturated in testosterone, but as this is to be a one off I want to take no chances.’

Frankie nodded calmly. ‘Have no fear, Prudence. I am determined it will be a momentous experience. It’ll be my first and probably my last copulation with a female, so it would be embarrassing to be less than spectacular in front of one and a half thousand people.’

Prudence nodded satisfaction. ‘I assume that, like me, you experience things with increased sensitivity and exaltation when observed by an approving audience?’

‘Of course! In fact this performance is the last piece of research needed before I publish my monograph.’

‘Prudence raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘What’s it about?’

‘The working title is “Proof of the Proposition that Public Displays of Intimate Acts Heighten and Increase Pleasurable Sensations and Intensity of Passion”.’

‘Verbose, but intriguing.’

‘Exactly, and as the Great Hall is fully booked, the success of our enterprise is assured. Are you certain of the timing?’

‘Of course! I will be in my most fertile state on the evening of the performance, and the fact that it is my first experience of male penetration will augment the heightened state of arousal and desire, and increase tenfold the likelihood of conception.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘I know.’

‘Are we going to record it?’

‘Naturally. I've three cameras that will capture everything, and after the show I’ll edit them into a single movie. Do you want a copy?’

‘Of course.’

‘What about the orchestra?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When the dance becomes interesting they might stop playing. We can’t risk that.’

‘Good thinking. I’ll record their final rehearsal, then have it played over the speakers… louder than they can manage so if they go on playing they won’t be heard.’

As one can never be certain how others will react to truth, Frankie told anyone who cared to enquire that the performance illustrates a mythical truth and would be in impeccable taste. He didn’t specify whose taste. Nor did either of them warn balletic aficionados that it would be very different from the ballet usually associated with Debussy’s L’après-midi d’un Faune in which a sad woodland creature hobbles around to dreary music, tries to make friends with a nymph, but is so rudely rejected that when he finds her scarf he takes it home to wank over.

Although a satyr is always naked, nudity in the first part of the dance was out of the question because Frankie’s extravagant leaps and scissor jumps could do irreversible damage to freely dangling testicles. So he made a pouch from a small piece of flesh-tinted sheer nylon that kept his scrotum lifted well out of the way and held his penis proudly vertical against his belly like a true priapic satyr.

Prudence’s costume was a diaphanous confection reaching to mid thigh. Draped from her right shoulder it exposed her left arm and breast. Leaps and lifts caused the insubstantial gauze to float, mist-like, and remain suspended for several seconds after she returned to earth. Despite her feminist ideology she endured a pudenda waxing after Frankie convinced her that in the world of theatre, aesthetics trump ideals.

Every important personage and even greater numbers of unimportant ones filled the stalls and gallery, fully expecting to be bored by amateur, poorly produced and inadequately presented acts that they could criticise and disparage for weeks afterwards. Their expectations were well and truly satisfied by musical interludes, poetry readings, plays and sketches that so thoroughly bored them they returned after interval vowing that if after two minutes the ballet failed to amuse them, they'd just get up and leave. There was only so much amateur crap a sensitive human can take in one evening.

A hush fell as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose on a woodland scene bathed in golden light so perfect it set the audience clapping in delight. An expectant hush descended and a gentle sigh arose as a spot came up on Frankie draped languidly across a flat rock in the centre front of the stage—any closer and he’d have tumbled into the orchestra pit.

To the sylvan strains of an oboe, Frankie raised his head. Gilded horns poked cheekily through short curls. Hooded eyes scanned the forest. With a predatory smile he licked his lips and rose sinuously to his feet. The gasp that greeted the sight of his apparently naked groin was drowned by clapping as he leaped into the air in a double turn and landed in a catlike crouch, eyes ablaze, mouth wide in a silent laugh displaying powerful teeth and sending a thrill of terror into the hearts of the already enraptured audience.

His solo performance to wild music that sounded very like something Mozart might have written in a skittish mood, banished all disparaging thoughts from even the most hidebound redneck’s brain. When the music changed to something that made some people want to sing ‘Three Little Maids From School Are We’, the satyr hid behind a tree and the nymph bounded in, full of girlish delight at having escaped her mother, or something equally dreadful. She danced superbly, and although less spectacular than the satyr, the absence of undergarments coupled with the anti-gravity qualities of the flimsy little shift, more than made up the deficiency; at least in the eyes of most males. The music changed again to became gloomy and longing as the nymph sagged onto the rock, gently fondling breasts, thighs and groin.

Absorbed in self pleasure she failed to notice the satyr who pounced from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, making everyone in the audience also jump. She screamed silently and made her escape. After a robustly gymnastic display of chase, capture, escape, chase and recapture, during which her insubstantial garment was torn off by an increasingly impatient and randy satyr, she sagged to the ground at his feet, nuzzling at his groin for mercy.

He relaxed and gazed skywards in delight. She took her chance and escaped into the forest. He followed.

Returning alone and shiftless she began to dance, then stopped and looked over her shoulder, clearly disappointed that the satyr had given up. Shrugging sadly she picked up the torn remnants of her costume and was about to leave when, this time minus his restraining pouch, the satyr returned in a dizzying series of pirouettes that created sufficient centrifugal force to fill his penis with blood. He grasped the nymph. She sagged to the ground in wide splits, her face hard against his erection. He lifted her high above his head and spiralled slowly towards the front of the stage where, with a diabolical smile he lowered her onto his rampant manhood.

Utter silence. Everyone had forgotten to breathe.

Slowly, Frankie turned side on to the audience, released his hands and bent backwards, arms wide. Prudence, literally pinned to his groin, also bent back, arms and legs outstretched as they performed what has to be the most unusual pas de deux ever seen in a serious ballet, moving gracefully in a wide circle, ending up at the rock on to which the satyr gently lowered her.

He withdrew. She quickly rolled onto hands and knees, back a deep convex arch demonstrating perfect lordosis, presenting her lust. Frankie gazed down contemplating both of their swollen organs before thrusting his firmly into hers.

To the increasingly orgasmic strains of what sounded suspiciously like the last movement of Tchaikovsky’s Italian Caprice, the dance culminated in what were obviously genuinely momentous orgasms. Then as the light and music faded, Frankie withdrew and skipped off into the forest, leaving the ravished nymph kneeling on the rock with her bum in the air.

The reaction was thunderous. Shouts of abuse and acclaim. Stamping of feet and deafening clapping, booing and shouts of encore! Frankie took the curtain call at the front of the stage, smiling and bowing, then indicated Prudence who was now on her back on the rock, holding her hips high in the air so gravity could assist the passage of spermatozoa to the desired spot. The hysterical audience reaction as the curtain came down was proof to both Frankie and Prudence of their success.

Two minutes later neither dancer was to be found. Both had evaporated and were never seen again at the university.