I put in the earbuds and the park sways along on the waves of Autoplay. After a few minutes, the pumping techno track flows into the sultry sounds of ‘Touch of My Hand,’ with a throaty Britney groaning about her deepest erotic fantasies. Her voice travels, expanding through the atmosphere, until it encompasses the whole park, from the rippling grass to the raw hot asphalt to the lifeless white cubes in the nearby museum of contemporary art. It lies over everything like a translucent but sticky layer. Like – let’s be real – a condom.
The ground throbs. A colony of invasive ants, 19 hectares in size, has undermined the Citadel Park. They arrived here from Turkey in potting soil brought in for a flower festival in the 1970s. Thousands of queens have burrowed beneath the flowerbeds and the paths. The males die of exhaustion shortly after the bridal flight. Fucked empty. I feel the hungry, horny, mercilessly gleaming queens crawling under the soles of my feet, and I want to make the park into my own royal chamber, the park is a body lying open before me, I can take what I want from it and stick it where I like. Ahead of me, three short tunnels, carved out of the rock and known as the Caves, pass under a mound covered with grass and trees. I walk into the cave on the right, the most shielded of the three from the outside world. In the cool shadow, I rub against the dark stone. I turn up the music. I do not want to hear the shouts rising from the nearby sandpit – they would only fill me with needless shame. I glare venomously at everyone I see approaching the entrance to the cave, until they wisely select another tunnel. A father holding a toddler’s hand looks startled, like a scared cat, and swerves to the right just in time. I grin. This cave is only for ants.
Out there in the blazing sunshine, my black leather trousers were just about boiling. Here in the shadows, they have cooled down enough for me to be able to unzip them without burning my fingers. I pull down my trousers and pants, stick out my bum and press my labia hard against the cave wall until I feel the cool stone on my clitoris. Then I start moving back and forth. I want to leave a slime trail on the rocks like a snail, the way a wounded snail leaves a trail of slime mixed with blood. The blood comes out through small cuts in the vulva. In my ears, the chorus swells to its gasping apotheosis: the touch of my h- oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit. Because of the volume of the music, I did not notice him walking into the cave. Without the toddler this time. Slowly, he comes closer. I run my eyes over him. Not bad. He is tanned and absurdly muscular. His sculpted jawline is covered with perfectly maintained stubble. He has soft brown eyes, thick dark eyebrows and long eyelashes, like a cow. He smiles playfully and somewhat apologetically. I didn’t want to be here, say his expression, his raised eyebrows and his open palms, but what you gonna do? Now we better make the best of it. And then he winks at me. Ew. I take the buds out of my ears.
‘Don’t wink,’ I say. I stick a finger into my vagina, stick it into my mouth and suck in the salty slime. ‘It’s creepy.’ He smiles. God, I’m a sucker for pearly-white teeth. A tingling sensation runs through my vagina. I turn around. I hear his footsteps coming closer and feel his big hands on my hips. My clitoris is craving so hard for his touch that it hurts. When his finger finally glides along my soaking slit, I can’t help sighing. Behind me I hear the sound of a zip. He slides smoothly into me. His hard, rhythmic thrusting is getting the job done, but his grunting is making me a bit queasy. With the hand I am not using to lean against the rock, I stick my earbuds back in. I am nearly there, and I don’t want any sordid stimulation to break my concentration now. I am climbing a smooth mountain of glittering sparkles. The summit is within reach, but keeps slipping away from me. Another thrust, another, another… Now I can almost grasp the most elusive, slipperiest tingle of all. Almost. Then the world starts to shake. A crack appears in the wall of rock. The asphalt at my feet tears open. I see the ants swarming. Millions of ants, gleaming and inscrutable.
I scream. He screams. Then he slips out of me, limp and wet. Sperm and my own juices run down the inside of my thighs. Behind me I hear the sound of flesh hitting the asphalt. I am not sure if he was shocked by the ants or just came harder than he could handle. Does it matter? Frustrated that he left me on the verge of an orgasm, I start rubbing my clitoris. It does not take much more. Britney slips, groaning, into the middle eight. She’s not going to be left behind, she informs the listener: she’s already there. And now, with convulsions, I come to my destination too. I try to keep quiet as the wave engulfs me but, as I shake, my voice pushes itself out through my mouth in shocks and shudders. The glittering wave subsides, leaving behind a residue of oxytocin and endorphins inside me that transforms into a deep feeling of calm and contentment. As I zip up my trousers, I glance at the body on the ground. Between his gigantic dick and the rock wall is a wide trail of slime interrupted by a gulf a few centimetres long, teeming with ants. I kneel and lick the pale fluid. Not bad. I leave him lying there like that, panting with exhaustion, dick hanging out of his trousers. Touch of my hand, comes the sound from my earbuds one last time. I walk out of the cave. The world is soft around my body now that I have extracted the throbbing sting from it. I stick my finger into my pants and then into my mouth and give the day a salty smile.
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