Just the feeling that they wanted us, that they could not get enough of our bodies – it was power beyond anything else I had known up until that point.Jodie was then in front of me, her hands on my hips, pushing me backwards. She was guiding me towards the chair in the centre of the stage, and I allowed myself to be propelled towards it. I had the impression that Jodie was getting just a little bit too intoxicated at the notion of putting on a show, and I was surprised to discover I felt the first stirrings of competitiveness – after all, there were two of us on that stage!Once I was seated, Jodie danced around behind me. She bent over and slid her hands from my shoulders down my front, straight over my boobs (and my rapidly hardening nipples) and down to my tummy. Again she was kissing my neck, nibbling my ears, and I think at that point I started to make whimpering noises, partly for show, partly because I was starting to enjoy myself! Jodie seemed a little taken aback at this. The lunch conversation had driven home her point, though she and I disagreed on about it being a big problem, and certainly about how much government should intervene to right what she perceived to be wrong.There wasn’t an easy solution, and I totally understood her point that I was fortunate, but I simply didn’t believe that government was the ultimate solution. To me, it provided a fiction of popular control, but in the end, the ruling class gave itself privileges which it failed to provide for the people they ruled. That was true even in the supposed egalitarian parliaments in Europe. I believed, ultimately, that I was the best guard for my own liberty, not the government.“What would you like to do this afternoon?” I asked.“Do you know about Vanessa Beecroft?”“No. Who is she?”“An Italian artist. She does art called tableau vivant. Do you know what that is?”“Beyond knowing it means ‘living picture’ in French, no.”“She uses actual models. She has a work called ‘Made in Italy’ which.
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