Blessedly ahead on my lesson planning for once, I came back to Sir’s place after work so we could binge this new show he got me hooked on. It had been a long and fairly stressful day - one of my students, bless her heart, belted me around the face with a book that morning (it didn’t hurt, it was actually more funny than painful, but it was emblematic of how my day went) - so I was in the mood for a TV marathon.

Wandering into his living room, I was surprised and delighted to find the show already on, my eyes lighting up at the sight of the television screen. Instantly riveted, I plonked my bum on the carpet in front of Sir’s sofa and began to watch.

The screen was blank. Grey and featureless. Not a flicker of light or colour.

As I stared at it, it remained unchanged. The seconds ticked past, and nothing happened. The TV stayed blank, devoid of any picture or sound.

Minute after minute went by, and still absolutely nothing changed about the screen before me. And yet, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. To me, it was the most fascinating thing in the universe. This was peak television, high art, a masterpiece exceeding anything made by mankind in the last century. I didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

I hadn’t twigged that the TV wasn’t even switched on.

There I sat, staring fixedly at the screen like it was the only thing that mattered in the universe. At that moment, it was. It was all I cared about, all I could think about - although saying I was ‘thinking’ is a bit generous. The longer I watched that enthralling screen, the more it swallowed my peripheral vision, so I couldn’t see anything else - and the more it filled my mind, sucking my thoughts away into an endless, dark abyss.

No, actually it wasn’t even dark - not a pitch-black void, like I’ve seen people say about how they tend to perceive the depths of trance. No, it was just grey, like the TV screen. Blank, grey, fuzzy and dull. Somehow, that felt like even more empty than a black void. Darkness can feel kind of tangible, like the shadows can reach out like tendrils and grasp hold of you, dragging you into their clutches. But a grey void isn’t tangible. There’s nothing to draw you in, nothing to latch onto, nothing to anthropomorphise. It’s just an absence.

And I got hopelessly, irretrievably lost in it.

Engrossed as I was in my favourite show, I didn’t notice anything going on around me. I didn’t notice I was drooling on my nice white shirt. I didn’t notice Sir moving around the room, fetching food and drinks, sitting himself down on the couch behind me. I heard him talking to me at length, but I didn’t consciously register anything he said.

I didn’t notice him reaching down, pulling my shirt up and groping my tits. I didn’t notice him shoving my own hand down the front of my leggings - and he must’ve told me to start masturbating, because I did, but I didn’t notice that either. I didn’t notice him draping his legs over my shoulders, hanging them down my torso, his calves cushioned by my chest, my head nestled between his soft thighs. I didn’t even notice him balancing a bowl of crisps on the top of my head, nor did I hear him eating them.

I just kept sitting there touching myself with a dumb, vacant, open-mouthed smile, watching my favourite show, utterly unaware of anything else, both the TV and my brain on standby.