(See http://stateofhawiya.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/post-dialogue-and-bloody-flags.html for the version where they argue rather than get it on.)
Their eyes met across a crowded room. Preparations for the Eurovision Song Contest in the JCR were in full swing… but so, too, was an Israeli flag. She couldn’t put up with this. Righteously angry, she cut off the flag, and angrily horny, she stormed straight up to him.
"You fucking Zionist!", she screamed. "You’re flagrantly showing your support for apartheid!"
He hesitated. There were two ways to proceed. He could attempt to engage her in reasonable discussion, but that was not the SOAS way. Or…
"I’m no Zionist," he said, slowly unzipping his fly. "Take a look."
And, as she beheld his own firm flagpole, she could quite clearly see that his flag had not been cut off.
"Israeli big!", she exclaimed.
Getting into the spirit of their “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” peace talk, she unhooked her Palestine-flag bra.
"They’re Ha-massive!", he said approvingly, and they simultaneously reached out to each other in a way that Netanyahu and Abbas sadly never would. She massaged his peace stalk, while he moved his hand further down to her delicately-shaved Gaza strip, where his finger parted her like Moses and the Red Sea (although fortunately for him, no sea of red was forthcoming), and then went round her clit in circles like the latest round table discussions.
"Don’t you want to Likud?", she suggested, panting with pleasure.
"Well, just so long as it’s reciprocal," he replied.
They shifted positions and lay on the floor, licking and sucking and kissing and thrusting and grinding, and she surged with the heady delight of sexual (if not national) liberation more times than the borders have shifted in the last century, until he exploded inside her with the full force of his own personal rocket launcher.
As she swallowed his He-brew, he said, “I never thought I’d do this on the floor of the JCR … maybe I have even fewer proper boundaries than Palestine does. That was amazing.”
She grinned. “Well, you’re certainly not getting nul points from me.”
The two belligerents, happily united through coarse discourse, settled down to watch Eurovision; a bearded drag queen won, everybody cheered, and suddenly everything at SOAS was back to normal.