How to Avoid Sex (14 page)

“Windsor! Where the fucking hell are you?”

It bothered me that he hadn’t sought to offer me sympathy during what was an undoubtedly trying time. Perhaps I had been a bit crude in my sexual antics, but that was something he started. A precedent had been set the first time he made a show of his own lust. He was the one responsible for planting the fuck in me.

“Windsor… if you’re in here, make it known.”

I was willing to concede that perhaps he needed some time to himself… to work out whatever I had inflicted upon him. But the fact remained, without Windsor, I was unable to leave this impossible apartment, which posed an understandable quandary.

“Fucking hell, Windsor. Get your arse out here now! I’ll fuck every fucking chair in this fucking house if you don’t act like a man and confront me.”

If he was in the apartment, he wasn’t making this fact known. I had begun looking in the most unlikely locations, such as in cups and under rugs. Had I not possessed my wits, he would have out-foxed me. Dear Windsor was in the apartment alright, but he adopted the cunning ploy of hiding in plain sight. He may have been a chair, but via the filter of our relationship, I didn’t regard him as a mere chair. He was my significant other… my lover. The first few times I hobbled past the dining table, I didn’t focus on the chairs that sat around it. It was only while looking beneath the table that I noticed his handsome legs. He had wedged himself between the common chairs, assimilating into an image of his function.

“You crafty bastard,” I said, re-emerging from beneath the table. I dragged him back into the sitting room. He remained silent and made no attempt to flee my grasp.

“Well? Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”

Still no response. I had never seen him so sullen. It was difficult to garner respect. This silent treatment was a staple of less dignified relationships, but certainly not ours.

“You stubborn bitch,” I said. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. All I wanted was to find solace in the comfort of your seat. But no! Unless you’re calling the sexual shots, you want no part of me. That’s pathetic, Windsor. Absolutely fucking pathetic!”

In lieu of anything resembling communication, I decided to sit myself back down on his seat. I wasn’t going to take the risk of the little drama queen running away again.

“I’m not going anywhere until you start talking to me again.”

Whether Windsor was acting difficult or not, this was the safest place for me to be. If I remained seated on the once place that made me feel safe, I wouldn’t have to contend with the sexual advances of every object I encountered. They weren’t good enough for me.

“Talk to me, you arsehole!”

It was so frustrating having to contend with the emotional fluctuations of those in your life. It was another of my principal objections to relationships. Beyond the sexual element, relationships are a fertile environment in which to grow pettiness and redundancy. Perhaps when Windsor started talking again we could discuss an arrangement that didn’t involve so much one-on-one time. I could see benefit to both parties in this scenario.

“Windsor!”

You know… if I were being honest, I’d have to admit that not wearing a hat during this time was quite liberating. We certainly become enslaved to our obsessions, don’t we? If I couldn’t wear a hat without it trying to fuck me, good riddance! It was just more complication to free myself of. This primal state of nudity was quite agreeable really. Not having to bother with the complexities of wardrobe and fashion… what a revelation!

“WINDSOR!”

Why wasn’t he talking? Surely, if nothing else, he’d want to end the awkwardness of the situation by telling me to ‘shut up’, or something? He may as well have been dead.

“WINDSOR!!! SAY SOMETHING!!! I’M NOT GETTING OF YOU UNTIL YOU DO.”

Still nothing.

“I love you, darling.”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

CHAPTER 19

You know, as I sit back and reflect upon what I’ve just told you, it dawns on me how preposterous it all sounds. I’ve told the tale to the best of my recollection at the time, but even now, I wonder how much of it is accurate. I do know that I find myself in something of a predicament, and I’m not positive this predicament has an end. In a sense, I’m stranded on my darling, Windsor. He has remained silent for god knows how long now, and not even telling my story has stirred him. And it should be noted, I lost track of the number of times I have told this story months ago. It seems naïve, but I had hoped that reigniting the curious trajectory that brought us together would galvanise him into action. I mean… it wasn’t completely unpleasant. We had some immensely jocular times, he and I. And even if my story couldn’t provoke fondness, I thought at least he’d want to correct any inconsistencies with my story. People love to correct others. It’s one of the activities in which we excel as a species.

When considering Windsor, I’m reminded of those volcanoes one hears about on distant islands. Volcanoes that once churned with the explosiveness of life, but fell dormant for whatever reason. In this dormancy they resided, until their latent power was forgotten, or under-estimated by the game of Chinese whispers that is history. One day, for reasons unknown, this dormant beast finds it necessary to engage the world once more and erupts, unburdening itself of the repression forged by its sleep. The power of this eruption cannot be contained, nor can it be truly measured. Windsor sits beneath me, silent but not gone. In his dormancy he is combining the ingredients required for his explosive return to the world. And when that return happens, I will be here ready to embrace him.

I can hear you wondering ‘what will happen if Windsor never wakes up?’ Well… although I think that is a pessimistic and unlikely outcome, I see no other choice but to stay here. I don’t want to move about in a world where everything tries to fuck me. It’s not appropriate. I need to spend some time regaining my composure. I’m Montgomery Worthington! I am not some sex beast. It doesn’t matter what Sexualis Delirium’s invasiveness put in me. By sheer will I can flush it out. All I need is time and the support of my greatest companion. Staying right here, sitting in this empty room, my feet slightly raised from the carpet lest it get the wrong idea, is the best option. I am a man of dignity and I
will not fall victim to the human condition. While I may have slipped a little into the carnal quagmire, all I need to do it dry myself off and move forward with my head held high.

I have an urge to tell you a story. I have all the time in the world, so why not? When I was a boy, I fell in love with a girl who lived in my neighbourhood. Her name was Laura, but everyone called her ‘biscuit’ because she was forever falling in cups of tea. Biscuit and I would play together during the summer evenings, looking for new adventures to satisfy our burgeoning curiosity. I had a great fondness for this girl and sought every opportunity I could in which to play, going so far as approaching the local council with a request to extend summer.

One evening, after I had helped wring the tea from her pigtails, we set out to explore a nearby cave that some of the other neighbourhood children had told us about. To reach this cave, we had to travel up an overgrown path. This path was guarded by an obnoxious milkman who refused to let us past until we sung him a song. I serenaded him with a love number my mother had taught to me, hoping that the words would inspire something within Biscuit as well as satisfy the milkman. She seemed oblivious to my intentions and went about singing a song about anal hygiene, which although informative, wasn’t very romantic. Still… we achieved our aim of passing the milkman and we spent the rest of our walk joking about how many nipples he had.

The cave was unspectacular in most respects, but it didn’t matter. I was here for Biscuit, and the cave was of secondary importance. We decided to venture inside, because what else does one do when confronted with a cave? I found something that would prove to be very important in this cave… my first hat. It was a panama hat that had been discarded by its previous owner, presumably due to it’s bent rim. I shook off the dirt and brushed away the cobwebs before placing it atop my head. The sensation was unlike anything I had experienced. With that one addition, my confidence grew and, for the first time, I truly was Montgomery Worthington.

What surprised me more than anything was the way Biscuit’s demeanour changed when she saw me in this dishevelled panama. I was no longer merely the boy from the neighbourhood – rather, I was a superior specimen that commanded a certain respect. In a somewhat brazen manner, I took Biscuit’s hand in my own and gave it a gentle kiss. She let the hand float for a while before pulling it back, utterly beguiled by my actions.

“I love you, Biscuit,” I said.

“I love you too, Montgomery.”

She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, which although simple in execution, was unforgettable. I tipped my newfound hat in her direction, and she clutched her hands toward her heart.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I nodded and watched as she retrieved a bag of grapes from her satchel.

“Would you like one?”

I nodded once more and took a single, plump grape. I squashed it between my teeth and felt the cool juice coat my tongue. It tasted divine. Biscuit followed suit, placing a single grape on her tongue and closing it within her mouth. She smiled at me while the grape bulged her cheek before sucking back onto the centre of her tongue. The whimsy came to an end when her eyes widened and her hands moved toward her strained throat. She was choking.

Not knowing how to remedy such a situation, I tried fanning her with my panama. When that proved useless, I took to poking her with a stick, but this only inflamed matters. Before long she was down on her knees and with a bruised hue on her face. She worked to cough the grape up, but it wouldn’t budge. As she fell to her side and the last remnants of life flushed from her face, I felt the weight of hopelessness bearing down.

With the love of my life dead in the cave, I placed the hat back on my head and walked away. I still have that hat, but I never wear it. To be seen wearing a hat of that condition would not do. HAHA… it’s quite amusing what one remembers. HAHAHA… life is quite a funny thing when you get to the heart of it. HAHAHA… I really must tell Windsor that story when he wakes up. I don’t believe he knows it. HAHAHAHAHAHA… he’ll love to learn the genesis of Monty’s precious hats. HAHAHAHAHA… Oh dear… I’m not sure why this is so amusing, but I can’t keep the laughter at bay. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… I best be careful or I’ll fall of my chair… I mean… I’ll fall of Windsor. HAHAHAHAHAH…

CHAPTER 20

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