Although only by a minute, 8pm had been and gone, and I was growing worried. I stared at the empty seat across from me, willing the arrival of Windsor. A basket of petrified lark was placed before me, which I picked at, more to keep myself occupied than anything. The moss jelly had already sated my appetite. By 8:05 I was wondering if I should admit defeat and leave and by 8:10 I decided to wait no longer. I stood up in a huff and reached for my hat. Before I could walk away, a hurried waiter bounded toward my table with a chair held aloft. It was Windsor!
The waiter balanced Windsor precariously on the chair before me and apologised to us both. I waited for her to walk away before sitting once more.
“I’m so sorry. Montgomery,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the commotion.”
“What happened?”
“They weren’t going to let me in.”
I was a mixture of emotions. One the one hand, I was enraged on behalf of Windsor. Surely there was prejudice afoot on behalf of the restaurant. On the other hand, I was relieved that I hadn’t been stood up and that any lateness on Windsor’s part could be attributed to events outside his control.
“I’m so sorry, Windsor. How could this happen? Haven’t you been to this restaurant before?”
“It’s a common occurrence, I’m afraid. As a chair, one becomes accustomed to certain discriminations. I’m not what one would call a regular, but I have been here before. The gentleman at the door was a stranger to me, however.”
“It’s a sorry world we live in, that much I know for sure.”
“It’s okay,” he said with positivity. “All that matters is I’m here now and so are you. How are you? I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I was growing quite impatient. I hope that doesn’t make me sound desperate.”
I chuckled and assured Windsor it was fine. I didn’t make mention of my own impatience. This gave me an upper hand, which helped ease my nervousness. Windsor looked delightful amidst the dancing light of the tea candle. His varnished surface appeared even richer.
“Does it feel strange to be seated on another chair?” I asked.
Windsor shuffled about while considering my question. “No… I wouldn’t say that. Chairs are often stacked, and this isn’t much different. If anything, I feel a little sorry for the chair beneath me. I’m not as light as I used to be.”
We both chuckled. I was nice to break the ice in such a way. The toilet block encounter was one filled with uncertainty and shame. This evening felt like the true beginning of something special. We both studied our menus and discussed the merits of certain choices.
“Do you eat, Windsor?” I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask.
Windsor chuckled in that robotic way of his. “Yes… I do eat, but it isn’t a necessity. It’s more a way to uphold certain social standards. One should never refuse food if it is prepared for you.”
I nodded my approval. “Thanks for your candour. This is a new experience for me, I must admit, I have a lot of questions.”
“Perfectly understandable. How about we settle in for a nice meal and afterward, I’ll answer any questions you care to ask?”
I nodded once more. It was difficult to stifle the smile on my face. Windsor was a miraculous companion by any standard. We ordered our respective meals and engaged in beguiling small talk while we waited for our food to arrive. I was complimented more than once on my suit, and I made a point of complimenting Windsor on his sheen. I hadn’t felt this free for as long as I could remember. My words flowed easily and every utterance from Windsor was fascinating. Even in the murky waters of small talk, he possessed complete profundity. I was able to forget about the people around me and lose myself in moment.
I was quietly excited when our meals arrived because it would allow me an inadvertent chance to quench a curiosity I had. Namely, if Windsor was capable of eating, how did he manage such a task? He was a solid object without an obvious mouth, nor did he possess a means of moving food to whatever mouth may have existed. I was keen to know more about Windsor’s ways and not having to directly ask was preferable means of doing so.
“Sorry to do this to you, Montgomery,” said Windsor as his meal sat before him. “I have to ask you turn away while I eat. It’s nothing personal, I’m simply incapable of eating while being watched.”
I nodded with understanding, but was admittedly a little disappointed. I just had to remind myself that this didn’t alter the connection I believed existed between the two of us.
“I sense disappointment in your eyes,” he said. “Please believe me, Montgomery. It’s not that I wish to keep this part of myself hidden from you… it’s a physiological thing. I am literally incapable of eating while being watched. Eating requires that I perform several impossible actions, and impossibility cannot be perceived.”
I let his words sink in. In a strange way I understood what he was saying, but it raised some further questions.
“I accept this, Windsor, and although I admit to being intrigued, I certainly understand where you’re coming from. But I do have to ask… if, as you say, impossibility cannot be perceived, how is it that you can talk and move before my eyes?”
“Ah, Montgomery! There’s an important distinction that needs to be made here. Impossibility cannot be perceived, but improbability can.”
I nodded, pretending to comprehend the distinction. When it came down to it, I knew very little about the life of chairs. I decided that I would happily oblige by any considerations that Windsor required. There was no point letting something, which couldn’t be helped come between us.
While we ate, I made a point of turning my head every thirty seconds or so to allow my date a chance to enjoy his food. With my head turned, I could hear borborygmus rumbling from within him. He was digesting something alright… but how this was occurring would remain a mystery. Each time I turned back around, Windsor would thank me for my courtesy.
We luxuriated in the slow consumption of our meals in an effort to extend our time together. The thought that, at some point, Windsor and I would have to part ways was an ugly one that I tried to kill with the beauty of our continued togetherness. Eventually it became impossible to ignore that the restaurant was emptying. There was a pronounced sadness moving between Windsor and I that neither of us could ignore.
“I have a proposal for you, Montgomery, but I’m wary of applying pressure and want very much to avoid that.”
I stared at Windsor, preparing to embrace any suggestion that might end this sadness. “I’m listening.”
“I know that you and I have discussed moving slowly, so I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive to that intention… it’s just… I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in as long as I can remember, and I don’t want this night to end. Would you be open to the idea of coming back to my place?”
I had been hoping and dreading this invitation all evening. Had I possessed the gumption, I might have made the offer myself. I knew there was a strong chance that accepting Windsor’s offer might result in something I wasn’t comfortable with. Windsor was going to proposition me for sex, I was quite sure. The only thing that stopped me from flipping over the table and running away was the knowledge that for Windsor, sex was merely sitting. The question I had to ask myself was this – would I be prepared to sit on Windsor for the reasons he wanted? If I sat down on Windsor, would I be engaging in sex myself, or merely facilitating sex for him? I had to reconcile within myself the reality that going back with Windsor would require that I confront these issues. Being with Windsor filled me with such profound happiness that I was willing to explore these uncomfortable places. He deserved to feel happy and satisfied. I wanted to be the person responsible for this.
I looked at Windsor and said, “I accept your kind invitation.”
CHAPTER 9
Windsor insisted we travel to his home by horse-drawn carriage. I appreciated the romantic air of whimsy this mode of transport instilled in me. The crisp city air helped soothe my nerves, which as you can apprecia
te, were in danger of becoming unworkable. It was a short trip to Windsor’s home. He lived just outside the central business district in an upmarket apartment complex. When we stopped, I helped him out of the carriage, which gave me another opportunity to feel the superior workmanship of his wood.
“Follow me,” he said. “I’m on the 18th floor.”
I glanced up once more at his apartment complex. It didn’t look like it could possibly extend beyond ten floors.
“How is it possible you live on a floor that doesn’t appear to exist?” I asked.
“I could never afford to pay rent on a floor that existed,” was his simple reply.
He scraped forward and I followed close behind. We approached an elevator and Windsor asked me to turn my head so he could perform the impossible task of pressing the buttons. Remembering the promise I made to myself, I obliged without hesitation and remained this way until I heard the elevator door open. True to Windsor’s claim that the floor he lived on didn’t exist, there were no buttons for floors above nine. I was asked to turn my head once more and upon doing so, I heard a crashing sound followed by a wheeze. The elevator groaned to life and we shot upward. The lights illuminated the number for each floor as we ascended. When we reached and surpassed nine, the elevator filled with red smoke and turned in sickening circles. I fell against the wall, where the push of gravity ensured I remained until the doors finally opened with a foghorn announcement.
“Sorry about the rough ride,” said Windsor. “Welcome to the impossible.”
The floor we were on consisted of a single door housed within a small landing. A cautionary sign affixed to the door read ‘PLEASE KEEP YOUR FEET OFF THE SEATS’. I made a mental note of this. I wasn’t in a position to understand whether this was whimsical chair humour or a genuine plea. I turned my head so Windsor could open the door.
The room in which I was introduced embodied everything I held dear. There was a breathtaking display of hats lining the feature wall, which immediately caught my attention. Windsor, like myself, was a man of superior taste. Volumes of books concerning etiquette (in both modern and historical contexts) sat in mahogany bookcases. I wanted to paw through them, but the irony of bypassing etiquette to pursue books about that very topic didn’t sit well. Windsor’s whole house felt like the study of a gentleman from 1920s Britain. Had I the means to achieve it, this was precisely the abode I’d want for myself.
“Your apartment is utterly enchanting,” I said.
“Thank you.”
I turned around to face Windsor. He had two glasses of cognac sitting on his seat. I cupped one of the glasses in my hand and waited for it to warm.
“Why don’t we move to the sitting room,” said Windsor.
In light of everything, this was a highly suggestive statement, but I flushed it from my mind and followed. The first thing I noticed about the ‘sitting room’ was its ascetic qualities. Save for Windsor and myself, the room was barren. I took an unsophisticated gulp of my cognac, well before it had finished warming. It was smooth with the barest hint of alcohol – a superior brand no doubt.
“Why are you so nervous, Montgomery? I’m not going to hurt you. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Not knowing what else to do, I took another gulp of the cognac. Windsor moved toward the centre of the room and remained in this position.
“Would you like to sit down, Montgomery?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“What is your main objection?”
I consumed the rest of my cognac in several boorish gulps before continuing. “I don’t know if we’re about to have sex or not.”
Windsor rattled back and forth while laughing in that artificial way of his. My anxiety was spiking.
“I assure you that sitting down on me will not constitute sex in the slightest. I’m not asking you to remove your clothing, and I’m certainly not asking you to involve your genitalia in the act. It’s quite late and I’m sure you’d like to relax. I am just like any chair you’ve ever sat on; albeit of a higher build quality. Take a seat Montgomery. Please.”
I began to move toward him, incapable of clear thought. When within sitting distance I plucked up the second glass of cognac and turned with my backside toward him.
“Sit, Monty. Sit!”
My leg muscles starting shaking as I attempted to control the speed of my descent.
“Yes, Monty!”
I edged ever closer and sensed a certain warm aura that surrounded Windsor’s surface.
“Do it!”
The aura pulled me down until my backside had landed in Windsor’s seat. I started to hyperventilate.
“Yes, Monty! Yes! Yes!”
Windsor was writhing and moaning beneath me. These were primal sounds that predated society. I closed my eyes as if such a thing would diminish what was happening, but it only focused my ears more acutely on the multifarious sounds Windsor was emitting.
“Grind that arse into me, Monty. Really let me have it!”
I found myself obeying his command and squirmed and shifted on his seat. I brought the second glass of cognac to my lips and skulled for all I was worth. It burned my throat, but didn’t erase the reality of the situation.
“Don’t stop! I’m your filthy fucking chair! Use me! USE ME!”
I began to bump up and down causing Windsor to squeak and moan with each repetition. He vibrated beneath me and with one final groan, he leaned backward on two legs so the he and I were on the verge of tipping. When we landed back on all four legs there was a thud that jolted me.
What had just happened? Despite the claim that this act wouldn’t constitute sex in the slightest, I felt dirty and violated. Windsor was rocking gently and panting, lost in the throes of some primal post-orgasmia. I became aware of a warm wetness seeping into my pants. I ran my finger along the edge of the seat. A viscous liquid with an oceanic scent was seeping from Windsor’s grain. He was soaked in it. I lunged from the seat and threw open the door of the sitting room.
“Monty, wait!” cried Windsor, but I had no time for it. I felt tears welling in my eyes and wanted nothing else but escape. I heard him scraping his way toward me. I refused to look, instead I hastened my exit. The tears were starting to flow and my eyes were burning. I slapped my palm against the elevator button and slipped inside when the doors opened. As they closed behind me, I broke down into a wretched sob. Being on a floor that didn’t exist, there were no buttons anywhere in the elevator. I slumped against the wall in defeat and slowly slid to the ground where I curled in a ball and heaved my despair. The doors opened once more. I glanced toward them and, through tear-burned eyes, saw Windsor. I felt powerless.
“Oh dear! Monty! I’m so, so sorry. Please can we talk about this? I had no idea.”
He rushed toward me until there was nothing but him. I scrunched my eyes shut, trying not to acknowledge the situation. Vomit was climbing my gullet, which refused to swallow down.
“Please speak to me, Monty. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
The vomit gushed from my mouth, sullying my suit and pooling beneath me. I felt as though my foot was being tugged at, a feeling I kicked against to no avail. With my eyes toward the ceiling, I was dragged back into Windsor’s impossible apartment.
“Go away,” I sobbed. “I want to be alone.”
But the dragging continued until I was once more in the belly of the beast. Then, as if my violation weren’t complete enough, my soiled clothes were stripped off and replaced by a blanket. I clutched it close and buried my head beneath it, determined not to let Windsor see me. The blanket was a cave I could seek refuge in.
“It’s okay, Monty. Just rest. Allow yourself to understand what has happened between us.”
The brute, who only moments prior had soiled me, was now absent in Windsor’s voice. He sounded just like the enchanting chair I had enjoyed the greatest night of my life with. I wanted it to stop. The strings of my heart were being plucked aga
inst my wishes. How could Windsor exist as two vastly different things at the one time? Where was this sex beast lurking when we were discussing our myriad fancies over dinner? I had an intuitive sense that the Windsor who swept me off my feet was the real Windsor. But then again… wasn’t the pervert an equally valid expression of his true self? Perhaps I was too simple-minded in my approach to others. I’ve always been very quick to paint others with an unkind brush.
My eyes were losing the ability to remain open and I began to give in. From outside the cocoon of my blanket, Windsor was singing Warrant songs in a hushed lullaby tone. His androgynous voice tiptoed into my ears, caressing me in a deep, satisfying place. One-by-one I felt my anxieties collapsing in exhausted heaps. Each new collapse freed me a little more. It had been a long day. A day unlike any I had ever experienced. My eyes could no longer open. My brain activity was little more than a standby hum. I was asleep.
…
I was roused awake by trilling insects. Windsor was by my side, which was a comforting feeling. Windsor represented a conflict that I had to overcome, but he was still a great source of comfort and warmth.
“Go back to sleep, Monty. It’s still so early.”
“What time is it?”
“Autumn. Go back to sleep.”
He looked majestic in the dull lamp light. Without thought, I clasped my hand around one of his legs. “Last night really disturbed me,” I said.
“Can I be straight with you?” he said.
I wormed my way closer toward him so my shoulder was kissing the leg I clasped. “Please do.”
“I feel something very special between you and I. Something I have never felt before. After one evening with you, it’s as if you’ve always been in my life. I never thought such a connection possible. I would never have the courage to verbalise such feelings so early into a relationship, but I believe you feel it too.”
I felt my heart curling into a smile. Windsor’s words were beautiful. They made me feel beautiful. It hadn’t dawned on me how much I longed to be loved.
How to Avoid Sex Page 5