How to Avoid Sex

by Revert, Matthew

  Windsor tipped forward until he and I were embracing. A sobbing noise escaped from within him. I had never seen him this emotional.

  “I love you, Monty,” he said. “I love you as if I’ve never loved before.”

  I pressed my cheek against his seat. “I love you too, Windsor. I was nothing until I met you.”

  And that is how Windsor and I decided to live together. I spent the rest of that unforgettable night sitting on him as firmly as I could, until he was so exhausted he needed to sleep, which is not something chairs typically do.

  CHAPTER 13

  I’d like you to imagine the following montage as if it were taking place within your favourite movie. Add some music of your own choosing, but I’d suggest something whimsical. I want to paint a picture of perfection.

  With Windsor and I living together, we proceeded to live a life of bliss. I’d go to work each day with a spring in my step, counting the hours until we could be together once more. My tolerance within the workplace was growing and I no longer scoffed at conversations that were beneath me. I continued to visit the magical toilet block that, outside of our home, I regarded as a sacred place. I whistled while I walked the short trek home to find Windsor waiting for me outside our apartment block. The impossibility of his floor meant that only he could let me in and out.

  We spent our evenings indulging in cultural pursuits such as plays and poetry readings, and when we arrived home, we’d read to each other. I convinced Windsor to share the bed with me that, until my arrival, had gone unused. I’d make a point of sitting on him of a night and then we’d both retire to the bed where I’d fall asleep stroking his vertical bars, covered in his orgasmic weep.

  For weeks we lived in this splendour, losing ourselves further in each other. Logic suggests that perfection can never remain. I should have known this and prepared accordingly for the inevitable disruption. You may end the montage here. I don’t like the direction this story is about to take, but it would be dishonest of me to avoid it.

  I woke up one morning with an uneasy sensation in my body. My throat was swollen and my nostrils were leaking in a manner I couldn’t quell. Other than a general lack of wellness, I was still mobile and, despite Windsor’s protestations, still went to work. He and I had enjoyed many late nights over the last few weeks and it was reasonable to assume I was rundown and my body was acting out accordingly. I promised myself a string of early nights so that my body had the opportunity to grasp health once more. I plugged my nostrils with gauze and set of to work, once again, ignoring Windsor’s plea for me to remain at home and under his loving care. Perhaps I should have listened, but I don’t think it would have stopped the events that followed, merely delayed them.

  I sat down at my work computer with a cup of lemon and pilchard hoping it would stop the swelling and subsequent pain in my throat from getting worse. I busied myself with basic data entry, enough of which existed that I could pursue this easy task all day. The day was progressing without incident, but I was sure I was becoming increasingly ill. By lunchtime, a fever had set in, followed by a mild delirium. I pushed on, not wanting to succumb to my maladies. I hadn’t been sick since I was ten, so this incident was quite out of the ordinary for me.

  I struggled my way to the bamboo forest toilet during my lunch break. My bowels were suffering along with the rest of my body and I had something unpleasant I needed to get out. While seated in the cubicle, I had a mind to remain there all day, but it wasn’t worth the disciplinary action I’d receive for leaving work early without warning. I evacuated the liquid mess forming inside me and struggled my way back to work, dismayed to discover my bowels were swimming in more liquid filth to replace the amount already removed. I clenched every muscle in my body and prepared for an unpleasant afternoon, all the while conceding that I’d most likely have to give work a miss the next day.

  I was hunched over my desk with my face brushing against my keyboard, wondering if I would pass out and if so, whether anyone would help me. Save for others in the workplace tapping on their keyboards, the room was silent. This is when I heard the chair I was sitting on start to creak. This didn’t bother me at first. Feeling the way I was, my body was most likely swaying of its own volition, which caused the ensuing creak. I tried to push forward with my data entry, but the creaking grew in volume. I had made sure my body was a still as possible, ruling out the possibility I was responsible for the creak. It was more a distraction than anything else, but then, in the silence of the room, the chair beneath me moaned. I tried to remain calm. Delirium was clearly settling in and playing cruel tricks on my brain. The moaning continued. I moved my hands to my ears, but rather than extinguishing the noise, it was merely muffled, making it sound more vulgar somehow. The chair began to gently move back and forward, the moans transforming into a symphony. This wasn’t happening. I had to be imagining this.

  “Fuck yeah, you filthy bitch. Mash that arse into me.”

  I stood up at once and kicked the chair away. Everyone in the room turned to face me.

  “You okay, Worthington?”

  “Did anybody hear that?” I asked.

  They all sat about in slack-jawed confusion, wondering what the devil was wrong with me. The chair was beginning to work its way back toward me.

  “Stay away from me!” I yelled.

  The door to my manager’s office swung open. My manager, Mr. Branderberg, was approaching me with a look of confusion to match those of my co-workers.

  “Worthington… you alright, m’lad? You don’t look so good.”

  “Fuck me, you dirty slut,” said the chair.

  “Did you hear that, sir?” I said to Mr. Branderberg.

  “Don’t keep me waiting. Fuck the grain out of me,” said the chair.

  “You need to go home right now, Worthington. You look dreadful. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

  I shook my head in panic. I had to get out of there. I had to get away from that chair. I had awakened something deplorable within it. Perhaps my relationship with Windsor had made me more attuned to the chairs around me. Perhaps it was delirium as I desperately hoped. Whatever it was, there was thing I was now very sure of. The only chair I could sit on was my Windsor. When one is unfaithful to their partner, the most common method is via sexual activity. With Windsor’s sole means of achieving sexual gratification centred on my sitting on him, how could I then seat myself on other chairs? Sitting down was no longer just a function I performed like any other. It had become an act of intimacy. Within the context of my reality, sitting on other chairs was no different to a man sleeping with a married woman. Windsor was the only chair for me. Anything else would be cheating.

  CHAPTER 14

  I was lying in bed ravaged with fever with poor Windsor trying his best to provide care. There was little he could do other than watch me sink deeper into illness. I had been on the decline for three days without any sign of improvement. Despite the way I was feeling, I had the sense it was worse for Windsor. He spent each second by my side, willing me to recover. I hadn’t yet told him about my experience with the workplace chair. I still wasn’t even positive it actually happened. I wasn’t myself that day and it was possible I had experienced a cruel illusion.

  “My darling, Monty. What on earth is wrong with you?”

  He had asked me this question countless times in the last few days and each time his androgynous voice contained more desperation.

  “There has to be something I can do.”

  “You’re doing… everything… you can… my… love,” I croaked with melodramatic pauses.

  He began to pace around my room, scraping this way and that, lost in thought. I wanted to reach out to him, but I didn’t have the strength.

  “Come to my side, Windsor. Stop pacing.”

  He obeyed my wish and shuffled toward me until I was able to rest my sweaty hand on his seat. I rubbed him gently and Windsor moved away.

  “Not now. Don’t worry about that. There will be plenty of
time after you’re better.”

  My arm hung limp from the bed. It craved the warmth of Windsor’s wood.

  “Monty… there’s something I’ve noticed over the last couple of days that I didn’t know if I should mention. But it’s very out of place and I feel it’s my duty to acknowledge it.”

  I didn’t like his tone of voice. It was imbued with foreboding.

  “What… is it… darling?” I asked.

  “Have you felt your body was somewhat different lately? I mean… apart from the illness, of course?”

  I shook me head and Windsor recommenced his anxious pacing. With his back toward me he had one simple request. “Check your crotch, Monty.”

  I wriggled my way up, attempting to do as he suggested. After about forty minutes, I was in a painful sitting position. I glanced crotchward. There was nothing peculiar about what I saw.

  “What am I supposed to be seeing?” I asked.

  “Pull back the blankets,” he replied.

  Even the miniscule weight of the blanket proved difficult to lift, and it was only in the smallest increments that I was able to do so. Gradually I exposed my body, which shivered as the air attacked it. With one final flourish, I managed to free my crotch. I didn’t like what I saw. My penis was erect, straining to break lose of my under garments. I gasped.

  “It’s been like that for nearly three days,” said Windsor, once more by my side. “I first noticed it while tucking you in. It wasn’t as pronounced as this, but I’ve been monitoring the situation while you slept. It’s been growing steadily. I didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.”

  I didn’t either. This was a horrific discovery. One that I wished had never been brought to my attention. It looked as though it was breathing like some sort of animal. I wanted to be sick, but there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. I wanted to flee this beast, but it was attached to my body, and besides… I was far too weak.

  “Why is this happening, Windsor? Do something. Make it go away.”

  “Monty… if it won’t go away of its own volition, there’s only one thing I can suggest, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “Anything! Make it die!”

  “Do you feel aroused? Are you having dirty thoughts, darling?”

  I didn’t know how to respond to this question. It was preposterous. While it’s true I had never felt aroused, I was quite sure this wasn’t how arousal felt - unless of course, arousal was unmitigated horror. As for dirty thoughts… my mind was so clean you could perform surgery in it.

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  “If my understanding of the human animal is correct, your erection will abate, at least temporarily, if you induce an orgasm.”

  “Have you gone mad? How does one simply ‘induce an orgasm’?”

  “Well… there’s sex of course, but unfortunately sex with me won’t work. Perhaps you could masturbate, Monty.”

  His words hung in the air, thick and putrid. They were words my ears kept hearing, long after they were spoken. I was familiar with the concept of masturbation thanks to the actions of a nasty clown I had witnessed at a circus as a child. I had heard rumours that individuals performed such a thing, but I had convinced myself such rumours were fantasy. Why would one want to? I glanced once more at the horror sprouting from my crotch. It seemed more monstrous than before. It was growing in strength. Perhaps, if it would vanquish the beast, it was worth a try.

  “How exactly does one go about,” my voice fell to a whisper, “masturbating?”

  “I’m not an expert in this department, but I believe the most common means of masturbation is via the hand.”

  I held my hands up and stared at them. On any given day, my hands are the epitome of delicacy, but under the cloud of illness, they were gnarled and feeble. I wondered how on earth I was going to garner the motivation to put my hands through such a frightful act. “Which hand do I have to use? They both look so innocent.”

  “It seems logical that one uses their dominant hand. Try that.”

  I clenched my right hand into a fist and watched as droplets of fever sweat escaped it. I moved the fist downward, battling the muscular ache wrought by my sickness. It brushed past my chest, then my stomach and settled on the intricate curls of my pubis. I was so close to the throbbing crotch animal that I could feel heat wafting like steam. I brushed a knuckle against it and felt a jolt through my body.

  “Do it,” implored Windsor. “Grasp your penis and move your hand up and down.”

  I unclenched my fist, flicking beads of sweat around the room. With the aide of several deep breaths, I held onto the most regrettable part of my body. I felt its heat swim into my palm and it was as if electrical current was moving throughout my body. I jerked upward, screaming as I did. I jerked back down, screaming even louder. I repeated the movement with robotic momentum. Tears started to form in my eyes and as I sped up my movements, I wept like a child. I wept for my innocence. I wept for my superiority. I wept for the death of a cherished part of myself.

  “That’s it, Monty. Let the tears flow. Just don’t stop. Not yet…”

  As I continued, pushed along by Monty’s words of encouragement, I felt a sense of accumulation from within. It’s as though each jerk of my hand were a pump filling up a bucket with liquid. With each jerk, the bucket filled a little more and grew heavier. Never before had I been at the mercy of something so sensory. I was aware of myself in a way I never knew possible. It was a horrifying awareness that I wanted to reverse, but I had passed a point of no return. I had moved into territory that, in exchange for my soul, was offering impossible pleasure. As the bucket continued to fill, the pleasure increased. There was very little room left for more liquid. It was bound to overflow and I didn’t know how I would respond to such a disaster. Spasms shot throughout me, forcing my limbs to kick of their own accord as though possessed. A deafening scream flew out of my mouth, blowing away my bedding and destroying the adjacent wall. For one brief moment, it was as though my consciousness vanished and I was floating through a vacuum. This moment of peace was transcendence. My consciousness exploded back into being just in time to feel the eruption of my penis. Thick ropes of reproductive waste propelled themselves across my stomach, writhing like worms before settling in place. Rope after rope continued to emerge, each one a different colour and length. With one final drizzle accompanied by an array of bubbles, it was over. I passed out with exhaustion and slept like a baby.

  CHAPTER 15

  I woke up from the deepest recesses of sleep, clawing my way out of labyrinth dreams of which there seemed no end. There was vitality within me. The heart of the illness had gone, leaving only traces in its wake. The dried sweat that coated my body was the only suggestion of the fever, which had nearly ruined me hours prior. My persistent nausea had retreated and my aches had transitioned from current to residual. I glanced to my bedside where the ever-faithful Windsor had maintained his vigil.

  “Monty! My darling! How do you feel?” He asked when he saw my signs of life.

  I ran my hands over my face and through my hair. “I feel… good. That is to say, I don’t feel as though I’m in danger of death.”

  Winsdor tilted himself into me and nuzzled with affection. “I was so worried. Thank goodness you’re alright.”

  I rubbed my head against his cleft curve section, a warm smile curling my lips. It was a moment of delectable peace until I remembered the injustice I had performed upon myself the night before. At once I felt the weight of shame crushing me. I ran my fingers over my stomach. The orgasmic slurry was gone. Windsor must have cleaned me up.

  “Oh god… what have I done?” I asked. “I’ve soiled myself irreparably.”

  Windsor hushed me, continuing to nuzzle, trying his best to rid me of the horror. “It’s okay, my love. You are still the same man. You did what was necessary.”

  I rolled out of the nuzzle and stood on weakened feet. It had been a number of days since I had last tried to stand, a
nd I hadn’t eaten a thing. I was depleted. I stumbled out of the bedroom.

  “Monty? Talk to me.”

  He followed me to the bathroom. I didn’t ignore him for spiteful reasons - it was simply that I didn’t know what to say. I splashed freezing water against my face and studied my reflection in the mirror. Perhaps I was expecting to see a stranger staring back at me - that same stranger I had witnessed in the mirror of the bamboo forest toilet block when this beast within first emerged. But other than my dishevelment, it was definitely Montgomery Worthington. What had been lurking inside me that craved release? For how long had I ignored its presence? I was worried that last night’s masturbatory antics were a symptom of something even more pernicious. And perhaps, most worryingly of all, I was beginning to assimilate with this beast, slowly blurring it and myself into one ghastly version of whoever I really was.

  “Please talk to me. We’ll get through this.”

  This had been the second time I had experienced an erection. The first had been… yes… it was starting to make sense now… the first had been during my treatment at Sexualis Delirium. The treatment had introduced some new need into my body. Sustenance had been given to the beast. It stood to reason that if the treatment was able to introduce a need, it could also remove that need and exorcise the beast from my system. I considered this theory for a while and it only made more sense as time went on. They had done something heinous to me, and it was their responsibility to reverse it. Something resembling hope made its presence known, and I welcomed it with open arms. I turned toward Winsdor.

  “It’s going to be okay. I know what to do. This won’t happen again, Windsor. I promise you.”

  “You know what to do? What do you mean, darling?”

  I could sense palpable relief in his voice, which heartened me. I had caused him a great deal of worry over the last few days, something I never wanted to inflict again.