Authors: Matthew Revert
…
I sat on Windsor, reading a book about prenatal etiquette. This was a strategy we devised in order to make such situations easier for me to handle. It was a means of distancing myself from Windsor’s sexuality while attending to it at the same time. Absorbing myself in the reading material was proving difficult. Despite Windsor’s attempt to minimise his satisfaction, he couldn’t help but moan, gasp or move on occasion. I didn’t begrudge him this. A large part of our compromise depended on my understanding, and it would have been insulting not to honour that by complaining about his sexual manifestations. With time, I had plans to appreciate his orgasmic moans and movements. I wanted to appreciate his needs and my role in facilitating them. He had already shown a great deal of restraint thus far, having kept the vulgarity down to a bare minimum. This was all the proof I needed that his intentions toward me were respectful. The important thing above all else was that Windsor and I were together once more.
We didn’t jump directly back to his coital fancies. It took time for me to work up the gumption. Memories of my prior violation proved difficult to forget… for both of us. Windsor seemed as reluctant as I to feel the kiss of my backside. Instead we talked. We delved deeper into each other
than we ever had before, excavating the hidden elements that truly made us who we were. Rather than shying away from these long buried relics of our essential selves, we dusted them off and allowed the other to embrace them.
Our time apart had watered the garden of our love, so that when we reunited, it was with blooming flowers of affection. It may surprise you to know that it was me who first suggested I try sitting on Windsor again. He worried I was merely capitulating to his whim, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. If anything, I was capitulating to a part of myself. I was letting go of a barrier that had only caused me pain. Just because I avoided sex didn’t mean the rest of the world had to. Whether I liked it or not, sex was an intrinsic part of life, and attempting to stand in its way was madness on my part. Perhaps my experience at Sexualis Delirium had been beneficial after all. My superiority was a gift and not a weapon to use against others. Understanding this was one of those defining moments life sometimes throws your way. I could use my pedestal not to look down my nose at others, but to help lift others up.
This hypnotic stage of early romance consumed me. For weeks I would meet Windsor after work. He and I would take walks, indulge in fine dining and, every few days, he and I would go back to his place where I would spend some time sitting on him while reading from Windsor’s delectable library. With each new sexual liaison, I grew more comfortable. I found myself ignoring his moans in favour of the words before me. This comfort gained in power until I found myself dozing off on his seat and waking hours later, caked in the slime of Windsor’s orgasm. I didn’t mind this. The smell was favourable to me, similar to pipe tobacco and evocative of class.
“I have something I’d like to talk to you about, Monty,” said Windsor one night in the comfort of his home. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a little while now, and I owe it to you to unburden myself of.”
There was gravity in his voice, and I immediately became worried that perhaps Windsor was seeking the backside of another man, perhaps while I was at work. I didn’t want him to continue, lest my worst fears came true, but I found myself responding with, “go on,” instead. He altered his position until I was staring directly into his cleft curved section.
“Well… you and I have been seeing each other for a while now, and I don’t want to speak for you, but I can honestly say I’ve never been happier.”
My nerves dissipated and that little-acknowledged, but beautiful feeling of relief replaced it. “Yes, dear. The last couple of months have been the best of my life. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the extent of my happiness.”
“Oh good!” exclaimed Windsor, as if he were worried my feelings weren’t as strong as his own. “Well… as I’m want to do, I have a proposal for you. One that I hope you’ll seriously consider.”
“Propose away, my good man.”
“I have this wonderful, thoroughly impossible apartment. It’s too big for me. I don’t even utilise the greater part of it. Chairs don’t need a great deal in order to maintain their existence. How would you feel about moving in with me?”
My eyes widened, and the beat of my heart pummelled against my chest.
“It’s okay, Monty. You don’t have to make a decision now,” said Windsor with desperation, obviously noticing my surprise and assuming it was negative. “I’m so sorry… I spoke too soon. Of course you’re not ready. How stupid of me.”
I held up a quieting finger and, in the absence of a mouth, pressed it against Windsor’s seat. “Hush now, my darling. I would be deeply honoured to live in this amazing home with you. I can think of nothing on this earth that would make me happier.”
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?”