Type

I don't really have a type.
Sometimes it bothers me.
Mostly, I don't think about it at all.
I'm thinking about it right now - sort of.
Except I keep getting sidelined, investigating this mysterious noise.
It's a good one: a kind of scratching or scrabbling - like rats running between the ceiling and the floor. Their little claws scritch scratch over wood. Or - this is better - some Victorian kiddy ghost, a child fading out in a blocked up cupboard.

My favourite story when I was a kid was Edgar Allen Poe's The Cask of Amontillado, so I'm hardly likely to pass on the chance to investigate the potentially sinister origins of a mysterious noise.

I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation

is my favourite line; or maybe this other part that just says Ugh! fifteen times.

It's supposed to be a cough. It seems like it's gonna be this real significant part of the story, something that's the key to the meaning of the whole thing - only it isn't. It's just a guy with a cough.

Ugh! (x15)

It's kind of like the mystery noise in this story.

My friend said to me last week: "I'm not even your type"
Me: "I don't have a type"

I'm doing this really unattractive spitting thing with my finger and thumb in my mouth, trying to untangle my hair from my teeth. It's pretty wedged in. It feels like an unfeasibly large amount of hair, but that could be the mushrooms I ate several hours before.
It occurs to me that doing something so unappealing immediately after sex could be construed as really, really impolite - so I make a kind of demi- veil with my other hand. I'm hoping the uncovered part of my face looks sexy and engaged. It probably doesn't.

We end up fucking maybe four or five times a year. It's usually a result of some accident of convenience and proximity I guess.

(for him)

and I'm pretty obliging and not really - bothered?

This really pisses him off sometimes - like now:

"it doesn't mean anything to you, does it?"

kind of in disgust

" we could be - “he’s looking around the room, like for inspiration.

"eating toast, or watching TV"

he's looking at his girlfriend - she's pretty fast asleep though.

“I really like watching TV with you"

I say, quietly - I don't want to wake her up.
He looks very confused and aroused or something.

"I like the way you heckle all the time, under your breath"

this last is muffled by his cock in my mouth. I'm trying to give him this ultra-professional head as a kind of apology, but my hair keeps getting in my mouth and wrapping itself around my teeth and tongue.

Ugh! (x15)

My friend is very beautiful. I want to point out that I'm aware of this, in an abstract kind of way.

He's gathering my hair into some kind of clump and holding it there, more or less securely, with both hands.

That's better

Feeling much more streamlined and efficient

He makes this gentle noise; it’s like the kind of noise you’d make if someone simultaneously punched you in the stomach and put a really nice piece of cake in your mouth.

“mmm Ugh! (x1)

It’s nice

And I’m warm and present; although my left hand seems kind of spongy it’s very easy to classify this as a hallucinatory effect – it doesn’t really make me anxious at all.

“It’s like in your writing – “

“huh?”

It doesn’t seem the appropriate moment for literary criticism, plus I’m deflated some that whatever I’m doing isn’t involving enough to distract him from attempting it.

Should I stop; or what?

“ – you focus on sex – like – a lot – but then you’re determined to come across as – wow – uh completely detached and uninterested except in this abstract, analytical way – wait!”

He jerks my head back swift firm and I’m looking at his face as he speaks –

“why do you see yourself as this person who –? “

I scramble for his mouth

And cover it

“sh-shut the fuck up”

(it’s ok; we’ve been friends for at least 2 years)

and I’m glad my hand is over his mouth when he comes

no-one wakes up or anything

I’m walking off in search of water, careful, wavering baby steps. His come tastes all dark and organic, like peat maybe?

Ugh! (x abt 4)

I’m not sure if this taste is the tripping thing or not. I need to rinse either way.

My friend whispers; “don’t you want me to –?”

Trying to move away fast, but it’s challenging with all these people on the floor and the walk messages from my brain getting distracted before they reach my leg muscles.

It’s kind of funny.

“I’m not even your type”

Doesn’t concern me then

But it does now – sort of

Edgar Allen Poe had a type, I’m sure –

Scritch scratch

I’m inching along the corridor, lightly tapping the wall. When the nature of the sound seems to change I crouch down and scrabble with the tips of my fingers, a patch just above the skirting boards. Peel back the paper, the plasterboard –

There’s nothing here

I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be.

Just some quantity of dust – straw and plaster and old mortar, it makes me cough

Ugh! (x15)

- his type would’ve been a dead or dying adolescent, preferably with a vagina full of little white teeth.