Matthew Revert - The Tumours Made Me Interesting

By the end, I was wearing their fingerprints like a body stocking and feeling exhausted. Fiona kindly gave me a handful of recuperative Minties, which, truth be told, didn’t really satisfy me. I was made to sign copies of a book I hadn’t even read let alone written. I tried telling a couple of people this, but they weren’t concerned. What kept me going, no matter how depleted I felt mentally and physically, was the thought of me at Fiona’s house. I had no idea where this encounter would lead, but there was a possibility it would involve mutual nudity. My tumours made me interesting to her — they made me interesting to everyone in the room. I had found my niche and I was prepared to milk it. If I was going to die, I was going to die as someone important.

Fiona’s home wasn’t what I was expecting. The events leading up to this encounter convinced me that she must reside in some esoteric mansion, secluded from the life as I understood it. This wasn’t the case. Her home was humble, almost welcoming. The front door was decorated with a trite ‘welcome friends’ sign. Her confident sense of self was beginning to wane a bit and she almost looked bashful as she held the front door open for me. This unnerved me. If this was going to result in sex, I really needed her to take charge. There was no way I could solicit it. I wasn’t capable of initiating something of this magnitude. The bashful Fiona may have made for a more comfortable conversational partner, but it didn’t bode well for my fantasies of her throwing me to the ground and riding me like public transport.

The smell of cat food permeated her home, which I responded to with an involuntary nose scrunch.

“Sorry if it smells a bit in here,” she said. “It’s just the cat's in here during the day and the place gets a little stuffy.”

“It’s fine. Mind if I smoke?”

“Please do. In fact, I might even join you.”

I tapped two cigarettes from the pack and handed her one. We moved to the lounge room and smoked in loaded silence. I had no idea where her confidence had gone. She coughed and spluttered as the smoke entered her. It surprised me. Was she even a smoker? Why did she give me cigarettes in the first place? A white cat appeared from behind my chair and started rubbing up against my leg. It walked semi-circles around my calves, filling me with pleasant tingles.

“What’s its name?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

“It doesn’t have one. It doesn’t seem right to name animals.”

“How do you get its attention?”

“I just have to think about her and she comes. Cats are good like that.”

Once more we fell into silence. The faint purr of the nameless cat tickled my ears.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” she finally said, filling me with something resembling hope.

“That would be an understatement,” I replied in an understated way.

“Well, ask away. I’ll be as open as I can be.”

I didn’t know where to start. I almost wished for the silence to return. The questions were churning around inside me but I was afraid to ask them. I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answers. “Why are you so nervous?” I eventually asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her thighs until smoke wafted from beneath her palms. “You have to understand… in many ways, my life has led up to this moment. Do you remember that episode of Road Runner where the coyote actually manages to catch it?”

I knew it well but shook my head anyway, not wanting to seem like the nerd I was.

“Well,” she continued, “the coyote has dedicated his life to one goal: capturing the roadrunner. When he finally achieves this, he doesn’t know what to do. All he can identify with is the chase. Well… I now feel as if the chase is over. I’ve found you.”

The frenetic thigh rubbing had sparked a little fire on Fiona’s skirt. She excused herself and left the room. The nameless cat dug its claws into my leg and began a painful ascent toward my lap where it curled into a soft ball. I motioned to stroke it but was met with a hiss. I let it be. Fiona returned with doused singe marks and a tray of biscuits.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“I want to help you. I want you to realise your full potential.”

I didn’t have it in me to respond and instead sucked down cigarette after cigarette. The ash snowed down on the sleeping cat. Somebody had to make a move and historically speaking, it wasn’t going to be me. Moments earlier Fiona had mentioned her cat would come simply by thinking about her. With this in mind, I threw sexually desirous thoughts at Fiona… pummeling her with a storm of indecency, hoping she’d hear and respond.

“Take off your clothes, Bruce.”

The request blindsided me. Although probably just a coincidence, I couldn’t help thinking that my mental desperation had worked. My lips released the cigarette, which fell on the cat, setting it on fire and burning it from its slumber. It extinguished the flames with a diligent tongue and swallowed the butt. What a good kitty, I thought. When I stood up, the cat flopped to the ground, landing on its back and writhing like a capsized turtle. I kicked my shoes off, sending them careening through the nearest wall, which coughed up plaster dust upon impact. I maneuvered out of my shirt, catching my face on the neck-hole and nearly breaking my nose. Fiona helped me with the pants. She knelt before me in a fellatio position and worked them down. When they were at my ankles, I tried stepping out of them but only succeeded in tripping backward and hitting my head on an empty aquarium. The dead, dried fish lining the bottom fluttered out around me. I scooped glass and dead fish dust from my bleeding eyes as Fiona tugged my pants away. Clearly assuming I no longer had what it took to complete the task myself, she removed my underpants for me too. Holding them in a disgusted finger pinch, she hurled them out the window, where it blinded a passing paperboy and sent him into the path of a garbage truck that smeared him across the road.

Despite the calamity, I still managed to sport a healthy erection, which seemed to follow Fiona’s movements like the eyes of a haunted portrait. This was it. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones. I was going to have sex with a real woman. The self pity from endless hours spent masturbating to progressively more deranged internet pornography evaporated. I now looked upon it as rehearsal — as training. Fiona wasn’t taking her clothes off, but that was okay. She could keep the skirt on if she wanted. The lack of visual penetrative stimuli would probably help me hold out longer. This was potentially the last time I would ever have sex and I didn’t want it to end with premature pubescent disappointment.

Fiona left the room. Perhaps to change into something kinky , I thought. It took all my willpower not to grab my cock right there and tug away. When she returned, she was holding a length of clear plastic tubing. She flashed me a smile — much bigger than usual — and twirled the tubing above her head. That wilting vulnerability she had possessed upon entering her home was no longer present. Had it been some strange act?

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Do you want me to help you reach your full potential?”

I nodded.

“Will you let me do to you as I wish?”

I nodded again, my cock in danger of throbbing its way to involuntary orgasm.

“Get on all fours, baby.”

I did as I was told, lost in the moment, enslaved to Fiona’s whim. She ran her fingernails over my back, sending shudders through every zone in my body. Use me, I thought. I’m yours .