I have been living horizontally for four weeks now. Having only a mattress in my room, no desk, no wardrobe, no bookcase, I spend the majority of my time face upward, fancying only a pencil long enough with which to doodle on the ceiling. Given the distance, It’d probably be difficult to draw with any great degree of accuracy, but I’d try all the same; perhaps a round of tic-tac-toe, perhaps a goldfish, perhaps an abstract concept like “humility”. I have no other furniture at this time because I’ve recently moved house, and not, as you may have assumed, because I prefer the Spartan way of life. I don’t mind this relative austerity though, for, in other news, I’m now in a new relationship! We spend almost every night together, enwrapped in somnolent fantasies which the high humidity does little to suppress. She is kind, warm, soft, and most importantly, forgiving: once, when we were just getting to know each other, I had the misfortune of spilling a glass of red-wine all over her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. Of course I apologised profusely, but she, not one to make a fuss about anything, simply got changed into something else.
I met her only a little while ago at a friend’s garage sale. After seeing her there, and practically falling head over heals at first sight, I asked my friend, in such embarrassed, juvenile tones, if she was with anyone, or if anyone else was interested in her. Getting the all clear, I sat with her for a time, during which we got along great. We ended up at my new place together that very night. I was nervous, but she seemed relaxed and willing, encouraging even. I turned off the lights and held her tight, she welcoming me into her beautiful, full-bodied form.
I should admit that she is a little big: her girth is nearly twice mine, and though I am a skinny little muppet, she could stand to lose some weight. Not that I’d ever consider mentioning this to her. She’s usually quite taciturn, but I know that if I was to say anything, you know, something along the lines of, “Hey, I was thinking of joining a gym, would you consider coming with me sometime?”, she’d instantly guess, and rightly so, that I was insinuating some excess baggage. She’d clam up then for weeks, not a word would I get out of her. I don’t mind the fact that she doesn’t speak much (at all really; in fact, friends of mine have asked me if she is even capable of speech!). We spend our time together happily enough with a book or two, some old movies, sometimes a home-cooked meal. Even times I’ll sing to her, strum a little ditty on my guitar, maybe an old Cash number (I have a pretty good baritone), or her favourite, Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay.
I'm aware that I can be difficult to be with sometimes, but I know that she'll always be there for me; she's so supportive, caring. She's got my back, I know that too. We went through a bit of a rough patch a few weeks ago; I should tell you about that. I threw a little housewarming party for myself and invited a bunch of friends around. After drinking perhaps a little too much wine I fell asleep in the lounge room, leaving one of my very best friends, who had intended to stay the night on the couch, with little choice but to crash in my room. She was there too, of course, and I awoke the next morning to find that they had spent the night together. He insisted that nothing had happened, and I believed him, but it pained me to know that they had shared a room without my knowing. I'm the jealous type I guess. I got a bit upset and accused him of things which I should've full well known he wouldn't consider doing. It's taken me some time to repair my relationship with both him and her, and I feel a bit of a git about the whole thing: it was me after all who had passed out and neglected them both.
Things are fine now though, great even. Like I said, we spend a lot of time together, perhaps too much. I work early in the mornings and find it so difficult to drag myself away from her then. I could lie there forever, feeling safe, sound and warm. She's here now as I write this, just the two of us in my barely furnished room, nothing else. I don't think I'll ever give her up, my sweet, softly-spoken, softly-yielding mattress.
Last edit: 2012-03-23 07:15:05
Clip, clop, Camelot.
RaiD.RaynoR United States. March 20 2012 00:49. Posts 284
She is kind, warm, soft, and most importantly, forgiving: once, when we were just getting to know each other, I had the misfortune of spilling a glass of red-wine all over her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. Of course I apologised profusely, but she, not one to make a fuss about anything, simply got changed into something else.
I was toying with the fact that "she" was a mattress. Nice.