Cynthia
Cynthia was small, fat, and incredibly glamorous, apparently effortlessly. She bought the cheapest clothes she could find, was usually in combat trousers and a hoodie, and had a deeply unfashionable raw food diet, which made her glow like a beacon.
She was also, despite her mother's recent death, usually the most cheerful person in any given room, which usually got her fired. She had been fired this year three times, not once because of her work. Once, because her bosses were American, and believed that the corporation should determine your politics, at least in public, because that is what they had been told to believe.
The second time, it was because a manager had mistaken her for a naïve submissive, and his wish to place his genitals in her mouth was so great that he could not manage a conversation, therefore he spent his time trying to find methods of frightening her in the hope that she would seek his protection. He finally managed it by getting his co-worker, a beautiful Hindu man, to make repeated complaints about Cynthia breathing, speaking, moving, or anything else he could dream up until the company got fed up listening to it and permanently destroyed any possibility of her working for them again.
The final time she wasn't strictly fired, but refused to return to work because a female manager was jealous of her, and had tried to depress her into being ordinary by making complaints about her, again not work related. Cynthia did not like that. Cynthia planned to spend the rest of her life persuading people to be more like her, and less like them. Cynthia devoted some time to kicking the manager into touch, without risking depression by actually being there.
And so it was that Cynthia reached the age of 48 thoroughly pissed off with convention. She was a small, shy, grieving shiny bauble to be smashed by anyone who felt like it.
“No, I tried voyeurism and it was terribly boring. I do have really weird ideas though, always have had.” Cynthia looked back at her embroidery.
“Well, I kind of gathered that, you were the shyest and most unlikely polyamorist I know.” Lorne went back to the casserole pot for his fourth helping. “This vegetable thing is amazing. I don't even like vegetables.”
“You should have a rather flatulent night, and then you will feel a lot better. I think you should probably try the vibrator trick though.”
“Stick it up my ass and go to sleep you mean?”
“Yeah I am a bit tired of you stinking out the car. It is a bit of a bore driving around with all the windows open.” Cynthia grimaced. “You might sleep better. Then I won't have to listen to you whinging as well as exuding the vile smell of rancid meat. Anyway, I am a retired polyamorist. You can't be a polyamorist with no partners.” She smiled into her sewing. “I wonder if a vibrating butt plug or egg thing might help you?”
“Dear God, no. They all assume I'm gay as it is. A butt plug won't help.” Lorne looked aghast.
“How many people are you showing your ass to?”
“Um, true. What if I get run over?”
“Ah, the clean underwear argument. The likelihood of you being run over is significantly reduced by the fact you never go out, Lorne, so I think you will be fine.” Cynthia selected another colour from her wool box. “Anyway, I shall be dropping you off at your home today, I want to go and whisper sweet nothings to my lovely pet porn star.”
“You are a very strange girl, aren't you?”
“No, I think this fits perfectly with my historic thoughts about relationships actually. Perhaps I am in development mode.” Cynthia put her sewing down. “I don't suppose I have ever told you, have I?”
“No, we didn't really talk about things like that.” Lorne looked a bit guilty.
“What would have been the point? Our relationship has always been about other things. I was with one boyfriend who didn't even know what music I liked for two years, so I frequently find that the people I waste time on know nothing about me. Why do you suppose that is?”
“I'm guessing because you don't actually talk that much.” Lorne looked sheepish. Evidently he was in the guilty phase of his emotional cycle, preceding the usual victim phase he seemed to enjoy. Cynthia was used to it.
“How big of you to notice.” Cynthia looked back into the wool bag, and selected a new shade. She was working on a chair, a beautiful crescent was forming on the top.
“Don't you think it is a wee bit minaret-like for a Hindu?”
“Who cares? Little Shiva would complain anyway, he only knows how to destroy things and whine, apparently. He has no Parvati, that is what is wrong with him. I can't help him with that.” Cynthia was referring to the rather nasty young man who had assisted the manager on job number two to achieve her come-uppance for not wanting to spend her life in Yorkshire being molested by a giant. She was now banned from working for a bank, a financial services company, and a contract agency as a result.
“Are you going to tell me your weird ideas about relationships then?”
“I don't see the point, Lorne. We have been friends for nearly two decades now, despite the obvious reasons why we shouldn't have bothered. It is not like it is suddenly going to turn into a romance now, is it?” Cynthia finished the basketweave section of her sewing, and began to sculpt an enormous rope along the side.
“They're all racist anyway. You think its only white people that are racist?” Lorne looked slightly cross.
“You think I don't know a racist when I come across one? The game is to jump up and down on the line in the hope of breaking it. That's if you care enough to bother. I take people as I find them, and generally speaking, that makes me dangerously progressive. It's always worth completely ignoring negatives. Little Shiva was beautiful.”
“Little Shiva was perfectly ordinary, I've seen the pictures. He doesn't even sound very bright.”
“Well, it's all over with now, isn't I?. He came, he saw, he destroyed. I am sure his horrible wife will be very happy with him, the next time, and the time after that, now that he knows he isn't happy. If only he had mentioned her rather than degrading me, this could have been avoided but too bad, how sad.” Cynthia was finding it difficult to speak, she was so close to tears. Lorne decided to change the subject.
“So, now, what about the porn star?” Lorne hoped that this would cheer her up. She seemed happier with strange things.
“He's very kind. I don't trust people with shame issues any more. He clearly doesn't have them.”
“He makes a living bonking people?”
“So what? How many relationships have I had based on sex? The whole deal about having a bunch of exs around for years was that the sex wasn't the point at all. You think a porn star gets home from work and wants to bonk?” Cynthia glanced over, faintly irritated.
“I don't suppose he does. It wouldn't bother you, then?” Lorne frowned.
“Not really, no. I just want somebody to talk to that isn't full of shit. I've met a lot of people who have appeared to be sane this year, and none of them were. Venal and worthless, as an apparent rule. I think it must be TV that is doing it to them. I can't think what else they are doing that I'm not.”
“It's not TV anymore, its Netflix.” Lorne laughed.
“Pumping their heads full of selfish self-limiting bile. Same difference.” Cynthia handed Lorne her work to hold up and walked to the other side of the room, looking over the colour blend. “Ok yeah, that's working. I wonder what I will come up with for the porn star?” She returned to her seat, taking the shell of the chair from Lorne. “Oh yes, I could do that lovely big footstool with the wheels. That would be extremely useful if you were having a lot of sex.”
“Are you planning to have a lot of sex?”
“I suppose I could if I wanted to? What would happen to the artwork though?” Cynthia turned the chair shell over in her hands, chopping off a bunch of lopsided loops to reveal a gob of perfectly differentiated colour, almost as if she had blobbed it on like paint. “I'm not really over Little Shiva.”
“I know. He's a fool, though, and a dangerous fool at that.”
“He certainly needs to get away from that sadist and probably his wife, but I feel more protective than anything else. He is a poor soul. I can't help him.” Cynthia repeated, looking glum. “Shame is like a disease with some people. I'm talking to the mosque at the moment, by the way.”
“What on earth are you talking to the mosque about? Is that wise?” Lorne looked alarmed. Like most people who aren't Muslim, he found Islam terrifying.
“I am proposing to do a piece of work involving some rather challenging issues, and I want to be sure that I have taken advice.” Cynthia looked resolute. “I also need a cameraman, and you won't do it.” she looked reproachful. Lorne was suitably chastened. “I'm fed up being held back. Look at that lovely porn star. If he sat and overthought that, he wouldn't be doing it. I admire his spunk.” Cynthia doubled over with giggles.
“I'll bet.” Lorne tightly smiled. He preferred to do the jokes. Cynthia wisely ignored him.
Three hours later, Cynthia dropped Lorne off at his home and returned to hoover, feed the cats, tidy up and talk to her lovely new friend.
“Hello.” the chat box blinked. “Joanna was a bit glum, wasn't she?” Cynthia was referring to a co-star of her new friend.
“Uff, hungover I think.” Hornydevil231 replied. “I am not sure how people get through life having such bad sex without drinking, at least.” Cynthia imagined him rolling his theoretically beautiful eyes.
“You know, I think all prospective brides should be restrained and sit-in on the groom's bonking. It is one of my many idiosyncrasies.”
“How odd? Why?” Hornydevil321 was astonished at this admission.
“Because all men lie, and usually sex is involved somewhere along the line. They appear to be at a natural disadvantage. If you accept the disadvantage, then there is nothing to fight about.”
Cynthia typed very fast, he noted, but he was forced to admit that she was probably right. If one could simply tell the truth with impunity, however, would there be no privacy? In his culture, the problem was always extended family. You couldn't tell anybody anything without it coming back, embellished via some cousin. Then the other family might become involved, there would be a huge quarrel, probably involving money or business, it was all terribly exhausting and stressful. If the problem was an errant partner, why not remove the problem at the root, so to speak?
Having said that, women were often unfaithful too, he met them all the time in his line of work, so he felt a little affronted at Cynthia placing blame at the male door. He felt he ought to object.
“Women are cheats too.” he started, feeling a little put out.
“Gosh yes, I know, but speaking as a very faithful person, I tend to forget altogether. I think a bit of dominance solves that problem, so I'm really making a majority statement rather than a generalisation I think?” Cynthia was probing to see if Hornydevil231 could come up with an even better answer to it. She wondered if he would know. “Perhaps it could depend on the situation?”
“People often don't know for a long time though. They change. What if all the guy wants is to worship his wife's luscious feet, and he doesn't know until his forties, for example?” Hornydevil231 was delighted with his equally fetishistic response. What would she say next?
“Well I think we can see from this site, that people deal with that all the time. I certainly wouldn't come up with that, although I can imagine being quite pleased if someone else did. I was just thinking from the perspective of youth, I guess? Men tend to be lustier and less trustworthy in youth, and need prodding into life after 45 or so. I think nature probably takes care of that better than social convention. My friend Lorne says that all men are really for is fighting and fucking.”
“He is probably right about that, although we express it more in financial terms these days. I am more interested in which elements of submission that women choose though, in case you hadn't already gathered that.” Hornydevil231 chuckled. “I keep statistics, in fact, if you are interested?”
“Golly yes I would love to see those.” Cynthia was wild with excitement. “How marvellous!”
“I may delineate by country, eventually, too, but I don't have enough yet. What age were you when you knew you were a bit, um, kinky?”
“About 5. I spanked my female friend.” Cynthia remembered this with some embarrassment. “It runs pretty deep. How much fun is your job?”
“On here? It is charming. I get to meet a wide variety of women, and I like women. They don't scare me any more, at least.”
“They scared you before?” Cynthia was surprised. He seemed so urbane.
“They made me very nervous. Now I find that I am calmer, I seem to be more attractive. Humans are complicated.” Hornydevil231 mused “You should do something similar, maybe have some naughty casual sex?”
“I should, but I probably won't. People are scary.” Cynthia did not like to admit this. “They always find ways of causing problems.” She tugged at her bloomers, pulling the frill down below the top of her boots, trying to focus on the blinking cursor that indicated him typing an answer.
“Problems?”
“It's probably best I don't talk about it.” Cynthia felt a tear. She turned the music up, which always seemed to help. “I find ignoring them entirely makes me more attractive, personally.”
“Aloof.”
“Not really. Terrified would be closer to the mark, but don't tell anyone, they don't know.” Cynthia laughed. “Just keep wearing the shades and dancing like you just don't care, that's my motto.”