A Pocketful of Mumbles

[Published in The Dream People]

Edwin gets on the bus and chooses to sit next to the girl he would most like to go to bed with. He can tell she doesn't like him being there, and she snobbishly pokes her nose into the air and refuses to flutter her eyelashes. Like all good perverts he undresses her with his imagination. Her skirt is so short it makes him quiver, and he inhales her private smell with relish. Much to his dismay she decides to get off two stops on, and he stands to allow her to leave the bus. He clings to her smell for as long as possible, and promises to recreate her image during his next bout of masturbation.
It's cold outside, and his insides are rumbling for food as he embarks on the final leg of his journey home. He enters the foyer of the tower block and sees dark splashes of piss slashed up the walls. Into his nostrils the odour goes, the same old rigmarole. The lift is working, but that's normal - isn't it? He wonders about normality as he stands in the square moving box. Normality is unique to him - so how could it be classed as normality?
Hunger overcomes this peculiar strand of thought as he steps out of the lift and strides across the windy balcony. Seven floors up and still sane. However do I do it, he conjectures. A key in a lock, a shove of a door, boots on carpeting. An entrance not so dramatic, and yet, Edwin's existence could be regarded as drama, in the sense of kitchen sink, or whatever.
He switches the kettle on and shuffles over to the fridge. Pulling it open, he winces as the light swims into his eyes. There isn't a lot in there, but enough to quell his pathetic pangs. He says fuck off to eeny, meeny, miny and moe, as he loosens his gaze on the one thing that appeals instantly.
Cheese.
Grabbing it, he slams the door shut and sits at the table. He stares at the cellophane, and proceeds to tear it open with his fingers. As he does so he hears tiny cries of anguish and distress. Looking around, he sees nothing untoward. But he still hears the painful weeping. He glances down at the cheese.
"I suppose you're going to eat me now," the cheese says.
"Of course. I'm hungry."
"Even cheese has a soul, didn't you know that?"
"Whatever. I'm still hungry."
Edwin gets up and comes back with bread, margarine and a serrated knife. The piece of cheese starts to scream and shriek. The kettle is boiling.
"Don't cut me up," the cheese pleads, "if I were a woman you wouldn't cut me up."
Edwin smirks, and his eyes twinkle with mischief. "Wanna bet?" He spreads margarine across the bread. Time ticks by.
"Imagine I'm a woman," says the cheese, "all fresh and sexy. Don't I smell nice? Don't you want to go to bed with me? We could be so good together. Just imagine it."
Edwin stops, and gets up to make a drink. He has an erection. He stirs his coffee endlessly, until the spoon is tired and wishes to drop off to sleep. He then walks over to the table, wraps the cheese back up in the cellophane, and pushes it back into the fridge. Taking his drink into the bedroom, he lies on the bed and masturbates. He doesn't think of the girl on the bus. He thinks of the cheese. And afterwards, he is still hungry.
"I like to watch you eat," says the piece of cheese, "you have nice teeth."
Edwin has never known normality, oh no. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. His world is strange, with odd things occurring most of the time. But then, they are only odd to other people. To him, they are commonplace - his own particular shot of normality.
He chomps at the sandwich (ham and pickle). Neither of these cried out to him, neither of them begged not to be devoured. He deduced that they had no souls, and so he now feasts on them. His insides rest more comfortably now that nourishment is sliding down his gullet. His coffee is now cold, but he still takes a swig, splashing it haphazardly around his gums.
"What are you doing tonight?" asks the cheese. "I quite fancy a movie. Can we watch a movie? Please?"
Edwin chews as he looks at the cheese. It's quite an attractive piece of cheese, a chunky figure with no holes and no crumbly bits around the edges. This cheese has certainly looked after itself.
"I'll get a video," he says, and continues attacking the ham and pickle with his nice teeth.

They are on the couch, watching the video. Edwin has a cold bottle of lager in his hand. It's quite an engaging film, but Edwin's thoughts are elsewhere. He's thinking about later, when the lights get low, and a pervert's dreams turn to fancy.
"This is a really good film," the cheese says suddenly, "I'm really enjoying this. It's a bit hot in here though. Will you take off my wrapping?"
Edwin slugs a mouthful of lager, then places the bottle on the cum-stained carpet and reaches across to the cheese. He slips the cellophane away, and tosses it over the back of the couch. The cheese is now naked, and snuggles right up to Edwin, pressing its chunky body against his shoulder. Edwin feels randy.
Images swarm around inside Edwin's head. He's seen some beautiful women today, spied on some absolutely gorgeous females. He can feel the cheese, so close to him, so incredibly alluring. He is desperate to appease his sexual appetite. The cheese is so exquisite, so wonderful and fabulous. His penis is bobbing around inside his jeans.
"Do you want to fuck me?" whispers the cheese.
Edwin fucks the cheese.

"It's so quiet," the cheese proclaims, "almost like being in the fridge. But I like it better here."
Edwin looks across at the piece of cheese on the pillow beside him. It's three days since he took it out, and it's radiating some kind of awful smell. He feels that he should put it back, but considers how fulfilling his existence has become. Great sex, great sex, great.. sex. What more could a pervert require?
"I don't like those curtains," the cheese mutters, "those curtains really must go."
Edwin glances at the curtains. He can see nothing wrong with them, and besides, what does it matter? Curtains are curtains, surely.
The cheese reaches across to stroke his penis. Moments later they have sexual intercourse, Edwin on top. So fulfilling, so unique. Edwin lays back, and sinks into his dreams, smiling.

Edwin gets home and steps into the kitchen. He has just been watching a fortysomething female in a tight white top, cut incredibly low. She has large breasts, this he recalls vividly. He feels as randy as hell. He searches for the cheese, as his erection grows steadily.
"Where have you been till this time?" he hears the cheese cry out.
It is on the table, looking up at him. It doesn't appear as attractive any more. It has begun to melt away, to lose its shape, moulds of fat hanging around its midriff and chunks chipped away to nowhere. And it stinks. Edwin slumps into a chair at the table.
"Look at the dust on this table," the cheese declares, "don't you ever clean up in here?"
"I'm hungry," Edwin mumbles.
"Hungry? Is that all you think about? That and your penis? If you want something to eat I suggest you go out and buy some food. You can't expect me to do all the cooking, you know."
Edwin lets out a troubled sigh, and slides out of the chair. He leaves the cheese's rambling voice behind as he slinks out of the flat and toddles off to the pub, where he spends the evening indulging in alcohol. It makes him feel much better. He converses with other men, ones who exist in a normal world, surrounded by normality. Somehow he envies them all.
Finely inebriated, he walks home in the dark, stopping to gaze at lights in upstairs windows. Always the peeping tom. Much to his pleasure, he spots a young girl, no more than fourteen or fifteen years of age, undressing with the curtains open wide. A streamer of spittle hangs from his bottom lip as he observes. Her waist is a marvel, so thin and tight, puppy thighs and pert breasts. He saves the image in his head as he continues his journey home.
When he arrives in the flat the cheese is already in bed. It makes no sound as he undresses and slides into bed, penis poised and pointing. They have sex, although Edwin senses that the cheese is not enjoying the act. Inside his head is a smorgasbord of dreams, darting and flashing around like agitated eels. His orgasm is intense. And as he spurts and spurts, he thinks not about the cheese, but the girl in the window.

Morning comes, and he carries the cheese into the kitchen. A crazy stench surrounds it. He switches the kettle on, and listens to the endless barking and jabbering that comes from the mouth of his bosom companion.
"Where did you go last night? Why did you leave me here alone? You don't care about me any more - you don't love me any more!"
Love? Is that what this is, thinks Edwin. And is it normal to love? He makes two coffees and takes them over to the table. Still the cheese is spitting words at him. He feels dizzy, his mind is spinning. The cheese looks terrible. He gets up and opens the drawer, snatches a long serrated knife, and returns to the table. He strips the cellophane from the cheese, exposes its ugliness to the room.
"You used to be so beautiful," he murmurs, as if half-dozing.
And he begins to slice into the cheese. It yells out, as the pain stabs into its very being. Edwin starts to cry, tears crawling down his cheeks.
"Don't do this," the cheese begs, "you can't do this to me. We need each other. The world is so cruel, such a lonely place. You rescued me, Edwin - gave me a life. You rescued me from that horrible den inside the fridge. There I was, all alone, waiting. And you came. You rescued me. You gave me a life. It's all I ever wanted. Please don't do this..."
But Edwin doesn't stop. He carries on until the cheese is completely sliced up, mutilated and unrecognisable. The smell is dreadful. It doesn't speak to him any more. He gathers its remains and wraps them in the cellophane, then tosses them into the waste disposal. He has never killed before.
Still weeping, he pulls a large tube of cellophane from out of the cupboard. He takes off all his clothes, and wraps himself in the cellophane. The he tugs open the fridge door and climbs inside, pulling it shut behind him. It's cold. And he's still waiting.