Freud woke up from his siesta. He arched his back and let out a sigh. Relief coursed through his veins. He got up and came out of the bed. Looking back he saw his bareback partner sleeping peacefully. He smirked. He liked scoring chicks. He liked the smell of their pheromones, the way everybody seemed to open up themselves to him, akin to offering the self to a deity or some higher purpose. And he excelled at the portrayal of someone with a God complex.
Here I should give a brief backdrop of the whole scenario. Freud has been my roommate for a month. The previous one had to leave because of some family issue that I didn’t know about. I thought of putting out an ad. But one fine day Freud arrived before I could send out any ad. He came on his own accord. He told me that he has felt that this place was where he was meant to be. His luggage was very less, as if he carried no attachments behind. The very next day, as I walked into the living room, I saw a lady walk past me towards the door. The walk of shame was etched across her gait. And by the sofa, Freud was beaming with his balls out, achievement exuding like an aura around him.
Since then Freud has never ceased to amaze me with his unabated sexuality. Wherefrom he got the energy I never knew and could never understand. Me, I am satisfied with my one and only beloved. But Freud, I tell you, is like the God of sex reincarnated. At times, even I fear to bring my girl anywhere near him, lest he would start his gimmicks and bed her. Yes, my confidence has been shattered to dust by this person.
I never saw Freud do any work, let alone go for a job. Wherefrom he got the means to sustain his leisurely activities I wondered. That brings us to today. I have finally decided to see for myself what he is upto. He seems to be a shady enough character to me. I have decided to tail him throughout the day. I have come out early and going around the house, i am waiting at the backside of the house and peering inside through the glass panes. Freud is visible. He always has an air of frank narcissism about him, and so he jauntily goes out of the house at 10, ready for the day ahead. The first thing he does is to cross the street, goes into a lane where a street-cat named Desire is standing with a lusty gaze, and then humps her with full vigour. I keep staring at their lovemaking in disbelief. It lasted for thirty minutes and they lied down for another thirty. The very first hour gives me the idea about how the day is going to be.
Exactly three more such incidents takes place, the third being at the fringe of the neighbouring town. But the real shocker is yet to come. It’s about 7.30 in the evening. I am already tired of following him around and gazing at his fornication escapades. We come to the very heart of the town. Proudly he goes toward a two-storied house and instead of knocking on the door he jumps over the adjoining fence and makes his way towards the backyard. I follow suit. He seems to know his way. Something tells me that what is about to happen will change my life. I keep my distance but i can see a strangely familiar figure at the other end of the backyard and Freud approaching her. Hiding behind a bush I easily recognize the figure once I am close enough. A part of me urges me to interrupt whatever is about to happen. But as they say, Curiosity kills a cat. I wait with bated breath as Freud approaches her. The lady was graceful to say the least. Those full lips, those wavy lashes, those full hips, that honeyed voice. Oh! She seems to be an angel on earth. And Freud, to me, seems to be the devil’s incarnation. He as usual approaches her and starts his charades. He stares at her for a minute, then proceeds to touch her soft cheeks, and slowly works his way towards the hips. He smacks them once when she gives away a cry of pleasure. I feel my ears becoming hot. He french-kisses her, and at that point she offers herself. Freud having free rein, proceeds with his carnal actions. As her moans grow louder i could feel the blood rushing through my veins. I wanted to kill Freud. But I don’t do anything. I just sit there like a stone, oblivious to space, person, and time. Finally, what seems to be an eternity, Freud strides along the bush towards me with pride, as if he has known for a long time that I have been tailing him the whole day.
“So what did you learn Ben? Sorry man, have to call you by name. Am confused whether I should call you son or brother!”
I don’t reply. These are the last words that Freud speaks to me as he goes into the city rush after shagging my mother, his tail held high as an iota of victory, his whiskers shining like feathers of glory! Although we belong to the same family now, I will never talk to Freud again.
Devdeep Roy Chowdhury is a Licenced Clinical Psychologist, Guest Lecturer at West Bengal State University and Hiralal Mazumder Memorial College, and a writer from Calcutta. Devdeep is an ardent lover of cinema and dark literature and everything mysterious and macabre. Other than studies and writing, Devdeep is also an impeccable bass-guitarist. Freud, Nietzsche, and Existentialism are his favorite idea of a pastime.