the night i learned the difference between
a woman and a bottle

i was home one evening when she called and asked to come over. all right, i said, but bring some beer on the way over. she would be there in 15 min. she knocked on the door and then came in. she looked somewhat better than when i left her. i left her but she moved out after an argument concerning the drink. she moved out and i hadn't heard from her since. anyway, she looked better. that shit will do that to you. while stealing one of my cigarettes and handing me a tall beer, she said:
"i wish i could say i love what you've done to the place, but it looks exactly the same."
"no, it doesn't. it's dirtier, and i've broken the table."
i knew that she wasn't going to ask what had happened, and i didn't want to enlighten her.
we sat there and then she started talking. she was at it. she must have talked for hours, constantly looking around and drinking beer. i will usually sit there listening unless no one talks. that's the way it is. you have talkers and there are listeners. i like to pretend i'm both (like most i guess).
"i'm with a guy now. he works in a bookstore."
"smashing."
"he's his own man, not like you. he doesn't even drink. when i think about it, he's somewhat dull, just what i need after you.
"sounds exciting. are you happy?"
she wisely decided not to answer my question, but kept talking about her new life.

all of a sudden, she remembered i still had her brassiere and demanded i gave it back. i said i would give it back if she wanted to humour me with one thing. "what?" she said. "let me handcuff you to the heating" i said, eyeing her seriously. "no way."
"way, listen, i won't hurt you or do anything. the cuffs have been lying here for months now, useless. you can have those too."
she must have sensed something and before she could say anything to decline, i got up, took them.
"i don't know what you've got in mind, but you're no way in hell gonna handcuff me. " i said that she needn't worry. she could even do it herself. "just put the damn things on. for old time's sake."
finally, after some leaning on the bitch, and series of heavy yelling (mostly on her part) she accepted.
for her to do it right, she had to sit on the floor, stretch her arms far back and then i heard the click. it triggered some memories of us some months ago. she had liked it, and on many occasions, we had used them. it was like that again, and as usually, she forgot to take the keys with her. i walked over to her and took her shoes off. when i started working on her trousers, she began to kick me. she flipped her arms wildly, trying to stop me. she had, of course no chance of stopping me. i pulled up her shirt and tore her brassiere. she was almost bare-naked and she made me think of a rape victim. i thought of this for a minute but, whilst pulling down her panties, forgot the whole thing. i was hot for it. i finally managed to stop her kicking me and penetrated her. she would never forgive me but it was good. it is not the most trendy thing to say, but it really didn't take long for me to climax. i could have read it in some 2§ novel : "it was as if all the frustrations and loneliness came out with a seemingly endless series of squirts. like an ocean of white leaving his body. and it was good." it was good. due to the bottle, i could never convince a woman to stay with me longer than a couple of hours. unless you're lucky, it takes a lot of effort and stamina. i couldn't do it anymore, it simply wasn't worth the effort. consequently, i hadn't had sex in months. take away one of the two things i live for, and shit like this happens, the other one of course being the drink.
i rolled off, took a beer (you see?), and looked at her. i knew that glance, she would kill me right that minute if i let her go.
" you bastard, you raped me, if john hears of this, he'll kill you.
"never going to happen baby, you took the cuffs voluntarily."
"you tricked me, you said you weren't going to hurt me."
"did i?"
"YES, you sick idiot, you raped me."
"you know what is really going to fuck you up is the question whether i raped you because you're beautiful and i still want you or whether you were helplessly tied up, and i could easily take advantage of you, which i did." i said calmly. as a somewhat sad reaction, she shackled her chains in vain and spat at me.

"listen, i'm going to let you out now, clean up in the bathroom."
"the second you let me go, i'll kill you."
i thought about it for a minute, standing there balls-naked, still dripping and i couldn't for the life of me come up with a decent solution. it hit me that i would be crucified if i called someone to rescue her while i'd run for cover. she would have had witnesses.
i decided that i would have to take the cuffs off eventually, and did it with one arm. "it should take her a minute to rub her wrists before she comes after me." i thought. indeed, she came after me after having restored the feeling in her arms. it was terrible. she took empty and full bottles of beer and swung them at me. some hit my head, my gut, my knees. we had been drinking hard for hours. this entire time one thing kept coming back to me: "the difference between a woman and a bottle of beer is that when you're finished the bottle is still worth 5 pence." or so we liked to believe.
when she ran out of bottles, she began to hit me and claw my face. all this time i ran from one wall to the other, ducking for cover from the tapes and books and full ashtrays she threw at me with deadly precision. when she finally calmed down, she went to the bathroom. i heard her running a bath. "what a strange thing to do" i thought. i sat down and opened a new bottle of beer, figuring what my chances were of being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by some angry looking nazi law enforcer, clubs-ready. i deemed them small, otherwise she wouldn't have used my bathroom. i could hear myself trying to talk myself out of this one : "why no officer, i didn't rape her. she put on the cuffs herself and afterwards she used my bathroom for hygienic purposes, you know." ridiculous. they would hang me for the cuffs alone, not to mention the torn brassiere. and if john found out, well…i wasn't afraid of john as much as i was scared of her. terrified is the most correct term. and it was yet the question if this john wanted to get hiss ass kicked for some bitch he obviously had known for some months.
when she came out, i took a cigarette, i lit it, and looked up, prepared for the worst. she was calm. or was she? to this day, i still can't believe i got away with that one. she left me at midnight and didn't say a word the entire time. i was too nervous to open my mouth. she didn't make a sound, i couldn't even hear her breathing. i never saw her again, or this john. my guess is that she secretly liked it, or figured that no one would believe her. anyway, i got out and told this story to no one, still scared of rape-charges. but you won't tell, will you?

Kris Demey