I used to have a furniture fetish. I knew I’d be disowned from my family if anyone found out, but I just couldn’t say no to my desires. Little by little, so I wouldn’t get caught, I gradually removed the stuffing from our monolithic leather recliner. It took several months, grabbing one cotton ball tuft at a time through the zipper with tweezers, or occasionally slipping downstairs at night to grab a handful or two of the stuffing, but little by little I emptied it at a rate too slow for anyone to notice.

Finally one night it was time. I had completely emptied it, and I snuck downstairs to claim my prize. I had to be extra quiet because it was Christmas Eve and some of my relatives had stayed over for the night, but I made it to the living room undetected. It was there that I removed all my clothes and covered my body in Vaseline. It was just then that I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I had no time to think, I just had to go in raw. I unzipped the zipper and slid my whole body into the chair, zipping it back up over me.

I watched through the zipper as my cousin walked past and I to the kitchen to get a midnight snack. I prayed that she would make it quick and get back to bed, but no. She dug through the refrigerator for nearly 20 minutes, and spent another half hour in preparation of some crepuscular abomination while I waited in painful silence. She lingered for a moment, then made her way towards my chair with frightening stillness and propinquity. She lingered for a moment to take a bite of her pfefferpotthast and turn on the TV, and then she sat down. I came so hard I shat my pants.

I was grounded for a week.

So meat sofa.