“First, call me Braxton.” He situated himself in his chair until he was comfortable. “In response to your question, riding a skateboard is similar to surfing. It provides a feeling of freedom that can only be obtained through a handful of transportation options. It’s my first choice and that’s my final answer.”
Braxton wasn’t a typical man, and he wasn’t going to give typical responses. Although I’d prepared a line of questioning assuming what his answers were going to be, I decided to ad-lib the remainder of the interview.
I tossed my notepad into the air. As it fluttered to the floor, I continued. “You mentioned a feeling of freedom being found while riding a skateboard. Do value your freedom?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “In fact, I value it enough that I fought in a war to preserve it for every citizen of this country.”
“I’m sure the viewers appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made in that regard,” I said. “I know I do.”
He gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”
“You’ve recently tested positive for COVID-19,” I stated. “What do you have to say to the people of the nation regarding the stay at home order?”
“Travel exposes us to the disease. With exposure comes risk of infection. Becoming infected isn’t the same for everyone. It’s like being blindfolded and diving into a pool of water without any knowledge of the water’s depth. For some, the pool is ten feet deep. For others, it’s six inches deep. If we can stay at home—just for now—why take the risk?”
“Interesting analogy,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Back to something you said a moment ago. You’re a war veteran. When most of us think of combat, things like death, destruction, and other atrocities associated with war come to mind. In hope of changing the viewer’s outlook on war in general, can you share your fondest memory of your time in combat?”
“Sure.” His gaze fell out of the camera’s view. He exhaled a long, slow breath. After a moment, he looked up. “Can you give me a moment to put everything together?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “We can come back to this question if you’d like.”
“Let’s do that.”
I thought the question might persuade him to recall one good thing from a sea of what was bad. In doing so, I hoped he’d see that current matters weren’t as bleak as they seemed to be. I now felt like a heel for asking.
I did my best to mask my disappointment with myself. “Moving on,” I said with a smile. “Your life’s biggest regret, Braxton. What is it?”
“I don’t have any regrets.”
“Not one?”
“Nope.”
“A car you didn’t buy?” I asked. “An investment you didn’t make? A wave you failed to ride? Nothing?”
“Nope.”
I scowled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“My actions and decisions, be them good or be them bad, have formed me into the man I am today. To harbor regrets is to wish I could go back and change something. To make changes to my life would potentially alter the man I am. That’s not something I’m comfortable doing.”
“So, you’re completely satisfied that there’s no room for improvement when it comes to the life of Braxton Rourke?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I have faults. I’m not willing, however, to make changes to the person I am.”
“Your response leads right into the next question.” I twirled my pen between my fingers while studying the look on his whiskered face. “It’s common knowledge that you’re a promiscuous man. You’ve admitted it. I have two questions along that line. One, how has the lockdown challenged your promiscuity? And two, what are you doing to keep that licentious boat afloat during this time of trouble?”
He glared.
I leaned away from the camera and crossed my arms. “Would you like me to repeat the question?”
“Licentious?” he said. “Really?”
“Licentious.” I raised my index finger and cleared my throat. “Lustful or shameless,” I said in a low man-like voice. “I thought we agreed it’s big word day?”
“I know what the motherfucker means,” he snarled.
“Let’s try to keep the expletives to a bare minimum, shall we?”
“Sure,” he said snidely. “I’ll refrain from saying things like fuck and cocksucker.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Although I may be described as promiscuous, I’m not an addict when it comes to sex. Therefore, the lockdown hasn’t caused any problems in my sexual life. It’s—”
“Are you’re saying that you can abstain from having sex?”
His brows pinched together. “Absolutely.”
“For what length of time?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “A month?”
“A month?” I coughed. “I’m sure many in our audience would view a month without sex as standard relationship protocol. A normal breather between lovemaking sessions, if you will.”
He stared blankly at the camera. “A one-month dry spell is considered a breather?”
“For some?” I shrugged. “Sure.”
“I disagree. Let’s take a look at you for instance. You once went two years without sex. By my guess, you were pissed off at the male population in general. That wasn’t a breather.”
My face went flush. I’d forgotten that I shared that tidbit of information with him. My line of questioning was now off-course, and I’d become the butt of the joke. I was ready to end the interview and start talking about what we should order from Grubhub for lunch.
Discussing our favorite sushi sounded much better than delving into the reasons behind my 2-year hiatus from sex. I exhaled a breath of frustration and began to tell the condensed version.
“I wasn’t angry at the male population, in general,” I explained. “Just one of them, really. The subsequent ‘dry spell’ wasn’t a breather. It was a conscious decision I made not to have sex. My body, my decision.”
He twirled his index finger in a circular motion. “Moving on...”
It must not have been the answer he was hoping for. Based on his reluctance to attack me when he had an open door, I decided to continue with the interview.
“Starting the clock on your nineteenth birthday, what’s the longest period of time you’ve ever gone without masturbating?” I asked.
His face quickly filled the screen. “Say again?”
“Self-administered sexual gratification,” I said. “Masturbation. Pulling the proverbial pud. What’s the longest period of time you’ve gone without doing it?”
He leaned away from the camera. A serious look covered his face. “Thirteen weeks, I suppose.”
“Your response came without much thought,” I replied. “Is that a common period of abstinence for you?”
“That period of time was during basic training for the Marine Corps. It’s an easy one for me to remember.”
“What would an average period of abstinence be?”