The History of Don Cocksote

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Don Cocksote and Sancho Pantless go on their quest of love.
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MatthewVett
MatthewVett
1,822 Followers

Chapter I: In which Alan Cox, ordinary man, becomes Don Cocksote, righter of wrongs, lover of love, and world-famous fighter for all manner of romantic justice.

*

In a town in New England, the name of which I have no desire to recollect, there lived not long ago an older man, nearly sixty, of the kind who have an old scooter in the garage, an elderly cat to keep them company, and a rocking chair on the porch on which to spend his summer days.

In his house he had a housekeeper, a woman nearer the grave than the cradle, who handled the meals, cleaned the house, and took care of any errands that arose. Our subject had a strong constitution, a lean build, a gray beard and moustache, and an extraordinarily large bank account left to him by his father, which ensured that he need never work another day in his life, and sufficed to keep him and his well-paid housekeeper, as well as anyone who turned up at his door selling candy for school or asking for donations, very happy. He arose early and went to bed late, and kept in shape through fencing, a sport to which he had become attached very early in life and never left.

They disagree on his name; some say it was Alphonse Cook, others that it was Albert Kix, but the majority, and the wisest, says that his name was Alan Cox. But this is of little importance to our story, for when his name was such, he was entirely unknown outside of his small town, and only achieved fame under his cognomen.

Our subject spent his idle time, which was the majority of each day, reading works of erotica, watching acts of pornography, and consuming every licentious, lascivious, lustful story that he could find, with such single-minded dedication that he neglected entirely the ordinary joys of his age, even yelling at children to vacate his lawn, and at times, even forgot to eat, and he truly would have starved to death long ago were it not for his housekeeper, who kept his stomach full and his body nourished. Day in and day out, he read these erotic stories, and considered them so full of wisdom that he absorbed all that they spoke of and racked his brains in order to make sense of their plots and characters and sentence structure, and because of this great folly he lost his wits and addled his brains, and spent many a sleepless night trying to understand how Anastasia and Christian could fall in love, and many other mysteries besides.

He had frequent debates with the priest of his town, who was second only to our protagonist in his fondness for erotica and pornography, about which stories were greatest and which couples most to be admired, about why this story had received a 4.92 while that story, far superior, had received only a 4.15. They argued over who was the better author or the more attractive porn star, and when they returned to their homes, voted with their passions, with little concern given to quality. Nevertheless, their fights were not of a malicious nature, but rather a debate between two learned experts in their field, and the next day, all had been forgiven and forgotten and they began anew.

In short, be became so absorbed in his erotica and pornography that he spent his nights from dusk till dawn watching, and his days from dawn till dusk reading. He had tried writing once, but had received a single bad review on his first day and so abandoned the entire enterprise completely, refusing to allow such brutish ruffians to so damage his stories and his ego. Through lack of sleep and excess of reading, his brain dried up and he lost his sanity. Fantasy filled his mind with everything he read and watched—flirtations, exotic positions, contrived coincidences, affairs, misfortunes, and impossible nonsense. As a result, he came to believe that all these fictitious adventures about which he read were true, and for him, there was no more authentic history of the world than these.

And so, having laid down the melancholy burden of sanity, he conceived the strangest project ever imagined: to become a champion of love, to sally forth into the world in search of adventures, to make the unrequited love mutual, to assist the loveless and lonely, and to spread eros, liebe, and amor throughout the world. He would put into practice all that he read about on websites and in books and movies, and so delighted was he by this idea that he immediately set to work.

He took his old Vespa VBB 150 Sidecar out from the garage, and called a mechanic who could restore her to perfect condition. The two of them cleaned and repaired it until it was as good as new, and then our subject painted it himself: gunmetal grey, to represent his iron will in this endeavor, with red trim, for his passionate love for all mankind. He spent three days thinking of a name for his vehicle, wanting to capture its glory, its speed, and its magnificence. He filled an entire notebook with names, written and scratched out, before he finally decided upon the perfect cognomen for his ride: Celery, a name that in his opinion was not only at once calliphonic, sonorous, majestic, but also perfectly represented its rapidity and speed, being derived from the Latin celer, meaning "swift."

Having thusly named his scooter, he turned to himself. This decision took six days and three notebooks before he was satisfied, and finally, when all was said and done, he decided to dub himself Don Cocksote.

Having a name and a means of transportation, all he needed now was a love interest, for after all, in every story he had read, the main character had a woman to desire, and since he knew his own thoughts and actions better than anyone else's, it was only natural that he was the protagonist of this story, and therefore, in order for his story to be complete, it needed a leading lady, for a protagonist without a love interest was a blowjob without an orgasm, and a series without a conclusion; it simply wasn't done.

However, there had never been a woman in town who held his interest and gripped his heart and loins. Indeed, had there been, our story never would have come to pass. However, he refused to let such a minor obstacle stand in his way, and so he decided to choose the name first, and resolved to discover the maiden to whom it belonged later, for it often happened that a woman was named before she was introduced, and so no objection could be made to him doing so, as well.

Since her beauty, virtue, chastity, and eagerness for experimentation were to be known across all the nations of the world, he gave her a name from the international language, and declared that she would henceforth be known as Rozabela. And thinking back to his stories, he realized that in most of them, the more exotic a woman was, the more greatly she was desired by men of all ages, races, and creeds, and so he gave her the most exotic origin of which he could imagine, and dubbed her Rozabela de Norumbega.

His transformation now complete, Don Cocksote left a note for his housekeeper, explaining his quest, and made arrangements for her continued pay while he was away, for he knew how easily women in sore spots turned to prostitution for money, and he had no wish for her to resort to such straits as that, nor did he think she would long survive on the income she would receive. He bade farewell to his cat, gassed up Celery, collected a few things, and took off towards adventure.

Chapter II: In which Don Cocksote sallies forth for the first time and encounters the Unrequited Lover.

As our amorous adventurer traveled through the streets of town, wind blowing through his hair, he thought to himself about the imminent fame he was about to acquire, and what should best be done with it once he had it. As the world's foremost paranymph, ought he to charge top dollar for his services? No, too mercenary. Better to help the young and the old, the rich and the poor, in short, anyone in need of succor on the battlefield of love. He would be a Tirant lo Blanc of eros, going into battle on the weaker side and fighting against the blasphemers and heretics of amore. Who could stand against him, when Love itself was with him? Surely, he was favored by Venus and Aphrodite, by Freya and Ishtar, by Pai Mu-Tan and Turan!

So engrossed was he in these fantasies that he nearly ran over a dejected soul who happened to be crossing the street. The man leaped out of the way with all of the agility of an inebriated giraffe and stumbled onto the sidewalk, nearly concussing himself on a postbox as well. Cocksote stopped Celery.

"I have the worst luck today!" the man grumbled to himself as Cocksote approached. "First I get rejected, and now this..."

"Did you say 'rejected,' good fellow?" asked our hero eagerly.

"What? Um, yeah." Don Cocksote offered the man his hand and helped him up off the street. "I mean, not that it's any of your business, but I just asked a girl out and she shot me down. Am I bleeding? It feels like I'm bleeding. That'd be perfect, wouldn't it? The cherry on today's shit sundae..."

"Fear not, for you have been fortunate enough to encounter I, Don Cocksote, and I swear on my love for Rozabela de Norumbega that I shall ensure that you and your beloved become united under the auspices of Aphrodite!"

"Um, okay? Do you do this for a living, or?"

"Of course! What manner of life is worth living other than one that seeks to encourage love to grow, wherever it takes root and begins to bloom? Now then, tell me about your inamorata, in order that I might best formulate a strategy for conquering her heart and planting your flagpole into her courtyard."

The man looked around himself suspiciously, but finding no hidden cameras, he decided that any help was better than none, and even if this strange old man before him gave naughty but terrible advice, he could always pursue its opposite and still come out ahead. "Well, she's really sweet. She's always volunteering at the food shelter and the old folks' home, and-"

"No, no, no! I asked you to describe her! That means height, weight, hair color, and bra size, all in a row! Have you never described a woman before, you novice? Honestly, as if her hobbies merit mention before her physical charms."

"Well, she's about half a foot shorter than me, probably one-twenty or so. Her hair is this beautiful carroty red; I just love it. Even her eyebrows are red! I don't really know her bra size...maybe a B cup?"

"Bee...cup? Do you mean to say they're the size of beehives?"

"No, like a B cup. A-B-C, you know?"

"I've read enough stories to fill the Libraries of Alexandria and Matthias Rex, with enough left over for Monticello, and never in all their descriptions of women have I ever heard of any of those letters used to describe a woman's bosom. Surely you mean she's a D cup, or double D? I've never heard of anything smaller."

"You know what? You are right. Hey, wow, actually, I think I have to go to the hospital, so..."

"Nonsense! Not until we've achieved success! A story cannot end without a resolution, and you cannot have a resolution without first trying, so try we must, and conquer we will!" Don Cocksote bade the man to lead the way, all the while giving him a proper education in the arts of love, so that he would be able to seduce his beloved as easily as Casanova in a convent.

"There she is," he said, pointing towards a girl at the register of the book store. "Mary. Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Had she been present at the judgment of Paris, the whole war would never have happened, I dare say! Now then, do you remember what I told you?"

"Yeah, but I really don't think whipping my dick out is going to help matters. Can't I try it, like, without it?"

"Without it?! There's no faster way to seduce someone than for them to see you au naturel! For once someone sees another nude, love inevitably follows, even if half of what I've read is incorrect! If you dare to risk those odds, go ahead and do so, but I shan't be held responsible for such reckless risks as these."

"I'll risk it..." he decided. Cocksote watched, hidden behind a bookshelf, as his new student made his way to the checkout counter. "Hey Mary," he greeted her.

"Roger? I'm working, and I already said no. Look, you're a good guy, but I just don't think we're really compatible."

"No, I just wanted to talk. About..." Roger turned back to the bookshelf, whence Cocksote flashed him a broad grin and a thumbs-up. "...about my mansion."

"You have a mansion? Really? Okay, tell me about it, then."

"Uhh...okay. It's...big. And has some nice columns out front. And there's a large, gorgeous swimming pool in the back, and it's in Newport."

"It sounds marvelous. Where'd you get the money for it?"

"I won it in a contest. I entered a story contest and first prize was a mansion. Third prize was a potato, so I'm glad I got first. Did you know that people thought potatoes caused leprosy back when they were first brought to Europe? People had to be tricked into eating them. One Frenchman planted a bunch in Paris and then posted guards there every day to arouse the peasants' curiosity. Then, at night, the guards left and the people would steal potatoes from the garden to try them, because they thought they must be good to require an armed guard. Interesting, huh?"

"Your rambling, Roger, and I'm pretty sure you're making fun of me, too."

"No, it's not like that! I-"

"I have to get back to work, Roger."

He slumped over like a puppet without strings. With heavy feet, he plodded his way back to Don Cocksote, whose broad smile still shone across his face, completely oblivious to Roger's own expression.

"How did it go? Did it succeed beyond your wildest imaginings? Every man knows that a woman simply cannot resist a wealthy love interest with a European mansion!"

"It didn't work... I think we should just give up. Thanks for everything, but she just doesn't like me," Roger opined.

"Give up?! We cannot give up! For no story ends without a resolution, no matter how long it takes to get there. Therefore, if we have met only with failure so far, it is because we have not yet reached the ending, which must contain a satisfactory conclusion to this amorous affair. To give up now is to leave your story half-written, and having been the victim of many such a tale, I adamantly refuse to commit such a grievous sin as that."

Roger sighed. "Okay, what's your next idea?"

"Wait here for one moment, I saw a deli up the road, and I shall soon return with our means of victory!"

The brave don left the bookstore, leaving Roger behind to pine over Mary. Meanwhile, at the deli, Cocksote insisted on sampling the various wares on display, for he believed that even a prop should be the best of props, and so he went through every salami, prosciutto, mortadella, and capicola available, before finally settling upon a fine soppressata. He rushed back to the shop at quickly as he was able, and presented to Roger his secret weapon.

"No."

"Do you love this woman or not, man?! If you wish for her to be yours, it takes effort. And what about once you're in love, and wed? Will you simply abandon the relationship over a minor obstacle? How can you say you're truly in love if you refuse to do a task as simple as this which I can guarantee will lead to your immediate conjugation! If you refuse, I'll do it myself and prove myself correct, and you shall have to live out the remainder of your days haunted by your failure of boldness! Aude audere!"

"Okay, okay! I'll try it. But this is the last piece of advice you get to give me. After this fails, you have to leave me alone, deal?"

"You might as well make me promise to leave you alone once a key wraps itself around a serpent, for both things are equally impossible and would portend miracles, but I shall acquiesce to the deal nevertheless, if it shall satisfy you, for I have nothing to lose, and indeed, if this plan of mine fails, I promise never to sit while eating nor eat while sitting for all of the rest of days!"

"Good enough for me," Roger replied, before temporarily withdrawing to the restroom in order to enact Don Cocksote's plan.

A few minutes later, he approached the register again. "Roger? What are you... Oh my god, what is that?!"

Running down Roger's pant leg was the piece of soppressata, four inches in diameter and sixteen in length, with which Roger was supposed to impress Mary, but now, he found himself unable to utter a single, solitary word. His lips fluttered about like butterflies in the breeze, but no words could escape his throat.

Fortunately, Don Cocksote saw his distress and arrived to aid his charge. "Young madam, now that you have seen how impressively endowed this man is, are you not seized with lust and consumed by lascivious desire? Do you not burn to experience the sensation that such a manhood can give?"

"Roger? Is this man with you?" Roger nodded gravely. "Oh my goodness... I had no idea you were so kind-hearted, Roger! It's so good of you to take care of someone with...special needs." She smiled. "Why didn't you ever mention it?"

"Oh, you know... I don't like to brag..."

Mary smiled. "So this is why you've been acting so strange today. I suppose you've been trying to help out my friend Roger, haven't you?"

"I have, and have succeeded as well, as you can clearly feel within your own bosom! It is I, Don Cocksote, who have instructed this young stud in everything that he has done today."

"I see... You know what, Roger? Give me a call sometime, after you're done with taking care of Mister Donkey Soda here. Maybe we can get a coffee?" She scribbled down her phone number upon a scrap of paper and placed it in Roger's trembling palm.

"Th-thanks," he stammered.

"Anytime. See you later. And I hope you have a nice day, too, Mister Soda."

"My day is already as fine as possible, for I have brought together what was split asunder, and proven myself a true acolyte of Aristophanes, for each has found their other half, and now can go through life together, rather than apart!"

"Um, well, that's very nice. Thank you," Mary replied before turning to the next customer to check them out.

Once they had walked some distance away from the register, Roger collapsed onto the ground against a bookshelf. "I can't believe that worked... You had a plan the whole time, you sly fox! How'd you know she'd dig the whole caretaker routine?"

"There is nothing of love of which I am ignorant, and if one day, you have learnt one seventh of what I have carelessly forgotten, you shall be a king among kings in the realm of amor. Although the path was, I admit...unfamiliar to me, I knew our destination, and with I as your guide, you shall never become lost in the wilderness, dear Roger."

"Well whatever you did, thanks. I can't believe I got a date with Mary! I'm gonna go buy lottery tickets; today's my lucky day. Thanks again, man!" Roger scrambled up and skipped out the door, buoyed by his good cheer and fortune. After watching him leave, Don Cocksote got up and made to leave the store.

Chapter III: In which Sancho Pantsless is met and is asked to join the good don in his amorous adventures.

Flush with success, Don Cocksote proudly strode out of the bookstore, and directly into a short, slightly plump man, whose cheeks were hidden with stubble. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't looking where I was going," he apologized.

"I should apologize. Here, you had the perfect opportunity to bump into a young maiden and strike up a relationship, and I've gone and sprung the trap prematurely myself. If you so desire, I'll send a lovely lady this way, and you can bump into her at your leisure."

"I have one woman already, and if I had a second like her, I'd be leaping off bridges, not falling onto the ground. My Theresa... She loves me in a funny way, but I can't help but love her back. I was just returning these books. They promised to help me with our relationship, but they only served as ammunition, and now, I'm all out of ideas..."

MatthewVett
MatthewVett
1,822 Followers