The first thing Kevin Carpet wants me to know about him when we meet up for a drink — well, I order a glass of wine; Kevin doesn't drink (not even water) so he won't pee in the rug — before going out "carpeting" on a recent Thursday night, is that it's definitely, despite all evidence to the contrary, not some kink. "This is not a fetish for me. I don't get off on it," he insists. To put it bluntly: "I don't do it to jerk off. A couple of times, these girls have said, 'Do you get off?' I said, 'No.' They said, 'Let's see.' So they stood on my … area. And they were rubbing it back and forth. Nothing." It's not a foot thing either. Kevin says he hates feet. "That's why I could never move to Florida. They wear sandals all the time." In fact, he tells me that he hasn't had s*x in roughly 30 years and doesn't really care to, quoting Woody Allen from Annie Hall: "Don't knock masturbation. It's s*x with someone you love." I don't dare ask what it is that he thinks about while self-pleasuring. I do take note that he interrupts me constantly — "Let me show you some more of these because they're, like, so adorable" — to show me pictures on his phone of model-quality young women and genderqueer clubland hooligans kissing, smoking, and go-go dancing on him.