Should I Bring Wine?

Should I bring wine?

Stephanie had never had a boyfriend. Never, at all, and it was not for want of trying. In secret diaries she kept as a child she would obsessively write the names of boys for whom she frequently earned. Micheal Stevenson, James Buckley, Harry Fishborn, Keith Reynolds, David Evans, Sam Shields, Chris Emery, Sebastian Drummand, the list goes on.

Oh how I would like to find that love, the kind of which you see in movies, like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in the film about the bookshops she would write.

As is often the case for certain individuals like Stephanie, as she grew older, still did she fail to participate in relations with the opposite sex. Unlike all her school friends, university alumni and work colleagues who had seemed to romance effortlessly and successfully over the years, Stephanie had never experienced an intimate touch, and longed fervently to do so.

Now it’s not that Stephanie was unattractive in appearance or person. She was, actually perfectly charming and sort of beautiful. Her face was symmetrical, her skin unblemished, her hair full, and her body taut and curvy. She was, for all intense and purposes attractive, though you and I both realize this is entirely subjective. The only incongruity of Stephanie was the corpse of her deceased conjoined twin brother Matthew, still attached to her side, just as he was the day they were born. Although she could always easily explain this condition, and give reason to the fact why he was still attached, it seemed even civilized men could not accept her benign affliction; regardless of the detail that most of her internal organs were actually harbored inside his torso, like multicolored sausages thumbed carefully into a packet. In fact, the only organ, she could truly call her own, was her heart.

The Doctors had always floundered, calling specialists and experts, fascinated and desperate to be the solution to her problems. As a child she was injected, plumbed into, microscoped and probed. Examined, transacted, portered and marveled at. As a teenager she was toured globally and featured on a veritable plethora of media from magazines to television. Then, finally, as an adult, when all the interest had well and truly troughed, she was simply told there was nothing that could be done. Medical science had apparently not yet caught up, and so she must learn to accept what it was about her that had always been a defining feature. And that is what she did. She began to accept this truth and in doing so found the courageousness needed to change it, for Stephanie had a plan.

The mitigating circumstance for her failure in love, it would seem, was Matthew, and as she couldn’t do without him, she would have to do with him. Though his mind had long been dead, his body was still plush and full of blood. His heart didn’t beat, but hers took care of that. His muscles were wasted, but she could still move each limb. In other terms, she would have to improvise.

Now, I don’t know if you are well versed in the world of online promiscuity, but through years of necessity, Stephanie was. She had never made an account on any website that openly advertised it’s cause to unite single people with various sexual desires, but she had been an outside observer, able to log on for hours at a time as a voyeur. She could look in on chat rooms, view various accounts and learn the ways of contemporary digital sex. These binary compilations of lonely human beings were completing tantalizing and oh so alluring to Stephanie. So, much so that now, after years of simply watching on, she took out her credit card and began to interact.

Now I don’t need to revel or divulge each and every version of all things that every hanky-panky site might have. That would be too crude for you and I, and I feel as though we’re mutually decided on that. But what you do need to know, if you don’t already, is that there are three types of account one can open on such sites: Single, couple, or group. Single means you are you, and only you, and you’d like to do what ever you might like to do with other humans of various genders in various volumes. Group means that you, and perhaps polyamorous friends and or partners may like to bulk up their numbers at the fortnightly sex-fest. Neither of these options were part of Stephanie’s plot. So she typed in her details and opened an account, for her, and Matthew, her “boyfriend”.

Romantic couple living in the West of England looking for casual fun and good times with like minded people. Open to suggestions, and interested mainly in men.

Having already dressed, groomed and opened Matthews’s eyes, she added false teeth, makeup and a celoptaped expression to his face. Once satisfied, she laid herself and her imagined lover onto their bed. Then, with iphone in hand she began to take photographs. She added filters, and lowered the contrast, not only suggesting of promiscuity, but aliveness in her corpse bait. And as unbelievable all this may seem, it would not do so if you could view her inbox but only 24 hours later.

118 Unread Messages.

I’m David. Slim, tall, blonde. Looking to hook up with a couple for good conversation and even better sex. I’m from Manchester, so not too far away! Give me a message back if you’re interested.

Hey. My names Steve, I’m open to all sorts, and you guys look like my kinda thing. If you’ve never had another guy involved, I’d love to be the first.

Hot. Horny. Ready. Call me. Number Attached.

Overwhelmed by the response, Stephanie beamed as she replied with additional details and requests. Forty-seven messages later, Stephanie had relished in preparing her honey and picking her fly. Until finally, she found François, a young French man from Blajan, visiting his sick uncle in Nottingham. He seemed a nice choice. Excellent in fact. In fact, perfect.

Dear François. Matthew and I would be very pleased to meet you. We live alone, and are fine with you popping down for a visit. If you’re available tonight, then we would love to see you ASAP. You might find this strange, but we like to play games. I noticed from your profile, you are of a similar persuasion. See the address attached below, and follow these instructions: The door will be open. Come into the house. Walk up the stairs and enter the first room on the left. By the light of the candles, we’d like to watch you undress. Then, if you’re as adventurous as you say you are, put on the blindfold, and climb into our bed.

A mere fifteen seconds later came the reply…

Should I bring wine?