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?
