<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t realize Marc meant to wean me from him when he introduced me to Frank. But when Marc and I broke up, everything changed.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d been vacationing in San Francisco with Marc, my lover of two years, four months and a fistful of days. We did museums, restaurants and, of course, \u201cthe beast with two backs\u201d\u2014a jungle-full! Everything was fantastic, but Marc thought we could add more and on a shelf in Sex Toys R Us we encountered Franklin.<\/em> We took him with us, but then Marc left me.<\/p>\n It was a chore toying with Frank. His rubbery form held no mystery. He had no fingers with rough tips brushing over me, fluttering the soft hairs on my arm, no light bristle of face or tender whorls of thumbs. He couldn\u2019t provide deep manly chuckles at my jokes. Missing Marc, I totally neglected Frank.<\/p>\n But Frank grew to care about me back home in Portland and we\u2019ve settled into a single-back routine when one of us remembers. Conversations are bumpy, but I\u2019ve started confiding secrets, and there\u2019s music or NPR to hear and Netflix to watch. We share a low-volt affection like other singles, I think. None of my friends have a long-term relationship either. Those are drying up on us\u2014guys married or players or off in some hot spot in the world.<\/p>\n I\u2019ll be listening now to Rachmaninoff, thinking about Marc in every note. “Hear that, Frankie?” I murmur. Frank could whirr back in a murmur. I\u2019ll rest against his pretend skin, accepting tenderness when he offers it. But sometimes, hugs are what I miss, and I lash out. \u201cDepressing surrogate! Stupid cylinder!\u201d What makes me love and hate Frank, how he\u2019s impervious to my criticism, his power and confidence unshrinking.<\/p>\n I tell myself, hey, adapt\u2014his qualities are controlled, he won\u2019t retire from the position, he\u2019s monogamous. This seems comforting, but I wonder what my future will be\u2014will it resemble Frank? (Deceptively pink and narrowing)<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Cranky and anxious, Frank is a senior now and on his last legs. His rubbery shape seems torpid and the robust whirr is a whisper, too low for the love chatter that seemed a romance language at times.<\/p>\n He falters. \u201cHelp me, I\u2019m dying!\u201d<\/p>\n I need to do something quickly, rescue him! \u201cHold on, Franklin. It\u2019ll be okay,\u201d I call loudly, as if he has become old and deaf. \u201cI\u2019m leaving for the store. You\u2019ll be yourself again in no time.\u201d Watch out for the dog, I want to remind him; he\u2019s been mistaken for a chew toy.<\/p>\n But Frank cries out, \u201cYou don\u2019t understand<\/em>, Stupid. Even the Energizer bunny can\u2019t keep it up forever, humping his way through life and he can\u2019t keep me who I Am!\u201d Frank\u2019s speaking in capitals, scaring me. \u201cWhen I come back I\u2019ll be different\u2014I won\u2019t be me. You\u2019ve lost me.\u201d<\/p>\n I want to tell him I do understand. When I die, if I come back I won\u2019t be me anymore either. And what could a new Frank<\/em> be like, knowing the old one so well?<\/p>\n Perhaps he\u2019s resigned, whispering, \u201cWe were happy.\u201d And that\u2019s true, though there were arguments about who\u2019d be in charge, who would have the upper hand\u2026more importantly, where I <\/em>should be in my life. He wanted to inspire me, to feel his electrons bask in my success. Identity was an issue for Frank. And now this too\u2014his soul.<\/p>\n Quickly, I leave for batteries to replace him and make a \u201cMwa!\u201d kissing sound to cheer him. But Frank is angry about ending. \u201cMoi,<\/em>\u201d he echoes, \u201cm<\/em>oi!\u201d<\/em> his final word parting us in French. I call out, \u201cGoodbye, Frank, goodbye,\u201d and slip away.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I\u2019ll be listening now to Rachmaninoff, thinking about Marc in every note. “Hear that, Frankie?” I murmur. Frank could whirr back in a murmur. I\u2019ll rest against his pretend skin, accepting tenderness when he offers it. But sometimes, hugs are what I miss, and I lash out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":15485,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15449","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-terese-robison"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15449","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15449"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15449\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15509,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15449\/revisions\/15509"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15485"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15449"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15449"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15449"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Us at the End<\/h4>\n