Words

The web site for Ant, The GameCat, Smith
Official Bridgeman Studio Artist
Words - Stories
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I Will Never Let You Go
Saturday 14th May 2016 11:17am



It is certainly true that she had been chattier before the exchange but that seemed a small price to pay. The brochure had been quite clear on this point, under the small bold serif heading "what differences to expect". He had studied the brochure at length before making the decision, although they had not really talked it through.

'Well, we won't be talking it through now, haha' he thought to himself.

He did kind of miss saying "your tongue's a flapping, woman" in that naughty mischievous way that would bring a momentary gasp and look of feigned shock to her face, before melting into a giggle rising to a gentle reprimand. Thinking about this he felt a pang of wistfulness, but it soon passed as he reminded himself that there were aftercare services he could call upon. Once he had made at least three payments on time. It was a fine arrangement that could really only get better.

He looked over to her in the bed, a shaft of morning sunlight glistening on her head. He'd never seen himself in the role of carer, and for a while there it had been quite tough. some things in life you had to do alone. Some experiences are so unique and extreme that you find those around you do not have the first concept of what it means to be, so immersed.

Death, the loss of a parent, divorce and such things - you find the world and his dog has an opinion. An opinion that can even sometimes help. Hell, with those things even day time television trailer trash phone-ins can have something sensible to say. Some times. But this had been a different league. There was simply no one who understood it, who had an empathy with what he, with what they, had been going through. No one except those to whom he had finally turned.

He got out of bed gently, while she still lay there, and shuffled quietly over to the cupboard where he kept her hair. He briefly checked his phone and noted it would be a sunny day. Not that they'd go out of course. Not given the disposition of her legs, but perhaps they would spend an hour or two in the garden. If he could get her balanced upright in the old bath chair he'd rescued from a skip.

She used to hate his magpie ways. Well, perhaps not always hate but she would certainly be perplexed by his need to bring home discarded oily bicycle chains or sodden infested discarded upholstered minor furnishings. He would bound into the flat face all a beaming and she would know immediately that he had harvested some new piece of what she considered tat. She refused to speak to him for a week that time he had rescued a lovely bright frock from deep within a prickly hawthorn bush. Of course he didn't know how it had got there or why it was torn but it would patch up fine and she would look lovely in it, he had thought. He had to admit to not always understanding her. It confused him when a gift would make her cry...

So it was to be a sunny day. He chose something in blonde. Not too long, nothing that would take hours of brushing after sitting out in the elements. Gingerly he lifts down a light blonde bob of a wig and takes it over to her.

"Wakey wakey my dear, time to rise and shine".

The eyes stirred and with a slight almost imperceptible 'click clack' the lids fluttered open. Spying the wig he had chosen a sliver of a smile danced across her lips. He was delighted. He loved to please her. He always had, and he'd really only ever felt joy through her. If she was happy he was happy, if she were sad... The thought lingers. But only for a moment, today he had chosen well and although she couldn't speak yet they could communicate in a deeper way. Just as if she was, just as if... "let me arrange it for you" he says brightly, breaking the spiralling thoughts before they settled deep and low.

He leans over and arranges the wig for her on account of the fact she has no hands or arms. He felt a little guilty about that, but she still does have a truly magnificent breast. And they're not cheap. Not cheap at all. He'd resolved to make it up to her. Later. Once he'd made the initial three payments. And he had thought, what woman would chose arms over breasts? Everybody has arms but surely a woman is so much more defined by breasts? He'd been worried that without them, or with an inferior pair she would have become quite, quite depressed. Again. And besides, they certainly helped to keep her dresses in place. He winced at the image of her silken frocks hanging like a shroud and constantly sliding off her delicate frame without them. He was sure he had made all of the right choices. Just the same choices she would have made herself, if she could have. If they had been able to talk it through.

"Come along me lovely" he says sprightly, hoisting her stiff frame up and out of the bed. Surprisingly light but somewhat bulky he staggers off to the door and out into the garden.

He does manage to arrange her mostly upright in the old bath chair, and if it hadn't been for the broken wheel she wouldn't have had that lilt to the left at all. He sat across from her sipping his tea and babbled, just a little incessantly.

"and after 3 payments we can extend the credit. We can get all kinds of things. You know they have real hair, real growing hair. Any colour you like. Any colour at all. You like the blonde? I like the the blonde."

He was babbling and beaming.

"and they have other stuff too. You know. Proper ladies stuff. Special inserts. The kind that can give you, you know,"

Mouthing the last word 'orgasm' she all at once tumbles from the chair and into the delicate little tea rose bushes. Petals scatter everywhere and flutter down in reminiscence of the confetti they'd had at their wedding all that time ago. Long before it had happened. For better, for worse.

"Shit!" he exclaimed leaping up and bounding across to her. Struggling with her bulky frame, scratching his hands and arms just as then the door bell chimes.

"Just a minute," he calls out, then to her "look, sorry dear, I'll just have to get that. You lay here a minute among the roses. You like the roses don't you?"

One of her eyes watches him askance as he bounds off, only to return but moments later excited like a puppy dog.

"Look dear, look! They've arrived. It's your legs dear, and see, see how they're actually actuated."

And at that a pair of slinky shiny new pins pitter patter pointedly across the patio to automatically affix to their designated torso. She stands for herself. A full seven feet tall.

He looks aghast. She is magnificent. Like before, but only more so. Like before but better. Much much better.

"I'm going to go straight out and buy you some of that sparkly toe-nail varnish you love so much" he says, his heart all but bursting with love.

And he pops off leaving her standing amongst the roses in her short blonde wig and tattered summer frock, as yet panty-less.