My Boy Toy

MY BOY TOY



The package was delivered without fanfare. A huge cardboard carton that resembled a coffin more than anything else was deposited on my doorstep, the delivery guy not even raising an eyebrow as he held out the form for me to sign. I dragged the carton – surprisingly heavy- into the hallway and examined it. Apart from the address label, neatly typed but mis-spelling both my name and the suburb in which I lived, the box was unmarked but for the stamps and seals that tracked its progress across the globe.



I didn’t open it right away. I wanted to savour the fact of its arrival first. It had been a long eight weeks since I had finally pressed the “send” button, setting in motion its journey. I had stumbled across the website by accident while surreptitiously sneaking a peek at some dating websites.



It sounds desperate doesn’t it? And I’ll be frank. I am desperate. I’m forty-two years old and single. And I’ve been single for most of my adult life. Oh, there were a few brief relationships here and there, mainly back when I was in my twenties, and early thirties. Nothing serious though, except the three years I spent with Isaac. I think that relationship was the end for me. Isaac broke my heart, plain and simple.



We met at a party held by one of my co-workers. We were a small close-knit team at Finnegan’s, the family owned advertising agency where I worked for over ten years. Almost every weekend we partied together, went to clubs or just to the movies. It would have felt weird not to be with Lizzie, Raquel, Rebecca and Sarah on a Saturday night.



I was standing at the table by the booze when Isaac walked in. He caught my eye initially because of his height. At 5”10 I was always on the lookout for tall guys, hating dancing with men I had to stoop to talk to. Isaac was about 6”4, so definitely interesting. He was also very handsome with his thick dark hair and round brown eyes. He stopped just inside the door, pausing to speak to Rebecca who was handing a drink to Lizzie. He looked up and our eyes met. I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, but it was definitely lust.



Loving Isaac was easy. He had a quirky sense of humour that perfectly matched my own. Unfortunately Isaac’s mother was completely without humour, without much in the way of humanity at all. I’d never experienced a Jewish mother before, thinking they were comic stereotypes in Woody Allen movies, nothing more. But I was proved wrong. Isaac’s mother was worse than anything Woody Allen has ever put onscreen and twice as demanding. I was never going to be good enough for her son, and that I wasn’t Jewish, well, that was unpardonable.



We talked marriage. We talked marriage a lot. I agreed to convert, if only to satisfy his mother. But that wasn’t enough. A converted gentile was not a Jew, and only a nice Jewish girl was going to be good enough for Isaac. Finally, the pressure from his mother grew too great. Isaac was a strong man, but I doubt any man would be strong enough to withstand that kind of pressure. So, after three years, four months and nineteen days, Isaac and I parted company.



It took me almost two years to get over him.

So I started trawling the dating websites, trying to imagine being desperate enough to pin my hopes on a stranger. I spent hours searching for a man whose picture sparked any interest in me. I studied them carefully, hunting for someone who might be able to fill the void I was beginning to recognise in my life.



I never found him. What I did find though was a site that could match you up with the man of your dreams, bring him to you, wherever you happened to live. The site was Russian and whoever ran it had limited mastery of English. Initially I was sceptical, but finally, after much wavering, I entered the requisite information, punched in my credit-card details and pressed send.



And now he was here. The man of my dreams delivered to my doorstep, just as promised. I ran to the kitchen, grabbing a knife to slice through the packing tape. I cut the tape slowly, taking great care not to damage the box or its precious cargo. It took quite some time, the box being so big, but eventually all the flaps were free.



With some trepidation I lifted the lid, letting it fall to the ground behind the box. Lying there, staring up at the ceiling was Isaac. My Isaac, just as he had been the night we met, down to the sneakers and jeans he’d been wearing. I studied him carefully, not touching. The nose is wrong, I decided, but it’s not too bad, considering. I pulled him from the box, startled once again by the weight. But then, this was not your average inflatable sex toy, was it? This was a custom made “mail-order husband”.



I got Isaac into the living room and settled him on the sofa. He slouched a little, just as Isaac always had. I poured us each a glass of wine and sat down across for him for a little chat. After explaining everything, I did what I had wanted to do since the day he left me.



The hissing sound went on for several minutes before Isaac collapsed, the knife becoming buried in the crumpled pile of latex pooled on the floor.



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