The first piece of a despicable, absurd fictional essay collection I'm working on.
| Well, her breath should have been the tip-off. Sadly, I always dismiss flashes of intuition as indigestion. I first discovered my beloved's secret days ago. You see, I had long suspected that Leila Tungsten, my chestnut-haired, kindly, live-in girlfriend of being -- different. Each morning, Leila would creak as she marched, her legs in a steady syncopation, to the bathroom. Screeches and the deep hum of turning wheels would sound from the bathroom door; I always assumed she just liked a thorough teeth cleaning in the morning.
As it should happen, on Tuesday of this week, Leila wasn't feeling well at all. I'd come home early from work to find her in bed -- with another man.
Her wok-sized brown eyes popped with shock as I flung the door open to see her propped against the headboard, a man's head in her crotch and a bottle of motor oil on the nightstand. Well, you can imagine my surprise, I mean, motor oil? But then I remembered there was a man's face in her uterus and snapped back from confusion to anger.
"What the hell is going on here?" said I.
Leila waved her hands and shook her head. "No, no, no. I can explain!"
At this point, the man crouching on the ground whipped around from my girlfriend's crotch and looked at me. With a sigh, he adjusted the clear goggles over his eyes and looked back to Leila. "You mean you haven't told him yet?"
She eyed me sheepishly. "Max, there's something I've been trying to tell you for a long time. I just didn't know how. I never wanted you to find out like this."
"What?" I asked.
The uniformed man stood up to reveal a screwdriver in his hand and a shiny red toolbox beside him. He tossed a few bolts onto the bed and said, "I'll give you guys some privacy."
I shut the door behind him and folded my arms, leaning against the wall. "So what's going on?"
She flapped the bottom of her dress, in front of her vagina and sighed. "Max, do you remember you said you knew you loved me when you realized I wasn't like every other girl?"
I was already preparing myself for what was going to come next. She was a man! But how? Although it was all becoming clear in my split-second reverie -- she had surprisingly masculine tastes. She hated musicals, liked fishing and hunting and always sat thumbing on her phone while I shopped. On second thought, maybe I was a woman. But that's another tale completely. Anyway, my panic was immediately squelched.
"Well, I'm not like every other girl. I'm," she laughed with nervous shame and fanned her vagina again. "I don't even know what I am really. But I think your people call them...ROBOTS."
At this point a plume of smoke fumed from her crotch and I sighed. Figures. I finally found the perfect girl for me and it turns out she's full of machinery.
TO BE CONTINUED...