Week 1
The first package came early, nineteen days after Foster had clicked “Marry Me.” It was long and thin and labeled FRAGILE. At first, he thought that it was from someone else, like his mother maybe, or that it had been sent to him by mistake. But it had his name and address on it, as well as the siquijorbrides.com logo, a stylized head wearing a veil, but no name or address. He opened the package, his hands trembling in anticipation. And then he began to scream.

It was a leg. A human leg. A woman’s right leg and foot, her toenails clipped short and painted bright red. Foster held it in his hands, not knowing what to do.

And then, it flexed.

Still screaming, he threw it across the room where it hit the edge of his coffee table before falling onto the rug. He backed away, thoughts of murder and going to jail running through his head. He noticed a letter that had fallen out when he opened the package. He remembered Donovan’s warning about freaking out, forced himself to stop yelling and to reach, hands really trembling, for the letter. His hands were shaking so much that he almost tore the envelope in two, almost destroyed the letter inside. Somehow, he managed to get it open. It said:

Dear Mr. Foster,

Yours,
Siquijorbrides.com

Behind the letter was a set of instructions on the “Handling and Caring for a Transit Body.” The instructions were simple enough. There was a brief introduction about how one should care for the parts as if they were already a whole, and that even though she had come by mail, the bride must be loved, cherished, and so on before going on to the instructions themselves.

Submerge body part in a large vessel filed with room-temperature water. This is to be the Transit Body Sanctuary. Whenever a new part arrives, place it inside as well. Do not worry about “proper placing” as our Ultra-Konek technology ensures that the Transit Body will be assembled in the correct way. Make sure the vessel is kept in a cool, dim area where it will not be disturbed. The assembly of the Transit Body will take eight to nine weeks under appropriate conditions. All parts come with a one-year warranty. Log onto siquijorbrides.com/warranty for more details.

Foster looked at the leg. It lay where he had thrown it, in the space between the sofa and the coffee table. He walked over and slowly picked it up. It lay unmoving in his hands. He turned it around, examining it. It looked like a mannequin part, the area where it would have connected to the lower torso smooth, just like the rest of it. A bruise had blossomed where it had hit the coffee table. It flexed again. It took all of Foster’s willpower to keep from throwing it away again. He took a deep breath, thought of Donovan and his lunches, thought of Luli. “Don’t freak out,” he breathed, “Just add water.”

The leg looked healthy, a realistic replica instead of a dead limb. Foster shrugged. He had paid good money for a wife, and if following strange instructions was the only way to get her, then who was he to judge? If in the end, Luli did turn out to be a sophisticated sex doll, then maybe he could get a good price for her on eBay.

He took the leg to the bathroom and placed it in the tub. The leg recoiled when it touched the cold porcelain but otherwise lay still. He turned on the faucet and let the water run. The leg seemed to throb when the liquid touched it, the skin taking on a ruddy, healthier glow, while the water began to take on a reddish hue, not unlike rose champagne. Not knowing what else to do, Foster turned off the lights and closed the bathroom door, leaving his bride to be by herself.

Week 2
The second package arrived a week later. Foster was expecting it this time, and the sight of the left leg didn’t faze him one bit. He put it in the tub next to the right one, where the two limbs drew close, rubbing against each other, the water around them turning redder, the color of Sangria. Foster didn’t know whether he should feel aroused or sick. In any case, he left the legs alone and tried to concentrate on work.

Concentrating on work was harder than Foster expected. He had taken to looking over at Donovan’s cubicle more often than he would have liked and had began to notice that his neighbor was beginning to look a little worse for wear every day. He didn’t see it at first glance, but over time, he could sense that something was different. It was as if he was slowing down. He would come in a little later than usual, his eyes looking more and more tired even as his lunches got more and more elaborate, the overstuffed sandwiches being replaced by warm meals like rack of lamb with mint jelly and pork steak with gravy as well as a Filipino dish called sisig, what looked like minced animal parts that Donovan raved about, even though he wasn’t sure what his wife put in it.

Envious, Foster had sought out Santiago and asked about what was inside the mysterious dish.

“Pig parts you don’t normally eat,” Santi had replied, “You know, like their cheeks and ears. It’s great with beer.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Santi replied.

It was long and thin and labeled FRAGILE. At first, he thought that it was from someone else, like his mother maybe, or that it had been sent to him by mistake. . . He opened the package, his hands trembling in anticipation. And then he began to scream.

Week 3
The third package arrived right on schedule. The square box with the siquijorbrides.com logo waiting for him on his doorstep made Foster’s heart leap. He quickly opened his door and rushed inside his apartment, box in tow. He ripped open the packaging, his hands flying until they had found the treasure contained inside. Even though Foster had an idea of what it was he would be receiving, the sight of the real thing blew him away. It was the lower half of Luli’s (he had already begun to think of the parts as Luli) torso—her waist small and slim, her pubic hair dark and inviting. Foster caressed her upper mound before slipping his finger into her vagina, which made sucking motions as it welcomed his finger inside. This made him feel dirty, so he pulled his finger out, now wet with her juices, before marching to the bathroom and placing her in the tub.

Her legs moved to make way for their new body part, positioning themselves in their proper places. Between them, her pubic hair flowed like seaweed in the ocean. The sight of it cheered Foster. Either he was losing his mind, or this must be some sort of advanced science because they didn’t seem like parts of a sex doll to him. The legs began rubbing against each other again, and this time, with half a torso to put things in perspective, Foster felt his hard-on come fast. He had barely pulled down his trousers and boxers when it was all over, and he was left panting by the tub. He could’ve sworn that Luli, even though it was just part of her that couldn’t even see him, was laughing.

“You want this, man?” Donovan asked, handing Foster his tin-foil-wrapped lunch.

“Isn’t this your lunch?” Foster asked stupidly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Donovan shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m getting sick of it, you know? I was never into that gourmet stuff, and that’s all that she seems to be cooking now.”

Foster tore off the foil to reveal medium-rare Wagyu steak paired with seared foie gras and glazed baby pears. He almost wanted to berate Donovan for his ignorance, but decided to count his blessings instead.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So how’s your wife coming along?” Donovan asked.

“I just got the third package,” Foster said. “I’m still trying to get used to the whole thing.”

“Ah, the third package,” Donovan smiled. “That’s where the fun beings, you know.” He walked away, leaving Foster to enjoy his lunch.

The steak was juicy, it’s rareness just the way Foster liked it, almost raw and not quite cooked, the Wagyu beef melting in his mouth like the foie gras, their fatty flavor almost overwhelming but tempered by the baby pears. Somehow, Donovan’s wife had managed to keep everything warm. Foster finished the whole thing and had to restrain himself from licking the container. He shook his head at the sight of Donovan heading back to his desk with a ham sandwich from the cafeteria. Some guys just don’t know how lucky they are. He thought of Luli, wondered if she could cook like Donovan’s wife. He would be grateful if she had even half the culinary talent of Donovan’s spouse, but somehow, he knew that this was something he didn’t have to worry about.

“Luli, I’m home!“ Foster said playfully as he entered his apartment. He set down his briefcase and wandered into the bathroom. The water in the tub had turned into the color of Merlot, making it seem that he was looking at Luli’s lower half through rose-colored glasses. The legs twitched as he entered, turning in the direction of his voice. Foster felt a little bit guilty at eating Donovan’ lunch. Would Luli be jealous of that? It’s not as if she could cook yet, anyway.

“You’ll like it here,” he said, slipping his hand inside the cool water. Her legs moved towards him, so he began to stroke them with his fingers. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll make you a queen.” She shifted against his hand, rubbing against him. He took his hand out and went to make dinner.

That night, Foster, half-asleep, felt something rubbing against his crotch. His penis jumped to life, straining against the cloth of his pyjamas, trying to get at the soft wetness that waited outside. He came anyway, a force that jolted him awake. But when he looked around, the room was empty, save for himself and his messed up bedclothes. His bed was wet though, as was the part of the carpet that led out of his room, down the hall, all the way to the bathroom.  Inside, Luli lay in the bath, still and silent, more mannequin than human, legs relaxed, her pussy grinning at him.

Afterwards, Foster made sure that the floor that led from bath to bed was always lined with towels. He also started sleeping naked with his bedroom door open.

“Enjoying the third week, huh?” Donovan asked him two days later.

“I must be a perv,” Foster said, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Donovan said, “You don’t question pussy.”

Foster winced. He turned to look at his neighbor and was startled by what he saw. “You look like hell, man. Are you okay?”

There were dark circles under Donovan’s eyes, and his cheeks were sunken. His face had a grayish pallor, and when he smiled, his gums seemed to drawback, emphasizing his teeth. The effect was eerily skull-like.

“Wife kept me up all night,” Donovan said, making the statement sound like a complaint and a boast at the same time. “I think she’s still sore about me giving you my lunch, and this is her way of taking it out on me.

“I’m not complaining,” he grinned. “After all, she did list ‘lovemaking’ as one of her talents.”

“Sorry, man,” Foster said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“It’s cool,” Donovan said dismissively. “She’s back to preparing sandwiches.”

Foster decided that he had enough weirdness for one day, so he returned to his paperwork.

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