Angela walked around Eric's masterpiece, now standing on the coffee-table in the middle of her lounge, lit by the arched windows.
"Not bad at all, Eric. That should do just fine."
For the journey from his home to Angela's apartment, Eric had covered the item in brown paper, as any decent pornographic item should be wrapped. Under his arm, it had looked like a designer lamp, but with the covering removed it resembled a miniature mechanical
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road-breaker. The paper rustled beneath Angela's feet as she walked, and went silent as she paused to touch the phallus on its shaft.
"Just one or two things," she said. "The surface texture could be softer, and it's cold. Is there a heating element?"
Eric shook his head.
"We can use a section of my electric blanket," suggested Angela, "then add a flat screen as the outer layer, the touch-sensitive kind. It'll work perfectly well, I've done it before.
Danny can give you a hand sorting out the connectors."
"I really don't see why we're wasting our time," said Danny, sulkily, from his raised but distant position sitting on the steps that led up to the kitchen. "I've already told you that Sharon said no. Without Sharon, there's no point to this."
"And I've already told you that she'll change her mind, once I've talked to her," replied Angela.
"I've known her for five years and I'm her lover, but I can't convince her. You're going to meet her for the first time and after five minutes have her doing something she won't do for me? I don't see it."
"You will," replied Angela, with the same casual confidence she'd shown all along.
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In Danny's mind the entire plan was now dead in the water. Sharon had said no, and that was the end of it. In a way, he was happy that she'd said no, emotionally, if not rationally. But when he'd given the news to Angela, she hadn't been fazed in the least. "When she calls you on that new mobile," she'd said, "let me talk to her for a moment, invite her here for a chat. I'm sure she'll say yes."
Angela passed him twice as she went upstairs and came down again with her electric blanket, ignoring him on both occasions. She sat on the lounge floor with Eric, like two children in art class. Using a pair of scissors, pliers and electrical tape, the pair somehow managed to fashion a cylindrical cap of blanket material to fit loosely over Eric's sculpture, a loose tweedy coat, a furry condom.
When the cap was in place, Eric began sewing, pinching the blanket material and stitching lengths of it together in ridges up and down the shaft, bringing it tight against the underlying form.
"It's going to be too wide," said Danny.
"No it won't," said Angela.
"I don't see why it needs to be warm in the first place."
"Nothing worse than a cold dildo."
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A conspiratorial smile passed between Angela and Eric. Danny had anticipated they might get on well - an intelligent woman and a gay man were always a good bet - but not to this extent, where he felt excluded.
"Is this supposed to be circumcised or uncircumcised?" asked Angela.
She was blonde today, with a bob-cut, pale eyebrows, straight nose. It was like knowing a whole group of different women with the same voice and attitudes, except you never got to see them at the same time. Not that Danny was sure he would want to meet an entire crowd of Angela’s.
"For God's sake," he muttered.
"The action is circumcised," answered Eric. "No sheath mechanism from a foreskin, more friction. But my bet is that Frank will want the feeling of a foreskin." He glanced at Angela.
"I see what you mean. It needs the horseshoe ridges of a frenar band, about half way down, rather than an annular scar."
"Exactly," said Angela.
In contrast to Angela, Eric looked precisely the same as when Danny had last seen him. Black clothes again, pristine, and his hair exactly the same length. How did he do that?
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"Eric, just sew it together, will you?"
demanded Danny. "This isn't an embroidery contest."
"The ridges on a circumcised penis are in a different place to the ridges on an uncircumcised one," explained Eric. "There's science in dildos too, you know."
He was definitely acting camp, decided Danny, the way he let go of the needle to wave an explanatory hand around.
"I'm sure there is, but not one I'm interested in learning."
Eric sniffed. "I think we're about ready to add the screen."
Angela had brought a small screen with her when she'd come downstairs with the electric blanket, and like any flat screen it wasn't inherently flat - when peeled away from its backing it was perfectly flexible. Gingerly, Eric rolled the pliable screen around the phallus and held it in place with carpet tape.
"Eric," said Angela, "that looks desperate."
With the silver carpet tape in place and many messy folds and a gap at the tip, the phallus did look distinctly unattractive.
"This is just a fitting," replied Eric. "I'll use glue in a moment. But while it's held
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together, let's try switching on the heater, see how the screen copes."
It took a few seconds for the surface of the phallus to heat up. Angela grasped it in her palm, thumb not quite reaching forefinger.
"Temperature's right, but now it's a little too soft.
We need more tension."
Eric's hand took her place. "You're right.
Too soft."
The difference between Eric's attention to the phallus and Angela's was marked. Eric was a handmaiden dressing the bride on the morning before her wedding, very delicate and respectful.
Angela was altogether more sinister. In her long cardigan, and with the Gothic windows of the church behind her, she looked like the priestess of a strange cult, preparing an offering for sacrifice.
Danny wandered down from the steps and placed the back of his hand against the middle of the shaft. "Too hot, otherwise perfect."
Eric began to snigger.
"What's wrong?" asked Danny.
Angela held her hand in front of her mouth, eyes sparkling. "How the hell can you tell, using the back of your hand? When did anybody ever hold a penis like that, for Christ-sakes? Get a grip on the thing!"
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Danny's hand faltered, but stayed in place.
"I don't want to. It's far too hot, and I can't understand what you mean about being too soft.
It's perfectly hard enough."
Angela sighed and managed to lose her smile. "Eric, how many erect penises have you felt?"
"Dunno. Thirty, thirty-five."
"And I've managed… eighteen, twenty.
How about you, Danny?"
Danny didn't answer.
"One?"
"Look, I admit that I'm not the expert here…"
"...And that between us we've got fifty times your experience, but you're still right.
Right? The temperature is perfect. It should feel hot. But it's not firm enough. Eric, try pulling the edges together and re-taping."
Eric gently peeled the tape back and adjusted the tension.
"It's still too wide," said Danny. "You couldn't even get your thumb and forefinger around it."
Angela reached out to grasp it. "That's better. Nor would I want to. Almost, maybe, but not quite."
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"We're not trying to produce elephant-man."
Angela looked resignedly at Eric, then back at Danny. "Tell me, Danny, what size is Frank's ego?"
"Extra large."
"So he'll want a penis to go with that, won't he? But you just want to give him a tiny cold one that he'll turn down. Right?"
Danny didn't respond. Angela and Eric checked the firmness again, like chefs tasting seasoning.
"I think we ought to give it a name," said Angela, removing the authority from her voice, trying to restore harmony. "It's a remarkable piece of engineering. It deserves to have a name."
Eric peeled off the carpet tape and removed the screen, then began sewing thicker ridges into the blanket material. "I've got one -
the Digital Dildo."
Danny was about to say that was a bloody awful name, but then he realised that Angela hadn't replied, and her silence was more devastating than anything he might say.
"Ok, maybe not," conceded Eric, quietly.
"I've got a suggestion," said Danny, feeling inspired and ready to contribute. He'd been thinking about Sharon again, about the
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vibrator she'd mentioned from her college days.
"How about Frank's Aspiration?"