Build-a-Boyfriend Workshop

The standard two rings sounded in my ear before I heard the sharp click sounded on the other end of the line. I didn’t wait for a greeting.
“Please help me… I’ve created a monster.” I groaned.

“I told you to lay off the Thai food.” Judge replied in a bored tone.

“I get food poisoning from a shit store one time and I am marked for life.” I muttered. “Wait. No. That’s not why I need help! Judge, I need your wisdom! I have new developments...regarding an imaginary individual...”

“Developments, you say? What a coincidence, that makes the two of us.” she returned.

I frowned, immediately concerned.
“What happened? Are you okay? Judge?”

“Thank you Lester,” she suddenly boomed. “This is just in, I am reporting to you live from the active crime scene, where you can hear this ambient rumbling and large splashes.”

I recognized her posh British accent, as she continued her best BBC reporter impersonation.
“What is this.” I said.

“We are currently waiting for the official statements to be released by the police.”

“What the hell did you do?”

Judge continued, not dropping the accent.

“We are not quite sure what exactly happened here to lead us to this sort of outrage, but sources say the outlook from the outhouse looks to be very grim.”

That was when I started to hear the aesthetic ambient fart noises in the background that broke through the phone.

“...Judge, is this a bad time?” I asked.

“Witnesses and people in the area are just hoping that they can one day rebuild from this tragedy, but many resource are going to be needed to undergo this endeavor. Reporting live, from Bristol, I am Megan Stephanopoulos.”

“Who the hell is Megan Stephanopoulos?” I questioned. “Did you down a whole thing of fruit loops milkshake again without lactaid?”

“Meh, I’m just paying the iron price for the two-day skittles binge. I’m gonna be on the can for a while so I could use the entertainment.” Judge said. “What troubles you, dude?”

I grimaced at her question, and dared to glance back behind me.
Lincoln, now in the form of a male underwear model, was in the most unnatural pose and flexing his muscles, pouting into a nonexistent camera.
“My imaginary… friend. He has been corrupted.” I hissed into the phone.

“You know, whispering into the phone doesn’t stop me from hearing you. I’m a product of your brain so I get the info first hand.” Lincoln chimed in, shifting into a different pose that now accentuated his impressive eight-pack abs.

“So?” Judge said. “It’s your brain’s creation. So un-corrupt him.”

“I’ve tried. But it’s like… I can’t unsee things.” I whined.

A heavy sigh rang through the phone, and I can almost see my friend shaking her head.
“Alright, how exactly is he corrupted?” she asked.

So in a quick recap of events, I told her of the quiz, the stupid questions and the even worse options and my final results. And how Lincoln came to be in his current condition.

“And he’s only gotten worse.” I told her. “I left him alone to finish up my notecards and all the sudden he is like a whole different thing. It’s like there was a contamination and now it’s a full on outbreak!”

“What can be so bad? He can’t look that bad, it was a picture of some model, right?” Judge questioned.

“It’s not so much his looks, that’s causing problems for me.” I said. “It’s…it’s...”

I looked over to Lincoln and now saw that he now looked to be oiled down head to toe.
“Look Kyo. I am now definitely a well-oiled machine.” he said. He then threw me a wink and a dazzling smile.

I turned back around, feeling the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
“He’s now greased down to his delicates and all shiny like those underwear models. And he is using the quiz against me and winking and smiling all… smiley.” I said.

“Ah, okay, now I see the problem.” Judge noted.

“His swim trunks has somehow shrunk down to those skin-tight speedos and he's now doing hip thrusts.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. So knowing you, I think I see how this happened.” she said. “You have this tendency to think of the worst potentials and dwell on those things. And in this case, you probably were just thinking up of all the things you don’t want in a boyfriend. Which, might I add, is really ironic by the way.”

“I don’t know how to do this, man. None of this is logical.” I said, feeling weary. “And he won’t go away.”

“First off, breathe woman. You are overdoing it with the over thinking.” Judge commanded. “If you can’t unthink an image of your imaginary boyfriend, just intercept it with another image.”

“I already tried. I googled every possible thing I could think of and it just got out of control from there.” I argued. “I even googled ‘getting rid of imaginary friend’ and I ended up on a medical psychology website and a Christian healing site.”

“Okay, then change your direction of thinking.” she said. “Use the original plan that we had and think of him as a writer. And try to think of him as a character you created for your narrative. Why isn’t he working for your story?”

I turned back to Lincoln and watched as he continued he underwear model mock photoshoot.
He’s a character. My character. One that was supposed to be part of my narrative.

“His current form is too picturesque.” I said. “He is a generic form of an idea and unrelatable. I can’t even imagine a scenario where I would meet a person like this in real life.”

“Why doesn’t that work?” Judge prompted.

“If he’s supposed to be a hypothetical boyfriend, he should be realistic to some degree.” I replied. “A person I could have some sort of common ground.”

“There you have it. Then what did you like, if anything, from his original form?” Judge asked. “From your nightmare when you first met him?”

“Hmm…” I hummed thoughtfully. I took a few moments for myself to reflect before I gave my answer. “He was very rational and coached me out of the nightmare. He saw that I was upset and helped me.”

“Rational… Anything else?” Judge continued.

I thought about it some more before answering.
“Well, our conversations have flowed naturally. Like we have a similar humor and he is sassy. Sometimes he’s a smart-ass.” I said. But then I frowned. “Wait, is it weird to be having conversations with my imaginary creation?”

I heard Judge let out a long sigh, and even on the phone I could hear the frustration in her tone.
“Look, Kyo. You know you have my unconditional love.” she started. “But goddammit you are infuriatingly hyper-rational sometimes. What’s wrong with talking things out with an imaginary person? It’s more normal than you think. People have pretend arguments in the shower, answer questions from an imaginary interviewer, talking to a deity of choice in a form of prayer; it’s all the same. And it’s no one else’s business anyways so who gives a shit if it’s weird or not?”

Her reasoning made sense, and I somehow found the logic to be adequate.
“Huh… I guess you’re right.” I said. “Sorry if I annoyed you, Judge.”

“Wow, how quick of you to just accept all that,” Judge muttered, sounding tired. “And you managed to sound so sincere, apologizing like that.”

“I am sincere.” I insisted. “You made a good point and it made sense.”

“I can’t keep up with that head of yours.” she sighed. “But I digress. The tl;dr version of this situation is you are looking to give your imaginary boyfriend a new look.”

“Yea…” I exhaled.

“Then the solution is easy.” Judge said. “We just give him qualities that you like in guys.”

My awkward silence must’ve given away my sense of loss on that very topic. After a few seconds I heard her sigh.
“Okay that was my bad; for a second I forgot it was you that I was talking to.” Judge said dryly. “Dude, as much as I want to help you out here, this is something you’re gonna have to know for yourself.”
I heard her let out a long sigh. “Things like preference and shit, everyone has their own.”

“I know…” I groaned. “What works for you doesn’t necessarily mean it would work for me.”

“Exactly.” Judge agreed. “The only thing I can tell you is this character you’re building, he should be someone you can genuinely care for. Someone that you can open up to fully. Just thought you should take that into consideration.”

I glanced back at Lincoln, who had finally settled down onto my bed.
“No pressure, dear.” he said, smiling encouragingly. “I will be whatever and whoever you need me to be.”

Stunned, it took me a moment to recover from the unexpectedly sweet comment. But then I realized something.
He was either being sweet, or just giving me an evasive response… like I do when I didn’t have the answer. That little shit.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know who I need.” I said to Lincoln.

“See, you can’t think through that one.” Judge cut in. “You can’t really connect with someone by thinking through it like it’s an elaborate equation. You have to...well, feel for it.”

“Feel for it…” I echoed. “Hmmm…”

I hummed, thinking that advice over. Instinctively, I glanced over at Lincoln, and froze.
Lincoln was now standing awfully close to my proximity, shirtless. He had his hands on his hips and clearly posturing in an exaggerated way to accentuate his model abs.
“Go on, feel for it.” he said huskily, motioning to his ridiculous eight-pack as if he was serving up a plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres. “Feel for it good.”

“I refuse.” I snapped.