Keep It in the Family

by John Marrs

He doesn’t realise that, to them, he is not human. He is an everyday, ten-a-penny object. And it doesn’t really matter how carelessly you treat an everyday object, because if it breaks, it is easily replaced.

You two finally have something in common. They say that men marry their mothers.’ ‘I’ll remind you of that comparison the next time you’re begging for a fumble under the duvet. I’ll even let you call me Mum if you like.’

the softness and pliability of their necks, the warmth of the blood flowing close to the surface, their palpitating, escalating pulse, their small, hopeless hands grabbing at mine . . . there is no feeling that will ever replicate it.