Frotteurman’s first coming happened behind his green bedroom door at precisely a quarter to midnight after a sunny wintry day and during his twenty seventh year on earth. His second took place some eight years later.
Frotteurman was formerly Frankie James, an only child of Benny and Hattie; and who used to work as a furniture salesman. Frankie is an attractive man and was strongly attracted to women. But when the attraction had lead on to intimacy Frankie could not complete his sexual role. His women loved his stamina but they realised he could not climax. At their urging Frankie went to many doctors and specialists who diagnosed an anxiety disorder which, after many therapies and tablets, could not be cured. Frankie began to withdraw from all social contacts retiring more and more behind his green bedroom door. Eventually he refused to come out. He was depressed. And although his parents were extremely worried for him they supported their son by providing his daily meals, washing his clothes, and by changing his alfoil bed linen whenever he went to the bathroom.
Behind his green bedroom door is a single bed and beside it a computer. With a few clicks of his mouse Frankie is surfing the World Wide Web. Although isolated and alone, Frankie is driven by the belief that flying solo may be his only way to achieve his first climax. Safe now, he’s become an anonymous voyeur, a watcher, a deviant macroscopist. His watching life is paralleling with what he sees in this virtual world. His new world bedroom is his created possibility, and with time his world is becoming more probable. He’s risking becoming trapped in this world like a smoker trapped by habit. It is a risk he needs to take. And though physically catatonic, his mind has become incredibly flexible. He bends it with every new excitement he encounters. In the safe environment of his bedroom there is little need for him to be normal anymore. He can eat his breakfast naked. He can sleep fully clothed. He’s making his own rules. He doesn’t have to brush his teeth five times at day. The World Wide Web is vast, really vast, too tempting for Frankie to ignore; his mind ever expanding, like the universe itself.
Much has interested Frankie, but he is yet to be fully aroused. He has seen in action many ‘isms, and impossible ‘ologys unimaginable to normal everyday conservative people like his parents. However they have come to intrigue Frankie, these performers. These adults seem like children to him, wide eyed and adventurous. And if they saw him, they would see how much alike they are. Frankie’s aims are universal, natural; their methods imaginative. But what is it that they have now liberated for the entire world to see? Is it just the need for money? How high are they flying when they’re flying high? Are they breaking free, and is Frankie needy enough to stay with them? God must be bored with humanity Frankie tells himself. They do not appear neurotics these performers, for they express themselves freely and openly. So far there has been no closure for Frankie, but neither has there been the flacco in recession.
This is also no place for warm skins seeking other warm skins to lie lovingly and securely next to. This is not the place for affectionate cuddles. Frankie is following animal pathways in an unexplored jungle. His anxiety and depression is leading him deeper into the abnormal sexual suites and variations on display. Anything goes, and it feels alright. When he’s been climbing down Jacob’s ladder, Frankie’s waving to passing angels on their way up. He looks forward to meeting those at the bottom struggling to get on the first rung. What apprehensions he first had, they have now gone. He is possessed by strange and dehumanising desires, ones that could damage vulnerable psyches; he recognises the glamour, visions and sounds as his own. Is he is merely a participant observer? Oh what the hell he mumbles under his breath, he’s very excited. Yet he is also curious enough to wonder about these people. What were they doing prior to their performances? What kind of lives do they lead afterwards? Are they normal when they are not performers? Frankie has just himself to answer to, to have a cigarette and a drink with; to push through this unyielding jungle. But his loneliness is telling, his needs imploding.
Frankie has left a sexual life that was natural and loving, intimate and pleasurable, even funny; but it was always frustrating. He was selfless when loving women. But by not climaxing love leaves Frankie feeling as abnormal as the scenes is watching. His impressions of love have become distorted, ventricular, surreal; passions noir, and furtively addictive. He has gone far beyond the boundaries set down by moral authorities. Moral values authored by God and relied upon by humanity to keep restive its moral chaos. And now if one person finds a thing erotic, others will certainly follow; boundaries are being pushed because they are there.
He might still want to be with a woman. This is what Frankie unconsciously hopes for. But he feels his only option is to watch and listen and try to excite himself by observing the intimacy of others. He worries sometimes that his computer mouse and, keyboard, the speakers, the screen, are fetish objects in themselves. He wonders how he might incorporate them into normal intimacy should he get out of his depression and risk intimacy with a woman.
Feeling shameless is at least a comfort to Frankie. He has felt ashamed by his behaviour and he’s felt guilty. Things are normal out there, beyond his green door. Frankie has overcome his guilt and he is liberated. He’s realised that his guilt came not from him but from his Christian background. But his shame was his own, and he understood it. And if he were not ashamed of his upbringing he would not be here.
This night at a quarter to midnight Frankie accidentally rubbed himself against his bed while leaning over to adjust his pillow, and for the first time in his life he has climaxed.
The next morning Frankie woke up as Frotteurman.
Frotteurman’s amazing second coming happened while lightning flashed from the east and flashed to the west with polyphonic sounds of oceanic guitar sounds emanating from the sea’s undergrowth, and when the four winds were gathered together from the North Pole and the South Pole and blew as one, and when a great heat was spread from the Equator across the world; and this was in his thirty fifth year on earth.
This is Frotteurman’s arrival; an announcement of his presence. Witnesses have testified that they saw a man looking like a scarecrow standing on a street bench looking skywards arms outstretched and crying. And when they too looked skywards they saw clouds rapidly coming together and then parting and then clashing again, obliterating the sun and sky blue. And when these witnesses were asked what they saw they couldn’t remember. But they remembered his sobbing and sorry words, and they remembered the music of saxophones coming from nowhere, and how the air felt as though it was being sucked away and how they began suffocating, and a sudden and unmistakable tongue of fire appearing on the top of his head, followed by a palpable darkness that surrounded him like a swarm of locusts, and a great noise like thunder coming from surrounding alleyways, and the swarms and air around him that appeared to melt. And he stood on the bench smiling, and he slowly stepped down from it and said hello, and then he went jogging.
And Frotteurman, formerly known as Frankie James, went around the streets in a battered business suit performing magical acts and pointing out miraculous street signs, like an angel of light, his hands glancing pavements like a pair of diving swallows, and though he was mute, his smiling face spoke of transformation, spoke of metamorphosis, and not of self deceiving, nor of deceiving others, for his profound experience is something to be shared, and women began to follow him, and gently did he touch their faces looking into their eyes without lust, and they walked away saying to themselves ‘he has come, he has come’, and there were adoring others prostrating themselves before him as he walked, and his smiles were wholesome and inviting, his whistling nose melodious, for he was now walking the straight and most glorious way.
Why did Frankie call himself Frotteurman? Why did his second coming take another eight years? And why was it so different to the first? These are difficult questions impossible for him to answer so far. All he knows is that he is born again; and that he must find every performer he saw and save them. And when he began to eat dinner with his parents again they never bothered to ask about him. They did not care for the piles of underwear in his room. They were too enthralled by his presence. And since the second coming Frankie or Frotteurman, has not been at his computer. Those eight years between the different comings have indeed been very dark. That time has ebbed from Frotteurman’s memory. All he remembers is that unexpected rub from his bed; the catalyst for his transformation.