“You know what I like about you?” Yul asked Rog.


“You know how to let go.”



Rog shook his head. “What are bullocks are you talkin’ bout?”

“Not everyone can frail like you. It’s an art baby, it’s the art of letting go and I’ve never frailed anyone who can let go like you. Hellocks, most don’t even know they are still holding on and that holding on is what keeps them from being good frailers.” Yul smiled.

“Good frailers huh?” Rog thought about that for a second. “So, you’re saying I’m a good frailer.”

Yul laughed. “Yeah, I’m saying that, but I want to know. Do you know you let go?”


“Do you know that when you frail me, you let go?”

“Baby, I have no idea what you’re talkin’ bout. When I’m frailing you, all I’m doing is frailing you.”

“I know. You don’t frail me with ideas or baggage or inhibitions or rules or tradition. You just frail me. And you know what?”


“That is the only way to frail, because frailing is not about frailing, it’s not what it appears to be looking in from the outside. Real frailing, the way you frail me, is not an act, an exercise, a game, a duty, an obligation. It’s not lust or desire or control or power or submission. Yet, in a way, it’s all those things and none of those things.”

Rog just kinda stared at Yul like she was speaking in tongues.

Yul continued. “The art of frailing is the art of letting go, of riding the spontaneous waves of two souls on an ocean not of this world, of expression that slips the bonds of you and me and becomes a joining, a synthesis, if you will, a union where one plus one becomes three.”

“Baby, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but you’re kinda ruining the moment.”

“Exactly! You see?”

“See what?”

“See that everything I just said is adding, not letting go. I introduced ideas, I put baggage on your shoulders, I’ve interrupted the flow and I’m hanging on to my ideas and as long as I hang on to those thoughts, to the ego that wants my ideas recognized, then I’m not letting go, I’m not in the flow and the frailing becomes flat, it becomes ordinary, just an exercise, and you know what?”


“When it becomes just an exercise, just ordinary, I want out.”

“Now, those are spanking words.”

“I mean I want what was, I want what can be, I want that zipless, wordless frail that I know is out there. I want that release, that letting go, the letting go that can only be achieved in union, in union with one that knows, knows how to let go, and baby, that’s what you do to me, that’s what you do for me, that’s what you do with me. Don’t you see it?”

Rog smiled. “Baby, all I see is the look in your eye, the warmth of your breath, the passion in your touch.”

“You see the three. You see us, together. You don’t see me and you don’t see you. You do that, instinctively.”

Grinning, Rog said, “You know, you’re making me horny.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“Then shut the frail up and roll over here. I’ve got something I’m feeling a need to, how do you say it, let go.”

And like children lost in play, what was seen and what was felt could only make one smile.

“Rog, do you ever wonder what it would be like to frail a god, to frail the best? You know, somewhere, someone is the best.”

Rog thought about that as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“Baby, you do that for me. You take that wonder, that thought and you obliterate it into dust, for when you frail me, I know, in every nerve ending, in every cell, healthy and not, that it could never get, could never be, any better.”

Rog smiled like a poker player looking for the bluff.

Yul noticed that smile and added, “Do you have any frailing idea what that is like? To know, to experience, to enter a flow few ever enter; to reach a destination that fills your body and mind and soul so completely, so absolutely that you feel a joy, an ecstasy that explodes like thousands upon thousands of flowers on the most glorious meadow with golden rays of sun that warm skin with sensations divine and delight eye like candy before a child? A place where steps are taken but not felt, where the expanse of joy is so great, so complete, there is no room for anything else?”

“Baby, have you been messing with those vials again?”

“Baby, look at me. Life is short and we both know why we are here and I just want you to know what you do to me. I don’t want something to happen and never have the chance to say what I’m saying. And you know what?”


“I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been able to let go like I’m letting go right now, and you know what else?”

“What baby?”

“I’m just frailing exploding with the joy inside of me, the joy you’ve shown me, the joy we create, but most of all, the joy I’m able to express to you, right here, right now. Do you have any idea how it feels to be able to say what I’m saying—the freedom? I’m free baby, free to open my heart, free to express. You’ve taught me that. You’ve taught me how to let go, how to open without fear, how to open without expectation, how to just open. Baby, I may be opening my arms, my legs, but if that’s all you see, you are missing me opening my soul and you are missing our souls at play in the waters of the divine flow.”

Rog pulled Yul tight, his eyes full with unshed tears of a joy he could not explain and he hugged her like they were on the stone floor of her dark bathroom, and as before, Yul felt a hug that was more than a hug—she felt a soul melting into her, she felt minds in tune, the harmony of a pure understanding shared.

As tears christened the moment, the buzzer sounded. “Rog, Yul, this is Mairi. Open up. Hurry.”

Categories: Story, Rog, Yul, Mairi