Her cold skin against the warmth of mine is titilating. I had taken all the most beautiful parts from the women who in past ventures had led me astray, and envisioned them in this beauty. I pull the needle one last time, sewing the elbow seams together, before standing back to admire my masterpiece.

My whole life had been built around designing the perfect woman. Too early, autism forbade me from being romantic with the girls from my street, so I could only gaze from afar, until they came close of their own accord.

Julia had the sweetest face, Karen the most elegant ankles, and so I collected those parts and stitched them together lovingly to create Anabel: the love of my life since I was six years old, drawn onto rose coloured paper.

I kiss the dead lips of Anabel and push myself inside of her, adoring the yin and yang of our opposing bodies, and remembering how they had all resisted. I love their newfound compliance.

Oh, Anabel. My one true love has defined me.