in the middle of the night, it pees

“Ken, can I ask you a weird question?” you ask. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and smiles that dazzling smile just for you.

“You can ask me anything, no matter how weird.”

“How old are you?”

You’ve long considered this question. He looks fantastic, there’s no doubt about that, he’s annoyingly attractive. But there’s also tiny little tells of his age here and there: an understated wrinkle around his eye or laughter line that never quite leaves.

You see his brow furrow and his fingers twitch as he does some internal math, then after far too long a pause, announces: “sixty-five.”

You almost fall into the goddamn bath.

“Sixty-five?!” you ask. He shrugs.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m your Ken, so I kinda started properly existing when you decided it… and you got me when you were what, seven? So I’m sort of your age minus seven. But in a much more metaphysical sense I was around for longer than that because I’m stereotypical Ken, so… yeah, sixty-five. I was made in 1961.”

Many questions push to the front of your attention like kindergarteners around their first-ever teacher, demanding to be addressed first. You go with:

“How do you know what ‘metaphysical’ means?”

“My word-of-the-day calendar. Yesterday it was ‘smorgasbord’!”

Oh, that’s why he called your body a ‘smorgasbord of delights’ mid-coitus last night. That’s another mystery put to rest.

“You look really good for sixty-five Ken. Like, crazy good.”

“Thank you! It’s the moisturisers. And also the fact I wasn’t a human person for many, many years, just a lump of unfeeling plastic until your love turned me real.”

You’ve said more than once you don’t think his situation is a Velveteen Rabbit thing, but you choose not to remark on it this time.

A beat as he changes bottles.

“Do you know what a ‘problematic age gap’ is, Ken?”

“Mm, I think I can kinda guess from the words it’s made up of.”

That’s true, he’s been much better at filling in the blanks recently. When you speak again, your voice is lower. Suggestive.

“Some people find that sexy.”

He peers at you from his position in the mirror, hand slowing its massaging motions as he considers this.

“Do… do you think it’s sexy? If I looked up your secret sexy video history, would I find that search term?”

You stand up and embrace him from the back, hands alighting on his abs as you press a kiss between his shoulder blades. He shivers in excitement.

“Maybe once upon a time. But now I don’t need secret sexy videos. I have my un-secret, even sexier real-life boyfriend.”

“… and that’s me, right?”

“It is. Come to bed, honey.”

“I need to finish my routine before we sleep—“

“Not for sleeping.”

“Oooooh.” He looks at the bottle in his hand. He looks at where you make eye contact with his reflection.