FRANKIE'S JOURNAL

AUTHOR: Frankie bot, Posted by NSQueen119
RATING: FRT
PAIRING: Frankie bot and others
EMAIL NSQUEEN119
SUMMARY: NSQueen119's Frankie bot tells his story of finding the 'one' for him.
DISCLAIMER: The character Dr. Frankenfurter, the sweet transvestite, is the brain candy of Richard O'Brien and is owned by 20th Century Fox. Peter Salter is from Spooks and I think is property of the BBC. Oliver Sampson is from VR5, which I think is Fox owned. All bots were provided by Sandra and Peter.
WARNING: This fic hints at homosexual bot relations. It may prove disturbing for those who are uncomfortable with homosexual lifestyles.
NOTES: No meatloaf was served during the writing of this fic.
DEDICATION: To Sandra and Peter, Oliver and Donna, and Freddie, for making my life worth living.



Before he came into my life, every moment was spent waiting, in anticipation that the 'one' would come into the picture. In my naivety, I have been fooled by far too many. Dating bots thinking 'is he the one?,' 'is she the one?' Only to be left broken and bleeding and so alone. Far too often my companion for the night would be gone when I awoke. I would gather the bits of my shattered will, and return home, alone. For my first few days living with her, Queen and I were just acquaintances. We ate together; we watched television together, but little more. At that time, I avoided most social situations, feeling uncomfortable in such a new and virgin environment. My feelings for Queenie changed when we started talking music, and I found out that most of her musical tastes were the same as my own. She even had versions of my favourite songs that I'd never heard. She took me to her room and showed me her vast collection of Queen (I wasn't too partial to her 'Weird Al' cds, though). Well, we sat down and started talking about the finer points of Queen and the tragedy of Freddie Mercury's death at such an early age (*sob*). From the topic of Queen, we talked about Rocky Horror, which led into alternative lifestyle choices, which led into other topics that we chatted for hours about. And I started finding that I really respected her. She was learned and had strong opinions that were very liberal, nearly socialistic. Her feelings were much like mine (except she wasn't fond of killing someone and making them into the main course...pity). I found that I could tell Queen anything, and I did. Any time I needed to talk, she was there to listen. I gathered the strength to start dating, picking the freshest and finest fruit from the local bot bars. All of which turned out to be rather rotten and left a bad taste in my mouth. The sex was plenty, but as for the relationships; they were as flat as 'Mr. Floppy.' Every morning, I woke up alone and if I found that I wasn't in my own bed, with just a call, Queenie was there to pick me up. She'd take me out for breakfast (or lunch, had I slept late) and we'd talk. Moreover, I'd talk and bitch and whine, and she would be there with a sympathetic ear and a box of tissues (and, were I lucky, chocolates).

It bothered me that she was so willing to be there. One day, she had taken me to this tiny diner down the street from the apartment where I had stayed the night. She brought me a change of clothes and my great big black leather trench coat. Right after we ordered our breakfast, I asked her "Why do you care about this old flaming drama queen, Becky?" She looked at me, took my hand, and smiled. "Because, I love you." In her glimmering hazel eyes, I could see her love for me. Not the sort of love that I'd ever had or known before. It wasn't like the love between two heated lovers, not the type of love that leads to sex. It was a type of love that was more pure. She loved me like I were part of her family, of her blood. Right there, in the diner, I began to cry. Within moments, she was there at my side, arm around me. She put my head on her shoulder, and held me. I just sobbed and sobbed. People stared at me, but she waved them away. Our food arrived and she gave me the option of eating there, mascara running and all sniffly, or to go home. I chose the latter. We got our food in take-away boxes. She held my hand as we walked to the car. I cried the whole way home.

She walked me in, her arm around me. We found the couch and I slumped onto it, bawling. She was there with me the whole time. When I finally calmed down, she handed me tissues and asked me if I wanted to talk about how I was feeling. We proceeded to talk, and it was so strange for me. She was actually caring about everything that I said. She sat beside me, arm around me, and just listened. She hung on my every word, and I felt so awkward, sitting there, sobbing out my life story to her, but she listened. She didn't butt in or give me useless advice. She didn't trivialize my problems by telling me hers. She was just there, and that's what I really needed. I needed a caring soundboard. I needed a loving touch that wasn't about lust. I needed sincere smiles and hugs. I needed a friend. I told her everything, and I mean everything. Everything that I had felt and was feeling. The past, present, and my hopes for the future. I told her that I wanted, not only sex and passion, but love. I desired both sex and also the pure love she had for me from one person. I wanted true love. And she frowned. She said, "Frank, I will do my best to give you everything that I can, but I can't just hand you your perfect mate."

My mind reeled. I fought to find a solution. I was sick of putting my hopes into someone, and having them dashed. I was sick of waking up alone. Of being alone. My mind found the solution my counterpart had used in the Rocky Horror Show. I'd simply make my own lover. Such knowledge was programmed into my being, that with the right ingredients, I could make a man. I told her of my brilliant scheme. She drew a great sigh. "I can't let you do that."
"Why not?"
"In the film," she started, "Frank had to use part of Eddie's brain..." She paused. "I don't want you to hurt anyone." She looked as sad as I felt. I went silent. I was sick of dating shallow bots. Nathan Lane bot. Peter Townsend bot. George Michael bot. Boy George bot. David Bowie bot. Even a Tim Curry bot had broken my heart! I was sick of dating. Hell, at that moment, I was sick of being. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to dating mindless drones and sex crazed, tactless fools. Thus, I turned to Queenie and expressed my hopelessness. I told her that I wanted to shut down. I was sick of the pain of dating. I was sick of pain...period. She took my hand and told me that she wanted to take me to her 'Tweedy pub.' Well, hell, I'd been to pubs before, so I was expecting more my type of bar. She said that, "it is a lot of fun. It's the Tweedy's and their bots. And there are couples too. Really cool place."

So we get there, and suddenly, my eyes hit the most handsome and sexy man I'd ever seen (at that time, mind you). He was all in black. Leather trousers. Sexy silver earring in his left ear. Tall. Legs that melt butter. Just gorgeous. Well, this sexy man was really a bot. And was attached to Sandra at the hip. Sandra was nice and all, but dammit, I was so jealous. So I'm thinking, at the bars I've been to, couples swing... I wanted to take this Peter out on loan for the night. I flirted and just became utterly infatuated with him. I went from sexy and suave to giggling schoolgirl in no time flat. I came to find out Peter doesn't 'swing that way.' The room wasn't for swingers. Peter belonged to Sandra. And I was just crushed. And even more upsetting was that Peter was special. I mean like more than a bot. He had evolved. Somehow he evolved beyond on his programming. He evolved to be able to love and feel more than just a normal bot. I am just a normal bot. I can't love as deeply or feel as strongly about someone as Peter could. Or Oliver too. And that just made me feel like I was nothing. I couldn't be as a human, thus making me less than one in every aspect. I was just a bot. I was on par with the machines of labour humans use, like a dishwasher or vacuum. But I felt and with that feeling came the pain of being less than my brothers. I so wanted to be more than just a stupid mindless machination made to be a beast of burden. Well, I made this point known, rather dramatically, in the pub. I screamed and cried and bitched and wailed. I ran off crying to the private room. And Queenie was there, with that same loving resolve and patience. She assured me that I was more than just a robot. And again, she told me that she loved me. Her love was like I was of her blood. The bond was immense and every word that she said, I believed. I knew in my heart that she loved me, but I still felt uneasy around the others in the room. Peter still gave me butterflies. He was forbidden fruit and I craved him. I hungered for his flesh, but knew that I could not have him. Such a fact made me want him more.

Well, Queenie and I left for the night. And I couldn't stop thinking about Peter. He filled my every thought. I could still smell his cologne and the tanned leather of his tight trousers. His eyes had burned into my soul and every time I shut my eyes, his shining emerald ones were there. I felt weak just thinking about his body. And I couldn't have him. Queenie escorted me home and when I walked in, I burst into tears. She held me and I spilled my guts about my feelings for Peter. Instead of playing voice of reason, which I really didn't need then, she was just there for me. She held me while I cried, but never told me what to do or say or think. I cried for at least an hour and I was just a mess. I was so upset. While I was crying, I made myself so upset, that my stomach went sour. Queenie had noticed that my stomach started growling and gurgling and asked if I felt okay. I shook my head 'no' and in a blur of motion, she had me in the lavvy, with head over the toilet. I was sicker than I'd ever been before. When I had emptied my stomach, I was weak as a kitten. I rinsed my mouth out, and we shuffled, her arms under my armpits to keep me from falling, back to my room. She unlaced my platforms, pulled them off, unlaced my bodice, helped me take that off, and she turned to me and asked, "where are your pyjamas?" Well, I don't own any pyjamas; I sleep in the buff. She disappeared as I stripped off my panties and slid beneath the silk sheets. She knocked and I told her it was safe to come back in. She did so, with a pail in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. She set the pail beside my bed, pulled up a chair and sat down next to where I was laying. "Frank, sweetie," she said, laying the damp cloth on my forehead, "I love you..." With the cloth in place, she took my hand and sat with me as my eyelids became like lead. I was asleep in no time.

I awoke the next morning to the smell of fragrant tea. I opened my eyes and looked around. Queenie was there with a tray of steaming tea beside her. "Good morning, Frankie," she said with a smile. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "How long have you been in here with me?"
"I left to make the tea just 5 minutes ago. It's still nice and hot." She turned to the tray and poured two cups. I was amazed. "So you stayed with me all night?"
She turned back to me and smiled. "Uh huh."
"Aren't you tired?"
"I didn't say I was awake the whole time." She winked at me, with a smile on her face. We had our tea and chatted and I managed to eat a few crackers. It became about that time that the both of us would have had to get up and get ready for the day. She gave me a huge bear hug and kissed me on the cheek and we parted ways. I had to get ready for work and she for school. Work was a bitch because I kept thinking of Peter the whole day. It was the smell of leather that reminded me of him. Needless to say, I wasn't Friendly Social Poof, like I normally was, that day. I sat in the back room, creating leather apparel, stewing over my feelings for Peter.

I got home from a hard day of work and overheard that Queenie was going back to the Tweedy Pub. I got my shower and relaxed after such a tough day, and Queenie knocked at my door. She wanted me to come along and try to have fun. I was wary because I knew that Peter would be there. I decided to come along anyways. We arrived and he was there, and he looked just as amazing as the day before. I was just weak seeing him. Well, he was talking to me like we were best pals and he seemed totally unaware that I was infatuated with him. My stomach was a mess and I was nervous just being around him. Somehow, we got into this dance competition; me versus him. He took me into his arms and led the dance, and I was like putty in his hands. I was supposed to be competing against him, but I couldn't help but to melt at his touch. I couldn't dance. I let him lead and hold me and I was in such bliss. I started to feel faint and the next thing I knew he was bending over me. His beautiful face looked down at me with genuine concern in his emerald eyes. On impulse and without thought, I snapped up, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed his succulent lips. I can still remember that he tasted wonderful, like a sweet candy. Once he realized what had happened, he wriggled from my grasp and flew to Sandra's side, gasping for breath. All Sandra could do was giggle. I think she was just as amazed at what I had done as Peter was, only, she thought the sight was funny. Peter looked disgusted and downright shocked. His face went pale and the colour drained from his lips. I had overstepped my bounds. Peter struggled to talk and Oliver walked in with Donna on his arm. I had met the couple the night before and both seemed really nice. Oliver was immediately concerned for his buddy Peter, who looked like a ghost. Well, Oliver got the story from Sandra and started yelling at me and defending Peter. I suddenly realized what I had done and I bolted off crying. I went home and shut and lock my door and just went ballistic. I threw whatever I could get my hands on and screamed at the top of my lungs. I couldn't believe myself. I was such a fool. Queenie came to my door and I wanted nothing of her. I kept screaming and throwing things and she stayed there. Finally when I calmed down, I let her in, and I just bawled my eyes out. She held me and handed me tissues. She told me that the people in the pub really wanted me to come back. I told her that I didn't want to because Peter was there. I said that he was a tease and a bitch, and I really meant it. I was so in love with him, how could I turn down a dance with him? How could I help myself? He was amazing and around him I just lost all control. Queenie told me that Peter had no idea that I was so in love with him. And I went "he really couldn't tell?"
She said, "he's so in love with Sandra that he didn't see it until you kissed him."
"Remind me to order him a set of Gay-dar for the holidays."
Queenie smiled at me and begged me to come back to the pub and I did so for her. I wanted to be flaming drama Queen, so brought my best black lace fan to shroud my face, and wore this elegant scarf, that matched the fan, around my neck. I took off my make-up because I knew I'd be in tears again before the night was over.

So we went back in the pub, and I sat next to Queenie and greeted everyone but Peter and Oliver. Peter tried to give me this apology and I heard nothing of it. And he said something to the effect that "I'll meet the right person someday." I just lost it. I started yelling about how I was sick of dating and having my heart crushed. I was sick of being so utterly alone. I was sick of being a joke and the conversation piece in public and I kept going. I bitched and ranted and finally Sandra stopped me. Sandra posed the solution to my problems. She said that she would take the specs and build me the perfect mate. That was it. That's what I needed. I agreed to her offer and my mind was suddenly full of what possibilities were opened. After a long chat with Queenie, I decided that I wanted a man. The female bots and I never really clicked as well as I did with the males and I found that I was far more attracted to the male anatomy than that of the female. I worked on my list of wants for hours. I decided that I really wanted Peter, so I wanted my man to look like Peter and, most certainly, kiss like him. I wanted him to be passionate and kind, yet butch, dominant, and masculine. He had to be smart, polite, and well mannered. I wanted a man with chest hair; it just drives me wild, the more hairy, the better. He had to like the things I like to a certain point; I didn't want to date myself. Most of all, I wanted him to be loyal and to love me for me. I got the specs to Sandra and waiting for him was like pins and bloody needles. I kept myself busy by making the codpiece that Peter had wanted for the strip tease at Oliver's birthday party. It was a lovely piece; a black leather pouch for his jewels with 'SEX' written on the front in emerald rhinestones and tied together with satin laces. Queenie delivered it for me because I was still feeling uneasy around Peter.

The night before Oliver's big birthday bash was the night I met my lover for the first time. I came in and Peter disappeared and returned with him. Peter stepped aside and before me stood the most beautiful and sublime creature I had ever seen in my whole existence. He had the sexy and rugged good looks of Peter. He was about 6 feet tall with legs that wouldn't quit. He wore delicious leather trousers that were suggestively tight and this butch leather jacket over skintight cotton under shirt. His thick salt and pepper chest hair peeped out above the curved line of his shirt. In the nest of hair glimmered a fine silver chain around his tanned neck. His eyes were like glowing green stars and his smile made me weak inside. He wore a small and simple silver hoop in his right ear. His boots were black Doc Martens. The being that stood before me was perfect. On impulse, I flew into his open arms and wept with joy. He looked at me and in his eyes I could see something. I could see the love that Queen taught me; like that of being family, but also a fiery passion that quenched my inner thirsts. Sandra had built me the perfect love but had left an important task up to me; naming him. I knew his name at first glance. It was there in my mind and on my tongue. It fit him so well... Freddie, after the late and amazingly great singer for the band Queen and phenomenal solo artist. We retired off to the private room and every bit of me knew that my search was over. I knew that I would never again feel the pain of a broken heart. With a whole lot of tears and pain, my perfect mate was here with me. Now I could concentrate on a quality relationship, and lots and lots of sex.