almost okay

It had been a long time. A very long time. A long, long, LONG time since I'd been laid. The old lady left me two years ago and I'd pretty much been avoiding women ever since. You learn to lose trust, know what I mean?

I'd been falling back on the old standby: porn-fueled self-abuse, and it was getting old. Very old. Very, very, VERY old. The few so-called 'dates' I'd been able to hook up weren't in the least bit fun and I'd found something to hate about every one of the women I'd seen, if for no other reason than their standards were low enough to be with my disgusting ass in the first place.

After my last particularly frustrating 'date', I made a beeline for the adult novelty store. I picked up a low-end blow up doll, the box photo showing a cute, busty blond in lingerie and fishnet stockings. “Do you have any black dolls?” I asked the clerk, who was sitting on a stool behind a sheet of plexiglass that was covered in smeary fingerprints. He looked at me, then at the box, then back at me and shook his head, a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. “We outta dem,” he said.

I took Blondie home, put on some music and turned down the lights. As I was blowing her up, I saw a few problems right away, but I hung in there and let nature take its course. I tried to imagine that last woman I'd had dinner with, but it didn't help. Then I went through my usual list of fantasies, starting with Beyonce and ending with an old girlfriend I had who fucked like a rabbit and could give me an orgasm just by looking at me. After a twenty-minute hump, Blondie was flat as a pancake and I was sweating, spent from the effort but finally finished.

I felt stupid, but I slept like a baby.

It was the waking up part the next morning, remembering what I'd done, seeing Blondie flat and wrinkled next to me, her plastic flesh covered in a crust of dried semen that made a light bulb go off over my head. I knew I'd never touch her again. No, Blondie was just too damn artificial. I'd heard about those Real Dolls, though, and I knew that the technology was there for a much more realistic experience. I just didn't want an 'off-the-shelf' version.

As I showered and shaved, the gears in my head began to slowly turn. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I just might be able to make my own custom love doll. I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, I think, and I have more tools than Norm the Yankee Carpenter. With a little research and some of that silicone they use for special makeup effects in the movies, I figured I could have my Real Doll my own damn way.

I put on a pot of coffee and fired up the Dell. My fingers were trembling as I tapped the words 'real doll' into a Google search...


Next Time: If horny is the mother of all necessities, and necessity truly is the mother of invention, then why the HELL hadn't I thought of this before?