I, Love Doll

“I’m sorry. Can you just repeat what you just said. You want to do what with me?”

“Cuddle.”

Excuse me while I die inside.  

Do you want to slam me in the asshole until my rectum becomes a screaming cave filled with a hidden lake of your jizz? Done.

Would you like to throat pound me until I puke on your balls? I’m there yesterday, baby (and all last week).

Basically, when it comes to phone sex with me, I am a collection of holes and fantasies strung together with connective tissue and money. Aside from the taboos of the company, I am game, set, match, most of the time. 

Cuddling, however, is probably my biggest pet peeve when it comes to phone sexing. Fairly close second is kissing. I can handle kissing for a short while, especially if I just get all porno about it, jamming my tongue down someones throat and all that beastliness. But if it’s too intimate, I get uncomfortable. One time a guy asked me to make kissing noises into the phone, and I actually gagged. 

So the cuddle requester was a man named Mike. He was shy, polite, nice to talk to. He was from Saudi Arabia, and was living in Washington, where he was studying business. He didn’t have an especial passion for business, he just didn’t want to live in Saudi Arabia, and he was smart enough to do well in school.  He wanted freedom, and America seemed like the place to obtain that.  

The first time we called, we talked for quite a while about all sorts of things. The profile he called was Asian. I am not actually Asian. But for a certain amount of cash, I am a bleached blonde half Cambodian named Denise.  I picked Cambodian as her nationality because I’m fascinated by the country and its history, and the anonymous woman whose image I claim as my own resembled Khmer women. Even I fetishize that which I sell as a fetish object. 

The topic of race came up, with Mike being from a foreign country and all. We talked about not being white and how weird white people were. It was one of the oddest conversations I’ve ever had, and the weirdest part of it was that I actually felt like I was helping alleviate some of Mike’s obvious loneliness by “relating” to him as a non white person. It was a comforting lie, like a freshly starched pillow I placed under his head to help him sleep better. 

He told me he hadn’t really experienced overt racism since he came to America. Some uneasiness and ignorance due to him being foreign, especially considering that he was Middle Eastern. But, he was happy in America, he wanted to stay. 

When we finally got down to the physical stuff, he wanted to spoon and cuddle and hold my hand and all that shit. 

“ I’m holding you from behind, and I’m kissing your neck, and your ear, and I;m running my hands through your hair…do you like that?”

“Uh huh.”

“So now I’m holding your hand, and I’m feeling your pulse in your wrist. Do you like that?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“ Now I’m touching your back, and working my fingers into your back muscles, massaging you, do you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“ I’m slowly working my way up your back, to your mid back, higher, to your shoulders, to your neck…do you like that?”

“Assume I like everything unless I say otherwise”

“Okay. My hair smells like mint. Do you like that?

And on and on it went…for hours. I’m not exaggerating. It was agonizing and annoying. We did get down to penetration eventually. It was all slow sensual shit, very one speed fucking. Barely fucking…it was making love, which I hated. 

Mike became a sort of girlfriend experience guy for a little while. He would call often, and tell me he had been thinking about me all day and that he missed me. 

I asked him one day if he dated, if he had any prospects. He told me no, that he was a virgin. 

I’ll be honest, his confession did not surprise me. But I wasn’t gonna embarrass him and be an asshole about it, so, I just gave a nonchalant “oh, really?” response to to his admission. 

“Have you ever…met a virgin before?”

I refrained from saying “yeah, I know some children” and instead said:

“Yes. In fact, I used to be one myself. For 16 years.”

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m a virgin…considering I’m 23?”

“No. You walk amongst us, I’m aware of that fact. You know, most people lie about how much sex they are getting, or if they are getting any at all. The ones that brag the most usually are doing it to mask the Sahara desert like conditions of their sex life.”

It’s tough for Mike especially because he just came from a country and culture where people are encouraged to be sexually chaste. Now he lives in a world where twearking sells baby food (it doesn’t, but, why not?) 

A former client who lived all throughout the Middle East used to tell me all about the underground BSDM and sexual culture that existed there, but, it wasn’t a place that many people could or would gain access to, especially if you were shy, like Mike. 

I asked Mike how far he had gone, sexually speaking. He hadn’t gone anywhere. There was a girl he went to school with who he liked and befriended. He had been hoping that they would hook up at some point, but, whenever they had gotten alone, he had been staunchly friend zoned. 

“Have you ever thought about hiring an escort?”, I asked. 

“Yeah…I have. What do you think about men who do that?”

“Well, considering what I do to make money, I can’t really judge. Not that I would anyways. I say go for it, but, I’d advise you to be safe. Go to an agency, pick a hot girl you really like. Don’t pick someone up off the street. A good agency will make sure that the girl isn’t diseased. Use a condom, regardless. Not the drug store ones either, those ones tend to be too thick. Go to a sex shop and get something safe but ultra thin. Ask the people who work there what ones are best. Tell the escort you are a virgin. They’ll love you. You won’t be weird and demanding, they’ll take care of you.”

“What about…what about pocket…pocket…”

“Pocket pussies?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t have a dick, but, I feel if I did, I would own a few of them. The problem with some of them is that you cum inside them and them have to clean your own cum out afterwards, which is not ideal. But, I’m certain you can find masturbatory aids at a sex store or online that don’t humiliate you afterwards. You ever been to a sex shop?”

“Not really.”

“Go! You must. Don’t be shy. The people who work there are paid to help you. You’re helping them!”

“What about a…a doll?”

“I have a caller, King of The Dipshits, who had a blow up doll, and he loved her. He really did. Her name was Alexa, and he had to patch her up a lot with duct tape, the brute. He was sad when she died. I’m guessing you’d probably want a Real Doll, one of the custom high end ones”

“Yes. I’ve looked at them online. “

“The only downside is that they are really expensive. But, you can get cheaper models, they just aren’t as custom, so you can’t add tons of extra features, but, it’s a Real Doll, they all look good, so, who cares? Some things are worth the money. You know what though? If you want to buy a cheaper one that isn’t a Real Doll, I say go for it, just to give it a try. If it doesn’t work out, you just jerked off with a sex toy that you don’t care for, no harm, no foul. Just get some good lube, water based or silicone, oil based isn’t good for you.” 

“The only issue I have is that sometimes my family comes to visit me, and I wouldn’t know where to put it.”

“That…could be very difficult. You need a place you can hide her, that’s for sure. Could you shove it into the closet?”

“Maybe..”

“Or, keep the crate that she comes in, and put her in the crate in a storage locker when your family comes. Do you have a car?”

“Yeah.”

“Transport her in that."

Okay, so, having a sex doll is weird. Making sweet love to something that doesn’t have a pulse is strange. That’s not how biology works, buddy. But, if there is one thing I know to be absolutely true, it is that all humans are weird. And, humans are lonely. Humans want to fuck. Humans want companionship. Humans want to feel intimacy. Sometimes the lack of that makes them even weirder. Sometimes they do weird things to alleviate the loneliness

Mike comes from a culture where his virginity is acceptable…even preferred. In North America, virginity is shameful. 

Sex can be great. It can be explosive and intense and life altering. However, what few people will admit to is that is can also be dull, humiliating, alienating, and unsatisfying. It can expose your weaknesses, and make you feel inferior. Just because you are having it, it doesn’t mean it is a good thing. Sometimes, not having it at all can be a better option. 

Vanity Fair magazine wrote a profile on the company that makes Real Dolls and its founder.  Of the Real Doll customers, they wrote,

 “ Some are grieving over the loss of a spouse and can’t fathom dating. Others are perhaps disabled, disfigured, or so terrified of women that they can’t even look at them. But they all like the idea of having a human-ish presence around rather than watching them on a screen, drawing their sorrows, and withering away completely alone.

But not all customers are painfully shy sad sacks. There is no “type” who buys the company’s dolls and other silicone products. They include futurists, art collectors, truck drivers, scientists. housewives, couples seeking to enhance their sex lives, lawyers, surgeons, a nursing association, a dental school, men with prostate cancer who can’t get an erection but miss cuddling, burn victims, and wounded vets."

I can’t help but be reminded of one of my all time favourite books, “The Velveteen Rabbit”. It tells the story of the titular rabbit who yearns to be real. He is loved by a boy, who takes the rabbit everywhere. Over time, the rabbit becomes shabby and threadbare. The boy comes down with scarlet fever and is sent away. Everything in his nursery is ordered to be burned, including the rabbit. 

As the rabbit awaits the blaze, he becomes overcome with loneliness. Memories flash through his mind of his beautiful life with the boy. He cries a real tear. As it falls to the ground, it blooms into a flower with a fairy inside. The fairy kisses him. She tells him that the love the boy had for him made him real, and now, he would be real to everyone. He is transformed into a real rabbit. 

 Love is the thing that makes us real. The love we give and receive completes our life and makes us whole. It can come from all sorts of places, even a love doll. It is a lonely world, and love makes the arduousness of this life’s journey worth it. It doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as you have it. 

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

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