Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13

Sonja Stollenkrantz, with her multiple Master's degrees in computer science and her expertise in writing complex computer code, hadn't expected to wind up using her specialist software skills somewhere like this: on Sex Doll For U's production line.

But unfortunately for twenty-five-year-old Sonja, resident and happily settled in the UK now for two years, it was as needs must.

Her previous company had relocated abroad. And in a depressed post-Brexit jobs market, working for Sex Doll For U was the only job Sonja could find at the moment in her South London locale that suited her particular talents; that utilised her specialised skill set.

But, for now, it would have to do.

Sonja couldn't afford to be picky. She had little in the way of savings, and she had a London-prices living to make: Her single person's pad's outrageous and crippling rent to pay; her seemingly ever increasing bus and London Underground Tube fares, to commute to her workplace; food and clothes and make-up to buy ...

At the end of each month, after paying all of her usual outgoings and other sundry expenses, on her less than reliable Zero-Hours Contract agency work pay, there wasn't much left over for fun.

And Sonja was a fun sort of girl.

So, she was beginning to wonder: What was the point of her coming to work and live in lively London if she was always scratching for cash?

And now, things had come to a head, for the beautiful East European computer whiz.

Sonja - a stunningly attractive dark-haired, olive-complexioned economic migrant from Serbia - was sure that Sex Doll For U was shafting her on her take-home pay.

At first, believing them to be genuine, honest mistakes, Sonja had queried the first couple of instances of pay discrepancies at the wages office, but it was to no avail. And in fact the implicit message she'd been given was clear: If you don't like it (If you don't like providing a top-rate skill for bottom-rate remuneration), you can leave.

And, as if that wasn't enough, Sonja's unscrupulous employers were now diddling her on her holiday entitlement as well. And that was now holding up her plans to visit her much-missed mum and dad and her kid brothers and sisters back home in Serbia.

Okay, thought Sonja vengefully.

Enough is enough.

***

Derek Duncan, girlfriendless and prospectless in that direction and, to his acute shame, still to lose his cherry at the advanced age of twenty-one, was on his laptop computer frequenting the usual Internet websites looking for cheap (free) thrills.

Wasn't the Internet just great? He always found something to help rub one out.

Pulling his plonker every night to the video hotties wasn't the same as having a girlfriend. But it was as needs must.

If only he could find himself a real girlfriend.

But Derek wasn't much of a hit with the girls.

Shorter than most girls, there were several other confidence sapping ways he didn't measure up; not least was that he still had a problem with acne, and his bright carrot-coloured hair didn't help matters either. People were always saying that it was a person's personality and not their looks, that mattered. But from bitter experience, Derek knew that was a load of bull.

So these great free porn vids came as a great relief - in more ways than one.

These 'targeted' pop-up ads could be a nuisance, though, grumbled Derek to himself at said latest unwelcome interruption to his enjoyment. He could hardly complain; he was watching freebies, after all. But they were a bit of a downside. Especially when they suddenly superimposed themselves, like now, intruding upon the hot vid he was currently enthusiastically enjoying.

This intrusive targeted pop-up was brazenly saying: Recommended for YOU!

It was an advertisement for a sex doll, by a company called Sex Doll For U.

What a bloody cheek!

Still, thought Derek. It wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a browse ...

Some of them looked kind of hot.

***

Okay then, you penny-pinching shysters, thought Sonja Stollenkrantz sullenly of her diddling employers as she typed in the unique personality behavioural computer code she'd been working on all over the weekend into 'Mitzi', the sex doll on the production line now in front of her. You've asked for it. And now, you are going to get it.

See what happens when you mess with me. I didn't spend five years in technical college learning my ass off and perfecting my skills, to be treated like this. I'm going to fix you: Whoever ends up with Mitzi is going to sue your penny-pinching ass!

Anyway, wondered Sonja, not for the first time, What sort of inadequate, limp-dicked jerk-offs buy these dolls? Why ... limp-dicked, inadequate jerk-offs, of course! thought Sonja, chuckling to herself.

Before she'd come to work for Sex Doll For U, she'd had no idea there was such a big market for these 'girls'.

Sex Doll For U's Deluxe, top of the range line of 'Intimate Friends' were in ever growing demand. Orders came in from all over the world. And with the post-Brexit pound devalued, making them more affordable to buyers from overseas, orders for the sex dolls were coming in thicker and faster than ever.

Well, it took all sorts, she supposed. And the girlfriendless losers did create a lot of employment.

Sonja couldn't deny, though, that these life-size sex dolls were incredibly life like.

All of the outer materials were of the very latest in synthetics. And all of the inner components and intricate workings were of the very latest innovations in IR - Intelligent Robotics. It was as if these 'girls' actually had a brain.

Even though the almost magnetic attraction of their outstanding beauty and the sheer sexual presence they exuded was sure to grab any man (or woman's) attention, you could pass one of them by on the street and not even know it.

Because they and their projected personas looked so authentic, they could pass for the real thing. And it was only upon closer scrutiny, that you might possibly sense something amiss:

Skin, hair, teeth, eyes; their smooth and elegant agility of movement ... they all looked so natural. So human-like.

And Mitzi, here, with her beautiful, alluring blue eyes and her fabulous wavy long blonde hair, was a real looker. She was exceptional, thought Sonja admiringly.

If Sonja swung that way, she thought, she might even have been tempted herself (if she could afford her - these dolls were the price of a small new quality car). She could programme herself the perfect sex partner!

Sonja was always amazed, to think how much the development of sex doll technology had come on. And marvellous advancements in materials and software programming were continuing apace.

Not only could these invariably drop-dead gorgeous 'girls' give a guy (or a girl!) a real good time, but just like a conventional girlfriend, they could walk, talk, and 'think'.

When they were turned on (as it were), the sex dolls' skin was incredibly flesh like, and it felt warm to the touch, as if real, heart pumped blood was flowing through actual veins.

But those were the least, of their convincing humanisms.

All of them were of unique appearance - something else, that astounded Sonja, who wondered uneasily if their faces were copies of real young women ... maybe one day, she'd see her own?

The sex dolls had beautiful, pleasing to the ear voices, that could be custom-accented in any language to suit the buyer. Their range of vocabulary was vast; their depth of knowledge encyclopaedic. And, permanently connected to the Internet via the Sex Doll For U server, they were always up to speed with the latest in current affairs: politics, sport, celebrity gossip ... And so you could actually have an intelligent conversation with them. As if they were real, sentient, sociable, thinking people.

Batteries (or power cells) had come on amazingly too. Gone were the days, of inconvenient and tiresome daily repowering.

These, latest generation sex dolls were fitted with 30-day, continuous-run power packs, that took just one hour to fully recharge. And at a time convenient for their owner they would plug themselves in and power themselves up. So their owners wouldn't even have to trouble themselves with that little job.

And then on top of all of that, there was the piece de resistance:

The groundbreaking (or should that be earthmoving!) state of the art, sex act simulation 'muscled' vaginas, that were the main selling attraction and played the biggest part in making market leader Sex Doll For U the world's biggest seller of 'Intimate Friends'.

And another great boon: Post-sex, there was virtually no 'mess', to clean up.

The sex dolls' internal chemical converter took care of that little issue: taking in, absorbing, and breaking down their owner's mineral-rich 'product' to utilise as motor and joint lubrication, among other things.

Not that such 'product' was strictly necessary to the sex doll's continuing smooth and satisfactory operation (though undoubtedly it helped).

The Intimate Friends' annual diagnostic maintenance check-over (first 'service', included in the purchase price) by a Sex Doll For U technician, took care of that.

And so, to many a single, unlucky in love, lonely heart male, these, now more beautiful and attractive and intelligent and 'sex' capable than ever sex dolls were an ideal romantic companion.

But not this time, thought Sonja vengefully as she typed in the last of her specially prepared 'rogue' computer code.

Because the single, unlucky in love, lonely heart male - the inadequate, limp-dicked jerk-off - who bought Mitzi was in for a surprise. He would get more than he bargained for.

That was the lucky thing: that unlike cheaper versions, Sex Dolls For U's Intimate Friends weren't all just simply fitted with a generic behavioural chip. Which was why Sonja's specialist software skills were needed: to type in each 'girl's individual and unique, sophisticated personality code. To give them all 'minds' of their own.

Sonja felt a twinge of guilt. It was not in her nature to be vindictive.

But, annoyed with herself, she denounced her inner voiced self-recriminations. This was different - her miserable creep employers deserved what would surely come.

And Sonja had nothing to worry about.

When the proverbial hit the fan, as Sex Doll For U's only software specialist (her miserable creep, penny-pinching tightwad employers would only employ one), Mitzi would be returned to her to be checked out. At which time, she would just simply explain away Mitzi's 'malfunction' as a glitch, and reprogramme Mitzi with another personality code. A sort of 'mind' transplant.

And then Mitzi, used, would be sold on cheaply to another owner as second-hand. Simple.

There: all done, thought Sonja in satisfaction as she sent Mitzi on down the production line to Packaging.

Soon - maybe even tomorrow, if acquired locally - Mitzi would be displayed to best effect in one of Sex Doll For U's High Street boutiques.

Mitzi could end up anywhere in the world. But on an impulse, Sonja made a note for future reference.

Mitzi: Sex Doll No. 7 - Batch 13.

***

The guy in blue overalls walked up to the serving counter with a sheet of white paper in his hand and said, simply and concisely, "Sherwood's."

Taking the proffered invoice from the building-supplies deliveryman's hand, Derek Duncan's dad said, "Here, Derek. Check this lot in with Ken, will you? I need to get on the phone to chase up those roof tiles."

"Okay, Dad," said Derek, taking the delivery invoice.

Lifting the serving counter's access flap, Derek said familiarly, "Come on, Ken." And the two of them went through to the yard, where Ken Sherwood's flatbed lorry was parked.

Ken Sherwood often did Saturday deliveries himself - usually, when his driver, Eddie, a keen Arsenal fan, wanted to travel to an away match.

Ken liked to chat with his regular customers, maintain the personal touch. Advise them on his products and prices, and discuss what were the best options for them. Sometimes he could do them a bulk deal, which would work out more economical. There wasn't enough of that, Ken thought, in these days of big businesses - the personal touch. And he knew it helped to keep his customers loyal to him. So it worked both ways.

Derek said, "Has Eddie gone to the match, Ken? Arsenal's away today, aren't they? Up at Liverpool?"

"Oh, Eddie would never miss away to Liverpool! He says there's something magical about Anfield. And that's coming from a dyed-in-the-wool Gunner!"

Derek and Ken laughed companionably.

Everything on Ken's lorry was on wooden pallets. And such were the delivery items today, that Derek could easily and quickly verify that everything on the itemised delivery note was present and correct.

Derek said, "I'll put the kettle on, Ken."

"Great!" said Ken, lowering the forklift truck that was hoisted at the back of his flatbed lorry. "Just five pallets - I won't be long!"

Spooning and pouring the required amounts of coffee, sugar and milk into cups for his dad, Ken and himself, Derek's mind turned once again to what had been preoccupying his thoughts all week: Could he afford to buy one of Sex Doll For U's Intimate Friends?

He was amazed at himself that he was even considering it.

But the life-size, life-like 'girls', were so ... life like.

His mind boggled at the price.

He already had enough on his plate, paying the rent on his own small flat. And he'd recently made a 10% downpayment on a new car, the balance payable over five years.

His dad would lend him some money. But that wasn't the problem; his dad would just deduct a reasonable and affordable repayment from his wages, week by week. But Dad would want to know what the money was for - that was the problem.

His dad wouldn't understand. And if his mum found out!

No, thought Derek. 'She' would have to be kept secret.

Top Secret.

For his eyes only, as it were.

If it came to it; if he actually went ahead with what he was considering, he'd apply for a personal loan at the bank. As his dad's son, as it were, his credit would be good at the bank. But thank heavens that interest rates were so low!

Derek Duncan stopped prevaricating; made up his mind. After all, at this stage, he was just going for a look. Just for a look, to see the Intimate Friends in the flesh, as it were.

As today was Saturday and half-day closing, Derek would visit Sex Doll For U's High Street boutique this afternoon.

Just for a look.

Derek took his dad's coffee through to him, who, still busy on the phone, thumbed-up his thanks. Then he came back and brought his own and Ken Sherwood's coffee out back into the yard.

"All done! Please sign on the dotted line, Mr Duncan Junior!" said Ken affably.

Derek looked at said dotted line.

He hesitated, imagining another dotted line, on another sheet of white paper ... and signed.

*

Standing outside Sex Doll For U's High Street boutique, and looking at the Intimate Friend displayed to best effect behind the plate-glass window, Derek knew at once that he had to have 'her'.

'She' was lovely. Derek had never seen such a beautiful 'girl'.

A burly passing-by guy winked at Derek and said, "Got the hots for her, pal?"

Derek, his face turning as bright as his girlfriend-deterring carrot-coloured hair, didn't need to look down at the tell-tale bulge at his crotch to know that he did.

The 'girl' in the window was incredibly sexy, thought Derek. And 'she' was wearing a red, figure-hugging dress, and red, high heeled shoes, that really got him going. Especially the shoes ... for some reason.

Entering his local Sex Doll For U outlet, Derek immediately found himself greatly unsettled by the almost magnetic attraction and the sheer sexual allure, of the dozen or so other drop-dead gorgeous 'girls' within, who were displayed to best effect on sofas and chaise longues.

The sexily dressed and provocatively posed 'girls' were all turned on (as it were) - and they were all turning him on!

"Hello!" said the young saleslady behind the counter brightly. "I'm Cindy, and I'm here to help you. May I ask your name?"

Coming over all self-conscious and awkward as usual in the presence of a beautiful young woman, Derek said diffidently, "My ... my name's Derek, Miss."

"Call me Cindy. And come on in, Derek - don't be shy!" she coaxed. And Derek literally could not tell if she was actually one of the 'girls'.

With a bright smile, the young saleswoman said, "I couldn't help but notice just now your, um ... interest, in the Intimate Friend, displayed in the window. She's very lovely, isn't she?"

To the roots of his carrot-coloured hair, Derek blushed, all over again. "Um ... yes," was all Derek could manage in reply.

"Well," said the brightly smiling young saleslady, "she can be yours ... for just twenty thousand pounds."

Cindy didn't beat about the bush! She sensed an easy commission, thought Derek.

Derek gulped.

He knew from his repeated visits to Sex Doll For U's website, just how much their 'girls' cost. But still. Was he really going to commit himself to spending that kind of cash? On top of his other outgoings? £20,000. Twenty grand ... for a sex doll?

"Come and meet her!" encouraged the now even more brightly smiling young saleswoman.

"Okay," said Derek, his heart thump, thump, thumping.

Seeing Cindy and Derek approaching, with a graceful and completely natural-looking fluidity of movement the 'girl' in the window got up from 'her' chaise longue. Extending 'her' red nail polished hand and looking Derek straight in the eye, 'she' said, "Hello, Derek, how nice to meet you! And what lovely hair!"

Derek was instantly besotted.

Tentatively, Derek took the 'girl' in the window's outstretched hand in his own ... and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

'Her' gently gripping hand was warm and felt like real, living flesh. The look in 'her' eyes was intelligent. 'She' had ... presence.

It was hard for Derek to believe that 'she' was not an honest-to-God real, living and breathing person. That 'she' had emotions. Feelings. Thoughts.

"She'll do anything," said the on-the-cusp-of-a-sale young saleslady, gently prompting Derek. "She's programmed to please. If you ask her nicely, she might even make you a cup of tea - ha ha ha!"

At this moment, with the 'girl' in the window's warm-palmed hand still gently squeezing his, and 'her' intelligent eyes still gazing with seductive, knowing expression deep into his own, tea was the furthest thing from Derek's mind.

The brightly smiling young salesgirl presented Derek with a sheet of white paper. He read what was printed on it ... and stared at the dotted line.

"Just sign here, Derek," encouraged Cindy, pointing to the dotted line. "And she's yours."

Already, just before coming here, Derek had got the necessary approval from his bank, should he wish to apply for a personal loan. He'd been right: As his dad's son (as it were), he'd been considered creditworthy.

Was he really going to do it? Commit £20,000. Spend twenty grand ... on a sex doll?

"She's fully thirty-day charged, and ready to go," said Cindy. "Enjoy!"

Derek accepted the proffered pen from the smiling-from-ear-to-ear young salesgirl.

It was a lot of money.

An awful lot of money.

That would take him ten years to repay.

Ten, belt-tightening, cutting his cloth, going without, living within his means, austere years.

But Mitzi would be worth it.

*

There was a new, jaunty spring in Derek Duncan's step as, hand in hand, he walked along High Street with Mitzi.

Wasn't Mitzi just great?

Mitzi had a jaw-dropping effect on almost every guy they passed, whose eyes at first were invariably drawn to the sound of her click-clacking high heels at the end of her million-dollar legs. She had such beautiful blue eyes, and such fabulous long wavy blonde hair - and her figure!