The Real Real Doll Ch. 02

Saturday. Christ, that's two days away! Invasive thoughts of sex and responsibility creeping in. Anticipation of sinking my cock inside every orifice of her willing body. But too, responsibility as an owner? She's going to be more than a blow up doll; less than a girlfriend. Thank God I can sink back into my job and not think about the dynamics of my situation for awhile.

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The tinkling of Chopin's Nocturne in E flat, Opus 9, #2 streams through the speakers as I posture anxiously in the half darkness of my bedroom, alone with my thoughts. The scotch on the rocks I poured a half hour ago sits untouched on the bedside table. A dark pool of condensation forming a moat around the bottom of the glass.

Peering into my muddled brain is not something I like to do. In order to understand my hesitance, I must try. What is it about the box that is sitting before me am I so concerned about? It is not Pandora's box after all. It is my box. Maybe I am a miscreant for choosing a robotic mate over flesh and blood?

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When the doorbell chimed at 10:12 am that morning, I could feel the adrenaline surge through my veins. A swarthy-looking man in stained over-alls stood on the stoop; the fat brown stub of a cigar poking out of the corner of his grimacing mouth. Behind him, perched in the driveway, was a box that looked alarmingly like a coffin.

Without any introduction, the guy barked "Where do you want it?". "Bring her, I mean, umm, I mean it, into the living room. No wait, my bedroom." Before turning on his heel, he gave me the once over; eyes squinting. He smoothly wheeled the box into the living room and looked at me impatiently to direct him to the chosen room. After he eased the box onto the floor next to my bed, he guided the empty dolly out the door and headed towards the living room.

I hailed him to wait as I dug my wallet out to retrieve his tip. He grabbed the bill and turned to leave. Mind racing, I blurted the first thing that came into my head "Wait, what do I do now?". An incredulous smile crossed his face as he finally removed the cigar from his lip. "Open the box. Kiss her on the lips. She's programmed to recognize you. She'll switch on. Easy." "Thanks," I muttered. I already knew that. I'd read the "Getting Started" section on RDC's website.

I was nervous about...something, and didn't want him to leave just yet. He turned to go, and then abruptly turned back and said "Hey! You seem like a nice guy. Good tip and all. I'll give you some free advice. You ready? (I nodded.) Don't get involved. She's gonna look real and sound real, but she isn't. If you start treating her like a real person you're head's gonna get all screwed-up and the fun will be over. OK? I do pick-ups too and sometimes it ain't pretty." He paused remembering something troubling. After a couple of seconds he returned to the now, looked at me and said, "Remember she's not real." Then he left.

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That was three hours ago. I'd been pacing, fidgety. Perspiration dripped down my sides even though the room was a comfortable 68 degrees. I decided a shower was in order; taking as much time as I possibly could to dress. I'd poured the scotch to help settle my nerves, but my mind wandered away from it almost immediately.

The box was very still. Too still for a person - more like an appliance. But I guess it was, really. Just a machine. A toy. That cigar-puffer was right. Keeping reality straight wasn't easy and I was screwing it up already! Of course the box was quiet! It was a THING.

I had a buddy who always said, "Treat'em mean and keep 'em keen." I had always disagreed with him, but maybe in this case he was right - more for the sake of my mental health than anything else. Treating her badly would keep me from considering her (I mean "it"...damnit!) a suitable recipient for my feelings.

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"OK, I can do this." My assertion disappearing into the empty room. I unfastened the lock with a wildly beating heart. Feeling the lip of the box, I pulled the lid up slightly, releasing the seal. I hesitated for a moment, and then moved the lid fully to the side.