#9 Do you want to fuck that sex doll again? Australian
The Sordid Tale of the Sex Doll
Oh, the scandalous story of the sex doll! Picture this: a frigid Australian winter’s night, crisp and clear under the Southern Cross. Amidst the frostbitten foliage and snow-kissed gum trees of Melbourne’s northern suburbs, a middle-aged divorcé named Barry finds solace in his most cherished companion – a pliant, silicone vixen by the name of Synthia.
Barry, a portly fellow with a receding hairline and a penchant for polyester slacks, had acquired Synthia online after a particularly raucous night of boozing and online browsing. Desperate for intimacy after his wife had left him for a younger, more virile man, Barry took matters into his own hands – quite literally! – when he clicked the “add to cart” button, sealing his fate and that of the soon-to-be “Synthia Skin Doll”.
Weeks after placing his order, an unassuming brown box arrived on Barry’s doorstep. With trembling hands and a lump in his throat, Barry carefully tore open the packaging to reveal Synthia in all her glory. Her crimson lips were sealed in a perpetual pout, just begging to be kissed, while her wispy blonde locks spilled over her shoulders like molten gold. Barry felt a stirring in his loins as he drank in her supple curves, clad in a skimpy black lingerie set that left little to the imagination.
That very night, Barry and Synthia consummated their non-traditional relationship. As the moon cast an eerie glow through the bedroom window blinds, Barry’s clumsy fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, freeing his throbbing member from the confines of his briggs-and-stratton briefs. With a grunt of anticipation, he positioned Synthia on her back, manoeuvring her limbs just so, before plunging deep inside her eager embrace.
The rest of the night was a blur of grunts, groans, and the rhythmic squeaking of springs as Barry rut-mouthed his way through a series of frenzied positions. Synthia obliged, docile and accommodating, an ideal amante for the perpetually dissatisfied Barry. And so the pattern continued, night after night, as Barry’s love life was reduced to a series of fleeting fleshchases with his lifeless paramour.
But like all good things (or bad, depending on your perspective), the affair eventually came to light. You see, Barry was a creature of habit, and when your life revolves around nocturnal trysts with a synthetic siren, it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours begin to wonder what all the commotion is about.
One particularly rowdy evening, after a impromptu “Synthia’s Costume Party” (Barry was dressed as a pilot, while Synthia was “the stewardess”), a concerned citizen contacted the local constabulary regarding the “disturbing” grunts and muffled moans emanating from Barry’s residence. A uniformed officer was dispatched to investigate, knocking on Barry’s door with all the enthusiasm of a dentist arriving their first patient of the day.
“Evening, sir,” the officer greeted Barry, taking in the sight of his disheveled appearance and the prominent red welt on his right cheek – a remnant of his nocturnal exertions. “We’ve had a few calls about some unusual noise coming from your place. Everything alright here?”
Barry’s eyes darted nervously to the bedroom door, where Synthia lay sprawled on the unmade sheets, her sequined dress hiked up to reveal the unmistakable marks of Barry’s passion. “Ah, yes, officer,” Barry stammered, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Just, uh, watching a bit of adult entertainment, if you know what I mean, ha ha!”
The officer raised an eyebrow, his experience giving him a sixth sense for the scent of deceit. Pushing past Barry, he made his way to the bedroom, where he beheld the scene of the crime – Synthia, in all her unclothed glory, a satisfied smirk playing on her painted lips.
“Mr. Barry,” the officer said solemnly, “Is this who we’ve been hearing all night?” Barry hung his head in shame, his flaccid member swaying limply between his legs as he nodded in defeat.
And so, the tale of Barry and his sex doll entered Australian folklore, a twisted morality play warning of the perils of unchecked lust and the dangers of too much “alone time”. Barry was sentenced to community service, his punishment to be found ironically in the form of leading support groups for others struggling with similar issues.
As for Synthia, she was…. repurposed. One man’s meat (no pun intended) is another’s source of scientific advancement, after all. The good folks at the Melbourne Institute of Sexual Health and Human Expression utilize Synthia as a teaching aid and… proving ground, for their groundbreaking research into the ethics of artificial intimacy.
And so, in the end, Barry’s scandalous escapade has proven to be a boon for both science and the betterment of society. As for Barry, he’s sobered up, found a good woman (or so he claims), and vowed to never let a sex doll get between him and a meaningful relationship again. Besides, he has a lot more to lose these days – he’s a proud father now, and he wouldn’t want to set a bad example for little Timmy and Tegan.
So there you have it, the sordid tale of Barry and his sex doll, complete with all the sordid details that make it a true Australian classic. Let it be a lesson to us all – that sometimes, the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the mattress, and that the best things in life are worth waiting for – or, heaven forbid, even paying for. Just not on the internet
