Girls and Dolls

A man's biological mission, as dictated by evolution was to have sex with as many females as possible, and I knew for a fact that this doll could simulate a different girl for me every night. Here it was, an all you can eat sex buffet, and it was really good sex, but ultimately it was never satisfying. It was a physical satisfaction that left me feeling emotionally empty.

Maybe there were men who were happy with a life like this, or at least like to have the safety of it. The biggest shock I'd had moving to Haven City was the way men and male sexuality was treated here. To the militant ideologues who seemed to dominate the media men were the evil oppressors no matter what they did. It was easy to understand why men in the city were giving up on women and dating and, so it would seem, buying robot sex dolls.

To me the robot sex doll was just a statement of something that was already true for me long before I bought it. I could have sexual pleasure on my own, I did not need a woman for sex. I was never going to give up on women though. In moments like these more than ever I felt deeply motivated to find a woman I could love, that I wanted to share my life with.

It seemed to me that this talk of men objectifying women, or trying to redefine what should be considered sexy in women, supposed unrealistic standards of beauty or shaming men for acting like men came from fear and a desire to lower the bar for attractiveness for all women. They were right to say that no woman would ever be able to live up to the physical standards set by a doll, but in doing so they totally missed the point. Yes I wanted someone who, like me, took care of themselves and made the effort to be someone attractive, but I didn't want perfection, I wanted someone human.

No doll would ever laugh at my bad jokes, join me on long walks through the country or surprise me with misshapen homemade cupcakes. We would never lie in bed together endlessly talking about nothing until the sun came up. She would never gasp in delight when I remembered her favourite dinner on her birthday. I would never look into her eyes and know that my fingers had just found that one spot that would make her, and only her, back arch and her toes curl with pleasure.

No doll would ever kiss me, just for being me, and mean it.

I packed away my doll, the machine that it was, put it back into the wardrobe and pulled up the weather forecast for the next day. It said sun and scattered cloud, which sounded promising. The perfect occasion to go for a walk in the park; maybe somebody would catch my eye.