A Consumer’s Guide to Artificial Sex Partners
My first artificial sex partner was manufactured by Mannequin Land, purchased during a Zayre’s department store liquidation sale in the eighties. The Sandy 3/F (Sandy Pose 3 with Left Hand on Hip Standing, Fleshtone). Hard plastic, kinda quiet—I actually also purchased her male companion mannequin, Julian Pose 4, but due to a certain lack of boldness on my part, I would only prop him in the corner to act as a spectator. I went through an assortment of mannequin companions throughout the decade: Mary Sunshine, Donna Reed, Velma Kelly, Teena the Prego, various rentals, dressing dolls, and of course the mannequin from the movie Mannequin (starring Kim Cattrall before she became a hideous star on that tacky HBO show).
If you’ve ever wondered if your neighbor is fucking an 80′s-hot redheaded corpse in his floating pool chair while his wife and kids sleep, he probably had the Kim Cattrall mannequin. Standing at an impressive 5’9″, this chick is ready for action. The first time I used it, it was so lifelike that I actually half expected Julian Pose 4—who I still use as an observer—to turn into Andrew McCarthy. (He never did.) Let’s just say that they make this model fireproof for a reason: things get hot.
Which brings us to Andy, which believe it or not, is a name that science dorks thought would sell female image robotic sex partners. With pretty blonde hair and pristine skin, this little number is the sex doll that you’ve been looking for. It’s been around for a few years and has been written up by both robot enthusiast magazines and sex rags alike. Check out this review in The Frisky. So excuse me for gushing, but this stunning piece of robotic innovation has so moved me, I’m almost not embarrassed to bring
her it to restaurants and social events. If you take it to dinner, you will have to do its ordering.
In the month since my purchase, I’ve been more than happy with the performance—although the cleanup is often a nuisance, and for some reason the only recharging station in the area is at the Target where I always run into my mom. However, a few days ago, I decided to try out some of the alternate orifices (nostrils, anus, space behind the knee, et cetera). Normally, I’m a V-H-F guy (vagina-hand-felatio), but naturally Julian and I were curious about some of the robot’s other features. I took my new robot companion, who I re-named Andrea because that’s at least a girl’s name, into the shower. After sudsing myself up, I started to rub Andrea between the legs for foreplay because I’m not a selfish lover. With a little imagination, I could almost feel Andrea get wet with excitement while Julian nodded his head in approval. After ten minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore (and my skin was getting prunie), so I rinsed off my junk, blew out a candle, and took Andrea to bed without toweling her off. Did I neglect to mention that I had been sucking down an obscene number of pixie sticks earlier? I also had donned a pair of edible wax lips. So I was zinging off of the walls before I even came home from the carnival. The small but widening pinhole puncture in my waterbed meant that the bed was getting all swampy and it smelled a little like that conditioner that’s designed to keep the it from getting mildewy. I turned on one of the settings and then inserted my cock into the nearest hole, which unfortunately was a finger hole that was designed to remove the power source protection plate, but was in no way meant to be used for pleasure and should always be kept dry. I prepared for a mighty thrust and HELLO! I don’t know if I could smell my singed flesh or feel the electric shock first, but both sensations were present.
I’ve done some strange things with other artificial sex partners, but until now the biggest hazards that I’ve dealt with so far were getting arrested or stuck in a way that required a trip to the emergency room. But the Andy/Andrea pretty much charred the entire exterior of my penis and fried part of my urethra. My testicles were in tact, so I continued to play with them.
Here’s where shit got real: I usually can’t orgasm during an electrocution, and when I do, it’s usually because the battery pack’s charge is getting low. This time, however, I decided to power through right up until the bitter end. When I did, the new fluid that I had introduced created an entirely different kind of electric charge—not at all unpleasant. I came and passed out until the fire department showed up.
So, I highly recommend the Andy. Beautiful, quiet, potentially deadly. If I were Charlie Sheen, I’d share he with each and every one of my Twitter followers. Were I to win they lottery, I’d set up a fund to provide one for homeless people of all ages who cannot afford their own. It’s that good. Cleaning it off after playtime, I imagined a disapproving look on Julian Pose 4′s face.
Fuck you, Julian.