I Tried To F*ck A Sex Doll But We Ended Up Becoming Best Friends

Share

(After being sent a sex doll by online adult retailer, Lovehoney, I was given the unenviable task of having to take her home and offer some feedback. Here goes nothing…)

After watching the Will Smith led neo-noir science-fiction blockbuster, I, Robot, I knew humanity was screwed.

If you don’t know what it’s about, in the year 2035, highly intelligent, domesticated robots are controlled by an artificial intelligence computer and manipulated into sparking a robot revolution that threatens to enslave humanity/wipe us out completely. It makes for bleak viewing, and ever since then I’ve been disapproving and somewhat sceptical about the use of robots in society.

(Granted, that’s a slightly dispiriting and sombre way to kick off a satirical article about fucking a sex doll, but my point is that we’re FUCKED, alright, fucked with a capital ‘F-U-C-K-E-D’. Even Stephen Hawking has warned us that artificial intelligence will eventually replace humans altogether, and given that he’s basically half robot himself these days, I’d say my reservations are fairly warranted.)

With all this taken into account, you can understand my apprehension, then, at the news that Lovehoney were sending me a sex robot to review – you know, on account of all that ‘uprising’ and ‘usurping’ malarkey.

Despite these suspicions, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by seeing an all-singing, all-dancing sex robot up close and personal.

In my mind, I would promptly turn up to work one day for my routine 9:00 am existential crisis, and be greeted by a humanoid akin to The Terminator.

Only this version would be called ‘The Sperminator’, a perpetually horny cyborg with an arsenal of deadly dildos and pulsating prostate massagers sent back in time from a dystopian, post-apocalyptic world to protect me while simultaneously sucking me dry, thus somehow ensuring the survival of the human race (don’t ask me how). In this wild fantasy, I’d be some kind of revered, messianic figure like Jesus, or Wayne Rooney at Euro 2004 (both of whom were ironically crucified at one time or another in their lives [Romans, the media]), which gave me a strange sensation I hadn’t felt before. I think the term is ‘purpose’, but having never had any, I couldn’t be sure.

Failing that, I figured I’d at least get sent one of those boner-inducing Fembots from Austin Powers that have machine guns for nipples. Admittedly, the idea of weaponry did add a powerful yet welcome sense of dread to proceedings, but I couldn’t help but worry about the robot’s welfare, because like in the film, one look at me in my skivvies combined with some vigorous gyrating and thrusting would surely cause its primitive robot mind to explode.

Needless to say, neither The Sperminator nor the Fembot turned up at my desk.

Now, apparently, there’s ever-so-slight, but ever-so-important differences between sex robots and sex dolls, which I was completely unaware of before I embarked on this thankless, one-man robot fucking crusade.

As it turns out, sex robots can cost anything upwards of £10,000 and have hyper-realistic properties (like built-in heaters to create the feeling of body warmth), which has led many a shameless man to appear on This Morning and describe why it’s the best sex they’ve ever had. What I received, however, was a sex doll, which is essentially just an anthropomorphic, inflatable pool toy with two mounds for tits and a hole in the front and rear for a rubber, faux vagina and anus to be put inside.

It was surreally sexy stuff, and I could describe it in greater detail for you, but these images of it on my desk do it way more justice than I ever could with words:

Exotic AND Erotic? I like both of those things!

Here she is blown to maximum capacity so you can see her in all her glory (although I did go to the effort of covering up her modesty, she deserved that):

As you can tell, this doll was anything but ‘hyper-realistic’, but at least my earlier worries about the dangers of robots had been allayed for the time being (this doll posed no threat to humanity whatsoever), although they did return almost immediately when I realised I had to take this diabolical doll home with me – on public transport, might I add – and give her my seed.

After cramming her into an overnight bag and crossing my fingers and toes in the hope that nobody would stop me on the tube for a random bag search, I managed to smuggle her home where she could familiarise herself with her new surroundings.

(It’s like bringing a kitten home for the first time, really.)

A few weeks passed with her hidden away in my wardrobe as I mustered up the courage to do the dirty deed. At the time I was adamant it would happen, and regardless if it killed me at the point of climax – through shock, or embarrassment, or any other sex-related cause of death – I was fully prepared for any eventuality, even if that meant greeting Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, mid-orgasm (although I’d have to refrain from shaking his hand at first so as to avoid getting any unwanted fluids on him).

On the chosen night, I approached the situation in exactly the same way I would if a real, human girl was coming to my house (apart from the bit where I blow her up beforehand) which I did in order to maintain a sense of normality in this truly bizarre scenario. This included all the usual pre-date tropes: trimming my bush, dousing myself in cheap aftershave, tidying my room, making my bed – all the prerequisites of a highly romantic evening. I even had the pre-date jitters, for Christ’s sake. What if she didn’t like me? Getting rejected by a doll would be a dizzying new low, and one that I’d struggle to recover from. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I brought her into my room and we sat awkwardly on the end of my bed as I frantically glanced around the room trying not to bring attention to the fact her vagina and anus were on show, the former of which looked like a very sad, and very forgotten, hot dog bun.

‘How’s your day been?’ I asked nervously, hoping to break the ice.

No reply. Tough crowd.

I’d been on dates before where the conversation was like trying to get blood out of a stone, but this lady was proving a decidedly tough nut to crack. Perhaps she was just shy, or talking wasn’t her strong point, so I suggested we made ourselves comfortable and let things come a little more naturally.

After a while, we both relaxed and felt more at ease in each other’s company. An hour or so passed, and by this point, the tension in the room was palpable.

I could tell she was into me, though – she had that twinkle in her eye – but she was clearly playing hard to get.

Usually this kind of approach would make me lust after a girl even more, but something was holding me back. No matter how much I tried to initiate things, I couldn’t bring myself to make the first move. I’ve never been one for one-night stands as it is, and even though I was certain I’d have the bottle to go through with it, I was beginning to have major doubts.

I mean, how could I? Not only would the clean-up job afterwards be one of the most depressing moments of my life, but I think I’d struggle to get over the shame of the whole thing. It also felt awfully presumptuous to dive onto her with little to no effort at all; it was almost too easy, and going ahead with it would feel like I was cheating a very established system of proper etiquette when getting with someone.

Plus, what if it was the best sex I’d ever had? Albeit that wouldn’t take very much, but that would throw a particularly large spanner into the works (my life), and given that I struggle to maintain relationships with girls as it is, I didn’t want to completely ruin all future sexual ventures by developing a dangerous predilection for fucking inanimate objects.

But perhaps above all else, I was conscious of how it could spoil what had been a cracking evening so far, because Lord knows sex can complicate things. Don’t get me wrong, we’d got on like a house on fire, and it’d been good for my confidence to get back on the proverbial dating horse, but maybe we were better off as friends in the end.

I had to let her down gently (figuratively, not literally – that came much later – I’m not completely insensitive).

She took the news surprisingly well, and understood where I was coming from while agreeing that it would be nice for all parties if we could remain friends.

Over the course of the next few weeks, we met several more times – usually at my place – where it became abundantly clear, fairly early on, that it was a wise decision to proceed with a purely platonic relationship.

We got up to a multitude of activities, so here’s a few snapshots of our time together:

Watching Madagascar 3′ over Christmas – she loved it:

Playing a game of Monopoly – she even managed to put hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane:

Enjoying our breakfast together:

Tidying the house (I did most of the work):

Trying out wrestling moves on eachother – including me putting her in the Walls of Jericho:

Getting ready for a sleepover (she brought her own pjs):

And finally, catching some zzz’s:

I know we’re in the midst of a sexually liberal zeitgeist where almost any and every sexual fetish, preference and taste is widely accepted (within reason), but it seems that fucking sex dolls is beyond the realms of where I’m prepared to go.

In a way, I’m disappointed I didn’t have the cojones to go through with it, because I’m sure it would’ve been an eye-opening experience, but it’s reassuring to know that I do at least have some boundaries, and that the concept of intimacy and genuine connection has not been drilled out of me by a climate of incessant internet pornography and meaningless hook-ups.

Because some things in life are way more important than that – which is something to bear in mind as the dawn of the sex bot’ draws near – because really, they’ll never be a substitute for a real person.

Besides, I may not have been able to have sex with her, but at least I gained something more valuable and fulfilling than simply exercising a carnal desire: a friend for life.

And you can’t put a price on that.

Images via GIPHY

If you reckon you’d be man enough to have it off with a sex doll, head over to Lovehoney to check out their extensive range of dolls and other kinky toys.

Next Post
Share

Today on The Hook

Sunday Tickets Still Available For Bristol's Epic Love Saves The Day Festival
The UK's Smallest Festival Stage Looks Like Good Vibes And Good Times
Desperados Hosted An Epic Night Where Festival-Goers Controlled The Music
New Sci-Fi Show 'Counterpart' Scored 100% On Rotten Tomatoes And It Looks Incredible

Best of sex