Walking Talking Living Doll
Clarissa was a sullen lump who watched TV most of the day with her mouth open and a surprised look on her face. She had not always been like this but James had to admit with hindsight, the potential was always there. John had introduced him to Clarissa at the office party where she seemed full of fun and ended up back at James’ apartment where they spent the night together in vigorous copulation. She had introduced him to acts he had only heard his friends salaciously discussing in the bar after work. James realised with his appalling record with women if it wasn’t for Clarissa all those exotic acts he had experienced with her would still be some vague longing in his inadequate imagination. Even accepting the debt of gratitude he owed her, he found he could not deceive himself no longer. She disgusted him.
He poured himself a carrot juice and walked across the polished wooden floor to the large sliding windows that led out onto the balcony. Opening the huge pane of glass he looked round at his open plan apartment furnished with icons of twentieth century design. For all his financial success and all his impeccable taste he could not change his pinched acne face and his short sighted vision with eyes that insist on inflaming when using contact lenses. He pushed his thick glasses back onto the bridge of his nose at the thought of his unresponsive eyes and stepped out onto the balcony that looked out over the Thames. What was the point of it all if he could not attract the woman of his dreams? Clarissa remained sat in front of the TV that dominated the wall like a cinema screen. He looked round at her sat there in her luxury lingerie. Like him she needed more than money could buy to be attractive.
Voices chirped from below, he looked down. Charlotte, his neighbour downstairs was entertaining a friend. He leaned over the balcony a little more to see the cleavage of the two women below as they leant against the balcony rail. Charlotte had a fine pair he thought but her friend’s grabbed his attention as they where so large and uplifted so much her nipples were almost exposed. He strained his neck a little more to get a better view when he accidentally spilt some carrot juice. He watched in horror as it fell and splat in the cleft of the two enormous knockers. Retreating from the rail he froze so not as to make a sound and give himself away.
“Eek!” was the initial shriek from below, followed by the sound of someone dancing up and down “Oh god oh god oh god bird shit!”
“Yuck! That’s funny bird shit.”
“Maybe its sick and has diarrhoea?’ said a trembling voice “wipe it off wipe it off!” The commotion continued.
James very slowly tip toed back into the apartment, praying he wouldn’t make a sound. Once inside he slid shut the window in silence before he at last allowed himself to exhale. His eyes burnt into the back of Clarissa’s head as though it was all her fault. Her breasts were formless, he thought, moving off at a tangent. Well they weren’t formless, that was impossible as they existed but they had no aesthetic form, he debated to himself. He irritated himself at moments like this as he lacked clarity. All his success had rested on clarity of thought and decisive action but alas, that was in his work life and for some reason he found those qualities inexplicably absent in his private life. Numbers, he was happy with numbers, one had to get into great depth before they confused but still they would behave predictably. Clarissa remained gawking at the TV, encased in a world of her own.
‘You gormless slut.’ He hissed. No response. He went over to the kitchenette and putting his glass down on the counter, opened the cutlery drawer. Everything was in its place and so to hand which was how he liked things to be. Taking out the carving knife he felt the blade. Like a razor he thought. He crept across the room until he was square behind Clarissa. Holding the knife in two hands he held it aloft before bringing it down on Clarissa. He missed and stabbed the couch, the knife glanced her and his knuckles hitting her crown, knocking her forward onto the floor. Immediately he jumped over the couch and landed on Clarissa’s back, thrusting the knife into her. There was not so much as a squeal. All she could manage was a little fart sound. A strange mixture of carbolic and stale breath filled his nostrils, he heaved a little. Standing up he took the knife and washed it in the sink of the kitchenette before replacing it in the correct position in the drawer. Time for a celebration he thought, pouring a whiskey from the decanter on the drinks cabinet, he swallowed it in one. He straightened his hair and tie before putting on his jacket. It was early evening and late enough to think about getting lathered in the wine bar.
The lift stopped at the floor below his and in stepped Charlotte and her friend. Charlotte was a beauty, the mythical English Rose, pale porcelain smooth skin and wealthy at that. Her crystal accent chimed money when she spoke. Her friend however was butt ugly with an upturned nose that resembled a snout and large teeth that seemed to make closing her mouth impossible. Despite this, on his scale of expectations she was up there, she was a looker. She was at least fifty pounds heavier than he was, though at least thirty of those pounds were her breasts, which cantilevered out with the help of some undergarment superstructure. The other twenty was on her arse that acted as a counterweight to her breasts and enabled her to have a proud upright posture. With udders and haunches to match, she was a cow concluded James but what was he if not a warty toad?
‘Hello James!’ said Charlotte in her normal way that gave the impression she was always happy to see him. Happy that she would never have to sink low enough to sleep with him he thought. ‘This is Jasmine.’ She said introducing her friend ‘Jasmine this is James, my upstairs neighbour.’
‘Hello.’ Said Jasmine holding out her hand. The same crystal accent thought James with relish. Jasmine was suddenly becoming increasingly attractive as she spoke!
The lift opened into a small foyer that led out into the street that was separated by a skin of glass. Outside they pushed themselves through a throng of people that visited the old dock area for the museums and gift shops that had been part of the gentrification of the old dock area. As they meandered through the crowd they all found themselves a little way down the street at the entrance of Mason’s Wine Bar.
‘Ah James.’ Exclaimed Charlotte over enthusiastically ‘You are in need of a little medicine too?’
‘Just one of those days.’ Said James, remembering Clarissa lying on his apartment floor ‘I’m in the mood to get bladdered.’ If he thought Charlotte’s sociability was an invitation to join them he was mistaken. As he went to sit on his normal perch at the bar, the women went and sat near the window and waited for the waiter. He ordered a Merlot but it didn’t taste. Not that there was a problem with the wine, it was the fact he was alone, he needed something stronger. Jazz was being quietly piped round the bar, usually he never noticed the music but today it was reminding him how much he hated jazz. Like chalk screeching on a blackboard he thought but to admit to such blasphemy amongst his peers would have made him a target for mockery. How noise without rules can be described as music had always foxed him. He looked towards the women who were busy competing with each other in the gossip stakes, neither seeming to take a breath should advantage be surrendered to the other.
James occupied himself by blowing silent raspberries, a way of fending off boredom and so depression. He was conscious the alcohol was making him sink rather than lifting him as he continually scanned the room. It was then he noticed the women had company. At some point a male or more accurately a stud for Charlotte had joined the women. He looked round for a second male but there didn’t seem to be one, the trio were sat evenly around the small round table. What initially he had took as a personal blow now had his imagination working overtime. Charlotte’s friend Jasmine was playing gooseberry. If Charlotte didn’t want Jasmine out of the way you could bet your Porche the stud did. The thought and the alcohol had warmed him. There were certain things a man had to do and telling a woman that if she made the right moves, she could end the night with a virile hot sweaty male was one of them. He ordered a refill and sauntered nonchalantly between the tables and over to the group by the window.
‘Yes?’ Said a blond haired, square chinned, Australian beach bum looking up at him. James looked blankly at the three faces looking at him in expectation. He decided he hated Australians but this didn’t help his immediate problem of him looking a complete imbecile, as he stood there with his mouth open. Charlotte nodded slightly as she gave a broad artificial smile, willing him to answer. He was aware of a vacant space expanding in his head and suppressing all meaningful thought. Swilling the wine round his glass he imagined flying across the room and giving the Australian a scissor kick to the head.
Jasmine broke the silence ‘Were you going to ask me for a drink?’ she said guessing correctly. By this time James had lost his capacity to talk. His preoccupation in moments like this, as to why he never experiences such a problem at work, only increased his social handicap. Jasmine began to look embarrassed as the increasing length of silence made her appear desperate. Her discomfort increased his discomfort until he was totally paralysed.
‘Why don’t you just butt out matey.’ Said the Australian. James struck a Karate pose and made a low humming sound followed by a yell as he karate kicked the Australian’s head off his shoulders. Unfortunately this episode only took place in his head and his only real response to the Australian was to remain open mouthed and fixed to the floor.
Jasmine decided if she was going to get a male, she was going to have to take a little more initiative. ‘I’ll have a drink with you.’ She said with a forced smile as she braced herself for another knock back.
A couple of people pushing past James as they made for the exit broke his self-destructive spell ‘Wonderful.’ He said in quiet amazement. Jasmine got up to join him as Charlotte gave her a wink of encouragement, understanding she did not have the attributes to be too choosy. James peed in the Australian’s glass of wine and put up two fingers up at him or at least he wished had the courage to do it. He took Jasmine gently by the arm as one would an old lady and led her towards the bar where he was most comfortable. James returned to his perch and guided Jasmine onto hers where they sat and began coo at each other, while Charlotte and the Australian took the opportunity to leave.
James shut the door behind himself and let a smug smile broaden across his face. A little more work on Jasmine and bingo! He took off his jacket and threw it across the chair while loosening his tie with broad expansive gestures. He quick stepped over to the drinks cabinet with his invisible partner in his thrall. ‘Tonight you shall surrender your honour Mademoiselle.’ He said with a Clouseauesque accent. Just as he was about to pour himself a nightcap while contemplating the dark arts of seduction, there was a knock on the door. It rather disquieted him, as though he was being spied on. He composed himself as quickly as possible before going over to the door and looking through the spy hole. Jasmine’s face looked more bloated than it was in reality by the wide angled lens. Hurriedly he fumbled the door open.
‘It appears Charlotte is still out with Cobber!’ A tipsy Jasmine exclaimed rather loudly.
‘You don’t have a key?’ Asked an unsettled but excited James.
‘Of course I do!’ she said with a wink. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘You’d better come in.’ He said.
Jasmine wobbled through the door a little uncertain on her feet ‘For a moment I thought you was going to leave me out there.’
‘No no.’ he said apologetically ‘Come in and make your self comfortable.’ Just then he remembered Clarissa was on the floor in front of the couch. Taking hold of Jasmine’s shoulders he directed her in the direction of the drinks cabinet ‘Why don’t you pour us a drink.’ She obediently allowed herself to be guided and wobbled like a duck over to the drinks while James rushed over to the couch. Clarissa was still lying prostrate where he had left her, her surprised expression fixed towards the ceiling. He got down on his knees and shoved her under the couch, making sure no errant limbs were exposed. Struggling back to his feet he thought Christ! Only a drunk could miss her.
Jasmine turned propelling herself almost full circle before correcting herself. ‘Damn!’ She bellowed, causing James’s heart into a fit of frenzied palpitations as he assumed she had spotted Clarissa. ‘I don’t want a drink.’ She said emphatically ‘I want a fuck!’
Lord have mercy, he thought. Fantasy is one thing, the actual act of congress quite another! Perhaps Jasmine discovering Clarissa’s butchered corpse was the least of his worries. In a single movement she had unfastened and stepped out of her scarlet pencil dress. The vision of Jasmine striding towards him in her black micro thong and black lace bra with its invisible engineering that propelled her breasts forward like zeppelins looked positively dangerous. Before he had the chance to yelp help! He could feel his face being sucked off while she rubbed her hands feverishly through his hair. There was no other choice but to submit to the marauding amazon or to chance ending up in a similar condition to Clarissa. It didn’t really matter, whether he was submitting or being savaged he could not see what difference it would have made. His shirt was being ripped off his back while at the same time he was being robbed of his trousers. As far as he could tell she had three hands. Just when he thought he had her roaming hands in checkmate, up popped another hand insistent on molesting him from another angle.
‘Rip my thong off!’ Jasmine breathed her command all over him. ‘I’m your slut!’ With his head firmly fixed in the cleavage and her thong being so small, it took what seemed an eternity to find it. Eventually he grasped the flimsy garment and yanked it off. ‘You brute!’ she accused. Then taking his head plunged it between her thighs. He gargled helplessly as she pressed his face in her damp cleft. Not taking the chance on male incompetence at unfastening a bra, she ripped hers off. Then taking hold of James’ ears, lifted his face back up to between her breasts and began to slap him violently about the head with them, before wrestling him through the door and into the bedroom.
Jasmine lay looking up at the ceiling while James lay on her, his head buried between her breasts in shame. Neither one wanting to start the post mortem for fear of its revelations but both knowing something needed to be said.
‘It's like an empty salami skin.’ She complained ‘Am I so repulsive not even you can’t salute me?’
James missed the hidden insult, as his head remained pressed between her breasts totally humiliated ‘Noo’ he said weakly ‘It’s not that at all.’
‘Did I come on too strong?’ Quizzed Jasmine.
‘I’m not used to a woman with such strong wants, needs and desires.’ He admitted as he clumsily tried to explain.
She took a hold of his hair and lifted his head so she could look him in the eye ‘Are you saying I’m a nymphomaniac?’
‘Nooo.’ His voice trembled ‘You just scared me.’
‘So you DO think I’m a nymphomaniac!’ With that she spun him off her like a wrestler escaping an opponent. James landed with a bang on the floor and felt the full weight of Jasmine as she stood on him as she left the room ‘I need a drink.’ She said exasperated ‘I’ve never been told I was a man eating slut before.’ If only she was she would be in her seventh heaven she thought. James lay winded on the floor, struggling to get his breath after being deflated by Jasmine’s dynamic weight. After a short while he gathered enough strength to drag himself onto the bed like a half drowned sailor pulling himself aboard a dinghy. Burying his head into the pillow in the absence of Jasmine’s breasts he desperately thought how he could escape the situation with just a modicum of his ego intact. Meanwhile out in the lounge he could hear the chinking of glass and Jasmine moving around agitated muttering constantly but which he could only pick out sketchy snippets. ‘….never been so insulted…..I’m a turn off…that Mr Weedy is no…’ Grabbing a second pillow he pulled it over his head to form a protective cocoon. In the end he found it impossible to blank out the world or was he just conscious of Jasmine standing in the doorway. He extricated his head from the sandwich of pillows and looked towards the door that framed a silhouette of Jasmine. She was holding up what appeared to be a shadow that had shed its ethereal nature and had taken on a more solid form.
‘Is this yours?’ She asked accusingly.
‘Heh heh heh…’ He tried to laugh ‘It was just a prankish thing from an office party.’ There was something unconvincing about his explanation, which stemmed from his own lack of belief.
She fingered the crotch of the shadowy figure ‘Ugh! Its slimy.’ Before smelling her fingers ‘Yuck!’ she said recoiling.
‘Its not what you think.’ He protested with little belief.
‘You fuck this but you can’t fuck me?’ She said pleading for an explanation that made some sense to her.
‘Well ..yes..but.. its er..’ His tongued knotted as he squirmed.
‘Jesus! You need therapy.’ She lectured.
What the hell he thought, he might as well be honest, it just couldn’t get any worse. ‘That’s Clarissa. She’s the only woman I have ever been with.’ What was he saying? Was he requesting, a straight jacket? ‘I killed her this morning.’ Yes he was, he wanted to be certified.
Jasmine turned on the light illuminating Clarissa who she held by the neck, the rest of her dangling like a piece of flayed hide. James looked at Clarissa’s surprised expression with a hint of nostalgia. She never made demands of him, never made him feel inadequate. She was always there ready and willing in his darkest hours. If he felt pitiful, he looked more pitiful than he thought. The sheer sight of such a weak male brought the therapist out in Jasmine. She gave him a look that suggested he wasn’t much but he was all she had which sent shivers rippling through him.
‘You.’ She commanded pointing a finger at him ‘Stay here.’ She waited for an acknowledgement but she could see from the wreckage on the bed he was in no condition to wander off anywhere. ‘When I shout you, you come into the lounge. Okay?’ He gave the slightest nod, which was all she required. Turning she closed the door behind her leaving him in the bedroom alone. He let out an audible sigh of relief as he lay back and felt his body relax. There was nothing left to worry about, his humiliation if it was not total before was certainly total now. In a matter of hours the world would know he fucked blow up dolls. A serene feeling had fell upon him like a gentle mist. It must be something like the feeling that befalls a person coming to terms with their imminent death.
After a short period of silence Jasmine bellowed ‘James!’ and before he could respond she repeated herself with a scream ‘James!’ James sat up like a nervous rodent on hearing an approaching tomcat. Fearful of the predatory female in the next room but more fearful of not obeying her, he braced himself as he stood up. ‘James!’ He jolted like he had been prodded with an electric wand.
‘Coming.’ Came his trembling reply. Nervously he advanced towards the door, scared as to what he might find on the other side. Gently pushing open the door he peered into the lounge. At first he saw nothing but Clarissa thrown over the back of the couch like a discarded skin. Taking a few more intrepid steps into the room he saw a figure on the floor in front of the minimal designed fireplace where a gas fire attempted realistic flames. The figure was motionless as a corpse but retained the vibrancy of a body bristling with latent energy. He inched closer should the body detonate. On closer inspection it was Jasmine lying in the same passive pose in which Clarissa was fixed when inflated. Her face was painted heavily with makeup mimicking Clarissa’s surprised expression. Red spherical blotches decorated her cheeks and exaggerated scarlet lips circled her open mouth. She had contoured her body with lines of mascara to indicate seams. The overall effect prompted a stunning reaction in James, bypassing his brain and penetrating deep into his psyche. His stomach felt like it was being gently kneaded and growth took place between his legs with astonishing speed and strength. With this growth in his stature came a parallel growth in his confidence.
‘Don’t dare move!’ He commanded and then threatened ‘Or I’ll deflate you.’ Jasmine immediately understood that she was not to react in anyway to his attention, something she found disturbingly erotic. It was the antithesis of her whole manner. Normally she shrieked, no she screamed in ecstasy or at least she thought she would if she was given the chance. He parted her legs slightly as he knelt between them. Her eyes fluttered in anticipation ‘Don’t!’ He said sternly, giving her a keen slap to the thigh. She felt her state of arousal heighten at this admonishment and began to blink purposely when necessary, like she had a s doll’s weighted eyeballs.
It was a savage night and if Jasmine were Clarissa she would not have survived, however she saw no reason to complain. In fact the man handling had turned her into a pressurised volcano that periodically blew. If she had been in a more rational state of mind as opposed to being totally lost in carnal pleasure she would admit to being impressed by the animal James had turned into. She had never before been picked up like a waif and served up on a table or thrown across the back of an armchair to be attacked from behind. Nor had she been force fed an angry member while hanging from a banister. It was as exhilarating as it was dangerous, for she was often in danger of being concussed by her own breasts. As for James, he had amazed himself, his chest puffed up with pride with how much power his scrawny body packed. But the body has its limits and eventually their energy was sapped and they both fell into a deep and satisfying sleep.
Jasmine’s angelic snoring woke James who had fallen to sleep with his head on her bosom. She was laid on the rug in front of the fire with her limbs spread out like she had been pole axed. Her substantial breasts rose and fell in a steady rhythm, as if they had been choreographed at some Swiss finishing school. He was amused how at intervals her nose would twitch before she would give a snort and then resume snoring again. It all gave the impression of a blue blood mannerism that could not be faked by lesser people. Her snoring was posh and he was impressed. In the reverie the dolls make up on her face had somewhat smudged as with the seams of mascara that defined her statuesque bulk. This however did not diminish the overall effect on James, its stimulus was still potent. She was gorgeous he thought! He stood up where he could study her better, she was all woman and she had been satisfied by he, all man! Turning he went out onto the balcony, naked as a monkey in a jungle and looked out over the Thames. His battered member somewhat sore from the night’s events was soothed as it dangled in the cool morning breeze. Cupping his hands he put them to his mouth while filling his lungs before bellowing a Tarzen yell across the river. AaaahhhhhhaaaAAAaahhhhhhaaaAAAaaahhhHHH!!!!!!