'The Blow-up Doll'
By: Ryan Michaels
Rob and I first crossed paths working at a local
bathhouse. We hit it off almost immediately, transitioning quickly from
coworkers to close friends who hung out regularly outside of shifts. We’d
candidly trade stories about our encounters with customers, though the boundary
between us remained strictly platonic; we never crossed that line.
Eventually, the owner of the bathhouse passed away,
the business closed its doors, and the estate put the building up for sale.
Rob, who only worked there part-time while running a small business on the
side, managed to stay afloat until he picked up another part-time gig to
supplement his income. I wasn’t as fortunate. The bathhouse had been my
full-time livelihood, and the local job market was bleak. As my savings
dwindled and the job hunt turned up dry, I was forced to pack up and move forty-five
minutes outside the city to stay with my parents until I could get back on my
feet financially.
The distance changed our routine. We couldn't just
hang out on a whim anymore, but we kept the connection alive through phone
calls and online chats.
Over time, our conversations took an unexpected turn.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment the shift happened, but we eventually started
having phone sex. It felt like a natural progression; we had spent years
sharing the intimate details of our sex lives, and now that we were physically
apart, sharing those stories began to trigger something deeper. We’d get horny,
the tension would build, and we’d end up jerking off together over the phone.
It was during these intense phone sessions that Rob discovered a side of me
he’d never suspected—just how kinky and raunchy my tastes actually were.
The reality was that Rob’s sex
life was thriving while mine was completely stagnant, leaving our catch-ups
heavily dominated by his latest conquests. The town where my parents lived had
a population of about one hundred thousand, but it lacked any visible gay
community or cruising spots. Hard as I tried, I just couldn't find anyone
locally to hook up with. I could have driven down to the city to visit a
bathhouse, but my work schedule barely left me the time, and I hated the
thought of driving all that way, paying admission, and still possibly striking
out. Rob, meanwhile, was still in the heart of the city, surrounded by the gay
village, bathhouses, and cruising areas. For him, a hookup was always just a
short walk or subway ride away. My sex life had become entirely solitary.
I never cared for cam sex, and cybersex was just as
unappealing—reading typed-out messages felt completely sterile and did very
little for me. If someone was going to say dirty things to me, I wanted to hear
the inflection in their voice; a phone call was the only thing that actually
worked. So, I relied on a small collection of porn and the occasional phone sex
session with Rob.
This was the early 2000s, long
before the explosion of free tube sites, back when most online adult content
required a paid monthly subscription. Since smartphones didn’t exist yet (only
the basic cell phone), I didn't own a PC or laptop, and I certainly wasn't
going to pay a monthly fee just to browse on my parents' desktop, I was left
entirely dependent on physical media, which wasn't all that unusual back then.
Before long, though, my small
collection of videos grew stale. Desperate for variety, I drove down to a local
adult bookstore to rent some DVDs. It was there, while checking out at the
counter, that I noticed a row of boxes containing blow-up dolls stacked on the
shelf directly behind the cashier.
Later that night, while I was masturbating to the new
porn I'd rented, my mind drifted back to those boxes. If the real thing wasn't
an option, maybe a cheap doll could serve as a decent substitute.
When I returned to the store a few days later, I made
up my mind. As the cashier scanned my new rentals, I spoke up, keeping my voice
low.
"Um, how much are those?" I asked, nodding toward the shelf of blow-up dolls.