I make a pretty good living. I live alone. I spend the majority of my time alone, in fact. Every once in a while I’ll think that I should get a Real Doll.

A Real Doll, if you don’t know, is, well, a sex doll. Unlike the inflatable ones that bob along with a look of perpetual surprise, Real Dolls look kind of human. At least, if you’re not looking too closely it looks like a real person. And they’ve got a sort of skeleton so they’re posable. And life size.

My apartment is small. Very small. Sometimes the maintainance people come in for whatever reason. Like, inspections or whatever. Usually I have a few hours notice, but sometimes an emergency comes up.

I wonder how embarrasing it would be to have a Real Doll sitting around when they came by. I guess I could shove it in the closet; there’s barely enough room for that. Or maybe I could leave it out sitting on the couch (in clothes). Maybe that would freak ‘em out.

As long as they didn’t use it. That would be kind of gross. And disappointing. I mean, if I spend a lot of money on a sex doll, I expect it to be faithful to me. Is that too much to ask?

Sure, I know what you’re thinking. I’m just a super horny guy willing to pay money for a person-looking mannequin to get his rocks off. But it’s not just about that. No, it’s a bit worse and it makes me question my sanity a little bit.

It would be nice, see, to have someone else around. Even if she didn’t talk much. Or move much. And, hopefully given the situation, didn’t talk very much. She could even be in the bed as I slept which seems like it would be better than having a big bed all to myself.

I would not take her out to dinner or a movie. Or put her in the car so I can use the carpool lane. She would strictly be a homebody. That seems a bit sane, yes? Maybe?

Much like anything else I think about buying, it’ll never happen. I have a hard time ponying up the money for a computer I want, I’m not going to spend twice as much for something like that.



I don’t like to brag or show off. No, it’s true. Whenever I do, something is apt to go wrong. Like, if I had someone in the car with me and was all like, “Check out how fast this car takes off from a stoplight,” then, when I hit the gas something would happen to make me look foolish. Like the transmission falling out. Or pistons shooting up through the hood. Stuff like that.

I’ve been a bit quiet lately because I’ve had some health issues. They cropped up right after I mentioned that I still had, at least, decent health. So, there you go. It’s nothing serious (so far that I know about), but it’s one thing that’s followed by something else that’s found that requires another visit to a different doctor, etc, etc, etc.

I went to a dermatologist yesterday to see about a mole. Everyone was nice to me. Really nice. The dermatologist herself treated me as if I were some kind of celebrity and kept saying how nice it was to meet me. She was cute. She was younger than me.

And that’s when you start to feel really old. Not just that everyone else is younger than you, but that people are nice to you. I wonder if I were ten, fifteen, years younger if she would have treated me the same (assuming that she was the same age). I think people tend to forget that, despite a large age difference, people still have an active sex drive and that it’s fairly common for older people to find younger people attractive.

I’m still waiting for the announcement that ‘they’ have figured out how to extend life and keep people looking younger longer. I actually don’t think it’s that far out; maybe not in my lifetime, but maybe not much longer than that. Which would figure.

But age is weird, anyway. Living from birth to age 30 seems like a really long time. Living from 30 to 60… yeah, it doesn’t seem that long at all. For most of your life you’re old, which is why it’s amusing to us to watch the younger generation act all high and mighty. Like thinking old people shouldn’t be on the Internet. Or lording over their mastery of SnapChat. Whatever that is.

That’s the way it goes, though.


So, I’m not saying I don’t have introverted tendencies. I probably do. While I like being in large, lively, groups I tend to be more quiet around people I don’t know. When I get to know people better, though, then I’ll talk non-stop. I’m not particularly good at small talk, though. There’s not much about the weather that hasn’t been thoroughly hashed through already.

I’m also careful about what I say. I have a peculiar sense of humor and I know that puts people off, sometimes. For some reason, people take me far too seriously when I’m saying something that (to me) is obiously ridiculous. It feels easier to keep my mouth shut than to explain what I’m talking about.

That makes it a little difficult for me to just walk up to somebody in a bar and start talking to them. The rare times when I have done something like that, it usually ended quickly.

The other day I was in the grocery store with my mother. I do things like that because I am a Good Son. Well, not really. But I try to be. Anyway, while walking around the aisles bored I saw what looked like an old woman in a frumpy dress. She had her back to me and was looking at product on the shelf. I let my gaze drop down to the bottom shelf because I really had nothing better to do but look to see what gets consigned to the spot nearest the floor. I noticed that the old lady had nice legs. Furthermore, her feet looked suprisingly young.

Later, we ended up crossing paths again and she wasn’t old at all. I don’t know why she was dressed frumpily and I’m aware enough to know that asking would not be a good pick up line. Neither would, “Say, I notice you have nice legs and pretty feet.”

Maybe it would. I assume it wouldn’t. I would think a old guy paying attention to a woman’s feet in a grocery store would be a kind of creepy thing.

The other reason why I don’t go up to random people in bars is because I don’t go to bars. But also because I always feel like I’ll be bothering someone. I don’t want to bother people. I don’t call people because I feel like whenever I call it will be the wrong time to call. And who calls people these days? And I don’t have anyone to call. But if I did, I wouldn’t call them because I feel like I’d be interrupting something.

I mean, I know what I’m doing throughout the day, which is nothing, but I don’t know how busy other people are. Weird huh? Have I mentioned I have a therapist? That’s actually fodder for a whole other post.