Diary of a Sex Doll

 
       December 1st
       Sitting naked on the bed of a man whose face isn’t familiar enough for me to describe, I’m an early Christmas present.
       He’s skinny, a bit of a ginger. That’s all I know for sure.
 
       December 2nd
       He’s been coming in the room to stare at me. Last night he put me in his closet and I could hear him snoring. Big, fat snores for such a wimpy body. He barely touched me, at least not in that way.
       I’m on his bed now, waiting. His room is decorated with pictures of the beach, all sand dunes and waves.
       Wait, are sand dunes deserts or beaches?
       He’s due any minute, where he’ll take me in with his blue eyes before running off. I think he’s frightened of me.
 
       December 4th
       He squeezed my breast today, just for a moment. When he walked up to me, I knew something was about to happen.
       His eyes were focused, and all over me, like he couldn’t keep them in one spot. He looked angry, like he was going to strike me, right before he grabbed a handful. With purpose, you could say.
       Then he walked away and left me alone.
 
       December 5th
       Matthew didn’t come home today. I know his name is Matthew because he was talking to someone on the phone last night, and they said, “Oh Matthew, Matthew.”
       Speakerphone. Probably his mother.
       All this time, and he hasn’t introduced himself. I had to take the name from him.
       I wonder where he is. He’s late.
 
       December 6th
       Today he puts me in the corner while he grabs handfuls of women’s clothing from his closet. Spaghetti-strap tank tops, sun dresses. Gobs of bras and panties. And he sniffed a pair. It was pretty embarrassing.
       They all ended up in a black trash bag, the kind used for bad memories, and then he left the room.
       Asshole didn’t even leave the light on for me.
 
       December 8th
       Last night he took me to bed. I didn’t mind being naked, but he pulled a t-shirt over my head. Tender, like he was dressing a child for bed.
       He lay next to me under the sheets, looking like he wanted to talk. Say something. Instead he just nuzzled against me, his red whiskers chafing my shoulder the whole time.
       His hair is brown. Sandy brown, I think it’s called.
       Why’d he bring me here if he didn’t want me?
 
       December 9th
       I was sitting on the bed today when I saw Matthew through the window. He was out in the yard with the trash bag, pouring the clothes onto the grass. After a moment, he dug through the pile—really, really wrinkled now—and stuck an article in his pocket, but I couldn’t see what it was.
       Afterwards, he set the garments on fire. Never seen a bonfire before. It was something beautiful.
 
       December 10th
       Matthew seems much happier today. Even his clothing gives off a better mood. Bright greens and summer yellow. Collar standing around his neck like a college boy.
       Matthew’s not really skinny. Slim is the right word, I think, or twink, as one of the gay dolls might say. Thankfully for me Matthew doesn’t like men.
       At least I hope not.
 
       December 11th
       Matthew kissed me today. It was a good kiss, rough, but not desperate. I wouldn’t mind another one of those.
       I could get used to it here, I think. I’m good for Matthew. I think he’s starting to realize that.
 
       December 12th
       Matthew didn’t touch me at all today. He put me in his closet again. It’s dark, and not very comfortable without all those clothes. I don’t like it in there. I like sleeping beside him.
       I’m a little angry about it.
 
       December 13th
       Suddenly, I’m back in his bed. I was still angry, but he started kissing me and I kind of forgot all of that.
 
       December 14th
       Oh my God. I’ll explain later.
 
       December 15th
       Last night was wonderful. I’m writing this now, before I forget details.
       First, he undressed (he left me in his bed all day too, no closet time), then he put on these swim trunk-looking boxers. They had to be for me—why else wear them? I think they were polyester.
       He slid his arm over me (God I hope no one is reading this) and put his finger in me. Well, he licked it first. His finger, that is. He hands are coarse, but in a good way. Like farmer’s hands. A city boy with farmer’s hands.
       I could feel him getting excited. Jesus, I could write about this forever. After that he went down on me, but I guess he didn’t like it because he stopped after a couple of seconds. Which was okay. It felt weird anyway. He made me take a turn on him and that was way better. His hands in my hair. I mean, it’ll probably get old eventually. But his grateful expression and moans were really hot.
       I’m running out of room here, so I’ll cut to the chase: he fucked me good, pinned me down, and pulled my hair. He used me face down to finish, then held me all night. Well, except for around two in the morning. Matthew can snore like a motherfucker.
 
       December 18th
       The last few days have been a whirlwind of Matthew. He comes home to me, and we make love. It’s like a honeymoon.
       I’m not sure I like the TV shows he watches while we’re in bed. All these programs about murder in different cities. And it’s always female victims. It’s all so grisly, obscene. Especially after what preceded it.
       But that’s what a good relationship is about.
       Compromise.
 
       December 19th
       Matthew was really rough tonight. I like it that way sometimes, but tonight I wasn’t ready. He barely kissed me before pushing in.
       But it’s nice to know he’s so urgent about me. He can’t wait to get home and fuck me.
       I’m pretty sure I just blushed.
 
       December 20th
       I’ve been thinking about questions I’m afraid to ask. I’m sure he was hurt pretty bad by his ex—I hear him crying in the bathroom sometimes. I don’t mind him trying to get over her; I just wish he would talk to me. He knows I’m not the jealous type.
       I just hope we’re not moving too fast. We really like each other, but things can go sour if we’re not careful.
 
       December 21st
       Tonight Matthew made me put on a pair of panties.
       It would have been a sweet gesture if he had went to Victoria Secret and bought a pair for me. Something with purple lace. True love is a man buying his girl a pair of panties. But these weren’t new panties, and worse, they were peach colored.
       He went down on me while I was wearing them—something he never does, not since our honeymoon. He pulled them off this morning before he left for work, and hid them in the nightstand.
       Maybe I’ll ask him about them later. I mean, fetishes are cool and everything, but I don’t know about this one. I don’t know where those panties have been. Or who they’ve been on.
 
       December 22nd
       I’m not sure how to put this into words, but I’ll try.
       Matthew made me wear the panties again, and he was fucking me face down when he started crying. I wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t having it. Then he started hitting me. He was still crying when he opened the closet and threw me inside.
       I could hear him all night, saying “I’m sorry” over and over.
       Things are bad right now.
 
       December 23rd
       I’m still in the closet. He left this morning without even looking at me.
       My head hurts.
       I miss my Matthew.
 
       December 24th
       There’s a mouse in here with me. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m fighting off a fucking mouse.
       I’m not scared, and the mouse knows it. It keeps returning to bite at my toes.
       I want to be back in bed with Matthew. He was so caring that first night, kissing my ankles when my feet were beside his head. Groaning into my neck when he finished. Pressing against me with his tip still wet.
       I want that. Not this.
       Fucking mouse.
 
       December 25th
       Matthew’s parents came by and he didn’t introduce me. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I still live here. Would’ve been nice of him.
       I wonder what his mother is like. We would probably get along. Cooking together would be fun, and I could call her Mom while Matthew and his father watch football on the couch, or one of those stupid crime shows. I bet she hates those, too. We’d totally hit it off.
       Oh, and I killed the mouse. I knocked a box off the top shelf and crushed the little pink fucker.
       Dear diary.
 
       December 26th
       So…we’re back together. I guess he finally realized what he was missing. Here I thought Christmas was going to be a complete horror show.
       Right before midnight, he took me out of the closet and pulled those tacky panties off me. This time he put them in the trash.
       Oh, and two words: makeup sex.
 
       December 27th
       Our lovemaking is back on track, but something’s off. There’s more kink than affection. More pounding than petting.
       He tried hanging me from his ceiling fan. By the wrists. He knew I was too heavy, but he tried anyway. And now he has a broken fan. I kept my mouth shut.
       After that failed he chained me to the bed (fake chains, probably leftover Halloween decorations), but he got bored with that and put a plastic bag over my head while he choked me. All I could see was half of a blue logo, wrinkling and un-wrinkling from Matthew’s breathing on the back of my head.
       He did some other things too, but I’m out of room and I don’t want to go into it.
 
       December 28th
       He cut off all my hair. I think I’m still in shock.
       I didn’t realize it, but he hasn’t been to work in a few days. He hasn’t showered and his face is like a brushfire.
       He took these heavy clippers and just sheared my pretty locks off. I really can’t bring myself to look in the mirror. I must be hideous.
       All those dreams about cooking with his mother are long gone.
 
       December 29th
       Matthew had someone over this afternoon. I could hear them in the living room chatting up a storm. Maybe she’s just a friend, but still. Jealous.
       He went on and on about this bottle of Pinot Noir he picked up for a good price, like he was real proud of it. A couple of times they both went quiet for a moment, then started laughing. Probably just one of those awkward times where you realize you have nothing in common.
       He actually cleaned up before she came by. I forgot how good he looks when he shaves and showers. Except he looks a little too skinny these days.
 
       December 30th
       Matthew carried me outside today. I was so happy at first. He was going to show the world we were a real couple. He carried me in his arms like it was our wedding, my bald head against his cheek. I wanted to be blonde at that moment, with a little tiara on my head.
       Then he put me in the dumpster. I’ve been sitting in here for hours, and my skin is filthy from leaking garbage bags.
       Someone is opening the dumpster now. Please God be Matthew.
 
       December 31st
       I’m naked again, on a bed. But this time it’s a dirty mattress in a ransack apartment. I was brought here by a dumpster diver, a middle-aged man who’s covered in all kinds of grease.
       I’m such a mess. I want to wear Matthew’s shirt. I want to taste him. I want him to pin my wrists. I want him to pull my hair.
       The dumpster diver just walked in, and he’s naked like me. I don’t think he’s going to put me in his closet.
 
       January 1st
       I wonder what it’s like in Florida. I hear the oceans are fantastic, as long as you don’t get the water in your mouth. A bad, salty taste, they say.
       Matthew was born there. I saw FL on his license. I’d like to lie in the sand, let the water pool around my neck. Hear seagulls.
       I think it must be beautiful.
       I think I’ll go there, someday.