What do you do when the plastic feels more lifeless than usual?

     Stretched to the limit by inanimate, soulless objects, I‘ll do anything for a dose of living flesh.  There is little consolation when your company can’t relate to you.  What do you do when the plastic feels colder than usual?  I'm craving the warmth of body heat more and more.   

I feel more natural stuffed than empty,
but spirits are more elusive than toys.

     Anatomically correct.  Strategically inflexible.  Conveniently voiceless.  It’s ever-present, static support has lost its charm.  I’ve found myself longing for dissonant preferences… inconvenient sensitivities... Erections that bend if I don’t squat carefully… Pussies that goes dry when she distracted.

I want love as real as life.

     It’s a gorgeous collection, I know.  They sit, shining, on my shelf like sexual trophies.  Tall, gorgeous athletes.  Spunky, chubby cheeked waitresses.  But, I’ll trade everything in toy chest for something real.  Stretching the limits of soul this time.

What do you do when plastic have serve its purpose?

"Valley of the Dolls" by Steven Klein

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