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Real Dolls: Love in the Age of Silicone Meghan Laslocky -- 10/17/2005  [ 1 ]There are more. Amanda, with a B4’s small breasts, looks like a suburban teenager who just might tip over from too much tequila at any moment. Celine sits on a black leather sofa in gold lamé underwear and resembles a well-maintained trophy wife. Angela is photographed from behind, on a bed with pool table green sheets, her hands tied behind her back. Kaori plucks at her small breasts as she removes her school-girlish kilt and her white underwear to proffer a bare pudenda. Sirens all – luring men to an exclusive cyber island where high-tech and age-old male fantasy fuse. Imagine! A beautiful woman whose face one can pull off and replace with another. A beautiful woman who poses for countless pornographic photographs and won’t mind when you show them to your friends. She never lies, cheats, get pregnant, or passes on disease. She offers great sex unfettered by the pesky daily push-pull of a relationship. She never says, “No.” A beautiful woman who, when a man whispers in her soft, slightly sticky ear that she is his one and only love, he can almost hear murmur that the feeling is mutual. For some owners, a Real Doll is simply a 3-D Playboy -- voluptuous and eager to please, an inanimate co-conspirator in a thrilling dip into synthetic love. For others, with their torn breasts and mangled genitals, Real Dolls are speechless vessels of violence. But for yet another group of doll loving men, Real Dolls are gentle courtesans whose silicone curves offer companionship and relief beyond orgasm. In their world, regular sex with 100 pounds of silicone just might be preferable to intimacy between two breathing beings. Depending on how you look at it, doll love is either the perfect solution to or the symptom of any number of problems -- plain old-fashioned loneliness, a dysfunctional personality, or a brain that is simply not wired for love. Lust for the inanimate is nothing new. But combining lust and plastic, with a dash of the Internet, makes for a potent cocktail: love in the age of silicone. Think like an Agalmatophile Sexual attraction to statues, and, by extension to dolls and mannequins, is called agalmatophilia. Cast a metaphorical flashlight into the crannies of history and agalmatophiles are caught in the act. Consider the ancient Greek story of a man so besotted by the Aphrodite of Knidos, sculpted by Praxiteles in the 4th century B.C., that, after spending days gazing at and whispering to her, he spent the night in her temple. In the morning, Aphrodite was stained by his passion, and the fellow hurled himself off a cliff. Then, as the quintessential agalmatophile from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Pygmalion was a celibate loner – perhaps even a misogynist – who fell in love with his own sculpture of a woman. “His kisses/He fancies, she returns; he speaks to her/Holds her, believes his fingers almost leave/An imprint on her limbs…” Pygmalion dresses his statue up, showers her with gifts, and takes her to bed. When he prays to Venus to bring his sculpture to life, it blooms in his embrace. As he strokes her, her body softens “like wax in sunshine,” and her veins throb with a pulse under his thumb. end of page 2 [ 2 ] read more ... [ 3 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 6 ][ 7 ][ 8 ][ 9 ][ 10 ][ 11 ][ 12 ][ 13 ][ 14 ][ 15 ][ 16 ][ 17 ][ 18 ][ 19 ][ 20 ][ 21 ][ 22 ][ 23 ] |
