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For many years after, James made good use of his doll, never knowing of her unhappiness. Often, he would hearken back to the many conversations and sexual adventures he had shared with Debbie. Then there were times when he would remember fondly her slow emotional shift into a purely sexual being bent on pleasing him in any way possible. He missed those days, occasionally. Nevertheless, had anyone asked if there were any disappointment in what Debbie had become, he would have answered “No”. She was, as he often told her, a dream come true.
Debbie, on the other hand, could not have been more miserable during her waking moments, and she became even more determined to catch his attention. For many years she fought sleep, hoping to gain her lover’s attention. For just as many years, she failed.
Finally, after waking to see a new years celebration on television, her resolve evaporated. As the New Year rang in, she realized that she had been a doll for nearly ten years. That time could have passed so quickly for her was overwhelming to her.
Later that evening, she caught a glance of her reflected image. Despite having seen her reflection before, she was shocked. She was quick to recall images in wax, strangely realistic but having no life. The eyes of such constructs, she recalled appeared dead, while appearing surprisingly real. There was nothing alive about such things, still, one might be tempted to poke such a figure to see if it were alive or not.
The opposite was true of her. She appeared strangely surrealistic; a parody of a woman. There was warmth to her “skin”, despite its synthetic nature. Likewise, her eyes, if looked into, told of the intelligence and life that remained beneath the manmade exterior. Despite this life, few would ever believe she was a real woman even had they been told. So thorough had been her transformation that even she could hardly believe the reflected image was a real woman.
With that simple sighting of herself, she understood her fate. There was no use in denying it was so, nor was there any sense in continuing to pursue her freedom. She saw this now. This was not acceptance so much as a realization of an unpleasant fact. She was no longer real. She was, now and forever more, a plastic sex-doll.
End
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