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Wednesday, July 30, 2003

The Nail In the Male Coffin?

Gather ‘round, lads and lassies. Today this blog departs from its normal decorum and gets downright kinky.

A shameless RageBoy-esque ploy to increase hits? Perhaps, although I prefer to think of it as an exploration into social trends--one that might prove tempting fodder to wittier commentators than this blogger on matters of sex and gender relations (did someone say Halley?).

I do not—cross my heart and hope to die—watch the steamy HBO documentary series, Real Sex. First of all, they air it after my bedtime. Secondly, it’s not worth watching anyway.

I do, however, often tape some of the excellent shows on HBO that I want to catch for later viewing . The other night, while rewinding one of these tapes, I noticed that a segment of Real Sex had been captured, and it aroused my interest. Imagine that!

They were doing a piece entitled “Bedroom Tricks and Toys.” One such toy, “Boy Toy” to be precise, was both an eye-popper and a cause for sober reflection. “Boy Toy” is the ultimate masturbatory instrument for women. A life-size doll, hand-made at $6000 a copy, and fashioned out of silicone.

It features hair, realistic eyes, pecs, abs, and a perpetually erect, amply endowed penis. It even has a retractable tongue for ersatz french-kissing. (a case could be made for humping a piece of plastic, I suppose, but french-kissing one? Yee-uck!).

Naturally, they didn’t just show the doll and leave it at that. No way. The producers, in their wisdom, brought in three gorgeous women, full-boobed and unclad, to take “Boy Toy” for a test ride. You could almost taste the palpable glee with which this trio contemplated the possibilities with Mr. Toy.

And the lack of negatives—no erectile dysfunction, no exhaustion, no premature ejaculation, no passing out drunk, no boorish demands, no unwanted impregnation, no social diseases.

These lovelies appeared to be beside themselves in happy abandon as they rode Boy Toy like drunken cowgirls on a wild mustang in Paradise.

There is one problem with the dummy, however. It’s excessively heavy and it takes three women to lift it onto the bed. You want to get off? You’ve got to have some girlfriends around. And it’s not something you can just discreetly tuck away in the closet when company’s coming. The manufacturer recommends keeping it on an office chair with wheels. Uh, OK.

Then there’s the problem of the high cost. Maybe 6K is a bargain for not having to have a guy around the house, but a lot of people don’t have that kind of ready cash available for a quick release of tension. Which raises a possibility that may have already been grasped by more enterprising individuals—i.e., rental.

You could rent out the Toy for an affordable hourly rate—something, say, near the going rate for massage—and rake in the bucks. And you probably wouldn’t have to worry about being busted for procuring. Can a hunk of plastic be prostituted? I wouldn’t think so. What you have here is the possibility of pimping with impunity. (I realize that Denise doesn’t do criminal law, but maybe she could provide us with an off-the-cuff opinion).

Unfortunately, the opportunity for titillation in watching these three bucking babes was quickly dissolved as one contemplated the implications of the unfolding scene. Does one need a reminder as vivid as this that the need for men—as some feminists like to proclaim—may be dwindling?

Are we headed toward a day when the only men that count are an elite group of super-brainy sperm donors? Will the next generation of Boy Toys be programmed with voices that say sweet things and pretend to be listening?

Maybe I should buy one now and set up my bordello-for-women. I do, after all, need a good retirement package.


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