Living doll

A lot of people are pouring scorn on Valeria Lukyanova, the Ukrainian model who’s had plastic surgery to make herself look like a Barbie doll. When the manager of the safari camp saw her picture, he said he wouldn’t throw her out of bed. A fair remark in the circumstances. Men have slept with far stranger creatures than Miss Lukyanova and lived to tell the tale, so throwing her out of bed would be a highly inhospitable act.

Whether she’d want to climb into bed with a man is another story. It seems to me that a woman who wants to attract men doesn’t aspire to resemble a piece of plastic with no vagina. I suspect her Barbie complex reflects a powerful desire to be loved and admired by little girls. Normal women satisfy this urge by bearing baby girls, but such a feat may be physically impossible for Miss Lukyanova. Getting a baby out of her would be like pulling a goose out of a chicken.

She actually reminds me of a sex doll, although she looks less human than the best models currently available. I’m a firm believer that the sex-doll industry is an exciting growth sector deserving a healthy weighting in a gorilla’s portfolio. The big breakthrough will come when married men start having affairs with sex dolls rather than other women. This will save many marriages, as it would obviously be ridiculous for a wife to be jealous of a lifeless dummy. Emotionally secure spouses might even participate in threesomes.

My old friend Smacker Ramrod says he’s never been tempted to cheat on his wife because of their use of role-play. A couple’s sex life never gets boring if they’re constantly pretending to be other people. According to Smacker, these subterfuges are only effective if they embrace good production values, with well-written scripts and realistic costumes.

A favourite plot involves Smacker playing a repair man called in to fix the boiler of a haughty diva (played by his wife). She lectures him arrogantly while he labours away, getting dirty and sweaty in the process. When the job is complete, he asks if he can wash in her bathroom, to which she reluctantly agrees, but not before removing most of the toiletries and issuing meticulous instructions on the appropriate use of the facilities.

While he’s having a shower, he senses the diva is spying on him. Keeping the water flowing, he creeps towards the door and catches her peeping through the keyhole. The tables are turned – he threatens to call the police and the diva begs for mercy. She offers him pecuniary compensation, but he insists on an eye for an eye: he has shown her his, so she must show him hers. The tearful and submissive diva reluctantly agrees.

You can finish off the drama for yourself. According to Smacker, the enjoyment is maximised when his wife refrains from showing any pleasure until the last minute. I don’t know whether this would be every woman's cup of tea, but it beats pretending to be a Barbie doll.

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