Blow-Up

I wonder if people ever ask for their money back after buying a blow-up woman? If what's on offer in a Sarasota sex shop called Harmony Center (sic) is anything to go by, I certainly would. I just happened to be passing by this morning, and so took the opportunity to browse some of the wares.

The thing is, the picture on the front of the box generally bears little or no resemblance whatsoever to the contents. For example, a doll marketed as Sweet Experience Shari ($14.99 plus Florida sales tax) is illustrated with a photograph of a woman looking not unlike Demi Moore. However, if you take it out and inflate it, what you actually get is more akin to Betty Boop, albeit with "three realistic orifices" (which, according to ex, Bruce Willis, is three more than Demi ever had). Luscious Leona similarly disappoints. Depicted on the box as a stunning Bo Derek type, the resulting doll puts me in mind of a space hopper with tits.


I suppose, in their defence, the manufacturers of the dolls would argue that, if you go into, say, a McDonalds or Burger King, the illustrations of the food bear little resemblance to the reality of the eating experience, either, what with wilted lettuce, crushed buns, and permanently detumescent gherkins. So why should the depictions of their sex products be any more realistic? But I would counter this by pointing out that McDonalds and Burger King aren't claiming that their products will bring you to orgasm (which is just as well, really, as you wouldn't want people spontaneously ejaculating upon opening their Whopper or McNugget boxes), whereas, with Sweet Experience Shari and Luscious Leona, this actually appears to be the raison d'être behind the dolls' manufacture.

Or maybe it isn't.

When I interrogated the Harmony Center salesman, he claimed that most of these blow-up dolls are, in fact, bought as joke items for bachelor parties and the like and therefore aren't intended for serious use in penetrative sex. Which may or may not be true. But even if it is, it still means that some do get fucked. One wonders by whom. And one especially wonders what sort of sicko would want to shag the blow-up figure which I later encountered in the Venice area, depicted below. (And one also wonders what the fuck the picture on the front of the box was if that is the end-result following use of the foot-pump. Daniel Craig in Lycra trunks, I'd be willing to bet.)

I fear for the future of the world. I really do.