Sean E. Britten

I’ve always been inspired by music (I know, super original!) and music has always been a part of my writing. Way back in the days of burnt CDs, my mates and I used to put together CD mixtapes and I came up with the idea of a series of short stories based around pieces of music. Mixtape is all short stories sharing their titles with different songs and inspired, to various degrees, by their lyrics, artists, and vibe.

Currently Playing: Regurgitator – Polyester Girl

Owen figures he’s hit a serious new low after ordering an inflatable sex doll online. But things can always get worse, as he discovers when his new toy proves to have a mind of its own and a couple of other surprises in store…

NSFW, probably NSFL honestly.

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With a grand, shuddering groan, Owen emptied himself into the plastic girl. His scrotum drew taunt against his perineum and a tingling wave of pleasure ran from the tips of his toes through the length of his entire body. The inflatable sex doll wheezed under his flabby weight. He wrapped an arm around its shoulders and felt its body bend bonelessly.

Owen rolled over, the sex doll squeaking, and pushed away from the bed. Dazed, still rigid and slick, he shuffled from foot to foot. Disgust shredded the last threads of postcoital bliss. Right here was a new low. He’d just danced across another line he couldn’t uncross. He was a thirty-two-year-old virgin, a self-diagnosed porn addict, and already owned half a dozen sex toys that he’d bought purely for solo use. But looking at the vinyl sheen of the inflatable sex doll splayed on the middle of his mattress, its mouth frozen open in a grotesque expression of shock, he’d reached a whole new level of unfuckably pathetic.

Most men, Owen assumed, were familiar with post-nut clarity. The sobering rush after an orgasm that could turn a supermodel back into a sow. Or, more often in his case, transform a whole genre of pornography from a surprising new fetish to a source of fresh self-loathing and shame that needed to be deleted quickly from his browser history. The doll, when he ordered it, claimed to be based on the likeness of one of his favourite porn stars. When it was delivered and he unwrapped it from its discrete packaging, however, it looked like any other generic sex doll he’d ever seen. Like a blow-up mannequin, arms bent, its hands and feet blunt and featureless. Its hair was part of its head and entirely too yellow. Its face was flat and cartoonish, with a gaping suckhole of a mouth. The shitty, scammy website he had ordered the doll from probably assumed their customers would be too embarrassed to send their packages back. Anticipating the delivery, he’d been saving himself and was too horny to care. He’d inflated the doll and, despite being badly out of breath from the uncommon exercise, he’d started molding its plastic breasts and plastic thighs. Certainly he couldn’t return it now in its current condition, used.

Horrified as Owen felt with himself, he wanted to take a knife to the doll. To slash it open until it was unusable and deflated so he could scrunch it up and stuff it down in the garbage where it wouldn’t be found. He only rented his bedroom and shared the rest of the house with two much younger students. The thought of either one of them finding the doll was absolutely mortifying. He thought about destroying it but some tiny remaining twinge of lust stopped him. Instead, he carefully cleaned the polyester girl and stuffed her into the dark recess beneath his bedframe. He had wanted a wife once. He’d wanted to have kids. And this is what he had instead, he thought.

“God, I fucking hate myself.”

xXx

The next day, after getting home from work, Owen pulled the inflatable girl from under the mattress. His self-inflicted sense of contempt hadn’t fully left him but he figured he was stained by it by now, there was no going back, so he might as well get some use out of the toy. Sadly, truth be told, the first time he’d used it was the most satisfaction he’d felt in some time, even with the doll’s squeaking body and balloon breasts and suckhole mouth.

After Owen was done, he cleaned the doll carefully. The shame, the disgust, it was all still there but already dulled. He knew he would be back. He worried though that the cheap doll was already somehow damaged in some way. Its midsection looked a little misshapen, bloated, giving it a paunch he’d swear wasn’t there the day before. If the doll became damaged would he be pathetic enough to replace it? He suspected he would be.

Over the next few days, Owen used the doll to relieve himself almost exclusively. Sometimes several times a day. He tried to keep it to when his housemates were out, worried the rhythmic squeaking would give away what he was doing.

Usually, Owen stuffed the doll back under the bed as soon as he was done cleaning her. He hated the way those flat and emotionless eyes stared. One morning, however, he woke up with the sex doll tucked in bed with him. Cool vinyl pressed against his cheek. Her body folded into his arms.

“What the fuck?”

Owen shoved the doll out of his bed where it bounced gently on the carpet without making a sound. He felt just as embarrassed as he might have been if he’d actually been caught with it. Sleeping with the doll risked crossing another line from using it as a masturbatory aid to treating it like an actual romantic partner. Had he used her last night then fallen straight to sleep? He checked but she was clean. Maybe he’d pulled her out from under his bed in the early hours of the morning, half-asleep, and then forgotten.

Feeling a stir, Owen decided to pick up the doll again. The paunch around its midsection drew his eye, however. He’d had to reinflate it a couple of times over the last few days using the valve on its left foot. But he’d been quite deliberately avoiding the way the doll’s stomach protruded into a kind of bowl beneath its torpedo breasts. He’d assumed it was some kind of damage but it had grown there so perfectly round, like a beach ball. It made him uncomfortable somehow. Too uncomfortable to climb on top of it. He pumped the sex doll’s mouth instead, its head squeaking and deforming with every thrust, neck bent at a ninety degree angle. When he finished, its suckhole mouth looked almost downturned and sad. None of the times he’d used it had been as satisfying as that shameful, taboo-breaking first time, and he wondered if he was projecting because he was getting sick of it. Maybe he might prefer another model from a more reputable website?

xXx

Whatever Owen’s feelings, the next couple of mornings he woke up cuddling the inflatable doll. He found his hand cupping the bowl-shaped protuberance of its belly. Embarrassment was replaced by confusion and then anger. Presumably his unconscious mind was reaching for the doll in his sleep, seeking comfort like a baby seeking a breast. He was never going to do any better with this thing hanging around like an anchor. He’d never find a girlfriend sleeping with this inanimate thing at night. Knocking it to the ground, he kicked it savagely under the bed. Its bloated stomach caught on the edge and for a moment it almost seemed to writhe with its own internal life. With another kick, he knocked it out of sight.

The sky threatened when Owen returned home that afternoon, black with thunderheads. Raindrops began to splatter the back of his neck as he hurried up the front path. He switched on the lamp by his desk when he entered his room, leaving the overhead light off. Sunlight was disappearing outside. It left the room gloomy. He planned on using the doll and it was easier to picture it as a real woman if the room was dark. When he looked to the bed, however, he was horrified to see the sex doll was already there. He remembered kicking her beneath the bed that morning but now her face watched him from above the lip of his bedspread.

“Oh, fuck! No, no!”

Owen’s first thought was that one of his housemates had been in his room and had found the doll, leaving it in his bed as a prank and a taunt. His face burned with humiliation. They could get into trouble coming into his room like that but to complain about it he would have to acknowledge the existence of the sex doll. Still, it didn’t make sense. His bedroom had been locked and only his landlord had an extra key. And the landlord wasn’t the type to do something like this.

Owen crossed to the bed and pulled back the covers. The truth of the matter, he quickly realised, was even worse than someone discovering his shameful secret. Thunder rolled in the distance, coming closer. The polyester sex doll lay back on the mattress, splayed, arms bent. But the doll’s midsection had swollen to inescapable proportions, like a pinkish beach ball attached somehow to the doll. The doll wobbled. Something inside of it was moving.

“What in the Jesus fuck?” Owen said.

Fluid broke and spread across Owen’s mattress, soaking into his sheets. It flowed from the lipless hole between the doll’s plastic thighs. The hole appeared to widen of its own accord. Owen gingerly touched the doll’s stomach. He could most definitely feel something solid writhing about inside. The vinyl skin distended as if at the pressure of a tiny hand or foot.

The process didn’t take long from then. A head slick with matted hair swelled against the doll’s opening. The doll’s stomach contracted. Owen reached for it on impulse. He scooped the head and twisted. Shoulders, arms, and the rest of a tiny body unravelled from the hole along with a gush of clear and viscous fluid. Rain lashed against the windows and lightning crackled somewhere outside as the storm continued.

“Oh, fuck, Jesus, oh shit.”

Owen let the baby drop to the wet mattress. A twisted purple cord traveled from its stomach and back into the doll’s cunt. A boy, a tiny nub of a penis jutting between its legs. But not human, not entirely. It was chubby and child-shaped, moving, visibly alive unlike the sex doll, but its skin had the same vinyl sheen as its mother, without pores, an unnatural pink with seams down its sides. Its hands and feed ended in blunt stubs, lacking fingers and toes. It appeared to have real hair that was pasted to its scalp. Its eyes were wide and staring but painted on its plastic face. Its mouth was a grotesque pink suckhole, wrinkling at the edges. The half-breed gasped and started to wail. As it did so, its limbs wilted, boneless, losing structure. Its skull dented, deflating, then reinflated as it sucked air back in.

“Shit, shit!”

It occurred to Owen that he didn’t know if his housemates were home or not. They might hear the crying and he wouldn’t know how to explain all of this. That probably should have been a minor concern but it was one he could grasp. Reaching forward, he tried to smother the baby’s suckhole mouth.

“Shut up!”

The baby, surprisingly, settled. Owen felt its gross mouth on his fingers, suckling. The doll delivered what must have been the placenta, a fleshy plastic bag that inflated of its own accord and bounced around the bed trailing the umbilical cord like a balloon.

For a moment, Owen saw what he was being offered. This was a horror, a bizarre, inexplicable nightmare, but in its own twisted way wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? A woman, a wife. One who would stay at home with the children and never contradict him or talk back. One who was always willing. And a child, a son, albeit one who was a little bit different.

“No, no one can know about this,” Owen said. “If they saw this, they’d know. They’d know just how fucking pathetic you are.”

The humiliation, the shame, it was too much to contemplate. He couldn’t stand the thought of how people would laugh behind his back knowing how he had conceived his deformed son with his polyester bride. And once it was out there, once people knew about this, it would kill his chances of ever getting a real girlfriend and making a real family. He’d never do any better than this disgusting farce of a life.

Knowing what he had to do, Owen reached for the child. It didn’t take long. He told himself the half-alive thing would have never survived for long anyway and it might have even been true. The inflatable doll didn’t raise a word of protest. Lightning snapped and roared outside as a fresh blast of wind caused the window to shake behind the curtains.

When Owen was done, he buried the half-breed thing in the garden. The house had a small backyard with a garden bed that a previous tenant used to grow herbs, but which had become overgrown with weeds since they left. The storm continued to lash. Owen was immediately soaked through to the skin as he carried his shameful bundle out of the house wrapped in a garbage bag. The garden patch turned to mud. He used a laundry bucket to dig a pit out of the earth and stuffed the newborn down inside before filling it again.

Owen had no real idea of what to do with the sex doll when he returned to the house. One problem at a time, but he supposed he would have to get rid of it as well. When he entered his room again, dripping on the carpet, he saw the bed was empty. The sex doll had disappeared and left a puddle of afterbirth behind it.

“What? Where?”

Something bobbled from the gap behind the door. The sex doll, animated, apparently, by some kind of maternal rage. Watching her child murdered by its own father had given her the strength finally, at long last, after every other humiliation, to break free of the paralysis in which it lived.

Boneless, rubbery limbs clamped themselves to Owen. He pushed it away, or tried. The doll had no real strength to its movements and yet its arms and legs knotted themselves to him like tentacles which he couldn’t dislodge. The doll wheezed and squeaked, as it had done during their lovemaking. Owen whirled across the room, crashing into things, before falling on the bed.

“No, let go of me! Let go!”

One blunt, fingerless hand probed Owen’s lips. Deflated, it managed to slip inside even as he tried to pinch them closed. He shook his head violently from side to side. Thunder roared right above the house. There was no stopping her as more of the hand poured into his mouth and began to inflate. He tasted vinyl. Her hand, her boneless wrist, her forearm, forced their way into his mouth. Wedged inside his oesophagus, the limb reinflated and filled the space. He choked and heaved, and tried desperately to bite down, but it was no use.

The sex doll’s face bobbed above Owen’s own, its suckhole mouth gawping. The edges of his vision began to turn grey. His final legible thought was to wonder how the two of them might be found and what people would think. He only wished he could clear his browser history one last time.

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Sean: Another important moral tale about the dangers of masturbation. Because every time you masturbate, you’re really shaking hands with the devil, or something like that.

I haven’t updated the Mixtape #2 playlist since the start of the year, and I probably should because there’s a lot more stuff coming! I just don’t know what order to put it all in. In the meantime though, you can find more from me on Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, and Instagram.

Next Track: The Church – Reptile