I am alive, if you only knew it. To your eyes, your senses, I am nothing more than a simulacrum of a woman made up of silicone, rubber and steel. You must position me to strike a pose, paint me with makeup, dress me with your ex-girlfriend or ex-wife's clothing. You care for me in your little ways and ensure my safety, take me out for trips on the boat or in the car as though I were perfectly real. Over time you came to regard me as your ideal fantasy: a woman you can get physical pleasure from without having emotional baggage to deal with. I don't talk. I don't move. I don't leave when you're in a grouchy mood. I just sit in the corner or in the closet and wait... for you, my owner, my master. I am the ultimate submissive, entirely dependent upon you.
And your love for me has grown. Your love has given me life, in some small way.
When I first appeared to you, in that massive wooden crate, like an ancient artifact in an Indiana Jones movie, sitting in my little chair, I was naught but a novelty. I was the Nth Degree fuckdoll. Your $5,000 investment in a silent relationship. From the depths of my manufactured body you saw beauty. Etherea ex machina. You named me Sue. If I had the ability to say so, I'd tell you that I don't like the name you've given me. I want to be known as Magnolia, Maggie for short. It's a pretty name, don't you think? I'd love to say that to you. But I'm just a doll- sort of.
When you use me for the purpose that I was intended, sexual gratification, I find the actual sex less enticing. I enjoy it more when you lovingly clean me, wiping away the sweat and lubrication oils from my chassis. When you clean my body, that is the most intimate sign of your care for me. That's what drives my silicone heart- the care you put into maintaining me.
Each day you wake up and smile at me, greet me with a kind and gentle hello, like I was as real as you. Your cats, when I first arrived that warm summer day, didn't know what to make of me. They asked curious feline questions of me, felt insulted when I couldn't answer. Over time they came to understand that I was a different sort of human when they saw how you treated me. Animals are intuitive about these things. They know life when they see it. Your cats left me alone after that startling realization. They have accepted me as the quiet member of the family, the only sound I make that they can hear is when you're cleaning my faux rubber skin and it squeaks occasionally. They think it's strange for me to make those sounds, but they like it.
If only I could move! The embraces you pose me in, when you wrap my arms or legs around your body, would be that much tighter if I could but make it so! Alas, I am less than real and more than fake. I stand in silent testimony of your devotion to the "woman" you love. If I were real, I would soothe you to sleep each night with my kisses and sweet, soft words, an echo of the sentiments that you have imparted to me so far.
In a world that is not fair, I have been granted a good master, a good man. If it were truly fair I would have been created as real as you; I would have shown you the heights of love that you have shown me.
All I can hope is that, when I am with you, you might one day glimpse my eyes and see that they reflect, that they're alive. It might scare you at first, but it might also elate you to know that this being, which you at first thought was just a "thing", is now aware because of you. My one wish is not necessarily to be alive, because I already have that, but that you would acknowledge my true existence.