Go get a drink.

“So strange.” You stand up. It clearly seems to have been a dream, you aren’t even naked. Holding up the clothes to you it is again obvious they wouldn’t fit. Dropping the clothes, you go retrieve a beer, and take a swig leaning against your table. “I wouldn’t want to be a woman. I don’t want some guy to fuck me. Sure I wish I was in better shape. So why the hell did I dream that? Better question, why did I buy all that shit?” You take another drink and glance around your apartment. “I wonder where a woman like that would live?” Your mind wonders. You imagine a fancy New York apartment filled with fine clothes and expensive things. A smile hits your lips, “Nah. A rathole trailer and a job at a strip joynt more likely.” You chuckle and take another drink. “A prostitute, the blow up doll was my fifth John of the night. The lingering taste of cum flavoring everything she drinks.

You finish the beer and grab another. Walking back in the living room the image of the fine classy lady dancing with her husband the senator flashes in your mind. You scoop up the clothes and boots and toss them in the box. “Oh I know, not a hooker, some wide eyed 18 year old having sex with one of her teachers after prom. What a slut.” You laugh and crack open the beer. You grab the doll, better deflate this. It clearly lost a lot of air, but you don’t immediately find a plug. “Ugh, why do they always hide shit.” About a minute later you give up and drop it on the couch beside you. The legs settle and the arms rest on its thighs as if it was just a tired man sitting down after a long day at work. It even seems to sit slowly, your mind spins a second, is it alive? You resist the urge to bolt upright and run. Instead you laugh at yourself and jokingly say, “You look tired. Want one?” And hold out the beer for your blow up guest.