Today I received a phone call from Danny.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, “but you just got ONE more birthday gift in the mail!”
This was very surprising. Surely, someone felt very guilty for not sending me a gift for my birthday.  When I arrived at Danny’s, he handed me the package, saying, “This person must have felt VERY guilty.” The colorfully-wrapped gift was enormous. I brought the box home, placed it on my bed, and ripped it open. Inside was a female blow-up doll, ready to use.Â
“Whoa! Who sent me this gift?” I wondered. “Crazy Aunt Purl? Charming but Single? The gals at Poetry Thursday?” But there was no return address or card.
“It was me!” said my Penis.
“You sent me a birthday gift?”
“Sure. I felt bad that everyone gave you a gift except for me.”
“How did you buy this?”
“I bought it online while you were sleeping.”
“And what did you use for money?”
“Oh, they’ll give a American Express card to ANYONE nowadays”
“What name did you us?”
“Kramer. Penis Kramer.”
“They gave a credit card to someone named Penis Kramer?”
“Have you seen all the weird names out there? LaKisha? Apple?  Why not Penis?”
“Well.. uh, thanks for the gift, I think.   But I’m not really sure what to do with it.”
“What are you — a moron? What do you think you do with it? It was my birthday, too. Think of it as a birthday gift for both of us.”
“It just seems a little… unsanitary.”
“And REAL SEX is clean? Don’t worry, the plastic is hypo-allergenic.”
“I don’t know. I’m really not into having sex with a plastic doll. Can’t we exchange if for something else?”
“Think about it, Neilochka. No more waiting for Sophia. No more worrying about women again. Whenever you want a woman — there she is. She is the Perfect Woman!”
“Well, I could definitely save money not having to buy flowers on Valentine’s Day.”
“Exactly. Come on, let’s give a try!”
“I’m not really in the mood now. I was hoping to watch “Dancing with the Stars” on Tivo.”
Neil’s Penis presses the TV remote control. MTV comes on the TV.  On the screen, Shakira is shaking her hips in a music video.
“Oh look,” said my Penis, as sly as a snake, “Shakira! You loooove Shakira!”
Shakira bellydances for the camera.
“OK, I’m ready.” I said.
I quickly undressed.  My Penis and I jumped into bed, next to the blow-up doll. I politely propped the blow-up doll’s head against a pillow, making her comfortable.
“Hi there. It’s very nice to meet you, maam,” I said, and then started caressing her and whispering things in her ear.
“What are you doing?” asked my Penis.
“Sophia taught me to always do foreplay first.”
“You don’t need to do foreplay on a blow-up doll, you dummy! That’s the whole point.”
“Good. Because she pretty much tastes like a Hefty trash bag.”
“Just stick me in already! I’m getting bored.”
I climbed on top of the blow-up doll, feeling my way to the cut-out hole under the midsection of the doll.
“Jesus. I don’t even need to see the tag to know that this was made in Hong Kong for the Asian market.”
“Quit kvetching and just push in!” my Penis yelled.
“Will you be patient?! The last thing I want is to puncture her.  You want half of a blow-up doll permanently melted on you, Penis Kramer?”
After some maneuvering, the blow-up doll and I started “making love.”  I was thrusting and my penis was loving every minute of it… but I was unsatisfied.Â
I stopped.
“What?! What?! What’s going on?” screamed my desperate Penis. “Keep it going, Neilochka!”
“It all just seems so… cold.” I replied. “It’s like she’s not even human.”
“We’re f***ing a blow-up doll, Neilochka. What do you think? Just enjoy it!”
“It just doesn’t feel like a real woman.”
“Look, I’m happy. Can’t you be happy for me?  You still get the in and out.”
“I’m not just talking about in and out. There’s more to sex. There’s the smell of the woman. The heat of the woman. The voice of the woman.”
“Oy! What a nudnik!”
“I’m sorry, Penis. I just need to feel some sort of connection.”
“I have an idea. What if I make believe that I’m the voice of the woman you’re having sex with?Â
“And how are you going to do that?”
“I can “throw my voice” like a woman, so it sounds like it is coming from her.   This way the “sex” can feel more “real” to you, and I can finally have some fun here.”
“You can do this?”
“Sure. I once took a “ventriloquism” course at the Learning Annex.”
“OK, Let’s give it a try.”
I started my thrusting again. My penis did his ventriloquism act, and it really worked. He really made it sound so authentic. It seemed as if feminine orgasmic moanings and groanings were coming straight from the blow-up doll’s bright red open mouth.Â
“Oh, OH, you are so good!” cried the “woman.” “I love how big and hard you are. You are the most amazing Penis in the world. You are like a Ninja sword of pleasure, you apple-headed monster, you bald-headed battering ram. Do me, you Captain Howdy, you Cock-a-saurus Rex, you Danger the one-eyed Ranger. You fill me completely with your Fire breathing Dragon, your Incredible Bulk, your King Kielbasa. Take me to math class with your Perpendicular bisector. I kneel before you, mighty Longrod Von Hugenstein, Erectus Nebuchadnezzar. Show me “the Wall” with your Pink Floyd, you upright citizen of the month!  Forever bless you, oh, proud member, Navajo nightstick of Neilochka…”
“Hold on… Hold on!” I said, stopping again. “This is not working for me at all.”
“‘I thought you wanted to hear a turned-on woman.”
“Yeah, but all she talks about is… YOU!”
“So? Aren’t I the one doing all the work?”
“It makes me feel like an object. I’m not an attachment to you, Penis.”
“You’re not?” my Penis asks, surprised.
“A woman is not with us for YOU. She’s with us for ME. For being a good person. For holding the door for a woman. For helping the old woman across the street.”
My Penis laughs.
“Yeah, right. And my name isn’t Penis Kramer… Can we get back to “doing” the blow-up doll?”
“It feels empty.”
“Not every sexual encounter has to have harps and violins playing in the background.”
“Remember when Sophia and I were honeymooning in Spain, and we were in that small town, and there was this man outside playing the violin…”
“OH NO, not that story!”
“It was so beautiful… there was a full moon… and then he sang that Spanish song, “Me Amor…”
“No… no… you’re not going to start crying again…”
“What went wrong, Penis?” I sobbed. “What went wrong?!”
“Stop it. Stop it! I’m getting soft. The walls are crumbling! I’m melting. I’m melting! I can’t believe it, Neilochka. You’re so ungrateful. Especially after I got you this gift.”
“Are you sure this gift was really for me?”
“What are you saying?” asked my Penis, his voice rising in anger.
“I’m saying you’ve always wanted a blow-up doll, and you used my birthday as an excuse to get yourself one.”
“You know, it was my birthday too! Â And where was your birthday gift to ME?”
“Who buys a birthday gift for his Penis?”
“You’re a hypocrite.  To all your blogging friends you go, “Buy me stuff! Buy me stuff!” But when you have to buy a gift for someone else, it’s always, “Oh, I forgot,” or “Who buys a gift for his Penis?””
“Now you’re acting like a woman.” I said mockingly. “A high maintenance woman!”
“No, you’re the woman!” yelled my Penis.  “You can’t even have sex with a blow-up doll without crying about “the violins in Spain.””
“No, you’re the woman! Look, who is the one throwing his voice so perfectly?! “Oh, you’re so good. Do me! Do me again!”
My Penis turned red in anger.
“You’re a dick, Neilochka!”
“Hah, look who’s talking!”
“You lousy son of a…”
“Stop it!  Stop it! Stopi it!” cried the blow-up doll, stepping out of the bed and walking away. “How hard is it for a blow-up doll to get laid around here?!”
She headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” asked my Penis and I simultaneously.
“I’m going out to a nightclub in Chinatown. I have needs too, you know. Call me when you two grow up and straighten things out.”
After the blow-up doll slammed the door behind her, my Penis and I looked at each other, daggers in our eyes.Â
“You want to masturbate?” I asked.
“Sure.” he replied.
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:Â You Decide
 
