Saturday, September 19, 2015
The older I get, the more grateful I am that I am not into inflatable sex dolls. I count myself very fortunate in that regard.
Because, like many cripples, the older I get the more crippled I become and the less I can do for myself. And one thing that sucks about losing mobility is that you also lose a lot of privacy. Like for instance, since I now need help writing checks to pay my bills and such, the people who help me write checks know all about what’s in my bank accounts. Not that there are any shocking revelations there, but still.
And this makes me wonder about my crippled brethren who are into inflatable sex dolls. I’m sure there must be some out there. Because there must be millions of people out there who are into inflatable sex dolls otherwise whomever it is that manufactures them wouldn’t keep manufacturing them. And since you find cripples in every segment of society, in every walk of life, then it follows that there must be a fair number of cripples who are into inflatable sex dolls. Why should we be any different?
And so, being the empathetic person that I am, I put myself in their position. And I think about how in my youth, if I had been into inflatable sex dolls, I would have been physically able to execute the whole operation independently. And nobody would ever know the difference.
But not so anymore. These days, even if I purchased an inflatable sex doll discreetly over the internet, I would need one of my workers to open the box. And I’m sure I would need my worker to inflate her, too, though I’m confident I could still execute the next phase independently. And if my doll sprung a leak along the way, I would need my worker to patch it.
So then I ask myself how I would react if I was one of my workers and I was faced with this ethical dilemma. First I’d weigh the legalities. It’s probably against some law somewhere to assist in inflating the sex doll of someone on public assistance. Inflating sex dolls is probably not on the list of authorized Medicaid tasks my workers may perform, though I suppose one could argue that it could fall under miscellaneous. But beyond all that, I’d like to think I’d be open-minded about it. I’d like to think I’d remind myself that I’m here to serve and not to judge. And nobody is getting hurt so why not?
But then again I might think the whole thing is just too damn creepy and quit.
I know myself. Fearing the latter reaction, if I was into inflatable sex dolls, I would not be able bring myself to ask my trusted and loyal assistants to inflate my doll for me. I’d resign myself to giving up this pursuit and I’d quietly mourn another loss that comes with the advancing of crippledness. But I’m not into inflatable sex dolls so why am I even thinking about this? There must be something seriously wrong with me. Sorry I dragged you through all that.
(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)