Poor Leo

(Authors note: Today, I decided to let someone else give me a topic to write about. My friend Colin Sanderson chose "Ventriloquist Dummy Fetishism". Fucking wonderful Colin. Here goes.)




He didn't have to fuck it. It just had to be around. On a desk, or a chair. Somewhere Gil could see it. I came across this interesting bit of information wholly out of annoyance one night, after a few bottles of wine, and a couple of hours of having the fucking thing staring at me from across Gil's living room.

"What's with the doll?" I asked. "Why's it always around?"

He looked over at it, sitting on the couch. "Leo?"

"I don't know. The fucking doll."

"Yeah," he smirked. "That's Leo, and he's a ventriloquist's dummy. He helps me jerk off."

I took a drink. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He was smiling.

I sort of wanted to leave at that point, but there was still a half bottle of wine left, and really, what the fuck else was I going to do? At least this seemed like it could be interesting conversation.

"So... you fuck it?" I asked.

Gil had been looking at Leo, but broke his gaze to answer me. "No. You probably couldn't fuck one of those. The bodies are mostly fabric and dowels. No grip anywhere, except the jaws I guess, and who wants to risk splinters?"

"Fair enough," I said, as I took another swig. My glass was empty now, so I reached across the coffee table, uncomfortably close to Gil, and took the bottle. I pulled off of it, and held it in my lap. I needed it now more than him. The image of Gil squirting half a tube of astro-glide into the block mouth of Leo and going to town on it just refused to leave my brain. He said he didn't actually fuck it, but that didn't mean that at some point, in the dark, alone, he hadn't tried.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asked.

"No. Just strange, is all."

He nodded. "Yeah, I never said it isn't. Can't help it though, you know? It's a fetish."

"A fetish for Leo, or dolls in general?"

"Well," he said, "again, it isn't a doll, it's a ventriloquist dummy. And almost any would do, I guess. Leo just happens to be the one I own."

I suddenly felt bad for Leo. Not only was he the victim of some degree of sexual abuse, but he also wasn't truly loved. I hoped he wasn't the kind of dummy that came to life at night to run around the house, performing mischievous deeds and staring at you from the end of your bed. I'd hate for him to awaken, expecting a night of fun only to have to scamper off into the bathroom to wipe the cum from his face and cry into the toilet. Poor Leo.

I pulled off of the bottle.

"So, you have a thing for ventriloquist dummies, but you don't fuck them... What do you do?"

"You want me to walk you through it?" He asked.

I didn't. "Sure," I said.

"Well, basically, I just set it up on a chair, and kind of stare into it's eyes, and..."

"Okay. Never mind. I get the point." I finished the bottle.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"I can put it away if you want," he said.

"Please."

He got up, and grabbed Leo by the arm.

In my mind, I saw Leo mouth 'help...' and cringe as he was dragged back toward Gil's bedroom. I heard the door open, a thud, and the door close. Gil came back out.

I didn't think I was going to hang out with him for a while after this.

Gil sat back down. "So, I mean, you don't have anything like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like Leo. You know, your own 'thing'?"

"Just women."

Gil smirked again. "You'll find your thing someday man. It will sneak up on you somewhere wholly inopportune, and you'll think about it all day, and the next thing you know, you'll be racing home to lock the doors and jerk off to the memory of some unsuspecting manhole cover or some shit. You watch."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Yep. Pretty much," he said. "I saw a ventriloquist act about five years ago in Brooklyn, and something about it, the hand inside it, the personality, something, just set me off. It was all I could think about for months. And it's not just me," he added. "People like me are out there everyday man. Not just dummies either. Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything. Pick something. The most mundane, boring object in the world, and I guarantee you there are twenty separate webpages all about fucking it. Paperclips, fire hydrants. Go nuts."

"Bowling shoes?"

"Oh, fuck man, anything to do with feet. People love feet. I don't, I mean, I don't get it. Feet are ugly, but, a lot of fucking people do, so yeah, shoes, feet, toenails, all kinds of shit man."

I wished I had more wine.

"I feel kind of vanilla now," I said.

"Because you don't have a thing?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"You can borrow Leo if you want. Try it out."

"No thanks man. That's like borrowing another man's porn. You just don't."

Gil laughed. "Okay."

I stood up. "Listen, I'm going to head out. We're out of wine, and I want to get more before the shops close up."

"Okay man. And hey, don't worry, you'll find your thing."

"Thanks." I left and couldn't stop thinking about Poor Leo. what was probably happening to him as I walked away, into the darkness. His face, staring involuntarily at something I would claw out my own fucking eyes over. Poor Leo, I thought.

By the time I got back to town, the shops were closed, and I couldn't sleep that night.