Guys and Dolls [M] straight

It all started as gag gifts. My girlfriend (now fiancée) Hayley had the tiniest Chihuahua I ever saw. It was like a long, scrawny potato that yapped. As a joke, I learned how to crochet and made an ugly Christmas sweater for her Chihuahua. She showed it to her friends – all of them, I guess, online friends, friends at work, friends at church. I think she showed it to strangers – people at the supermarket, people at the gym, anyone who didn’t get away fast enough. Then she posted pics online. That is how it all started, a gag gift for my girl’s tiny dog.

I had to start a business to keep up with the requests. I’m that Mr. Nice Guy who doesn’t tell people no. Could I crochet a sweater for your lizard? Sure! Could I crochet a willy warmer for your boyfriend? Sure! Could I crochet nipple warmers for your sister? Sure!

At first, I didn’t even charge for the stuff I made, but it got to the point where I was spending a lot of time researching and figuring out how to make all these custom things. I thought I needed something for my time. I started my business, worked up how to charge for various items, and worked on basic designs for things that might be repeats. “Hooked on Gags” was the name I went with.

Eventually, that name got me business I hadn’t counted on. I think some people misunderstood “gags”… Pretty soon I was crocheting up all kinds of fetish-type stuff. Halter tops with collars. Wrist restraints. Fishnet body stockings. Ski masks. Lace gloves. Stockings, stockings, stockings. I quit my day job, because I just didn’t have enough time to fill my orders! Priorities, man… It was either quit my day job, which was now paying less per hour than my crochet gig, OR hire employees to crochet what was ordered. Hiring people was a headache I really didn’t want.

So one day I get a call from a guy who wanted me to come to his place and design a new wardrobe for his girlfriend – seven outfits or more. I tried to say no, but he was willing to pay for my travel there. It was an hour and a half drive, so I told him it would cost $75 just for me to drive out there and talk through what he wanted, whether he ordered anything or not. Plus, it was in the middle of BFE. Then I let him know if I had to design anything to fit the order, the base charge for design was $25 an hour. That was ok with him too. We set a date and time, and then I went back to doing what I was doing: crocheting probably my 20th set of black fishnet stockings.

I found it weird during the phone call that he told me his girlfriend’s name. Sithera. Weird name, too – and he made a big point of it. There was a strange vibe going on, but it would mean a little money in my pocket at the very least with the cost of an afternoon’s worth of time. It also would look good if I put consulting on my business card along with the crochet. (If I ever got around to making my business cards.)

On a Sunday afternoon, just after lunch with my girl, I packed up the car and left for the client’s home. The place wasn’t too tough to find, once I made the last turn onto his road. The house was in the middle of nothing, sticking up like a hurt finger. The grass was burnt brown by the lack of rain, and leaves blew across a path tamped down by who-knows-how-many feet who-knows-how-long-ago. There was no driveway, so I just pulled up into the front yard. The black iron fence was right up close around the house, so it looked like a haunted house or something out of a horror flick. In my head, I heard, “Don’t go in there!” It didn’t help that the guy’s first name was Mortimer, and my mind went straight to “mortician”. He didn’t sound spooky on the phone, but Jesus… What a place.

Up the creaky front steps I went. The porch was covered in dead vines, dead twigs and dead leaves. Mort’s place was getting my vote for Best Halloween Decorations. It was November, but he was still winning the contest. I lifted the huge ass brass door knocker. It was a lion’s head. I expected a huge creepy butler to answer, so I was surprised to see a totally ordinary guy on the other side of the door. Jeans. Tee shirt. Ordinary height. Maybe he carried 10 extra pounds – it was the kind of weight that’s hard to lose. He greeted me, told me to call him Mort, and stuck out his hand. As I looked down to shake his hand (I’m a big guy), I noticed he was wearing house slippers. It was a weird thing to notice, but it genuinely was the only thing that stood out for me. No male in my family or circle of friends ever wore slippers. I thought of my grand-dad’s term for a henpecked husband “pantoffelheld” – which means a “hero in slippers”.

“Come in!” Mort said.

In contrast to the creepy old haunted house exterior, it looked like a life-size Barbie house inside. Everything was a shade of pink, gold or off-white. Not a speck of dust was to be seen. It was museum-level clean.

“Come and meet Sithera.”

He led me into the living room, where Sithera was sitting on a dark pink couch. Something seemed off. Yeah. Everything about everything was off about Mort and his place – but there was something strange about her. She wasn’t moving. I got a couple steps closer and realized she was a doll. I stood there not knowing what the hell to say.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “this is Elliot.” He looked at me.

Finally, I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Apparently, that was some kind of sign. Mort started talking a mile a minute. Sithera was picky and had definite tastes in all things, and favorite colors (I thought: pink, gold and off-white). She needed all new clothes, and really wanted a custom look. She needed things for each season, and every kind of occasion. Birthdays, holidays, anniversary, dinner and dancing… The whole time he talked, I was still trying to think of what to say. I was never introduced to a fucking doll before. Finally, he shut up and just looked at me. I tried to keep my face neutral.

“Ok. I am going to sketch a couple things, and then you tell me if it’s the kind of stuff you’re looking for.” I pulled out my sketchbook. “If you decide on any of it, I’ll need to take measurements.”

“Of course!”

I’ve never been a great artist, so I was drawing only the basic strokes: a halter top and shorts, a cardigan sweater, a lacy gown (like those doily-things), yoga pants, a bikini bathing suit, a beanie and scarf… Mort wanted all of it. I sketched a Christmas sweater and a headband with Easter bunny ears. He laughed, and wanted those too. Basically, everything I sketched, he wanted. Then he made an ask – leopard print leggings.

At one point, I said, “You’ve already picked out like $1 grand in clothes.”

“She is worth every penny! Aren’t you, Sithera?” It didn’t seem to bother him that she didn’t answer. He made up her emotions and words. “She is so excited about these clothes. She likes the yoga pants and leggings the best! But she likes the gown too. She likes it all.” He looked at her. “She’ll need more, so can you make more sketches?”

“Uh. Sure. Can I have more time – like a week – to put together more stuff?”

He was so excited about that. I asked if I could email him the sketches, and he was good with that. Now came the tough part, measuring a doll. He was such a strange guy and he had this fixation with the doll – I didn’t want to trigger some crazy-ass fit because I touched it or got close to it. I was sort of toying with the idea of having him measure it for me.

“Sithera, sweetheart,” he suddenly said, “Elliot has to measure you.” He looked at me. “She’s really ticklish, so you can’t touch her ribs or feet.” Without warning, he asked, “Can we talk in the next room for a minute?”

He didn’t want the doll to overhear something? Christ…

“Ok,” I said, following him into the dining room.

“I don’t want her to get embarrassed. She’s a really private, shy person.” I bit my tongue. “She wants some of those sexy things you make too. Like the fishnet dress and the bodysuit. Can you sketch some more stuff like that too?”

I agreed. But I couldn’t just let it go at that. I was going to open my mouth. I knew I shouldn’t, but the whole situation was killing me. I’d been holding in laughter and a few grunts and sighs. He was a client, so I couldn’t say what I really felt, but I was dying to say something.

“Sithera is a kind of unusual name. Where did it come from?”

He gave me an alarmed look. “Please don’t mention it in front of her,” he said in low tones. “It gets her upset. She was traumatized. She was called a Synthetic Therapy Service Doll. I couldn’t call her that, so I made a name out of it. Si- instead of a Y- thera – for therapy. Please don’t say anything in front of her. She has so many bad memories of that place and how they treated her and her sisters.”

Ok… This was definitely a walk on the weird side.

On the way back to the living room, Mort paused in the doorway and said, “Isn’t she adorable? I have to get my phone.”

While I stood there with my mouth open, Mort took pics of Sithera. From every fucking angle. All this time, I hadn’t taken a good look at the doll. I mean, it made me uncomfortable, like I was seeing something about a stranger that I shouldn’t see. It was like walking into a guy’s house, and he has a pair of underpants on his dining room table. You don’t want to look. I didn’t want to look at his doll. He probably fucked that thing.

I thought he would quit after 4 or 5 pics. Apparently, Sithera was being just too cute, so he had to get more. I sort of snuck a peak at her face. Huh. She looked Eurasian, with light brown hair and almond green eyes. Her skin was so delicate-looking. She had eyelashes. Not big, long hooker-stripper-eyelashes. They were like real eyelashes, short and fairly straight. She had light pink lipstick on. Otherwise, she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

Nope. I looked away. That is probably how Mort got suckered into buying a doll. He looked into it’s face and got hooked. I mean, that skin… Those lips… What the fuck?

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, man,” I said, “but I have to get back for a meeting this evening.”

After a flurry of apologies from Mort, I walked closer and paused. This was a nope for me, too.

“Mort, I don’t want to set her off on a laughing spree. Can you measure her while I write it down?”

Stupid shit that I was, I thought that was better than maybe touching her and triggering him. Mort took his time measuring her. He had to talk to her, “Oh, sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to tickle…” and “I know, honey, we’ll have lots of cuddle and kiss time when we’re all done.” He baby-talked her too, and I tried to tune it out. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I did pause long enough to get my $75. I felt a little dirty.

On the way home, I called Hayley – and she laughed her guts out. I was trying to complain, and she was rolling with laughter. I told her to watch her step, or I’d make her crochet all the naughty gear for Sithera. She started laughing again. I told her I would make her drive out to Mort’s place to fit all the shit on Sithera – and she kept laughing.

“Oh my God,” Hayley said, “Can I?”

That was a double nope. Nope, because I didn’t need Hayley getting even wackier ideas than she already did. Nope, because that’s a client, and I didn’t know if she could keep a straight face. Nope, because it was like a Barbie mansion and I didn’t need that shit popping up where I lived. Nope, just because. Ok. It was more than a double nope.

All in all, I spent two months working exclusively on Sithera’s wardrobe. Between designing the kinky stuff and making everything to her dimensions, it was two solid months of work. I turned away orders from other customers, and promised it will all return to normal in a couple weeks.

“I can ship you about two thirds of the stuff you ordered,” I emailed Mort. “I can email you the invoice, and it will include just those items, and the charges for design.”

“Wonderful!” he replied. “Just let me know the shipping, and I’ll add it to the invoice.”

That was a load off my mind. I shipped off a huge container of clothing, and emailed the invoice with shipping to Mort. I had some finishing-up type of stuff to do on the rest of the clothes. Sewing on little rhinestones and bows. Putting in elastic. Just little touches. I figured I could get it all done in three or four days. Getting this wardrobe project done would get this whole creepy thing behind me. Hell, I could take a little vacation. Couple days. Would do me good.

I emailed Mort that I was getting ready to ship the second container. All the same things. Invoice. Shipping. It looked like I was about to be a free man. My bank account fucking flourished. Boom!! Up several grand for the first shipment. Boom!! Up another couple grand for the second one.

All good, right? Well… Kind of.

The emails started. No complaints, lots of praise, lots of appreciation in the first email. Sithera just loved every single thing. It was the attachments that made my stomach lurch. Mort sent me a couple pics. Gritting my teeth, I opened the first. Hayley was literally walking behind me while I had my laptop open, checking my email. As soon as she heard me say “Shit” under my breath, she stopped to look.

“She’s pretty. Who’s that?” she asked.

“It’s Mort’s doll.”

She leaned over me. “She looks so real!”

“No. When you’re looking at her, she’s not so real.” I didn’t mention how soft and delicate her skin was.

The first pic was Sithera in the crop top and leggings. The second was Sithera in the moonlight wearing the lace gown.

Hayley was breathing on me. “Oh my God. That is so beautiful.”

A couple days later, I got the second email. More compliments, more appreciation. A link. Why did I click the link? Glutton for punishment. It lead me to a folder of pics – all Sithera – all different poses. Sweaters, halter tops, shorts, sheath dress. Every time I looked at her face, particularly her eyes, it creeped me out even more.

Then came the email with the bondage pics. Sithera in wrist restraints. Sithera in a half-cup bra and fishnet stockings. Sithera in a dog-collar. There were more pics I just skipped right over, because it looked like there was a lot of skin showing – I couldn’t tell if it was his or its, and didn’t want to see either. Luckily, Hayley was shopping with her mom. I deleted the email.

I wasn’t so lucky with the next set of photos. Hayley was right by my cell when I got an alert for new email.

“I wanna see!” she said

I told her no. Then she wanted to know why. She demanded to know why. I had to weigh this out. Which was worse? Telling her why I didn’t want her to see the email? Or showing her? It was impossible to figure out, so when she asked me to hand over my phone, I gave it to her.

“This is all on you if it’s freaky,” I warned.

It was from Mort. It wasn’t a long email, and just a couple attachments. He and Sithera were engaged. The pics in the attachment were not what I feared. The first was an engagement announcement type photo. I smiled, thinking – bet that photographer was surprised. And – bet that didn’t get published in the local paper. The second was a pic of their hands entwined. Damn, if it didn’t look real.

Hayley asked, “Is that a diamond ring?”

Yep. That was a huge rock on the delicate finger of a doll.

Not even six months later, I charged Mort $20,000 for a bridal gown and veil. Because he was so antsy about it, I got insurance on the package. He sent an extra $5,000 because he said I went beyond what they expected, and Sithera was over the moon. He attached a pic of Sithera looking at the dress.

“It’s bad luck for me to see her in the gown before we’re married.”

I felt conflicted about the extra money, but I didn’t return it.

An invitation for the wedding never came. Hayley was disappointed. She was going to buy a dress for it. She wanted a look at the beautiful doll and Mort’s place. She called it “the doll house”. Myself, I was ok with not being invited to that shit-show. I would’ve declined if I got the invite. How in the hell would Mort get the dress on her while not looking at her? Would there be an actual preacher, or would they use another fucking doll? Would Mort literally say “I do” for her? Like in a girly voice? Nope. It was a triple nope.

In time, I just completely forgot about Mort. I refused to use pink yarn for anything – but I didn’t really think about why I hated that color. Sometimes I would remember Sithera’s skin and feel weird. But for the most part, I didn’t think about them at all. Life went on. Sometimes I got weird requests, like crocheting boobs out of velvet yarn or making a carrying sack for someone’s enema supplies. Nothing stranger than people, man. Nothing stranger.

So yesterday I got an email out of the blue. At first, I thought it was from “Monty”, and I couldn’t remember anyone with that name. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was from Mort. No attachments.

He was asking how much I would charge for a baby blanket.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dx1bf6/guys_and_dolls_m_straight