Some of you will remember that last year (1980) at the Asilomar Auction a three-orifice, life-sized, blow-up vinyl doll of the female persuasion was auctioned off . Fewer people yet will realize that it was I who purchased Vinnylla at the behest of Bob Holmes, the auctioneer, who knew I had some nodding familiarity with "novelty" stores in San Francisco. Actually I had been requested to purchase such items before, usually by shy ladies out to get a terrific gift for their boss (and hopefully to get him off their backs). At any rate I spent a somewhat embarrassing ten minutes in the store blowing the lady up to make sure she
didn't have any leaks. (She has a standard air valve at the base of her spine.) I didn't care to see my friend, John Cunning, rushing around Monterey in search of a vinyl patch. (Those of us who've gone to Asilomar invariably learn how difficult it is to chase anything down on that weekend.) It was in the store when she first sprang to full size that I got the urge to try her. Of course I couldn't very well use her before the person who was to become her owner and I wasn't about to spring $35 on something that probably was only going to be used once, I filed it away under the "oh, well!" category.
Six months later I got my chance. There she was at a pool party. On questioning her owner I found out she was still a virgin. (I can't resist this. Now you know what virgin vinyl is.) So I quickly appealed to his male pride and he allowed ne to borrow her for a while after outfitting her with a cute mini-dress.
A week later I had worked up my nerve. I found her strangely near human despite anticipating that she would be awkward to mount and probably not feel very good. I couldn't have been more wrong. After a liberal application of K-Y I had no trouble staying on top of her and my only regret was trying the rear first. I had the distinct feeling that the missionary position should have been the first way to try because the joints bend quite nicely. The sensation of the vinyl was extremely lifelike: I've had worse real ones. A considerably thicker grease might make it so that the folds in the pocket couldn't be felt, although I'd worry about what something like axle grease might do to the material.
Several days later when I had tried the conventional position, I realized that I was really getting into throwing her around. This was one life-sized sex object that I could just walk up to and take! And, as any male who's reached his majority realizes, the difference between pulling it like a monkey and getting real satisfaction is in moving your pelvis while achieving orgasm. With a life-size object under you one achieves not only pelvic movement, but also a sense of something real being penetrated.
The only negative factor cropped up when I tried her mouth. For this I sat in a well-upholstered chair and toyed her head up and down. The manufacturers had stiffened the area corresponding to her lips, I suppose to resemble teeth. It did present a slight irritation (and I do not consider myself above average in size). In fairness I did do it for some length of time and the eventual damage was not serious at all, just a bit disconcerting.
Cleaning up is also a bit of a chore. I found that the only practical way to handle that large an item for cleaning was the bathtub and copious amounts of soapy water ministered with a basting syringe and bulb.
I have the feeling that this may well the answer to the "slimy turkey" problem - grabby males at Mensa parties. So try sending Vinnyla anonymously to some ass who obviously isn't getting enough and see if you don't notice the difference.
For his many writings about the multifaceted San Francisco sex scene, Darrell Bross has been termed a "professional kink." At the time of original publication he presided over the Court of Last Resort and worked as an accountant.
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