The Real Thing

A story written back in 1999, but I suppose never really finished due to boredom setting in. As you can probably tell I finished it rather suddenly and abruptly. I hope you don't mind that I've decided to submit it after all...I just lost my way, that's all.

1

It was August the twelfth, 6 days before my wedding day. I sat with Tom, my best friend and soon to be best man. He inquired as to what arrangements could be made for my bachelor party. But I was unsure, telling him it wasn't important to me. We had been sat sipping beer for the most part of the afternoon.

"So how's your sex life with Jane then?" he asked. "You know Alan," his eyes raised in an almost caricature manner, "she really is very hot - really."

Jane was my fiancée, and he was correct in his observation; she was `hot'. I had known her at that point for only four months, but from the first moment I saw her I knew I wanted her as my wife. We were introduced to each other at a Church fete that I was forced to attend by my community-spirited parents. I had spotted her before our introduction, watching over a stall that sold clothes for some greedy charity. Despite her choice of clothing on that day being far from flattering - but perfect for a church event - I could see she possessed a slender yet curved body, carefully concealed. And her apparent shyness upon meeting furthered my interest; her sidelong glances bolstering my own confidence, which is normally my downfall in these situations. Her family had recently moved into the area and had become friends with my parents through `churchy' activities. Our meeting started with a simple handshake but the day ended with me attempting clumsily to ask her out on a date - which to my surprise she accepted.

"Well, we haven't gone all the way,” I told him with slight hesitation brought on by how personal the conversation was becoming. "I thought I would leave that until after the wedding." To be truthful, this hadn't been through choice - both of us came from very religious families and during out short courtship had never gotten the opportunity to try out what normal young couples take for granted. "We've done a lot of other stuff though," I lied, trying to regain some credibility in the `macho' stakes. He smiled, as if waiting for all the details, but I sipped on a beer in silence.

Tom had a different perspective of things; although we had grown up together, he'd gone off to college whilst I'd opted to go into the family business of selling lawnmowers. Throughout our childhood we had shared about everything there is to share and had been as close as any two boys could be all from an early age. I was devastated when our paths ran different courses

The times when Tom came home from college his conversation was constantly about the girls he bedded and the wild parties he'd graced with his presence. He'd changed; whilst I had remained quite innocent when it came to all the subjects he preferred broadcasting about. Still we remained friends - good friends - I looked up to his worldly-wise attitude and envied his countless stories of women and more women.

"So you're going to wait until the big night then?" Tom proceeded to ask, unperturbed by my choice to remain silent. I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. "Think you'll be up to it?" Well that was a question, but I continued to sip my bottle of beer and refrain from a retort. "Come on now Alan," he went on. "We both know that the only time you've ever done it was with that tart at your 21st. Now that was 2 years ago." Tom was correct; my first and only time had been at my 21st Birthday party with a well-known local girl - and she wasn't well known for her good manners.

"Yea maybe so," I replied. "But what's that got to do with it."

"Well don't you think that maybe your lack of practice will be pretty obvious?"

"I don't think that matters Tom. We can't all be as well travelled as you." I looked at him distastefully. "Don't worry about me."

"Ah but I do Alan," he gave me a huge smile. "I have your best interests at heart."

I gave him a look that screamed `shut up' and opened another bottle of beer.

"Well if you don't want to talk about it then never mind."

"What exactly are you saying then Tom?" I said, suddenly interested in what pearls of wisdom he may have to offer.

"Put it this way, " he replied. "Do you wank a lot?"

This wasn't a conversation I would normally wish to continue; I put it down to the effects of the alcohol and my own nervousness about the week ahead that I chose to humour him.

"A few times a week I guess." I laughed to conceal embarrassment and lighten the response.

"Come on Alan, don't get embarrassed," He had seen through my nervous laugh. "Hey I wank all the time. I am the world's number one wanker. What else are hands for?"

My laugh this time was more confident. "I've known that for years Tom."

"So how long does it normally take you to cum when you do it?"

"For fucks sake Tom, shut up."

"No come on, tell me, I'm trying to give you some advice here."

I did wonder exactly what kind of advice he was trying to impart. "What do you mean?"

"Do you go in for a quick-finger-fumble, or do you make it a bit more exotic than that?"

"I try not to let it rule my life," I told him.

"So it's just a routine get-it-out-of-the-way kind of thing then?"

"I guess it is. A few minutes, a few tugs and hell, Bob's your uncle."

"Well there's your first problem mate."

"Please get to your point here Tom." I said. "What in hell are you on about?"

"Right, " he sunk the remains of his latest beer bottle and laid it down at his feet. "If you're used to a quick wank then when it comes to having the real thing you'll be finished in a matter of seconds." He looked at me for a response. "You see sex is a bit more overwhelming than wanking. As soon as you enter that velvety cushion between her legs, it'll be too much for you to hold onto and you'll just let go, and Bob will be a very embarrassed uncle - if you get my drift"

I had to admit he did have a point. I had read in problem-pages of men suffering premature ejaculation, and my one and only encounter after turning twenty one had been exceptionally brief - I had actually cum as soon as my over eager cock had touched that velvety area that Tom spoke of. I had put it down to being first time nerves and had never dwelled upon it - in fact it was one memory that was a favourite to draw upon when going through the short lived motion of pulling myself off behind the locked bathroom door or beneath the crusty sheets of my single bed.

"Yea well,” I felt I should offer some kind of response. "Let me worry about that when and if it happens." I smiled at him, dismissing the apprehension he was throwing my way.

"It will happen Alan; I can assure you of that."

"Well I've got six days to get it right and maybe prolong those wanks a bit." I tried to once again make light of what was rapidly becoming a sombre analysis of a sex life that hadn't even begun yet. But admittedly, as we spoke, I was developing a nervousness inside that I knew was a result of a fear that I, and I'm sure like many men - try to keep held at a deeply subconscious area. I was always of the understanding that the more you thought about these things then the worse they became - anxiety breeding anxiety and all that.

"There's more to it than that Alan," he said, ignoring my attempt to alter the mood. "You'll never change what you've inadvertently trained your body to accept for all these years. Maybe if you had the next six days in bed with some understanding wench who didn't mind your ups and downs." He grinned and shook his head. "But those babes are hard to find, and what with your track record, I'm afraid, well." He cast his eyes downwards.

"I think Jane will be understanding and accept things as they are, if there is a problem. But I think I will be alright-on-the-night." I suppose I was trying to convince myself with this response, but the troubling thought was still ominously present.

"Yea mate, I'm sure Jane will be very understanding, but as she's a bit short of experience herself, she'll never be able to help you sort it out. I guarantee it. You need to start as you mean to go on."

There was some sense in what he was saying, but it was hardly a topic I thought we should have been discussing, a bit more personal than I was used to. But the drink was taking effect. And yes, Jane was still a virgin - and here was I in charge of the responsibility to ensure she had a memorable first time. The pressure was well and truly on. Here was a guy I had always looked up to convincing me that I had a sexual related problem even before I had tried it out. Was he right? The question was reeling around my head.

A silence ensued around us, but the casual sipping of beer continued. "I want to get this right," I stated, wanting him now to offer me some potential solutions; seeing his offer of advice as at least a starting point in alleviating my growing disquietude.

"I can maybe help you out mate," he told me right on cue. "This might sound a bit weird, but keep with me." Once again he downed his latest bottle, a sure sign he was ready for a stream of words, hopefully helpful ones. He clasped both his hands out front. "Right, he began. "The problem is your lack of real sex. You have to get used to the feel of a cunt clamped around you." I was surprised by his phrasing of the words but continued to listen. "Once you're used to it, you'll have no problem whatsoever." He cleared his throat. "But we don't have any available females who would willingly serve as your practice doll, so." He paused, letting me wait, upping my curiosity. "Here's the solution; we get a doll and you do it with that as many times as required."

"What?" It's not that I hadn't heard or understood what he'd meant, but I felt it necessary to shout out `what'. What else could I shout?

"I've seen them before, my room mate when I was at college used to have one. It was very realistic. Seriously."

I couldn't disagree, it was a sound idea in theory, but in that instant I dismissed it as a bit extreme. I shook my head slowly. "I don't think so mate," I told him, "I couldn't shag a rubber doll - no way."

"Come on Alan, lots of guys use them, I can even get one for you; save you the embarrassment."

He gave me a serious look, which helped. I was half expecting him to bust out laughing, so I waited him out for a moment, tried a hysterical laugh myself then joined him with my own serious look. The look lingered; I laughed again then nodded very slowly. "Right then mate, you present me with the doll and I'll give it a try."

2

The next morning, my sore head kind of dulled the memory of my conversation with Tom. I awoke with an erection, and it was only when I began the process of pulling it up and down that I recalled my agreement with him to have a go with a rubber doll. As I curled my fingers tighter around my tool, the thought actually got me quite worked up. I had no idea why this was, but a few rapid tugs and I felt the hot flesh in my hand pulsate and let go a tiny torrent of fluid onto the underside of my duvet. Oh hell, I remembered; this was exactly why I was to use the doll - to stop this happening so damn quickly. I felt guilty, or maybe annoyed that, despite my conversation with Tom; I had started off so badly with my self-control. Roll on the doll, I thought, roll on the doll.

Tom didn't let me down either, that evening he visited me with a plain brown cardboard box under one arm. The usual pleasantries were swapped between us, the mysterious box, unopened, was abandoned on my bed.

It was me who broached the subject first. "So what's in the box?" He smiled brightly, I think glad that I had remembered. "Is that what we were talking about last night?"

"Told you I wouldn't let you down," he crooned. "So have you wanked today?"

"No," I lied. Truth was I had only knocked off the one, but I couldn't admit it now. Although tempted when I came home from work, I had curbed the craving and promised to save myself until I found out if Tom remembered his promise. He definitely had.

"Good man, `cause that's important." He gave me a wink. "So, do you want to meet her?"

I laughed out loud. "Do you really think this will work?" He never replied, just grabbed the box from the bed and opened the folded lid.

"Well get me a foot pump then," he called out before revealing the contents.

I busied myself under the bed, reaching to the far side where I kept my football pump.

"This is Mandy, apparently." Tom now said, looking at the flesh coloured item still half concealed by the box. "Maybe you shouldn't see her like this." He proceeded to stuff Mandy back in her box, looking at me with a sly smile. "Give me the pump and leave the room for a few minutes." He waited. "Go on then," he yelled.

I handed him the small foot-pump and exited my bedroom. The only place to go was the bathroom. I viewed my face in the brightly-lit mirror. The anticipation was profound; my heartbeat was significantly raised, but the strangeness of the situation didn't strike as I knew it should have. I knew I wouldn't be able to pee; my cock was rock hard.

A light-knock on the door and Tom's voice whispering through the crack; "Mandy's ready."

The bolt on the door snapped back loudly. I was face to face with Tom in the hallway outside. "Listen man,” I told him. "Do you think we could grab a few beers before I go back to the bedroom?"

"Sure mate," he responded, as any friend would or should in a situation such as.

I didn't bother telling my parents we were outward bound; thinking that seeing them would spoil the whole scenario. We lived in a large house, where, thankfully, I could come and go as I pleased without noise of my departure echoing into the midst of my mum and dads haunts.

The bar across the road was busy, even for a Saturday night. We chose to sit in the lounge area, where the art of conversation was being practiced by a few familiar, but mostly unfamiliar faces.

"So are you screwing anybody right now?" was the first question I opted to ask Tom.

"You know, he replied, "that girl Samantha."

"Wow, you still seeing her?"

"Her and about three others," he swooned.

He began to recount tales of recent conquests - the more he told me, the more I wanted to know - but all the time Mandy was in the back of my mind. "So what the hell do all these girls see in you?"

"I've got a ten inch dick." He remarked casually. Growing up I had often seen Tom in the shower and knew he was the proud possessor of an organ not to be ashamed of - but ten inches - I had to doubt it. "Have you hell, " I told him. I've seen it - it's not that big."

"Ah but my friend," he went on, "you've never seen it hard. I hope" We both laughed at this, but I suddenly saw my friend in a different light.

"Well I better not divulge the length of mine then," I told him.

"Come on mate, we're friends. I've told you mine." I wasn't suitably prepared to avoid answering him on this, but I reminded myself that our newly found openness could be a good thing to keep going - especially with his gesture of the doll.

"About five inches on a good day." I said under my breath.

He raised both hands out front. "Ah so what" was the extent of his response.

Tom continued his bed time tales until we'd sunk over six bottles of beer. The evening was good; talking this way was new and such a refreshing change form lawn mowers.

"Tell you what, " he said. "You go over the road and see what's under your duvet. I'll wait here until you return after ridding Mandy of her plastic hymen." I had to laugh at this; I laughed and nodded at the same time. Now I was eager to begin.

I thought it best to keep the light off when I went back through my bedroom door. Standing in the darkness, looking over towards where my bed lay, I realised my hands were sweating. Maybe if it hadn't been for the alcohol recently added to my body chemistry I would have changed my mind about going through with whatever it was I was going to go through with. But Mandy beckoned. In my head I dismissed the fact I was going to discover a plastic woman in my bed - she became real (still Mandy though - the name had grown on me). I slowly shed my clothes and tiptoed across the room so as not to wake her.

Under the duvet it was cold, but I discovered I was not alone as my side touched what was there. I allowed one finger to trace the shape of what my side was in contact with. This gave nothing away - nothing abnormal sprung to mind - it felt pleasant to touch - so far so good. My hands got a bit bolder, palms down easing over the surface - meeting the shape of a well-developed breast. Its peak revealed a nipple, which I tweaked as any man would. Then over this surface to a second breast - equally sized, equally pleasing to touch.

Hair brushed my brow as I cuddled in closer, soft and tickly. I planted a gentle kiss on the area where I felt the hair. There was no returned kiss, but instinct allowed me to continue with my mouth moving to where a mouth would anatomically be located. Slightly shocked to discover the outline of lips - abnormally open wide - but so they would be if a deep-kiss were being reciprocated. My mouth took this as a welcoming gesture and opened in response to kiss. My lips were now wrapped around a cavity, my nose finding a nose exactly where a nose should be. The cavity required a tongue to explore the hollowness - I obliged, encircling it around the circumference, pressing in harder and closer. I slowly and skilfully manoeuvred myself half on top of the motionless object of my attention. The stiffness of my cock against my mattress began to make me feel the beginnings of a familiar arousal pattern. Whereas usually I would reach down, grasp it and rub furiously, this time I knew my luck was in. I had to find out where I was going - so a single finger went on an exploratory assignment to get my bearings. It poked between another area of soft hair, probably a bit clumsily, but hey this was no mission of mercy. A bit of extra force by the coming together of a few more fingers and I had found an opening. There was a different feel to this cavity - a waxy-like texture - allowing an ease of movement. I upped the motion, thinking I might as well practice this part as well - even warmer now, the friction was causing heat and…...fuck my cock was hard and straining now. I helped myself to some more free movement, letting my knees take the strain as I began to position the lower part of my body over the shape that was now almost completely under me. My free hand forced apart the legs and I dragged my cock over and atop the opening. But just as I pulled back to gain a position in which to plunge, my internal anal muscles twitched and I felt the climatic surge of semen outpouring from the tip of my raised cock. I had cum. Shit! Shit! Shit! I had cum.

Lying very still, I waited until my breathing took on a normal tempo. I was still on top of Mandy only I felt stickiness between us; from the end of my troubled penis - appending to her very own pubic area where earlier I had stroked the soft downy hair. Oops. I felt myself blushing and almost blurted out an apology before remembering that Tom would be waiting for my return. Should I lie to him? Should I tell him that I damn well prematurely ejaculated with a rubber doll? It seemed that I needed more help than I imagined. I didn't want to suffer this same short-lived fate on the night of my wedding to Jane. I would have to tell him.

I flung my clothes back on; still keeping the light switched off. I couldn't bear to face the female I had just let down so badly. Mandy lay, as ever, motionless, but as my eyes were now well adjusted to the dark, I could just make out her outline naked on my bed. She looked every inch a fine female form; the dark outline of her gravity defying breasts would be the envy of many women I was sure.