On a rainy night in December, I was driving. My wife and seven-year-old daughter had fallen asleep. I was on one of those small two-lane winding roads, with a mountain on my left, and a steep cliff on my right. As I turned around a blind corner, two cars were passing each other, one of which was in my lane. Being sleep deprived, and reacting without thought, I turned my car to the right. Off the cliff. The car seemed to float in mid-air for a brief second before it started its descent.

Hours later, a helicopter rescued me. I later learned that my wife and daughter had not made it. We had met in seventh grade. She was my only girlfriend, my first kiss, my first everything. And my little daughter, she had so much more life left. Why, why did I live? My shrink says that it's survivor's remorse. No one can replace them.

Years later, I've had a few drinks. Surfing the dark web, I come across this site. Love dolls, I scoff, but I peruse the site. Two months later a large box appears on my doorstep. I look around, but I don't see a delivery truck. I shrug and drag it inside.

I carefully open the box. Inside on top of the doll is a laminated paper. Printed boldly it says: "Read this first"

I open the letter:

Thank you for your purchase, inside you will find Donna, your Love Doll.

1) Don't share her with anyone.
2) Don't leave her alone for extended periods.
3) Don't store her in a closet.
3) If you go on vacation, take her with you.
4) Most importantly, don't go hog wild in bed. Treat her with respect. Ask her what she likes, and let her know what you're going to do.
5) If you hadn't brought her to bed, for whatever reason, and later find her in bed, cuddle, and spoon.

I flip the paper over, but that's all it read. I open the rest of the box. She lay in the box face up, however, her head needed to be attached. Five foot two, eyes of blue, blonde, with smallish, B cup-sized breasts. She came with two outfits. I digress; rule number four, I ask her which outfit she likes. I wipe my brow and chuckle at myself. Without a reply, I chose one that looks more modest.

I sit her on the couch admiring her construction. If I didn't know better, I'd think that the company turned a real woman into this love doll. I ask her if she's hungry, and I slap my forehead, she's a doll, dummy; dolls don't eat. Once my food is cooked, I settle in, back on the couch. I chit-chat with Donna about my life, work, and the loss of my family.

In what seems like a haze, Donna is in front of me, my pants are off, and she has my man member in her mouth. In this haze, she's doing it with no help from me. I finish quickly. I cough, and, when I open my eyes, she's sitting on the couch, in the same place as before. And I'm fully dressed. Strange, was I daydreaming?

I finish eating, clean the kitchen, and turn on a movie. I wrap my arm around her waist and gaze at her periodically. After the movie, I ask her if she wants to take a shower with me. Getting no reply, I take her to the bathroom, strip us both, adjust the temperature, and get in. There's a special soap for her. I wash her, making sure that I don't miss any nooks or crannies. As I wash Donna, I'm sure that I hear moaning, and, suddenly, her legs buckle. Or did I just imagine it?

After our shower, I pat her dry and towel off. We're both still naked as I carry Donna, bridal style, to my bed. I say, "I hope you don't mind, I sleep naked."

Mind you, I'm the kind of person who when my head hits the pillow, I'm asleep. At about two in the morning, I have a dream that Donna is riding me. My man member is deep inside her as she grinds and bucks. We have this incredible, mutual orgasm. I cough and find Donna laying beside me.

This pattern follows for the next few weeks: sexy dreams, visions, and daydreams. But, then I cough, and she's just sitting there like nothing happened.

On day twenty-nine, it seems like all we do is have sex all day.

In the morning, Donna picks me up and places me in a box. She pays the return postage and closes the door.