Vibe Rater: What It’s Like to Fuck a Sex Doll

Blow-up dolls don’t have the best reputation, nor do their users. 

The dolls themselves – stereotypically sickly pink plastic bodies with faces frozen in permanent, cock-guzzling shock –  are mildly terrifying. There’s an echo of a clown's face in a sex doll's fixed expression that is undoubtedly unnerving. But still, they have a draw.

When we think of a typical sex doll owner, the mind leans towards a fedora-tilting neckbeard who has married an elf in Elder Scrolls. He seeks to fulfil the physical side of his espousal one way or another, and thus his intimate relationship with the sex doll is born. 

While there’s nothing wrong with any of the above qualities, it’s a very specific image. One we associate predominantly with lonely people – one that allows us to assume that sex doll owners are all unsociable loners and we would never be one of them! 

But the industry has changed. These days, companies produce high-end, life-like (and sometimes AI) dolls that are a far cry from the 90s inflatables. Buying one comes at quite a cost, so you can almost guarantee it’s not grubby university students with Dorito-dusted fingers ordering them. The sex doll user too has had an upgrade. 

Being lonely, sexless or wearing a fedora, is no longer a customer requirement – and as someone with a life-long fascination with all things sexy, I wanted to challenge my own residual stigma around sex dolls to see if there’s something more to them than just a bachelors party prop. 

I decided it was time for me to fuck a blow-up man. 

My quest began in Sydney, Australia, where I was on a long-weekend visit. With my goal in mind, I made my way to the rainbow-splattered Oxford street, a legendarily queer area, and stumbled across the sex shop Adult World. 

The staff were welcoming and chatty and even offered an invite to a voguing event later that evening. But alas, I had other plans for my night; plans that required a five-foot-nothing PVC God. 

I sauntered through the many aisles of dildos, costumes and clamps until I reached a shelf stocked exclusively with potential partners. There were boxes upon boxes of boys yet to be blown. It was a noticeably caucasian line-up, and while that hardly felt like a pressing matter in my quest, it did give me pause to consider whether diversity is an issue in the sex doll industry. 

Weighing up my options, I landed on Erich. B. It was unclear if the rogue ‘H’ was honouring his Germanic roots or a simple typo. But I knew he was the man for me – H and all. 

I purchased Erich for $50 and headed to my hotel to unbox him, blow him and see how he performed in the bedroom. 

Heartbreakingly, I must confess early that this story does not end in penetration. 

Here’s what I found: