Was sir in awareness of the fact that beloved suspense novelist Daphne du Maurier once wrote a horror story about the evils of sex toys? That she did it in 1937, after which it was lost for over 70 years? That it is in all its availability for sir’s earliest convenience, if he will slash my throatlet for being so bold?
You would be fatal to any man. A spark that lights, and does not burn itself, a flame fanning other flames.
What did I love in you but your indifference, and the suggestions that lay beneath your indifference?
(THE SUGGESTION IS THAT SHE IS TOO ADDICTED TO HER LIFE-SIZED DILDO-BOY TO LOVE A REAL MAN)
“You gave me a marvellous sensation when you played,” I told her, “it was beautiful, intoxicating, I shall never forget it. You have a rare – no – a very dangerous talent.” She was silent, and then spoke in her restrained, breathless little voice. “I played for you,” she said, “I wanted to see what it was like to play to a man.” Her words bewildered me, they seemed utterly inexplicable. She was not lying, her eyes looked straight into mine, and she was smiling.
“What do you mean?” I asked her. “Have you never played for anyone before, do you use your gift just to satisfy yourself? I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “perhaps, it’s like that, I can’t explain.”
THIS IS FORESHADOWING, FOR THE EVIL DILDO
There was one chair in the room, and this was facing the divan.
Something was sitting in the chair. I felt an eerie cold feeling in my heart, as if the room were haunted. “What is it?” I whispered.
Rebecca took the lamp and held it over the chair. “This is Julio,” she said softly. I stepped closer, and saw what I took to be a boy of about 16, dressed in a dinner jacket, shirt and waistcoat, and long Spanish trousers.
His face was the most evil thing I have ever seen. It was ashen pale in colour, and the mouth was a crimson gash, sensual and depraved. The nose was thin, with curved nostrils, and the eyes were cruel, gleaming and narrow, and curiously still. They seemed to stare right through one – the eyes of a hawk. The hair was sleek and dark, brushed right back from the white forehead.
It was the face of a satyr, a grinning hateful satyr.
Then I was aware of a strange feeling of disappointment, a helpless sensation of not understanding, of dumb incredulity.
There was no boy sitting in the chair. It was a doll. Human enough, damnably lifelike, with a foul distinctive personality but a doll.
Only a doll. The eyes stared into mine without recognition, the mouth leered foolishly. I looked at Rebecca, she was watching my face.
“I don’t see,” I said, “what’s the point of all this? Where did you get this loathsome toy? Are you having a joke with me?” I spoke sharply, I felt uneasy and cold. The next moment the room was in darkness, she had turned out the lamp. I felt her arms round my neck, and her mouth upon mine.
The evil dildo’s name is Julio
Then I knew. Something gripped my heart, cold, clammy fear.
I looked towards that other room – his room – Julio’s room.
I knew that Rebecca was in there, with the doll – with Julio.
I felt my way across the room and beat against the door. It was locked. I kicked against the panel, and tore at it with my nails. It gave way beneath my weight. I heard a cry of fury from Rebecca, and she turned on the lamp.
Oh! Christ, I shall never forget her eyes, the terrible light – the unholy rapture in her eyes, and her ashen – ashen face.
I saw everything – the room, the divan – I knew everything. I was seized with deadly sickness – a terrible despair.
And all the time his vile filthy face was looking at me. His eyes never left me, staring with a lifeless, glassy immobility. The wet crimson mouth was sneering – the sleek dark hair hung in streaks across his cheek. He was a machine – something worked by screws – he was not alive, not human – but terrible, ghastly.
And Rebecca turned to me. Her voice was cold – apart – unearthly.
“And you expect me to love you. Don’t you see that I can’t – I can’t? How can I care for you, or any man? Go away, leave me. I loathe you. I loathe you all. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
Something cracked inside my heart. I turned away. I left them. I left them alone. I ran into the street – tears were pouring down my face – I sobbed aloud – I shook my fist at the stars . . .
BEWARE THE COMING PLAGUE OF SEX DOLL MEN, THEY WILL FREEZE THE HEARTS OF WOMEN AND KEEP THEM FROM LEARNING HOW TO LOVE
If you will kindly excuse me, I will be on the floor for the reminder of the afternoon and also my life.
I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS
I love that the first mention of sexytimes-human-simulacra is misandrist AF instead of being some straight guy’s proto-Real Doll.
I’m afraid E. T. A. Hoffmann’s “The Sandman” already had the proto-Real Doll covered in the nineteenth century. But then he also wrote “The Nutcracker”! Basically, male dolls make the best lovers?
I mean, Pygmalion, FWIW. (The original story, not the Shaw play)
Daphne Dolores Moorhead’s best work.
THIS IS AMAAAZING
I’m thinkin’ this is not something to read at work, but I’m very excited to read it when I get home.
I’m at work and this page just froze on my computer when Chrome crashed. And now my student workers are curious about the EVIL DIDO they saw referenced on my screen.
I find it difficult to put into words how much I appreciate this. I think I’m just going to lie on the floor underneath my desk and ponder what a rich and strange world we live in.
IS THIS REBECCA AND MAXIM’S HONEYMOON? Yesssssssssssss
OT but NO ONE can tell me that Daphne du Maurier should not have those bangs, this is the hill I have chosen to die on
I’m pretty sure they were mandatory in that time period.
Is it merely coincidental that this features a character named Rebecca? I choose to believe that this is a missing chapter from, or companion story to, the novel of the same name. After all, it was published only a year after this was written.
Oh my goddddd. Why do these links always pop up when I’m in the middle of a very serious seminar?
b/c they’re very serious stuff
They wouldn’t if you didn’t look at the Internet during class. 🙂
Signed, Your Serious Seminar Professor (Not the Terrible One)
Shhh. It was during the break. I swear.
I was into it but this fits nicely with my fantasy of replacing my body with highly advanced robot parts built for maximum pleasuring.
This has significantly compromised my ability to even.
am i afraid or am i delighted? can i be both?
also can we note it’s a WHOLE DOLL because the notion of a woman just creating the one part she wanted to use, is clearly insane.
A woman just using a dildo because the idea of creating a full-sized wooden doll *also* strikes them as the opposite of sexy? PSSSHHH reader, you are thinking like a MAN, what nonsense.
His face was the most evil thing I have ever seen. It was ashen pale in colour, and the mouth was a crimson gash, sensual and depraved. The nose was thin, with curved nostrils, and the eyes were cruel, gleaming and narrow, and curiously still. They seemed to stare right through one – the eyes of a hawk. The hair was sleek and dark, brushed right back from the white forehead.
It’s a Joker doll.
Joker, sure, but I wouldn’t say he hardly knew ‘er.
I really want to know whom Daphne du Maurier knew that was actually called Rebecca and what kind of intense psycho-sexual relationship they might have had.
This. I did a literal double-take when I got to that name and had to recheck the link to the book, just to make sure it existed. So much lesbosity. So many questions.
I’m in absolute possession of sureness that reading this most glorious of tales has left me in receipt of an enjoyableness!
Just putting this here in case someone wants to relate this to an episode of Miss Fisher’s third season.
I just saw that episode over the weekend, and I’m reading about Julio all “but a handheld percussor doesn’t require it’s own bedroom!”
I’m very upset by the number of times the man talks about her ~alluring~ “childishness.”
Also, this is just a terrible, terrible sentence: “She laughed and giggled childishly, she reminded me of a mischievous child planning some naughtiness.” P.S. Did I mention Rebecca is like a beautiful baby?? A Sexy…. baby.
“Because innocence…is sexier than you think.”
I can’t actually remember what product that ad is for.
Love’s baby soft perfume. http://www.thebeautyoflifeblog.com/2014/09/Throwb… Super gross.
Ah, yes. The sweet scent of culturally-embedded pedophilia.
Gross. I saw an ad on some salon’s website recently for pre-natal Hollywood waxes, which assured you that your junk “would be as smooth as your soon-to-be-born baby’s bottom” brb puking up my own ringpiece
But I love how her viewpoint character is so clearly an utter douche. In so many (male) stories we’d be expected to feel compassion for the poor widdle narrator. De Maurier might have just as easily titled this story “Portrait of a Douche Who Got His Just Reward”.
Yes! He’s so despicable, but I didn’t want to throw the story down because I didn’t feel like we were supposed to be rooting for him.
I know it was meant to be a cautionary tale but I couldn’t help reading it as a serving suggestion for life. Because really she seemed pretty okay with Julio.
“Have you never played for anyone before, do you use your gift just to satisfy yourself? I don’t understand.”
“Women, why do you make yourselves happy if there isn’t a man present? Please explain to me the purpose of this.”
Julio is fully functional and anatomically correct, programmed in a wide variety of pleasuring.
She can even take him in the bath.
That’s all I could think of while reading this.
Part of me wonders what bitch named Rebecca so upset Ms. du Maurier at some formative point such that no woman named Rebecca can love…
This is no “The Blue Lenses” but I love it much anyhow.
The narrator seems by turns horrifying and clueless.
Horrifying: “Her throat was very long and thin, like a swan’s. I remember thinking how easy it would be to tighten the scarf and strangle her. I imagined her face when dying – her lips parted, and the enquiring look in her eyes – they would show white, but she would not be afraid.” (For context: he has just met her.)
Clueless: “I found her strange, detached – she seemed bored at my being there.” Hmmm. HMMMMM.
Yeah, there must be some reason she just kind of prefers Dildo Doll to Human Dildo, but I can’t put my finger on it either, Solris!
Can’t link properly, because I’m at work, but ‘Chester 5000 XYV’ is a very sexy webcomic made by Jess Fink about the same premise. Can’t recommend it enough.
Yesss, this is what I was thinking of! It is a charming and beautifully drawn story of a lady and her robot butler. E’ry body go read it…but not at work.
Ooh ooh ooh… just reminded me of this!
Seven Sexy Cowboy Robots
by Sandra McDonald http://www.strangehorizons.com/2010/20101004/cowb…
Funny, sweet, sad, poignant… and post-apocalyptic… and inspirational!
Let me jump forward: this is not the story of a woman gifted with mechanical companionship who eventually realizes true love only comes in the shape of a flesh and blood man. Screw that. Since the day that white truck arrived, every one of my emotional, intellectual, and sexual needs has been satisfied by my cowboys (except for Buck) in their splendidly unique ways.
My partner gave me a hardcover copy of that comic as a gift and it’s pretty much awesome. He’s a keeper.
Insert your own “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” joke here.
It was against the laaaaaaawwwwww
aaaaaaaaaaa
That song has been rendered 100 times better by that comment.
I, for one, welcome our Evil Dildo Doll overlords.
I was very lucky to study this short story for my women’s writing course last year. Let me tell you, we had hours of discussions about sex dolls. Best university lecture ever tbh.
Here I’ve been looking for scary stories to read for Halloween, only to find out that all along I’ve been cuddling, near my very bed a most monstrous, horrific thing…a VIBRATOR. <chills>
Wooooow this story
“What did I love in you but your indifference, and the suggestions that lay beneath your indifference?”
This reminds me of Dorothy Parker short stories, and of that stupid self-help romance book that said you should never call a man first. Ties into the idea that men hate emotions and women are crazy and when they ask straight forward questions it’s clingy or nagging. Hey dude, maybe she’s indifferent because she has a perfect sex doll, not because she’s secretly hinting that she wants to do you.
One of my favourites. Maybe don't get too excited about the sequel, though. I for one found it a bit disappointing.
Thank you for the treasure-gift of Roko's Basilisk. I cannot WAIT to dive into that rabbithole.
I submitted a proposal for a novel along these lines in the ’90s, about 3 women engineers who developed a male sex android. My two agents (both men) were horrified, said women would NEVER use these things for sex, and the book would ruin my career. I never finished it. Well, I was a dumbass in those days…
I would so read that.
Ha! That reminds me of the time I told my publisher that women, mostly, were writing fanfic about men having sex with each other and putting it on the internet, and he said, “But why? If it was men doing it about women it would be a sex fantasy thing, but it can’t be that…”
Publish it now! I will buy it.
I’m watching Rebecca right now (I love it, but Maxim is the worst). The second Mrs. de Winter would have had such an easier time of things if she’d found an evil Julio. Or if evil Julio had murdered Maxim. Either would be preferable, and maybe she’d even warrant a name.
oh my GOD the long-lost story has a frame story about how it is long-lost