Charlotte Dawson - Air kiss & tell : memoirs of a blow-up doll

Air Kiss

& Tell

Air Kiss

& Tell

Memoirs of a blow-up doll

CHARLOTTE DAWSON
with JO THORNELY

The author wishes to thank Gwinganna Lifestyle Retreat for their hospitalityduring the writing of this book.

First published in 2012

Copyright Charlotte Dawson and Jo Thornely 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin
Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, London

83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available
from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74331 088 5

Cover photograph credits:
Photography by Jez Smith
Make-up by Maria Nitsas
Hair by Joh Bailey Salon
Clothes by Carla Zampatti

Internal design by Lisa White
Set in 12.5/17 pt Minion by Post Pre-press Group, Australia
Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

This foreword was originally going to be written by my dear companion Maverick but, as you will see, Maverick is missing.

1
Maverick is missing

This is a story about the day I lost my blow-up doll in a private girls school.

I have a lot of stories, which is lucky for you, since youve just started reading this book. It would be a shame for you to open it to the first page and for me to just say, Sorry, no stories. Lets just ride out the next few hundred pages together in silence and then say we had a great time. But like I said, thats not going to happen: my life has included a lot of stories. Some good, some bad, some scandalous and some fundamentally untrue. Some fickle, some florid. Lots of drama. A little bit of karma.

Of all the stories, this one, starring an inflatable plastic gentleman, is a highlight. It is, ironically, not overinflated. Its funny, it has touched others, both friends and strangers, and it involves a man leaving. It pretty much sums me up.

I was in my favourite apartment, which Ive lived in during my years of being single. Its in one of Sydneys most recognisable buildings, with breathtaking views over the glittering cobalt blue Sydney Harbourthe bridge and the opera house reminders that this is my town. Im comfortable here. Im surrounded by furniture, photos, rectangular artefacts collected from around the world and my meaningful things. I have, in the past decade, travelled the globe extensively and moved house ten times, countries twice. In this building, Ive sought refuge from broken relationships and broken dreams, but Im connected here, and now feel safe and nurtured. I need this view to comfort me and, though Im eleven floors up, ground me.

This was an exciting day for my flatmates, Samantha and Morenothey were on their way to a fancy-dress pirate party that, although Ive been invited, I wont be attending. Sam is an infectiously bubbly, high-pitched dynamo of a girl, who would sooner say yes to fun than to oxygen and has been known to pull the odd practical joke around the apartment. Penis-shaped candle in the shower, anyone? Thank you, no. Her boyfriend, Moreno, is a warm, less manic, funny and typically Italian man, save for the fact that he will do anything Sam wants. So they were on their way out of the apartment, dressed as piratesalbeit glamorouslyand seemed unusually mischievous. I was planning on a quiet night in bed with a book, but I had, unwittingly, been included in Sam and Morenos earlier shopping trip and immediate plans.

There are two things that I could find in my bed that could make me squeal in flappy-handed horror. One: a huntsman spider. I have multi-legged terror-laced experience there. Two: suddenly realising that theres a motionless human silhouette in my bedroom in the middle of the day.

I wish it had been a huntsmanat least I would have known what to do.

Sam and Moreno had decided that I needed some company that night, and found it in the form of Maverickone of the least expensive (and oddly genital-free) inflatable sex dolls available on the market. I think they got him from the Im-Really-Just-In-The-Mood-For-A-Cuddle aisle. Still, as ineffectual and unthreatening as Maverick (which was how he was christened on his packaging) was in reality, when youre not expecting to see him tucked up in your bed, he is the very real and very surprised face of fear.

I went with my huntsman instinct and wanted to get the critter out. No deflating, no popping, just get my new plastic boyfriend out. Out of my bed, out of my apartment, out of my life. I realised that I could probably catch Sam and Moreno getting into their car eleven floors below, so I raced to the balcony, dragging the still-smiling plastic fellow by the ankle. I didnt want to be ungracious about the gift, but I was ready to return to sender.

OI! I shouted from the balcony. You bastards!

Two smirking pirates looked up at the madwoman waving a naked, genital-free man above her head. It was surprising that they could hear me, such was the wind that afternoon. My plan was to drop Maverick on the heads of his previous owners; however, physics and a low-pressure cell conspired against me. A windy day coupled with the fact that Maverick weighed all of two grams saw him whipped from my grasp and suddenly airborne.

Like his Top Gun namesake, Maverick soared and looped the loop in an impressive acrobatic display. Over a tree he flew, gradually losing altitude, before traversing the netball courts of the expensive and exclusive private girls school across the road. Then, tired of his naked aerial adventures, he gently drifted behind a school building, watched with increasing helplessness and shock by the pirate pair below. At that moment, we all resembled blow-up dolls ourselves. In the moment immediately after that, though, we all resembled people laughing up our vital organs.

End of story, all done. Well, not quite...

Basically, when Ive just lost over the wall of a private girls school a blow-up sex doll purchased for me by pirates, and the doll is still there somewhere, I start to worry. Who has seen this happen? Who is going to find it? In media terms, this may not end well. For anyone else, its just an anecdote to be related at parties. For me, it has potential scandal written all over it. Is there going to be a story in the paper tomorrow about me throwing someone, real or sex-related, off my balcony? Theres only one thing to do. Call Jo.

Jo is a friend of mine, and she is the go-to girl when youve done something like thrown a sex doll off a balcony. Or, as it turns out, just rigged a frog race in Fiji. Or just been told by your date that hes killed a man, which has happened to me. Trust me: shes the girl for the job.