Chapter 17: Solitary Transition

The past two weeks blur into a mix of anticipated and unexpected events. Last Friday evening, my belongings were swiftly packed into crates, ushering in a change that left me with conflicting emotions. To a room that offered scant solitude, dominated by a towering glass partition enclosing a display kennel of my two living dolls.

Room situated within the sorority’s recreational facility provided little sanctuary. The glass kennel enclosure exposed my personal space to the prying eyes of passersby in the general sorority lobby through the two glass walls. Before receiving the new room card, I endorse a series of documents outlining the terms and conditions for myself and my dolls to inhabit this space.

Among those stipulations is to live in that space with no additional charges as a student. I need to keep my dolls in the display case to be visible to my dolls and myself in the kennel to fellow students, staff, and any visitors to the facility. This contractual agreement, while necessary, heightened my sense of vulnerability in this shared environment.

Upon entering the room for the first time, I discovered a box containing an assortment of sex toys, evidently intended for the amusement of my doll companions. This unexpected gesture, though appreciated, underscored the stark reality of my solitary transition within this new arrangement.

I bring my dolls to the new room and the display kennel Molly more than Bixby before the large gathering beyond the walls. When I decided to give the gathering something to watch, I passed an ended dildo to Molly and told her to thrust it into Bixby’s every hole at least a hundred times without breaking without my approval. I allowed the kennel door to close and lock behind me with a click on my wristwatch.

The next few hours I spent arranging my room while seeing the gathering vary from a few to several looking in on them. The largest gathering was when Molly was ramming that thing into Bixby’s vulva hard, and her body pressed against the glass table near the glass partition from the lobby area. The least was when they both were going down on each other for some reason.

The appointments with a psychologist were a waste of time as neither of them provided me with any new information that I didn’t already know. As for my classes and my dolls, I decided to bring both dolls with me everywhere. Even if the glass kennel contains a toilet in the enclosure, I decided against leaving them alone in that display box without my presence.

Some professors allowed them to sit beside me on chairs, aware they were always naked. While others insisted they remain concealed beneath the table like service animals. My dolls had become an extension of myself, a visible manifestation of the turmoil within.

Morning, as I settled into my first class, a fellow student handed me two leashes. The gesture was a silent acknowledgment that others around me saw my dolls as pets but as beings with their presence and significance. It was a small act of understanding in a world that often seemed indifferent or hostile to my unconventional companions.

My thoughts frequently wandered to Zoe, my now former roommate, whom I hadn’t seen since Monday evening. On Tuesday, amidst my classes, my dolls and I diligently packed all her belongings into shipping crates. Before leaving for my afternoon classes with my doll entourage, I informed the RA that her things were ready for pickup. The process was mechanical, devoid of any lingering emotion or attachment.

As the weeks progressed, I sought solace in the routine of classes and sorority gatherings. The past weekend, I found myself at the sorority pool, surrounded by my dolls. The new prototype lounge chair was unlike any I had seen before. Unlike the lounge chairs around the pool display the faces of the individuals confined within.

These new chairs featured faces protruding from the crotch area beyond the backrest. I recognized Zoe’s face among them, along with Jennifer’s and three others. The sight sent a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the tangled web of connections that bound us all together.

Without hesitation, to one of the chairs where Zoe’s face beckoned. As I sat down, I instructed Bixby to position herself over Zoe’s face while I directed Molly to do the same with Jennifer. It was a strange and unsettling tableau at that moment and felt oddly fitting. Reflection on the complex dynamics that governed the time we have known each other.

I whispered to my dolls, urging them to keep moving and not stop until everything gushed out of them. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and intent. As I watched them obey my command, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of power, of control over the chaos that threatened to consume me.

But beneath the veneer of confidence lay a deep-seated uncertainty, a fear of what lay ahead. Transitioning alone was a daunting prospect, fraught with challenges and unknowns. Yet, at that moment, surrounded by my dolls and the echoes of my past, I found a glimmer of hope—a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, I could navigate this journey on my terms.

As I watched my dolls obediently carry out my instructions, a pang of guilt tugged at my conscience. The thought gnawed at me, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, I craved the sense of control that commanding my dolls afforded me—the illusion of agency in a world that often felt beyond my grasp.