Ken's Revenge
Ken and Marlys had been married 12 years and neighbors thought them friendly yet quiet. Ken is a little introspective at times, but he’s usually a cheerful guy, which seems a little unusual for an engineer and time management specialist. But all was not well in the home. Ken was feeling he was no longer first in Marlys’ life. Someone had taken his place. Her name was Dolly.
Marlys unearthed her Dolly on a sentimental trip to her parent’s attic. Dolly had become the hottest doll ever manufactured in Japan (currently now from China). That’s what started Marlys on her quest. Her girlhood toy was originally from Japan, and her version of Dolly was worth more than $300. Marlys had not been constant with many things in her life outside of her dependable Ken, but to have a toy worth more than $300 is strong motivation to continue her relationship with Dolly, and to build on it.
Dolly is a perfect doll and a grown woman, albeit not any taller than eleven inches. Her proportions suggested she would be better suited to a boy’s fantasies rather than a girl’s. But it was her fantastic wardrobe and her incredible lifestyle that held Marlys enthralled. Dolly had no less than thirty-five different vocations, from Amino acid physiologist to Zoo Keeper, and another 125 different costume changes for all the moods and apparent creative appetites of “the doll all the girls love!”
Marlys' interest in Dolly was innocent in its beginnings. Friends complemented her on the shrewd way she negotiated for her Dolly’s on eBay and her lovely displays. But it was the discovery that Marlys had purchased another 250 from a collector’s estate that sent Ken over the edge. They didn’t fight; Ken didn’t like fighting. The marriage just evaporated.
They were dividing up the household, each one sitting with their legal representatives in the attorney’s office. Ken had to give up the house, sell his car and many of his things. But Marlys could retain custody of her Dolly’s, all 850 of them. As he sat stewing about revenge in the drone of the attorney’s office, he came upon a thought about what to do with the Dolly’s.
Ken’s background in Engineering and Time-study gave him the courage to consider a way to make his mark. He had to plan, then practice. He needed to know how fast he could recreate a design on a Dolly, and if he could duplicate it 850 times.
He stepped into the Toys 4 U store, mumbling to almost every clerk about his favorite niece’s birthday as to divert attention from a 35 year old man buying Dollys. Even with Marlys’ extensive collection, Ken was floored by the ever-widening scope of Dolly’s influence: Dolly’s Laptop, Dolly’s Virgin Margarita Maker, and Dolly’s Ovulation Indicator. He found the special starter Dolly’s, and bought three of them.
Then he shopped at the Craft store next door, and after explaining to the clerks the fine detail he needed, he purchased five different colors of micro-fine permanent scrapbook markers.
Reaching his apartment, he laid out the Dolly’s carefully side-by-side, precisely five inches apart. He took out his notebook and quickly sketched three silhouettes front and back. Ken thought a moment and tried a tattoo drawing; too complicated. He then tried some simple shapes: an X, an O, and some dots. Just dots….JUST DOTS!
Ken practiced on the three he had; he could “improve” the Dolly’s in just under one minute, twenty seconds. He felt if he continued to work on Dolly, he could do three a minute. Even with a short break, it would take almost five hours! Marlys needed gone for the day; that would be perfect. He needed some alibi to give the impression it could not be him. He needed the miracle of timing.
On one Friday, he received it. Marlys was leaving on a girl’s weekend, so Ken gave her a canard of how his boss just OK’d a business trip. Marlys even gave him a ride to the airport. He just didn’t board a plane with his near empty bag.
He took a cab from the airport to the next street over from his old home. He walked over unnoticed. He used his spare key that he had left on the property, one that Marlys had long-forgotten about. He slipped on surgical gloves and let himself in through the back door.
Ken laid out his equipment so as to not waste anytime searching for a color. He had considered where to start and where to finish the job. Now he had all weekend if he wanted it.
He first took on the individually boxed Dolly’s, those so precious that Marlys didn’t even look at them. Opening and closing each box took ten seconds more, and he had fifty of these Dolly’s to improve, so it was best he took the most time-consuming task early. Dolly after Dolly after Dolly, he kept making his dots, sometimes a little off-centered, but most looking as natural as if God himself had created her. Ken was feeling like a god now, improving each Dolly.
Ken began to shift from dots to more detailed work during the third hour. You can only draw so many nipples on eleven inch dolls and you start to think you need a drink. A stiff one.
He put down his markers, stretched out his arms and gave them a shake, and wandered into the kitchen. He used to keep a bottle of GlenFarclas over the refrigerator. It was still there, untouched. Ken poured a double. He’d forgotten how good this was. Good Scotch and solitude. It was just him and the Dollies.
He needed that break. Now, he was feeling renewed in tackling all those buxom vixens who had vexed his dream of matrimonial bliss. Maybe dots are not enough. Maybe Dolly needs more improvement.
At first, Ken thought he had made a mistake with a slip of the pen; but on further examination, the small comma on one of Dolly’s breasts looked like a body piercing. Dolly’s nipple ring, he reasoned. He grew more confident in his handiwork, adding body piercing where earlier generations of Dolly lovers would never imagined. Ken’s attempt at a lip piercing looked more like a large mole, however, so he stopped at the face and stuck with other parts of the body. His first try at barbed-wire tattoo on Dolly’s upper thigh was only OK; he kept up the practice on a couple of dozen more. He really wanted to try something unique on Dolly’s face. Something to contrast with her pouty lips and cold stare.
It was going to be dark shortly, and Ken debated with himself if he should turn on the lights, or call it a night. He decided to have another double of GlenFarclas and think it over. He was hungry too, so Ken called for a pizza.
He made up his mind to soldier on. By Midnight, he was half done. Now he was moving around the house to all the dioramas Marlys had created. The time originally estimated had been a tad ambitious, with the GlenFarclas breaks and all, but Ken knew he would be able to complete the job. He reminded himself not to be so caught up with the details. Dolly isn’t complaining about the color or pattern of the designs on her body, nor will he hear any praise from Marlys about these “improvements” to her valuable collection. He grew more concerned about the time later in the night and started to incorporate clock hands into some of his designs, and watches in black and red on Dolly’s arms.
He fell asleep among the Classic Era series and awoke in the morning brimming with fresh ideas for the young beauties who symbolized American Life in the early 1960s. Ken drew icons of the era, but now tastefully under the clothing. As Saturday waxed and waned, he found himself almost in a bond with his little girls and added rainbows (in red, purple, blue, brown and black) and emoticons from happy to sad.
He finished late Saturday night. The GlenFarclas was empty, so he took the bottle with him, reasoning it may be evidence. He also took the pizza boxes, and wiped down any surfaces he may have touched on his visit. He put it all in the suitcase, and quietly left.
Part II
Sunday afternoon was hot and steamy. Marlys drove up the driveway and parked the car. She took out her suitcase, and went inside. This weekend her girlfriends convinced her that a small tattoo under the hipline was the best response to her new-found freedom. Now her ass was just sore. She must lay off the Margaritas.
Marlys didn’t immediately notice anything unusual about the house. Nothing seemed amiss when she went upstairs to unpack. She went to the bathroom and while seated at the commode, she saw her tableau of “Dolly’s bath and vanity.” It was at the miniature setting of an antique claw-foot tub and dressing table with Dolly sitting so seductively at the dainty mirror, that Marlys then beheld Ken’s artistry. Dolly was sporting nipples on her breasts—one red, one purple!
Dolly sat perkily as if nothing was wrong. But Marlys could see the ridicule in ink that left her precious Dolly almost worthless. Marlys hurriedly grabbed the doll and proceeded to wash. Nothing. She anxiously reached into the medicine cabinet, first for the rubbing alcohol, and then nail polish remover. Nothing could remove Dolly’s shame, as if Dolly minded.
Marlys sensed this wasn’t an isolated incident. She started to walk through the house and inspect her collection. What she found sickened her more than recovering from the tattoo and margaritas.
Every Dolly had been compromised. It seemed all had nipples, all had “innies” too. Too many wore garish, bold wristwatches, with arrows pointing down the arm toward it, as if someone was afraid it wouldn’t be noticed. Her “Evening Elegance” Diorama was especially cruel in its graffiti, with Dolly now sporting a red scowling emotican that covered the left shoulder, and a barbed-wire necklace. Marlys carefully pulled down the front of Dolly’s strapless gown, and saw more nipples. And when she lifted the tight-fitting skirt, she viewed on Dolly’s thigh a rocket ship in take-off to her more modest regions.
Marlys tried to get the police interested in solving this crime against commerce, but outside the obligatory visit for basic information, Marlys knew she was screwed. Defacing dolls isn’t a case for the major case squad.
As the week wore on, she slowly inspected each Dolly, hoping the tagger had missed one. The doll humiliator hadn’t. Dolly, after Dolly, after fucking Dolly. By now, Marlys was too in shock to even look under Dolly’s panties.
So it is with revenge. Once the task was accomplished, Ken didn’t feel any sense of triumph. He did feel relief, but not anything remotely like he had won. He was finished, with Marlys and the Dollies. He could move on.
THE END
Note: Don’t try this on your own. Get professional help. Go to the nearest art school and hire the gifted students. More imaginative, better detail.
Marlys unearthed her Dolly on a sentimental trip to her parent’s attic. Dolly had become the hottest doll ever manufactured in Japan (currently now from China). That’s what started Marlys on her quest. Her girlhood toy was originally from Japan, and her version of Dolly was worth more than $300. Marlys had not been constant with many things in her life outside of her dependable Ken, but to have a toy worth more than $300 is strong motivation to continue her relationship with Dolly, and to build on it.
Dolly is a perfect doll and a grown woman, albeit not any taller than eleven inches. Her proportions suggested she would be better suited to a boy’s fantasies rather than a girl’s. But it was her fantastic wardrobe and her incredible lifestyle that held Marlys enthralled. Dolly had no less than thirty-five different vocations, from Amino acid physiologist to Zoo Keeper, and another 125 different costume changes for all the moods and apparent creative appetites of “the doll all the girls love!”
Marlys' interest in Dolly was innocent in its beginnings. Friends complemented her on the shrewd way she negotiated for her Dolly’s on eBay and her lovely displays. But it was the discovery that Marlys had purchased another 250 from a collector’s estate that sent Ken over the edge. They didn’t fight; Ken didn’t like fighting. The marriage just evaporated.
They were dividing up the household, each one sitting with their legal representatives in the attorney’s office. Ken had to give up the house, sell his car and many of his things. But Marlys could retain custody of her Dolly’s, all 850 of them. As he sat stewing about revenge in the drone of the attorney’s office, he came upon a thought about what to do with the Dolly’s.
Ken’s background in Engineering and Time-study gave him the courage to consider a way to make his mark. He had to plan, then practice. He needed to know how fast he could recreate a design on a Dolly, and if he could duplicate it 850 times.
He stepped into the Toys 4 U store, mumbling to almost every clerk about his favorite niece’s birthday as to divert attention from a 35 year old man buying Dollys. Even with Marlys’ extensive collection, Ken was floored by the ever-widening scope of Dolly’s influence: Dolly’s Laptop, Dolly’s Virgin Margarita Maker, and Dolly’s Ovulation Indicator. He found the special starter Dolly’s, and bought three of them.
Then he shopped at the Craft store next door, and after explaining to the clerks the fine detail he needed, he purchased five different colors of micro-fine permanent scrapbook markers.
Reaching his apartment, he laid out the Dolly’s carefully side-by-side, precisely five inches apart. He took out his notebook and quickly sketched three silhouettes front and back. Ken thought a moment and tried a tattoo drawing; too complicated. He then tried some simple shapes: an X, an O, and some dots. Just dots….JUST DOTS!
Ken practiced on the three he had; he could “improve” the Dolly’s in just under one minute, twenty seconds. He felt if he continued to work on Dolly, he could do three a minute. Even with a short break, it would take almost five hours! Marlys needed gone for the day; that would be perfect. He needed some alibi to give the impression it could not be him. He needed the miracle of timing.
On one Friday, he received it. Marlys was leaving on a girl’s weekend, so Ken gave her a canard of how his boss just OK’d a business trip. Marlys even gave him a ride to the airport. He just didn’t board a plane with his near empty bag.
He took a cab from the airport to the next street over from his old home. He walked over unnoticed. He used his spare key that he had left on the property, one that Marlys had long-forgotten about. He slipped on surgical gloves and let himself in through the back door.
Ken laid out his equipment so as to not waste anytime searching for a color. He had considered where to start and where to finish the job. Now he had all weekend if he wanted it.
He first took on the individually boxed Dolly’s, those so precious that Marlys didn’t even look at them. Opening and closing each box took ten seconds more, and he had fifty of these Dolly’s to improve, so it was best he took the most time-consuming task early. Dolly after Dolly after Dolly, he kept making his dots, sometimes a little off-centered, but most looking as natural as if God himself had created her. Ken was feeling like a god now, improving each Dolly.
Ken began to shift from dots to more detailed work during the third hour. You can only draw so many nipples on eleven inch dolls and you start to think you need a drink. A stiff one.
He put down his markers, stretched out his arms and gave them a shake, and wandered into the kitchen. He used to keep a bottle of GlenFarclas over the refrigerator. It was still there, untouched. Ken poured a double. He’d forgotten how good this was. Good Scotch and solitude. It was just him and the Dollies.
He needed that break. Now, he was feeling renewed in tackling all those buxom vixens who had vexed his dream of matrimonial bliss. Maybe dots are not enough. Maybe Dolly needs more improvement.
At first, Ken thought he had made a mistake with a slip of the pen; but on further examination, the small comma on one of Dolly’s breasts looked like a body piercing. Dolly’s nipple ring, he reasoned. He grew more confident in his handiwork, adding body piercing where earlier generations of Dolly lovers would never imagined. Ken’s attempt at a lip piercing looked more like a large mole, however, so he stopped at the face and stuck with other parts of the body. His first try at barbed-wire tattoo on Dolly’s upper thigh was only OK; he kept up the practice on a couple of dozen more. He really wanted to try something unique on Dolly’s face. Something to contrast with her pouty lips and cold stare.
It was going to be dark shortly, and Ken debated with himself if he should turn on the lights, or call it a night. He decided to have another double of GlenFarclas and think it over. He was hungry too, so Ken called for a pizza.
He made up his mind to soldier on. By Midnight, he was half done. Now he was moving around the house to all the dioramas Marlys had created. The time originally estimated had been a tad ambitious, with the GlenFarclas breaks and all, but Ken knew he would be able to complete the job. He reminded himself not to be so caught up with the details. Dolly isn’t complaining about the color or pattern of the designs on her body, nor will he hear any praise from Marlys about these “improvements” to her valuable collection. He grew more concerned about the time later in the night and started to incorporate clock hands into some of his designs, and watches in black and red on Dolly’s arms.
He fell asleep among the Classic Era series and awoke in the morning brimming with fresh ideas for the young beauties who symbolized American Life in the early 1960s. Ken drew icons of the era, but now tastefully under the clothing. As Saturday waxed and waned, he found himself almost in a bond with his little girls and added rainbows (in red, purple, blue, brown and black) and emoticons from happy to sad.
He finished late Saturday night. The GlenFarclas was empty, so he took the bottle with him, reasoning it may be evidence. He also took the pizza boxes, and wiped down any surfaces he may have touched on his visit. He put it all in the suitcase, and quietly left.
Part II
Sunday afternoon was hot and steamy. Marlys drove up the driveway and parked the car. She took out her suitcase, and went inside. This weekend her girlfriends convinced her that a small tattoo under the hipline was the best response to her new-found freedom. Now her ass was just sore. She must lay off the Margaritas.
Marlys didn’t immediately notice anything unusual about the house. Nothing seemed amiss when she went upstairs to unpack. She went to the bathroom and while seated at the commode, she saw her tableau of “Dolly’s bath and vanity.” It was at the miniature setting of an antique claw-foot tub and dressing table with Dolly sitting so seductively at the dainty mirror, that Marlys then beheld Ken’s artistry. Dolly was sporting nipples on her breasts—one red, one purple!
Dolly sat perkily as if nothing was wrong. But Marlys could see the ridicule in ink that left her precious Dolly almost worthless. Marlys hurriedly grabbed the doll and proceeded to wash. Nothing. She anxiously reached into the medicine cabinet, first for the rubbing alcohol, and then nail polish remover. Nothing could remove Dolly’s shame, as if Dolly minded.
Marlys sensed this wasn’t an isolated incident. She started to walk through the house and inspect her collection. What she found sickened her more than recovering from the tattoo and margaritas.
Every Dolly had been compromised. It seemed all had nipples, all had “innies” too. Too many wore garish, bold wristwatches, with arrows pointing down the arm toward it, as if someone was afraid it wouldn’t be noticed. Her “Evening Elegance” Diorama was especially cruel in its graffiti, with Dolly now sporting a red scowling emotican that covered the left shoulder, and a barbed-wire necklace. Marlys carefully pulled down the front of Dolly’s strapless gown, and saw more nipples. And when she lifted the tight-fitting skirt, she viewed on Dolly’s thigh a rocket ship in take-off to her more modest regions.
Marlys tried to get the police interested in solving this crime against commerce, but outside the obligatory visit for basic information, Marlys knew she was screwed. Defacing dolls isn’t a case for the major case squad.
As the week wore on, she slowly inspected each Dolly, hoping the tagger had missed one. The doll humiliator hadn’t. Dolly, after Dolly, after fucking Dolly. By now, Marlys was too in shock to even look under Dolly’s panties.
So it is with revenge. Once the task was accomplished, Ken didn’t feel any sense of triumph. He did feel relief, but not anything remotely like he had won. He was finished, with Marlys and the Dollies. He could move on.
THE END
Note: Don’t try this on your own. Get professional help. Go to the nearest art school and hire the gifted students. More imaginative, better detail.