Antonella: Camping With a Sex Doll (Yes, That Actually Happened)

The Day I Packed Antonella Into My Car

I’m not sure what possessed me. Maybe it was that weird stretch of pandemic boredom, or just the usual restlessness that creeps in around late spring. Either way, there I was—shoving a 5 foot 7 inch (170 cm) sex doll named Antonella into the back seat of my battered old Subaru. She’s from one of those absolute sex dolls sites, the kind with endless scrolling and glossy photos. Thick and curvy D-cup, big breasts, hips like you wouldn’t believe. You get the idea.

Her box was heavy as hell—88 lbs (40 kg), which is more than you’d expect when you’re staring at product shots online. It arrives in this totally bland cardboard coffin; no labels, nothing to give away what’s inside except maybe the faintest whiff of silicone if you’re really sniffing for trouble.

A Campground Isn’t Really Built For This

Setting up camp with a giant tan sex doll is… complicated. There are bugs everywhere (obviously), and every time I tried to move her steel skeleton arms into something resembling “relaxed,” she ended up looking like she was about to do jazz hands or choke out a raccoon.

The joints move pretty well though—I’ll give her that. Steel skeleton means you can pose her however you want: legs crossed by the fire, leaning against a log, whatever weird scenario flickers through your head after too much boxed wine under pine trees.

She’s got long legs for days and honestly? Those proportions are wild in person: bust at 35 inches plus some change, waist just under 28 inches, hips over 42 inches. Not exactly subtle if someone walks by your tent flap at dawn.

The Practical Stuff Nobody Talks About

People don’t mention how awkward it is to clean these things outside normal civilization. Not going to lie—I spent way too long reading about hole depth on forums before even unboxing her (vagina: 6.7 inches; anus: 6.6; mouth: just over five). They list all that stuff like it’s car specs but when you’re actually out there? It feels so clinical compared to real life messiness.

And then there’s storage—she doesn’t fold up small or disappear like some inflatable thing from college days. Her shoe size is women’s 6-6.5 which means actual shoes fit if you want realism but also… why would I pack an extra pair of boots for my camping sex doll? Weirdly enough I did anyway.

The Shipping Wait Was Its Own Saga

Waiting almost four weeks for delivery felt longer than waiting for Christmas as a kid—except less exciting and more “did my neighbors see this massive box on my porch?” Free international shipping sounds cool until you realize it means tracking numbers that bounce between countries while your mind runs wild imagining customs agents judging your taste in absolute sex dolls.

Discreet packaging does help though; nobody knows unless they’re nosy enough to open it (don’t do that). Still—the anticipation nearly killed me and by week three I’d started dreaming about tan silicone legs poking out from under blankets.

Did It Change Anything?

I don’t know if camping with Antonella made me any wiser or happier or whatever people hope for after buying an expensive hybrid silicone sex doll with movable joints and all possible entries available (vaginal, anal, oral—you name it). She looked good propped up near the campfire though; almost lifelike in certain light and angles.

There were moments where I thought—this is ridiculous—and others where it felt oddly comforting having company even if she couldn’t say anything back or complain about mosquitoes biting her fake boobs.

Honestly? Sometimes life gets strange enough that hauling an anatomically correct companion into the woods seems… not normal exactly—but not insane either.

Would I Do It Again?

Maybe not right away. Carrying all those curves plus camping gear left me sore in places I didn’t expect—a reminder that reality never quite matches the fantasy spun by slick product pages promising thick thighs and big butt perfection delivered straight to your door.

But hey—it gave me a story nobody else at work could top on Monday morning Zoom calls (“What did YOU do this weekend?”). And somewhere in my closet now sits Antonella—waiting quietly among old sleeping bags—for whatever odd impulse strikes next time around…

Anyway, there’s probably weirder ways to spend a Saturday night alone with only trees for witnesses.