FYOP/Hollywood Hardware/0032
"Wait, you're programmed to write poetry?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"I got what you need, and I know how to use it. That's all kinds of talents," Janelle grins. "Driving, guitar, piano. Even fuckin' thumb-wrestling, boo."
"No shit?" you laugh. "Are you programmed to win every time?" Still lying under her, you reach up to let her take your hand and thumb-wrestle.
"Oh, baby, I'm so programmed to win every time," she says, a smug grin on her face.
"We'll see about that," you say, locking your thumb against hers.
But she's right—she wins every time.
"God damn it," you say, pouting. "I think you're cheating."
"I'm not cheating," she says, a little offended. "I'm just better than you."
"I'm not going to give up," you say, determined. "I'm going to keep practicing and I'm going to beat you one day."
"I think that's a challenge I'm going to enjoy," she says, leaning down to give you a long, hard kiss.
It takes you a moment to recover from the kiss. Then you ask with a giggle, "What happens if I DO beat you? Are you programmed to break up with me, and find an apartment somewhere else?" You blush as you add, "If I'm still technically your owner, will you still come by to mix it up with me on Tuesdays?"
"No, I won't break up with you, and yes, I'll still come by to fuck you on Tuesdays."
"I'm going to beat you, Janelle," you say, determined.
"We'll see about that," she says, a challenge in her eyes.
"By the way, I meant fight me, not fuck me," you add with a childish smirk.
Janelle just laughs and shakes her head. "You're such a little brat."
"I try," you say with a grin, before kissing her.
The End