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Featured Author - October Cecilauthor Story of the week: View past Author's of the Month |
“Your hands tell a different story than your mouth,” the Doll intoned in my ear. This was wrong; I pushed her away. Or at least, I thought about pushing her away. I did, really. But somehow, in reality my arms just continued their greedy exploration. My instincts were telling me – oddly – that she was... extra-human? The suspicion that should have been there from close contact with a human-imposter was replaced by a primeval urgency. That itself, was the most important clue that I held a lie in my arms. To overcome that Uncanny Valley, Doll designers had created a subliminal onslaught that provoked an unnaturally intense desire. It was a paradox of lust, Her living vitality was flavored with a radiating sexual enticement to create the illusion of living humanity so compelling, that reason told me she could not be human. She even had a pulse. My rebellious hands continued their plundering, even as I grit my teeth and shook my head in refusal. Ironically, her curvaceous form was... not quite perfect. She was equipped with tiny subtleties, like faint traces of downy hair follicles, and a few minute freckles. This added an organic asymmetry that resonated in my gut even as my hormones sizzled with the most rampant animal urges. If she was too absolutely perfect, down to the tiniest patch of skin, she would seem less....alive, real. As it was, her figure was more believably human than the silicone-injected, female 'entertainers' around the turn of the century, even though she actually contained far more of the substance. But there was no single feature of her body that was obviously 'fake' – it was the total package; an anatomical lottery winner of cherry-picked perfection so idealized, that her beauty became as unattainable as it was convincing. Yet I could never forget how inadequate I felt the first time I saw the chiseled virility of the Latin Fox male-model my Fiance` had become so entranced by. What would it mean for the world, the future if people weren't good enough for people anymore? She would just mutter something about the world being over-populated anyway, before rushing out the door in favor of her statuesque paragon of rippling-muscled, but quite sterile, robo-perfection. Taller than me, all the male-robots were. Not that I was an especially short guy, either. “I should... go.... I'm not... the kind of man... that would have... bought one of you...” Despite that, my mouth moved against hers, and her tongue was within my mouth, we lip-locked like the long-lost. My heart skipped a beat as her nipples hardened against my chest. I detected a subdued, yet flowery scent. Beneath it was an undercurrent of something primal, something uncivilized. Shouldn't surprise me; Pygmalion skirted the limits of legality to make their bionic bed-warmers physically – and psychologically addictive to human customers. But knowing that I was being blasted with a chemically-optimized artificial pheromone more powerful than what nature would normally allow didn't seem to lessen its spine-tingling potency. |
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