Touched

Episode One: When Howie Met Cinda

Part 2

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NOTE TO THE READER - This is Part 2 of a four-part story. This part can be read independently, but the story might be better appreciated by starting with Part 1.

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When Dexter Spielmann of MicroHard's Ganymede outlet called Howie Ricardo at work to tell him that his new, Beta model, Sweetheart 459 andro-companion was ready to be picked up, Howie sprang from his chair, did an excited little dance, slipped, fell painfully, and then gave himself the rest of the afternoon off on the pretext of visiting the infirmary. Actually, he went home to spruce himself up to meet his new android.

Just as he was about to leave his apartment, it occurred to him that, if he was going to bring his new android home that evening, he might want to do something about his extensive collection of holo-porn. He had no idea what she'd make of it. He puzzled over where to hide the little discs, but didn't have much time to work it out. In the end, he figured that she wouldn't be rummaging around in the refrigerator because she didn't need food. So he stuffed them in the otherwise almost empty freezer section. They pretty much filled it up.

Then, at exactly 16:22, Howie left his little apartment and hustled along the moving walkway, weaving in and out of the rush hour crowd of people and over to MicroHard. The company was keeping the Beta testing very secret and had refused to show him a holo-pic, a old-fashioned photo or even a rough sketch or wiring diagram of his new girl friend. He'd been waiting months to see her, and now he was so excited, he was trembling.

He knew he was going to have a hard time forcing himself to bargain about the price. Even though they were offering her to him at much less than the final model would fetch, it would still be a major strain on Howie's limited budget. Unless she was a complete disaster, he knew that he would pay the amount he'd been quoted, if he had to. But he was hoping that a little dickering might save him a few bucks. That is, if he wasn't too horny and too impatient to dicker.

When Howie walked into the store, Spielmann, wearing a neat white shirt and a name tag, was waiting for him behind the counter. He walked quickly to the door, glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then locked up and turned on the

CLOSED

sign. He moved awkwardly, bouncing with each step, as if unused to Ganymede's low gravity.

"So, how much do you know about the Beta model, Mr. Ricardo?" he asked.

"Well, I know it's nicknamed the 'Cyber-Angel' and it's supposed to be a very big advance over your current model," Howie answered, "the one everyone calls 'plasti-pussy' [at which, the store manager winced] and which most people think isn't really much better than a walking, talking version of the old, twentieth century inflatable dolls.

"I mean, even though plasti-pussy comes in different skin colors, there are a very limited number of faces and body types, and only one personality available. And that personality isn't very realistic or interesting, or even all that pleasant. And you have to admit, the faces don't look that real either. And frankly, they're just not that attractive. Plus, the sensation of... or... umm.. on penetration is a lot like fucking a box of cling-wrap. And I've been told that it doesn't feel much like making love to a real woman either. So… can I see the Beta now?"

"Well, when you say you've 'been told' that the sensation is different," Spielmann asked, ignoring Howie's question, "am I to understand that you've actually never utilized the services of our current model? Which is, of course, properly called the 'Eager Ethel Personal Andro-Companion'."

"No, no," Howie said, "I'm actually a pretty good customer down at the Rental Center DuPimp runs. And I'll call them Ethels if that makes you happier."

"Call them what you want," Spielmann shrugged. "In fact, some of us at MicroHard still call them 'Melissa'."

When he saw Howie's brow knit in confusion, he explained, "The company founder's wife was named Melissa. She wasn't all that good-looking, so some wise guy started referring to Ethels as 'Melissa'. He got fired, of course, but the name stuck, at least in-house."

"Anyway, not to get sidetracked, if you

have

used Ethel,... would that mean you're actually a… you know, a virgin? I mean, that you've never had relations with a real woman?" Spielmann asked tentatively.

Howie bristled a little, not at the suggestion that he was a virgin, which, of course, he was, but at the attitude that his virginity was somehow remarkable.

"You

must

be just up from Earth," Howie said curtly. Even an Earthie would have noticed that the population of Ganymede was 95% male. But perhaps it hadn't occurred to Spielmann that, as a result, the vast majority of men who, like Howie, had grown up on Ganymede, had never had sex with an actual human woman.

"I arrived yesterday, with the Beta model," Spielmann answered.

Yesterday?

Howie thought.

Yesterday! They've been here a whole day and didn't call me until now!

But he took a deep breath and said, "Yes, like a lot of guys who grew up here, I'm a virgin." He thought,

I did have that "accident", making out with Heidi Hellerman in the back row of the holo theater in high school, but I don't think that really counts.

"It's not that unusual for a male here to be inexperienced," he continued. "There are so many men and so few women that a lot of guys just never get an opportunity.

"Most of the people here are contract miners, who are nearly all men, and come out for 5-year tours. It's so expensive to get workers out here that the company won't let them bring wives or girl friends. The managers, professionals and executives, some of whom are women, some of whom are men,

are

allowed to bring their families. But that still doesn't add up to a lot of single, adult females.

"With the cost of getting here, no working person can come out on his …or her… own, so there aren't even any prostitutes. And DuPimp sure isn't about to pay to bring them out. Instead, they operate the plasti-pu… I mean Ethel …, you know, companion… rental center, and that's what most guys get. Although they do charge an arm and a leg. I think DuPimp just sees it as another way to make money, rather than as providing a necessary service for their employees.

"Me, I came out here with my folks when I was 6. The company brought my father out to be the first manager of the colony, and he's still doing it. I've had a good life so far, a good education and a good job, but never a whiff of a real woman.

"Then you're just the man for Lucinda!" Spielmann said, beginning to sound more like a salesman.

" 'Lucinda'?" Howie asked. "Is that her name? Should I call her 'Lucy'?"

"Actually, we've been calling her 'Cinda'," Spielmann replied. "But that's just a temporary name until you...or whoever buys her if you decide to pass, gives her a real, permanent name.

"So, let me tell you a little more about her. She is, as you say, vastly superior to our current model. There are just 17 Betas, and this is the only one out here. There are two on Mars, one at Luna, one on the EU Space Station and the other 12 are on Earth.

"All the Betas have the same body type, but we're pretty sure most men will be very happy with it. She's sort of petite: 5'4" and appears to be about 110 pounds. The final version will, of course, offer a wide variety of shapes.

"But even the Beta comes with a choice of 125 very realistic faces, ranging from young cherub to nasty slut. And I'll warn you: they're all gorgeous, and choosing one is impossible. You'll want them all. We can set her up overnight with whichever face you choose. And for a small fee, we can switch her later. We can even work from a holo-pic or a photo and give her a face that isn't one of the pre-sets. But that takes a little more time and costs a little extra. And frankly, there are so many good pre-set choices, why bother?

"Her hair can be any color you want and she can change it herself in only a few seconds. Same with her makeup. Want her to be a redhead? Just tell her. Blonde? You got it instantly. She even has a selection of pubic tattoos…eighteen to chose from."

Howie looked around the store, then over Spielmann's shoulder toward the darkened storage area, trying to find the android and finally get a look at her. He thought he saw movement in the storage area shadows.

"She's also ten times as smart as Ethel," Spielmann went on. "She's got more than 100 billion data storage and processing units."

Howie pursed his lips thoughtfully. "One of my friends in IT said that, if a computer had enough DSPUs, it might become self-aware, have feelings, emotions and who knows what," he said. "Any sign of that?"

"No, of course not," Spielmann scoffed. "Lucinda has twenty-two built-in, switchable personalities. But they're just programs, and she's just a machine."

Howie thought he heard a small, strangled noise from the back room.

"But her personalities are very convincing," Spielmann continued. "The choices go from totally self-absorbed bitch, to silly teenager, to sophisticate, to artiste, to lady-in-the-parlor-whore-in-the-bedroom. She can even be a nagging harpy. We figure guys who miss their mother will go with that option, at least around the holidays. But just decide what

you

want, and let her know."

"What's she set for now?" Howie asked.

"Slutty sweetie," Spielmann answered.

"Ooooh, sounds good to me," Howie said with obvious enthusiasm. "Where is she now?"

"Yup, we expect that one to be very popular," Spielmann replied, then continued, "All three of her major orifices are usable, of course. And we've done extensive research and reengineering to make sure that the sensation is not only realistic, but on a par with the best experience real women can provide." He paused and fixed Howie with a suggestive stare. "Some say it's even an improvement."

But,

Spielann thought,

even if it isn't, how the hell would

you

ever know.

"I don't suppose you have any openings in that division of your research department?" Howie asked.

Spielmann grinned, but he was seriously into the sales pitch now and not about to slow down to answer rhetorical questions.

"And the best part is that she really enjoys sex. Loves it actually. Can't get enough. In fact, although, as you know, her official nickname is the 'Cyber-Angel', most of us at MicroHard call her the 'Cyber-Slut'.

"We've programmed her to prefer behaviors which activate certain circuitry. When a guy pays attention to her, that activates the preliminary circuitry and begins a progression which leads to the activation of other circuits. We call it the 'arousal sequence'. If you touch her, stroke her, kiss her, and so forth, that leads further along the sequence and activates more of the preferred circuitry. Touching some parts of her body advances the sequence more quickly than others, of course.

"Then, if one of her orifices is penetrated, that really gets the arousal sequence moving and activates a whole bunch of the good circuits. And, before long, the reward circuitry is activated in a sudden, massive cascade of cybernetic activity. In effect, it's an electronic orgasm, and she's programmed to seek that result as often as possible."

"Wow," said Howie. I can't wait to meet her. She is here, isn't she?"

"Of course, you can disable that programming temporarily if you need to," Spielmann continued, again ignoring the question. "But I don't think I'd do that too often if I had one," he added with a sly wink.

Spielmann's leering comment went right over Howie's head. The store manager's relentless sales pitch had finally driven him into a fantasy refuge - a vivid reverie involving MicroHard's laboratory Beta-testing process.

Howie imagined a special lab that looked a lot like one of the luxurious Earth mansions featured in so many holo-porn vids. There were plush, fur-upholstered couches and "conversation" pits, a hot tub, silk-sheeted beds, a well-stocked wet bar, mirrors on the ceiling and walls and even a small dance floor with a rotating, reflective "disco ball" hung over it.

Along one wall of the large main room he pictured a wide assortment of testing machinery, all gears and levers, tangled wires and bright digital read-outs, flashing numbers almost too fast to read. Many of the machines had long, belt-driven, articulated arms with large dildos, vibrators, or other, more mysterious, devices attached to the end. One had a wheel studded with about a dozen dildos, in a variety of sizes, arranged like gear teeth.

Spielmann droned on as Howie came briefly back to reality. "One other improvement - our current model, as I'm sure you know, has some inconvenience and, frankly, some sanitary concerns associated with any bodily fluids which may be deposited in its orifices. They just sort of sit there and can be a little messy to clean out. Lucinda is a big upgrade in that regard. She does not, of course, have a stomach or other organs to digest or absorb fluids, but each orifice has a small storage compartment where fluids can be kept until later, when she has an opportunity to discretely empty the material into some disposal facility. And each compartment is equipped to be self-cleaning and self-sanitizing," he boasted enthusiastically.

Booooring,

Howie thought and returned to his fantasy lab. The 17 dazzling, scantily-clad test subjects, all with the same slim, athletic, long-legged physique, but each with her own overpoweringly beautiful face, were scattered around the lab, some in sheer lingerie, making out on the couches with white-coated technicians, some wailing in stark naked euphoria as their orifices were vigorously and repeated jabbed by the test machines, and some strutting around the room in towering spike heels and tiny dresses or miniscule skirts while lab workers videoed and evaluated their every step, gesture and facial expression.

In the furry conversation pit, four lab workers had surrounded one of the cyber-angels. She was sitting on the floor, propped up on her elbows with her legs spread wide. They were kneeling and slowly removing her clothing while she French-kissed them, one after the other, and squirmed in eager anticipation of the next step in the testing protocol.

"In fact," Spielmann continued in what was now very nearly a monotone, "the compartment associated with Cinda's mouth is a little larger than the others which allows her to simulate eating by swallowing and storing a moderate amount of food, which she can then dispose of later."

"Cool!" said Howie, as if he were still listening. "When do I get to see her? I'll bet she's really gorgeous. Tell me," he smirked, "Is she so sexy that when

you

see her, you get a MicroHard-on?"

"You'll meet her soon," the store manager scowled, trying unsuccessfully to ignore Howie's feeble attempt at humor.

But Howie was very pleased with the dubious pun he had just made, and he wasn't about to let Spielmann off that easily. "Maybe the company logo should be a teeny, tiny, little boner," he cackled. "And there are a couple of things I've always wanted to know: does your prick shrink every time you get promoted? And does your health insurance cover penis

reduction

surgery?"

Spielmann rolled his eyes as if he'd heard all those jokes before, which he undoubtedly had. "But first, before you meet her," he continued, "We need to talk about one other thing. As you know, this Beta test is very, very secret. Cinda's body, her skin, her personality, her hair, her love-making, her....her everything is realistic enough to pass for a real woman. It's also all strictly proprietary."

Howie had always taken the unabashed use of the word "proprietary" as an infallible sign that a tedious discussion or presentation was about to get even duller. So he let himself slide back into his fantasy lab, where two technicians were strapping a naked and lovely Beta down in a semi-prone position on something that looked a lot like a gynecological exam table.

"Hey, guys," she gushed happily, "can't you pick up the pace a little? This is way my favorite test." Her little nipples were as hard as bullets and her rigid clitoris twitched impatiently. They pulled her arms behind her and bound her wrists to the sides of the table, then spread her legs, elevated her feet and securely fastened them into the stirrups. Her toes curled and uncurled restlessly while viscous fluid drooled from her pouting pussy mouth. One of the men lifted a small flap of skin at the back of her neck and plugged a thin cable into a well-hidden socket.

The technicians wheeled a large, two-armed contraption between her legs. At the end of one arm was a huge, bright green dildo. It was at least half a meter long and 8 centimeters in diameter. On the other was mounted a snub-nosed, white vibrator of only slightly more modest dimensions. To judge from its size, it probably consumed roughly the same amount of electricity as the field lights at New Yankee Stadium in Newark.

When she saw the test equipment, she sighed and her head lolled back. "Oh God," she moaned. "They're even bigger this time. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

The men positioned the dildo a few centimeters from her fluttering ass hole. The vibrator was almost touching her clit. She began to fidget and wiggle, vainly trying to slide closer and impale herself on the phallic test apparatus.

The technicians walked away and began examining a stack of papers and several computer monitors mounted on a nearby table.

"Whoa, where are you going?" She demanded. "Aren't you going to turn the machine on? Huh? Please! Don't make me wait! Please, turn the damn machine on! Now!!"

"Gotta give this model good marks for enthusiasm," one of the men commented to the other.

Then, turning to the ravishing android, he grinned, "Yeah, sure, Sweetheart, happy to oblige," and reached over to flip a switch on the machine. The vibrator hummed powerfully to life, but neither it nor the dildo moved a millimeter nearer to her hungry holes.

She redoubled her efforts to slide closer to the equipment, trying desperately to bring her throbbing love button into contact with the tip of the vibrator. It was was buzzing like huge horde of angry bees, making her poor, suffering clit quiver in harmonic resonance. But she just couldn't quite reach it.

The technicians chuckled. One of them reached over and turned a dial, and the vibrator's humming jumped about an octave as it whirred louder and faster. The men snickered again and went back to the data they were studying.

"You cruel bastards!!!" she screamed. "You heartless, fucking ass hole, cruel, fucking bastards!!!"

"And more high scores for linguistic ability and emotional simulation," the other technician observed.

She continued to rage and struggle while the lab workers went over the numbers. Finally, one of them said, "So we agree that these are the appropriate settings?"

The other nodded and the first worker began to punch buttons and twist more dials. "Here it comes, Honey," he said. The vibrator eased forward until it was pressed gently against the cyber-angel's clitoris.

"Aaaaaaaaoooooooohhhh. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!" she moaned.

The technicians read the displays and took notes while she grunted and howled her way through her first orgasmic cascade.

But, before long, she was complaining again. "Aren't you guys going to stick anything into me?" she grumbled.

The technicians looked at each other and nodded. "I guess it's about time for Phase Two," one of them allowed, and began adjusting the controls.