Is It Cheating 2

It was always hard to focus at this time a day; Five days a week, at ten am, Monday through Friday, for the past three weeks. He didn't know why it happened, and sure as fuck couldn't even begin to explain how. This sort of thing isn't supposed to be possible after all. This was real life. This wasn't some high fantasy setting in which this sort of thing was commonplace. The world didn't end, there was no nuclear holocaust that brought about new, mutated life or encouraged the grown of some once dormant physic gene. Similarly, there was no apocalypse through some alien comment, spreading out some sort of new and strange lifeform to interact with the Earth's remaining survivors. It was none of this.

It was nine fifty-five, on a Thursday morning. Just like every other morning, Desmond's girlfriend was getting ready to go to work at her rather lax job as a software developer. To be honest, the relationship based on the information given was the making of a miracle on its own, given that Jessica was a year away from ending her early twenties, and was already pulling in a near six figure job. Why was this a miracle? Because Desmond was anything but, two years younger than her, and he was still in college working on his degrees in English and professional writing.

It was a relationship built purely on love, because there was nothing else that suggested otherwise. Sure, Desmond had a job, and worked through his college, but clearly paled in comparison to his better half, only banking on the notion that someday, with his degrees in writing, he would pull off a best seller and, at least in his mind, prove to Jessica that he wasn't a waste of time after all.

"Alright, I'm heading out, Desmond." Jessica didn't see it that way, of course. She loved the six foot brown haired, clean shaven, six pack abs, aspiring writer for exactly that reason. The man was not unlike that of a model, a veritable symbol of perfection. What sealed the deal though, was that his insanely good look didn't suffer in the way it does with most other men, in that with one's stunning appearance, came a startling drop on that same person's intelligence. Creative, smart, social, and simply...amazing. Just a few words Jessica could use that fit the category of 'suitable for work.' "Need anything on my way home?"

"No." Desmond flashed a smile that showed all of his pearly whites, brown eyes darting to look at the clock on the living room wall for the briefest of moments, before turning his attention back to Jessica. "Other than you, of course." Desmond knew he was cheesy when it came to romantics, but it seemed to just make Jessica smile even more, so he never bothered to stop. Careful not to pour it on too thick, of course, but never stopping entirely. Desmond locked lips with his girlfriend of two years, before breaking the kiss and lingering for a moment or two before planting another. "To help with the creative process, of course." A mention to the second kiss, then the left index finger pointing to his forehead to emphasis the point.

"Oh, is that all it takes then?" It was Jessica that initiated the third kiss, then

proceed to head towards the door to the rather large apartment, slipping on a pair of one of her sneakers. "Then three kisses in total should help you get a head-start on that novel, right?"

"Chapter 1 is already done." Desmond snickered. "Just need to put it on paper."

"Hmm...glad I could help, then. See you tonight, hun." And just like that, Jessica disappeared behind the apartment door, the mechanical lock clicking shut, and leaving the writer alone in his own home.

He wasn't alone though. As strange as that sounded even to him, it was true. Which was, to bring the point up again, why it was so hard to focus after ten am. They always came around at ten am. It was always after Jessica was gone, and it was always when Desmond was alone, but They made a point of never missing a date. That's another thing They insisted that these visitations were as well...a date. Of course, questions on why They never showed Themselves to Jessica, despite being hers, only lead to Them expertly avoiding the question entirely in their own fashion. They never did so in a rude fashion, and were never mean or angry when such was brought up, but the question was avoided all the same. In fact, Desmond was starting to agree more and more, They were like Jessica in a lot of ways, which made sense in a roundabout way, as - as stated before - They were hers, after all.

Desmond simply stood still in the living room for a few minutes. Just...waiting. This wasn't something he controlled. He's tried that, he's tried calling out to Them, he's tried summoning them, and has done other things in which he is embarrassed to even recall upon, and never once did it bring Them to his presence. Desmond had no control. In a way, this saddened him a bit. It meant he wasn't some powerful sorcerer, or some warlock with untold powers; and frankly, if he was going to live in a world where the unexplained happened, this would have been preferred. Alas, he was a mere mortal.

The time at which They appeared differed, which was why the writer stood still in the living room for the time being, apprehensive of starting something, only for Them to appear and decide it would be far more fun if he was doing something else. Controlling wasn't the right word for Them. Though clearly powerful and capable of a great deal of things, They had no interest in bending Desmond to their will, or taking complete control over him. Truth be told, Desmond wasn't entirely sure if they even could wrest control over his body, but the fact that such was never done, the writer surmised that either They couldn't, or didn't want to. Both conclusions suited him just fine.

Before losing himself in his thoughts entirely, Desmond walked towards the kitchen. A bowl of cereal would suit him just fine before starting the day. As he was every morning, the writer was simply in his sleepwear, as it were. White T-shirt, grey sweatpants, and white socks. After getting the bowl and spoon, Desmond reached for the carton of milk in the fridge, and started to wonder more on Their relationship with him. He came to the conclusion, as odd as it might have sounded, that They were very successfully hitting on him. The way they talked to each other, if one can call such 'talking', the game played, the general light hearted atmosphere. It was this question that caused Desmond to hesitate once again, pulling out a carton of milk and putting it beside bowl and spoon, asking softly to himself, "Am I cheating?"

"Pulling out the heavy material early this morning, hun?" They even had her voice. Obviously, if Desmond thought about it hard enough, if he really tried to separate Their voice with Jessica's, he could. The real Jessica voice he could only describe as 'practical.' There were no outrageous features that made her stand out. No accent, no southern drawl, no New Yorker slant, she didn't speak too fast or too slow, you couldn't really pin such a voice to that of a highly intelligent girl or increasingly stupid one either. She didn't mimic one of the many annoying anime tropes, nor did she have one that - save for Desmond - any person could just pick out of a crowd of people. Jessica's voice was...well...Jessica's voice.

Theirs however, was the exact opposite. It was, at its base, his girlfriend's voice, but he could sense that They tried so desperately to be more, to be what he himself would enjoy. It worked, of course, Their tone was pleasing, settling, adorable, charming, alluring, everything positive one could say about a voice...just not Jessica's. Desmond shook his head, after hearing Their voice in his - and it was in his head, too. Telepathic in some fashion. No one was hearing them speak but him alone. "Can you blame me? Three weeks of this stuff, five days a week. I-I don't know what to think. I'd put you girls as the main character in my first novel, if I wasn't so certain the world wouldn't take it seriously."

"Why wouldn't they? Steven King wrote about murderous machines that obtained sentience..."

"But that is horror, people open their mind to more stuff when it comes to horror." Desmond responded quickly, knowing he was cutting off Their attempt to talk, but over the weeks came to realize that there was going to be no retaliation for doing such. They didn't mind, to an extent of course, being interrupted every so often. "I mean, that's why horror works, right? Because it's taken something that is impossible, and fantastical, and something no one could possibly understand, and apply something humans are already really good at doing on their own. Fear. A lawn mower suddenly obtained sentience? That's weird, and I don't understand it, I'm not sure I'm going to like this. I know! Let's appeal to that by writing a horror story about it." Desmond snickered a bit, grabbing a box of Captain Crunch from a cupboard and pouring it into the bowl, the ringing sound of the cereal hitting the bowl filling the apartment for a moment before the box was lifted, and the carton of milk grabbed. "Think of it the other way around, and it just isn't going to sell, is it? A lawn mower suddenly obtained sentience? That's weird, and I don't understand it, I'm not sure I'm going to like this. I know! Let's write a story about how the lawn mower lives a happy life starting up a mowing company for its community!" A shake of his head Pouring the milk. "Not the same, is it?"

"J.K Rowling wrote Harry Potter."

"And any sensible person can't help but laugh at it, right? Which is the other outcome of your existence, when making contact with humans, right?" Desmond scooped up his first spoonful of cereal, taking it to his mouth and enjoying the taste as he crunched at the sharp, rigid cereal already working to cut up the roof of his mouth. Every time, Desmond ended up with that slightly sore, cut up feeling in his mouth, but it didn't matter, Captain Crunch was worth every second. "Ok, I'll give you that J.K Rowling had a fairly deep background to it, but at the end of the day, how was magic portrayed? If the word 'Disney' doesn't come to mind, you are too much of a Potter fan. There's a reason why the series has a massive section in Disney parks."

"Bed-knobs and Broomsticks, Mary Poppins, Uhh..." Desmond moved to take a seat on the living room couch, completely oblivious to the pair of white 'beer socks' that came walking down from the upstairs of the apartment. It was hard to tell now, because the knee highs were pulled half way up, resting midway between the ankle and she shin, leaving wrinkles over the blue lines on the side, and the bold blue letters spelling out the popular bear 'bud light.' The knee highs were Jessica's, had been since before Desmond even knew her, likely the result of a rather fantastic night out with some friends. "...the list is tragically short, to be honest, but the point is the same. You are portrayed to the human world as either A, a joke to be laughed at, flying around all over the place and doing silly things - something never to take seriously; or B, a force to be feared. It's...unthinkable for a person to view you as anything else. It would be...well...weird."

"Not everyone though." That voice put on a know-it-all tone to it, as if They had managed to poke a hole in Desmond's entire theory. The writer had just managed to finish the last of his cereal before the living socks jumped up on the back of the couch, directly behind him. When he moved to lean back against the couch, to relax a bit, the back of his neck felt those soft poly cotton toes brushing up against his skin, and he immediately shifted to the right a bit, turning to look back at the living knee highs, half-standing up in their full length, wiggling their toes gently and giggling telepathically in his mind. "We don't see you running for the hills."

"I-uh..." Desmond felt the hairs stand up on the back of the neck, as he struggled to keep his sight upon the adorable beer socks. He was nervous, even blushed a bit, and for the life of him couldn't understand why. Sure, the man had a bit of a thing for a woman in sexy socks, but never imagined it would be this vivid, this powerful. "..I guess I have an advantage. I am an aspiring creative writer, after all...this...this is just like living in one of my own books."

"C'mon, Desmond." Those socks giggled even more, jumping off the back of the couch to land in Desmond's lap, the man struggling hard to keep his focus on the task at hand, and the living socks knew it as well, delighting in making things just a tad more difficult for him. "No point in hiding it, is there? You love us, just as much as we love you."

"I-I find you remarkable. I mean, who wou-"

"You really going to dodge around this, Desmond?" There was a tone of anger within that lovely voice, but Desmond didn't suspect much. In fact, once he gathered his mind about the situation more clearly, the notion of labeling anger wasn't really doing this justice at all, it was more akin to frustration, perhaps a bit of ironic humor. "We mean, at the end of the day, this is basically a wet dream come true for you, isn't it? A woman's socks, standing on you as we are?" Those socks conceded "Sure, your dreams have your girlfriend's feet within those socks, but semantics, right?" The soft soles of those knee highs took a single small step forward, placing themselves right upon his rock hard abdomen, and kneaded those delicate toes just a bit, wiggling them and pressing them into that toned skin, a move which made Desmond sigh softly in content, and started to make more than just his abs obtain a rigid texture.

"But...I mean...I don't...is this..?"

"Cheating?" Those knee highs finished Desmond's question, the leggings of those socks sliding up now, as if the person wearing them finally woke up, and was getting ready for the day. Desmond knew it was done for underlying reasons, They knew as much as he did that the look made those living socks even more sexy than before. "That is a tough one, Desmond. Kind of stepping into blurred territory there, isn't it? What is cheating at all, to you humans? We've seen people kiss each other, and it doesn't constitute as cheating. Who knows, a rather open couple might openly sleep with others, and not consider that cheating...but clearly would constitute as such to some other person. It's all rather...subjective...isn't it, love?"

"Yes, but this isn-" The left foot of the beer socks lifted to press their big and second toe down upon Desmond's lips, not only causing him to shut up, but to moan a bit as well. To Their surprise, it was a wonder Desmond didn't immediately start licking and sucking upon their soft poly-cotton bodies, but chalked it up to Desmond's rather strong sense of control. "Hmm...not right now, Desmond. You had your turn to talk, now it's ours."

"No doubt, this is a difficult subject. Ranks up among there among the notion of sex with robots, doesn't it?" The bud light knee highs giggled a bit, the big toe upon Desmond's lips curling a bit, effectively hooking the bottom lip and dragging it down a bit as the knee high traced down his chin, moving over his neck, and eventually down to the T-shirt on his neck. "And that...well...that is a more popular question, isn't it? If AI existed, and was put in an android, would fucking one be considered cheating? Or is it more or less just...masturbating with an elaborate sex toy?"

"The issue there," Desmond was turned on in so many ways now, his head was spinning. There was no denying the obvious bit, he was under the feet of a pair of socks, without feet in them. This alone managed to get that cock to rise up in attention in his boxers without much help. However, the rather deep conversation in the midst of their actions helped tremendously along the way, causing the blood to pump even more to that member, causing it to throb a bit with excitement. "Is a debate on whether or not that AI is conscious, and acts out of feeling rather than code. Whether it is obtaining something because it truly wants something, or because that something is simply a means to get their end objective in the most efficient way possible. In short: Are robots alive? This...this isn't in question here."

"Are we any different?" The question alone raised an eyebrow, but the actions that followed caused him to shiver a bit, as it was something They had never done before. He watched as his own T-shirt started to shutter to life, and with a bit of help from its owner, pried itself from his body to fall lifelessly to the floor once again, he gasped softly upon feeling the same done to his boxers, leaving him naked save for the crew socks on his feet, of which didn't remain there for much longer either. Brown eyes looked up to the bud light knee high socks with wide eyes, as they first responded by giggling. "Maybe we are here just to take what we want in the most efficient way possible as well?"

"Then...you'd have it already." Desmond thankfully couldn't see his own cock standing up strong in the cool air, and was mercifully spared the embarrassment of seeing how aroused he was by just a pair of socks, but They knew all the same, and made sure Desmond knew it as well by the right knee high, after the left returned to maintain balance, acting as if a real person wearing socks would when attempting to stand on one foot, lifted up and reached back behind itself, the sole of the impossibly soft sock rubbing gently up and down that length, causing Desmond to once again sigh softly.

"Would we?"

"If...if you could have stripped me naked from day one? Yes. If you were just some animated, semi-aware entity. If...to compare...you were just AI. Awakened with the single notion of fucking me. Then.." Desmond swallowed hard at this thought. "..You'd have done it by now. On day one. The moment you had the chance, you'd use the element of surprise to take me. You wouldn't have stopped there, either."

"Go on."

"Well..again..if that was your sole purposes. Then, as an AI, you'd make sure to keep control of me, to obtain what you want, whenever you desired. It would be a routine for you, a means to an end. No feeling, no thought, you are doing it simply because you can, because that's what you were made to do. That isn't to say you wouldn't have a personality...you would. In that situation, you'd be the cruel, forceful, dominatrix, never letting me leave my cage...but at the end of the day, it's just a means to reach your end goal. No real thought or feeling into it."

"Then what are we, love?" Desmond felt his own crew socks walking up his legs, immediately taking over where that right knee high left off, collapsing as if a pair of ivory snakes, the opening of one of those socks sliding up that shaft and reaching the tip to wrap around it, as if a poly cotton mouth taking in the cock dutifully. It once again forced Desmond to try to keep his mind on the conversation, his member already starting to push out a bit of his own sticky fluid, no doubt caught by the living poly cotton wrapped around it.

"Al-alive."

"In what way?" The feminine voice of the female sounded neutral, as if trying to play the part of some emotionless robot, but Desmond knew enough of that voice to know that it was hiding tones of flattery, which only proved his point even more.

"You wanted this. You didn't take it. You quite possibly had the power to overtake me and keep me under lock and key for at least a few days, if not a few weeks, before I attempted to break free. Who knows how strong you are, or what you are capable of doing..maybe I wouldn't break free at all. The point is...you didn't. You won my love by playing the charming, smart, and incredibly sexy pair of socks standing over me now." Even in his incredibly aroused situation, Desmond was well aware of how awkward that sounded, and hoped it was incredibly flattering to the living socks. "Thoughts, emotions, morals. If that isn't being alive...what is?"