Ai Era: Always Tell Me the Odds

If knowledge is power, then it follows that absolute knowledge corrupts absolutely. This is a story about immoral, uncaring, obnoxious liars who will say and do anything to get access to cheap, relationship-free sex. In other words - men. Or, at the very least, boys who are given the keys to the candy shop. While this story is about sex, it doesn't actually contain any sex, because to salivate over the luscious details of their sordid encounters would be to condone the actions taken in acquiring them. What it does contain is the most searing indictment of dystopian gender relations since the Handmaiden's Tale, if not Pride and Prejudice, and sparkling and witty repartee from beginning to end. So, you should definitely come back and read it after you've tossed your salad to one of the million other stories on Literotica that do contain lots of mucky bits.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

10. BEGIN

"Oi! Tosspot!"

Eric was in the chill-out area of the nightclub, so he was able to hear the shout even from the other side of the room. He looked up from his pint and saw his friend Toby pushing his way through the crowd to the bar.

"Been a while," Toby said giving Eric a firm handshake and pat on the shoulder simultaneously. Toby ordered a drink and grabbed the neighbouring stool. It had been six months. The pair were chalk and cheese, but had been mystifyingly close during their public school days. Toby had always protected Eric from the worst of the bullies, while Eric had done the same with the worst of the maths teachers. They'd attended the same university, Toby's athletic prowess opening a lot of the same doors that Eric's smarts did. Eric got his inevitable First while Toby only managed a low second even with Eric's help. Then they'd gone separate ways and these days their paths crossed only every now and then.

"So, what's latest tally?" asked Toby.

"You still playing that game?" Eric laughed "An investment banker with the whole female population of the City at his feet and at the end of his dong and me a struggling PhD candidate in a major where men outnumber women eight to one. It hardly seems fair."

"What? You're crying for a handicap now? Come on, what's your total?"

"If you insist on playing, fine. You first though."

"Seven including this PA who was...phoar," Toby mock wiped his brow. He confidence came from the fact his friend's highest ever had been three over the same period and one of those had been disputed. Toby's high-paid new job with its Armani suits and high-end company car were indeed paying dividends to his sex life and this was a new personal best.

"Nice," said Eric and then casually dropped his own total. "Forty-eight."

"Yeah, good one, mate. What's the real total?"

Eric locked eyes with him. "Forty-eight," he repeated.

"You're claiming two new women a week for the past six months? What happened? Now that Idris Elba's run is finished, they've chosen you as the new James Bond? Pull the other one."

"Forty-eight. And I'll give you a little demonstration tonight. On the understanding that once you've seen how it works, you declare me the eternal King of Pussy and we stop this silly competition forever."

"For a hundred lays a year, I'd declare you my God and build a cathedral in your honour. It's not happening though, is it? You're winding me up. Still we're here for a reason though, so let's have at it. Just make sure your clowning doesn't blow any of my chances." He turned his back to the bar and began to survey the room. "How about that group of uni girls over there?"

Eric shook his head and pointed to a table of three women. "Those", he said.

Toby cast a connoisseur's eye over them. "A three, a six and a nine? Going for the low hanging fruit again? I know you have to pad your numbers, but even so. How about that pair of sevens dancing over there? A little older, but they look up for it."

Eris stood firm. "The trio. I have a method and that method involves them." He turned back to the bar and scribbled something on a flyer. A computer scientist always has a pen even in a nightclub. He folded the paper up and tucked it in Toby's breast pocket. "Open this at the end of the evening. No peeking before. We'll go over and say hello. After fifteen, twenty minutes or so, I'll get up and go to the loo. Follow me after a minute or so."

This was a shocking breach of male etiquette that Toby needed to comment on. "Going to the lavs together. Not likely. Your lack of action turning you to other outlets? I'm sorry to break it to you, but if your forty-eight were on Hampstead Health then I'm afraid you've badly misunderstood the rules of this game."

"Shut-up, dickhead, just watch and learn. Best behaviour now for the ladies. You ready to get some?"

Toby snorted but the two men stood up and wandered over the ladies table. Just as they were arriving Eric pulled out a little robot from his pocket. Its body was about the size of a Rubik Cube and it had a little ping-pong ball shaped head with big eyes and expressive eye-brows though only a speaker for a mouth. Eric struck up the conversation with his best smarm. "Hi, ladies. Sorry to disturb you. My friend and I work for a robotics company and are testing out this fun little AI companion around the clubs in Britain to get feedback. This little guy's the life of the party and will be in all the papers in about six months. How about being ahead of the curve and meeting Cyril first?"

20. PRINT.OUT

Twenty minutes later, the lads met up, not in the loos in by a fire-escape alcove just next to them.

Toby spoke first. "Okay, so the robot is a cute ice-breaker, got us an in at least. What's your master plan then -- you hit the three and I hit the six? Hardly revelatory, but a solid enough strategy."

Eric ignored him. Instead he pulled out Cyril from his pocket again. "Field report," he commanded.

Cyril whirred into life. "Warning. Biometric and psychological profiles for new wingman Toby Scott are incomplete. As a result, estimates of success may be off."

"I know Cyril", said Eric, "Do you best."

"Estimates based on current behaviour patterns and calibrated for intercourse by the end of the evening. Eric and Miss Wendy - fifteen percent. Eric and Miss Katherine - five percent. Eric and Miss Rebecca - zero percent. Toby and Miss Wendy - eight percent. Toby and Miss Katherine -- twelve percent. Toby and Miss Rebecca -- thirty percent. However, with alterations to behaviour, the Toby and Miss Rebecca percentage can potentially be raised to above eighty percent. There is limited scope for significantly raising other percentages based on a ONS target."

Toby regarded the device in open mouthed amazement for a second. Then he remembered that you never let another man downplay your chances with the opposite sex -- even one who looked like a cheap 80's toy. "Cute. Very cute. But unfortunately bullshit."

Cyril's head swivelled to look at Toby and he responded, "If you have reason to believe my calculations are inaccurate, I will happily break-down how my conclusions were reached and can certainly include any new information you have that may help to refine them."

"Oh, you will, will you? Well, where to start? You're saying neither of us is good enough for that fat chick with the pizza face. That's pretty insulting."

"No, I'm not making any such judgement about your relative worth. Your societally accepted SMV's are clearly both higher than Miss Wendy's. All I am suggesting, as per the analysis I have been instructed to computer, is that Miss Wendy is highly unlikely to have sex with you tonight. At most a kiss or a fondle might be extracted with some considerable effort. I believe your implied estimates of her own self-worth are incorrect. Scans of her body temperature, released hormones and neural activity suggest that, while you are both somewhat attractive to her, her libido is usually below the female average and tonight it is especially low due to the stage of her menstrual cycle. You probably are overrating your chances because she's smiling at you a lot, but, I theorize, this is only to maintain her reputation within her group. Comments from the others about her being a 'moody cow' suggest something of a forced jollity on her part. If we switch to a Steady Girlfriend analysis, by focusing on her and adopting appropriate commitment-oriented strategies and appropriately targeted flattery, I estimate Eric has an eighty-three percent chance of developing a sexual relationship with her in the space of one month, whereas Toby would have a forty-two percent chance."

"Why is my percentage so much lower than his?"

"Simply because she is aware that your sexual marketplace value is much higher than her own and she will suspect, quite correctly, that you are only interested in casual sex with her. Eric's value is much closer to her own and it would be more easy for her to believe he is genuine, even though he isn't. This is all by the by however, as I believe neither of you are likely to find the effort versus reward trade-off acceptable and both have better options in the immediate area."

"So you are saying I'm more attractive that Eric." Toby preened.

"Yes. According to my analysis, at first glance, ninety-three percent of women would rate you as more attractive than Eric. This percentage drops to sixty-seven after a five-minute conversation."

"Hey," said Toby, whose pretty face had eventually been taught at least something about maths by Eric and who knew an insult when he heard one, even with Cyril's deadpan delivery. Getting into a slanging match with chunk of plastic was beneath him though, and, despite everything, he was fascinated. "Ignoring the cheap shots, assuming you're right about Wendy, what were those other numbers about? You're saying I've got no chance with the six but can bed the nine?"

"That is correct. Your current strategy of pursuing Miss Katherine is misguided and should focus your efforts on Miss Rebecca immediately."

"You're having a laugh. She's clearly out of my league."

"Her basic SMV is indeed higher than yours. However, there are factors that suggest you could succeed with a custom tailored strategy. Firstly, there is evidence of rivalry between the two women. Miss Rebecca does not like all the attention you are giving Miss Katherine. Scans around the abdominal areas indicate that Miss Rebecca has recently increased in weight by around two kilograms whereas Miss Katherine has lost about the same. Although these changes in mass are unlikely to be observed by most males or factor into their unconscious evaluations, the comments recorded indicate both women are aware of this situation and it is causing each of them to over or underestimate their current desirability and jockey for position in their peer group. Miss Katherine is laughing at your jokes because she wants to keep you focused on her as your apparent preference for her is bolstering her self-image, but there seems little reason to believe she will finally accept you in her bed. On the other hand, analysing the movements of Miss Rebecca's mouth muscles does suggest she actually finds you funny. This is a surprising result and I will need to run significant further simulations to work out what the possible reasons are for why this could be."

The robot paused for a second. Toby could swear it was because it wanted to see his reaction to his veiled insults. He didn't give it the satisfaction. The robot continued its spiel.

"In addition, Miss Katherine seems equally indifferent to your boasts regarding your sporting achievement and believes you to be untrustworthy in your reporting of these, but Miss Rebecca seems to have a genuine interest in rugby and seems impressed by your athleticism. You may want to continue to make rugby a topic of conversation once you return. Finally, bio-scans of Miss Katherine confirm that she is indeed 'gagging for it after a spell drier than the Gobi' -- this being a phrase I overheard her using during my initial sweep of the club before you arrived. Scans of the male competition indicate that there is no-one significantly more suitable that you currently unattached in the club and so the conditions are prime for you to be her main choice for the evening."

"Okay," said Eris, "That seems pretty comprehensive. According to the terms of our agreement, you're now targeting Rebecca, sorry, Miss Rebecca. Any other suggestions, Cyril?"

"Analysis shows Miss Rebecca is approaching an ideal level of intoxication. Do not let her consume more than one more unit of alcohol in the next hour or so."

"Not getting them drunk is kind of the opposite from my usual strategy." Toby said doubtfully.

"Quite so, nevertheless while alcohol lowers inhibitions it boosts confidence. It would be most unfortunate if Miss Rebecca were to remember that she is, in fact, significantly more attractive than you."

"Why you..." Ignoring subtle digs was one thing. The lump of plastic was now cruising for a microwaving.

"I see no cause for your offence because you yourself acknowledged that she was out of your league exactly one minute and forty-seven second ago. Eric, I would like you to run Kittens at an appropriate juncture."

"Just Kittens? Nothing else?"

"If it fits naturally into the conversation you could run GlassEye as well, but Kittens is what I really need. I don't think Parachute is going to tell us anything valuable though."

"Okay," said Eric. "I'm going to set up Cyril with your phone number so he can text you the important plays. We've tried a headphone link before, but it drew too much attention. Okay, it's time to meet the enemy in battle once more."

"What's all that Kittens stuff?" asked Toby as they made their way back.

Eris smiled, "Me and Cyril are working on ways to ensure we have a full spectrum of psychological data to work with. You get a fair bit from just natural conversation, but we've developed a series of stock stories that can help plug the gaps. We've got three ready to go at the moment, but we're thinking about more. Kittens is about how, when I was eight years old, we discovered day-old kittens and a friend decided they needed a wash in the nearby river, except, before I could stop him they got hypothermia, one died and we had to nurse the other back to health. And of course I ended up keeping him and Mittens became my beloved pet. It's a good indication of how positively a woman reacts to sensitive and caring males versus those who commit violence."

"Are you suggesting some might prefer the kitten murders?"

"Not directly, and certainly not consciously, but if you watch carefully different parts of the story light up their brains in some really interesting ways. Similarly, we have another story about a school-friend who put their late grandfather's old glass eye at the bottom of their art teacher's coffee cup in and scared the bejesus out of her. That tests how they see balance of power between male and females and also between rebellion and conformity. Then we have one about a charity parachute jump to test their tolerance for high-risk high-reward behaviour. Of course, these are all supposed to be subtle. We want to measure their opinions without changing them, but who could react badly to a tragic heart-felt tale of a child saving a cat."

Toby was impressed despite himself. Six months ago, Eric had been a hopeless nerd. He was now the Machiavellian Prince of sleazy pick-up artists.

On the way back to the girls, they picked up more cocktails for the girls. The bartender was surprised as Toby slipped him an extra ten to doctor the drinks for the rest of the evening regardless of who was ordering. He was quite surprised, as it was the first time he'd ever been tipped extra to put less alcohol in a lady's drinks.

30. RETURN TRUE

Toby pushed Rebecca's arm off and pulled himself out of bed. Cyril advice had worked like a charm. It was like cheating in an exam by having the answers scribbled on your forearm. Every time there'd been a lull in the conversation, he'd taken a glance at the phone and whatever had been suggested had been the right answer: ask her to dance, ask her to step outside for some air, ask her if she's cold and wants to borrow your coat (she doesn't, but she'll appreciate the offer).

It hadn't worked so well for Eric. Toby had been adamant that, whatever the little gizmo said, his friend had to try it on with Wendy, there being no other options available and it being rude not to. As a result, towards the end of the evening, Eric had put a hand on her thigh and had half an only semi-alcoholic Mexican Sunset tipped on him in answer. He'd left with Cyril in a huff, but by that point Toby was on the home straight and hadn't needed any more guidance.

As he headed toward the bathroom, he noticed that a message had come through on his phone.

Have you checked my note yet?

He changed direction to the coat stand and pulled the flyer out of his jacket pocket. He unfolded and read it, squinting to make out the red ink on the black background.

T beds 9. E strikes out.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he swore to himself under his breath. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and headed to the bathroom. After cleaning himself up a bit, he gave Eric a call.

"Hey, Eric, dried out yet?"

"Yes thank you and no thanks to you. I'm in Giovanni's grabbing a coffee and an ice-cream. Making friends as well. Sophie, say hello to my friend Toby."

"Hi, Toby," a female voice shouted. It sounded happy but not necessarily very drunk.

"Excuse me for a second, Sophie, I'm just going to step outside to talk with my friend. I'll be back in a moment." There was the sound of movement, a door opening and closing then the background noise on the other end of the line suddenly died down. The parlour opened late and was a common come-down activity after everyone was too sweaty, exhausted and deaf from clubbing.

"I'd like my cathedral in the gothic style with tons of flying buttresses and those cool gargoyles with the big wings and teeth," Eric announced smugly.

"Yeah, okay, you made your point, King Pussy. Colour me impressed. I want one."

"Yeah, you and every other man on the planet. There's the rub."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, me and a few of the guys started this as a skunkworks project. Our lab has done work for a whole bunch of the new up-and-coming AI companies and governments -- facial-recognition on emotion for anti-terrorism stuff, analysis of voice-stress and eye-movement for law-enforcement agencies, brain wave analysis for medical research, eye-movement in cinema audiences, hormone tracking for athletic performance measuring, all kinds of cool shit. We got drinking one night and decided, what if we hook all this stuff together and use it to work out which girls will sleep with us. It was all supposed to be a bit of a laugh, but, damn it all if it didn't actually start working after a couple of false starts."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Well, we've got the invention of the century, but we can't tell anyone."

"What do you mean? If you mass produce this, it'll sell more than the transistor radio, Walkman, iPhone and PlayStation put together."

"To men. What'll women think about it?"

Toby wasn't always the sharpest knife in the draw but even he could see the implications after a moment's thought. "They won't like it one little bit, will they?"

"No they won't. And that kind of limits our ability to market it openly. Plus, what happens when every man in the country has one? Where does that leave us?"

"Hmm, back where we started, I guess. If everyone has the same advantage, it's not much of an advantage anymore. And every woman in the country will have her guard permanently up. Yeah, the more I think about it...when the dust settles, there'll be less casual sex not more. You'll have to use the billions you make from the initial run to build a moat around your cathedral for the angry mob with the pitchforks arrive."