Special thanks to lonewolf68alpha, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this big 'ol honker of a piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.
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Even after everything our species had been through, there were still crackpots and mad scientists out there saying,
"We were so close!"
That's kind of a sex joke, which means it's kind of a terrible one, too. That's the world I was born into.
Most of my life could be boiled down like so: cum a whole lot and try not to think about how fucked everything is. Farah had changed that for me -- the second part, anyway, and definitely not the first. We'd been able to talk about things. We'd been able to stare into the abyss a little bit without spiraling out or giving up. She'd been the smart one; then she'd gone away. That had left me stuck between two ways of living. I hadn't known how to do either one by myself. I'd known how to cum. I'd kept doing that.
I woke up on a Wednesday, and the Male Guilt actually wasn't so bad. I was, ironically, distracted by the fact that I wasn't full to bursting, and that my erection wasn't throbbing like an enraged beast. It was a special day; I'd made an appointment at the local shelter to see if I could find myself a woman. That meant I didn't have to make my morning deposit until later, and that, in turn, meant I hadn't been fully stimmed up before bed.
Unfortunately for me, Male Guilt was the lesser evil those days. Farah was gone. I was alone in a luxurious apartment that I obviously didn't feel like I deserved; I wasn't about to count the house AI shard or my personal wellness monitor as company. A lot of people did; sometimes I envied them. You could hardly read a story or post on the net without somebody talking about, or to, an AI like it was a real person.
Farah had had a good relationship with them both, plus with her own health AI -- lazily spelled "Healthee" and pronounced just like the regular word. She was the reason they had names. I slipped sometimes and used them. Farah had named my Healthee "Timmy," and had never told me why. It had been some kind of a joke. It hadn't felt like a clever one, but I wasn't one to judge. The house shard had been "Lexa." I'd changed its voice since. I'd known a woman's would do things to me without Farah there -- things I didn't want to have happen.
"Healthee" was a fair-enough compromise. "House" was better -- even less intimate.
Instead of feeling guilty that morning, I was annoyed -- annoyed, sad, and lonely. That wasn't a great way to start the day, either. Male Guilt was shitty, but it reminded me of those old-world stories about people who hadn't had good medical care. Their bodies would get fucked up somehow, and then they'd just get used to the pain. They'd still go to work; for me, that was an alien notion stacked atop another. Still, the general idea of background pain made sense to me. The sadness and loneliness were different. They were worse.
Cumming still helped with them. I felt like it shouldn't have, so then I felt some more Male Guilt.
Thinking of work triggered Male Guilt for a lot of men, too. For me, that morning, it made me think of Farah. Almost everything did. I wondered where she was -- what fancy building or bunker -- and thought about how she was trying to keep the world glued together with her "logistics analysis" skills that I'd never really understood. I'd tried a few times, but I was an old dog at forty. I hadn't had to learn many tricks, and if I'd ever had the potential, it had long since withered away.
"Good morning, Paul," Healthee said. House chimed in with the same right after.
"Minimaaaaaaaaal," I groaned out. I was sick of having to do it every single morning, but it was a price to be paid.
Two unpleasant recognition chimes sounded. "Reminder," House said, "you're scheduled at Shelter Designation LOCAL-TWO at ten hundred hours. That is only one hour away. Please expedite your morning routine."
"Auto-breakfast," I groaned, rolling out of my large, comfortable bed. "Option... fuck, seven I guess. Timer, uh, bathroom stuff plus wardrobe plus two I guess." The AIs knew so much about me that that all made sense.
"Acknowledged," House replied. "Please proceed to bathroom." Healthee chirped moderate satisfaction at the choice of meal. The two of them were helicopter coparents, and based on their relentless pleasantness, I was pretty sure they fucked whenever they weren't up my ass.
That's just a joke, though. They're not people. They're not real. It was important for me to know that -- to keep knowing it.
I went on autopilot and stuck my cock in the extractor. I was about to start fucking when Healthee chimed the warning-slash-reminder. Just because my erection wasn't rabid didn't mean I didn't have one. Likewise with the urge to cum; it was still there, just not overpowering. I grumbled my recognition and relaxed into my morning piss. The rear penetration felt less sexual than normal; it definitely woke me up a little. The shower routine made me sleepy again, and then my first mouth-cleaning delivered its parting burst of minty freshness, putting me back on track. It'd fade before breakfast. Science was really something.
Minimal mode spared me the usual chipper wardrobe advice. Given the "weather" -- that's another joke -- I went with a basic black T-shirt and matching sweatpants, plus those clever boxer briefs pretty much every man wears these days if they're not going commando. After more than twenty years of good behavior, I didn't have to go into chastity; that was nice. I got to focus on comfort and ease-of-access. That was the funny thing about being a man. You got locked up tight unless you were a model citizen, but then also, everybody wanted to make sure your cock was easy to reach.
In the kitchen, I complained with my mouth half-full. "This doesn't taste like seven."
"Given your lack of morning release," Healthee said, "adjustments were made."
I shrugged. "Okay."
Healthee and House pinged their recognition. If they'd been real people --
if
-- then it would've been happy, and maybe a little relieved. They weren't, though. It was all science to keep me "happy," though "stable" was probably a better word.
The clever science stuff above the kitchen sink cleaned my mouth again. The second minty blast would be much longer-lasting.
The private transport pod was waiting, linked to the apartment. I understood. I was full of cum that had been promised to the shelter. They didn't want me strolling around outside, even though Healthee was always pestering me about going out more. It didn't insult my intelligence by referring to "fresh air" and "sunshine," like in those old movies, but it was the same idea.
I flicked on a game in the pod. I was fine at them -- not great. I didn't do multiplayer stuff often. Farah hadn't cared for them. That made them a safer escape. I'd been playing them too much since she'd left. Healthee had opinions on that, too. My exercises every day mostly shut it up. I was very fit. I would've been fit without the exercise; that's just how it was for everybody. I was an old dog in a new dog's body, and would be for another twenty years at least. Healthee was convinced the exercise was good for my mental health, though. I disagreed, but wasn't smart enough to argue.
"Destination," the pod AI said, breaking ten minutes of near-silence from the duo. Healthee had transmitted the "Minimal" command to it. That had been something, at least.
