by Jeremy Bates
Things had been going well enough he’d almost forgotten about her shitty traits.
“Can you not do that?” he asked her.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Be so shy.”
“Oh. Well, I—no, I don’t think I can. It’s—”
“One of your traits.”
She nodded. “It’s how I act.”
“But can’t you just not do it?”
“Not be shy?” Her face fell. “You don’t like me?”
“No, it’s not you,” he assured her. “It’s just your traits.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
Her face fell further. “You don’t like any of them?”
“To be honest, they’re all pretty shitty. Like, all second tier.”
“But—they’re me. So you don’t like me?”
“We’re going around in circles here, babe. Now, come on. Just try.”
“Try?”
“To not be shy! It’s not rocket science.”
“But I can’t…What do you want me to do?”
“Stop being shy!”
“Am I being shy?”
“Not right now—”
“So how—”
“Just try! Okay? Just try!”
“I can’t! I don’t know what you want me to do! I’m not even being shy!”
“Fuck!” Mr. Kim said, and stormed out of the kitchen.
Chapter 8
“Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets.”
Andy Warhol
Mr. Kim went directly to his bedroom and paced for several minutes, cursing everybody from Cassandra to Newbotics to Ryosuke Domoto, whose bright idea it had been to give Mechs traits in the first place. Then, exhausted and depressed from the day’s events, he went to bed.
He’d been lying there for what must have been half an hour now, unable to sleep, feeling sorry for himself, for his terrible luck, when there was a soft knock at the door.
“Yeah?” he said, surprised.
The door inched open to reveal Cassandra standing on the other side. Although Mr. Kim could see little more than her silhouette, he was pretty sure she was naked. She was resting one hand on the doorframe, the other on her hip, no doubt trying to look sexy.
“Were you sleeping?” she asked softly.
“No,” he said.
“Can I come in?”
He hesitated for an extended moment, to make sure she knew good and well who was in charge of the situation.
“Okay,” he said finally.
She padded across the room to the bed and slipped beneath the covers.
Suddenly Mr. Kim was filled with excitement—and fear. The only woman he had ever slept with was Julie. She had once told him he was great in the sack, but what if she had only been saying that to feed his ego? What if he wasn’t great? What if he wasn’t even good? Were Mechs programmed to know good sex from bad? That was something he’d never researched, something he’d never even contemplated until this very moment.
Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “So you want to shag, huh?” he said with as much machismo as he could muster.
“I just want to make you happy,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty insatiable, just so you know.”
Cassandra pressed her breasts against him. They were warm and soft, the nipples hard.
Already turned on, are we? Nobody can resist The Whiz!
She touched his chest, then slowly, sensually, drew a finger down his stomach—and that’s when Mr. Kim realized something was wrong.
He was not aroused! Not in the least. And to make matters worse, he felt smaller than usual, all shriveled up.
“Uh,” he said, “maybe we should…”
She touched his flaccid penis.
“Oh,” she said, surprised.
“Just, uh, just play with him for a minute.”
“Okay.” She feathered her fingertips over his penis, then caressed it. She even pinched it between a finger and thumb and flicked it back and forth.
Nevertheless, the only thing growing was his mortification.
“What should I do?” she asked softly.
“Just give him a sec. He’ll get big. Huge.”
She continued playing with his penis before moving on to his testicles. But when none of this elicited any response in him, she buried beneath the covers and rotated her body, so her head was by his genitals and her ass practically in his face. She began performing fellatio.
Mr. Kim had no idea what to do himself. But he felt stupid simply lying there with his hands at his sides like a stiff in a box, so he reached for her swinging breasts. They were just out of reach. He leaned forward a bit, and now her ass really was right in his face.
Was this supposed to be sexy?
One of his hands found a breast.
She moaned.
He squeezed.
She moaned more loudly.
“Pinch my nipple,” she said.
“Really?” he said.
“It feels good.”
He pinched.
She squealed.
He pinched it again.
She squealed again.
“Slap my ass,” she said.
“What?”
“Slap it!”
The tangle of bedding turned his effort into more of a lame pat.
“Harder!” she said.
“The sheets are in the way!”
She whipped them free. “Slap it!”
He slapped. “Should I do it again?”
“Yes! Spank me! I’ve been a bad girl!”
He spanked her.
“Yes!” she said. “I’ve been so naughty!”
He spanked her again. “Yeah, you have!”
“Tell me how naughty I am!”
He spanked her a third time. “Real naughty!”
“How naughty?”
He spanked her so hard his palm stung. “Real naughty!”
“I want to fuck you so bad. Do you want to fuck me?”
“Yeah!”
“Say it!”
“I want to fuck you!”
“Who wants to fuck me?”
“The Whiz!”
“Then fuck me!”
***
Mr. Kim didn’t end up fucking her. No matter what they did, he just couldn’t get an erection.
It was Cassandra’s fault, he knew. How had she expected him to get turned on with her ass in his face? And all her dirty talk didn’t really help either. It had just sounded stupid.
And she was a Mech, for Christ’s sake! You think she’d know how to pleasure a stud.
You really hit the jackpot, Whiz. A Shy Mech that doesn’t even know anything about sex.
Holy cheating Mary!
“It’s okay,” Cassandra said to him now. She had turned around so she was lying next to him again, and although there was no ridicule or disappointment in her voice, the comment nevertheless pissed the hell out of him.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“Maybe tomorrow?”
“Whatever.”
“Well, um, maybe I’ll go make a tea?”
“Do whatever you want.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
He didn’t reply, and a moment later she slipped out of bed and left the room.
Mr. Kim tried to get to sleep.
Chapter 9
“It is beautiful to be what you are.”
Jean Paul Gaultier
Mr. Kim didn’t have sweet dreams. He had nightmares as usual, though he didn’t remember any of them when he woke in the morning, only that they had involved Julie and had left him feeling shaken.
Squinting against the bright light streaming through the bedroom window, he sat up—and remembered the sex fiasco of the night before. He glanced at the other side of the bed. It was empty.
Mr. Kim got up. He usually didn’t bother getting dressed until late morning or even noon.
Sometimes, if he had no reason to go outside, and the weather permitted, he would kick around in his boxer shorts all day.
Now, however, he had a babe in the house, and even if she was a babe with shitty traits that didn’t know anything about sex, she was still a babe, and he couldn’t just strut around in his boxers—not, at least, until he lost a few pounds from around his waist.
So he slid open the closet door and grabbed his blue bathrobe with the Superman logo emblazoned on the back. He pulled it on and tied the sash.
Clark Kim, bitches!
The old house didn’t have an en suite. Instead the master bathroom was off the upstairs hallway. He went to it and flipped up the lid of the toilet so he could urinate.
He frowned.
The toilet had been cleaned. The porcelain glittered, and green disinfectant colored the water in the bowl. Even the first sheet of toilet paper above the roll had been folded into an origami leaf.
Mr. Kim quickly urinated and flushed—ignoring the toilet’s remedy for a hangover—then went to the sink. It had been cleaned too so that the faucet and basin were spotless. His toothbrush, dangling in the Magic Suction Toothbrush Holder, had been turned so the bristles faced toward him. The toothpaste tube dangling next to it had been cleaned of any dried gunk and the bottom end flattened, rolled tightly, and clamped with a medium-sized binder clip.
“What the hell…?” he said, scowling.
He flipped open the medicine cabinet. All the sputtering bottles and vials that had been left there to die slow and undignified deaths were now polished and rearranged in perfect lines.
Goddamn neat bitch! he thought. Had she spent the night cleaning?
Mr. Kim brushed his teeth aggressively, then spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the basin. He was about to turn on the tap, to wash the mess down the drain, when he decided to hell with it, leaving it where it was.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Puffy bags lurked under his eyes, his hair stuck up in all the wrong places, and a bright red pimple had formed on his forehead.
“Where is she, Kimi?” he asked.
“In the kitchen, Whiz,” the house AI replied.
Mr. Kim went downstairs—the first floor was immaculate, not a spot of dust to be seen anywhere—and all but burst into the kitchen.
Cassandra stood before the stove, humming to herself as she cooked something in a cast-iron skillet.
Seeing him, a smile flowered on her lips. She wore one of his T-shirts, which fell to her thighs.
“Good morning, Whiz,” she said radiantly. “Did you sleep well?”
“How would I know?” he grunted, in no mood for small talk. “I was asleep.”
“Right—well, I’ve made you breakfast. There’s bacon and some kimchi-fried rice keeping warm in the oven. These eggs will be finished shortly—”
“What the hell have you been doing all night?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” she said, appearing confused by his outburst.
“Did you spend the night cleaning?”
“I—no, well, yes, I tidied up a little, and I mopped the floors—”
“Don’t clean!” he snapped. “I like my stuff how it is!”
“But, I—it’s one of my—”
“Just don’t!”
He stormed out of the room.
***
Cassandra knocked on the door to Mr. Kim’s study a few minutes later.
“What?” he snapped without turning away from the news he was reading on CNN’s smartsite.
She pushed the door open a little. “I have your breakfast, Whiz. Did you want to eat it in here?”
He waved her in, still not turning away from the smartsite.
She set a plate loaded with food on the edge of his desk.
“Would you like tea or coffee?” she asked.
“I don’t drink tea.”
“Coffee then?”
“That would be a logical deduction.”
“Sugar?”
“Hell no.”
“Okay,” she said, but didn’t leave.
Mr. Kim waited impatiently, pretending to read the news story in front of him, but he was unable to concentrate on the words with her just looming behind him like a goddamn shadow.
Finally he turned around and looked up at her. “What?” he said, exasperated.
She smiled resignedly. “Nothing.” She started to walk away.
“What?” he demanded.
She stopped. “I understand that…I understand you—”
“Just spit it out!”
“I understand how this might be a bit strange for you, a bit of a change, having someone else in your house, a stranger. And it might be a bit of a difficult adjustment at first. But I just want you to know that I’m happy I’m here, I’m very happy, and I’ll try to do everything I can to make you happy too.”
Mr. Kim thought that over, then said, “I’m going to be working all day. Try not to disturb me too much.”
He went back to reading the news.
Chapter 10
“You have to have doubts.”
Giorgio Armani
The breakfast Cassandra made him turned out to be pretty damn good, and Mr. Kim devoured everything on the plate in a few minutes. The coffee she brought him wasn’t bad either, but a little on the strong side, which he was sure to point out to her so she wouldn’t screw it up again in the future.
Then, finally, she left him in peace.
Mr. Kim tried to get into his work—he’d yet to make any progress uncovering the trail of the stolen bank money—but he was finding it extremely difficult to focus. He kept thinking about Cassandra and wondering whether he was being too hard on her. So he didn’t get a top tier Mech. So what. He got a second tier one, and he was going to have to live with that. Was that really such a bad thing? After all, he was perfectly happy with the Honda parked in the garage. He wasn’t griping because he didn’t have a Lexus or a Cadillac instead. So why was he making such a big deal about his Mech?
Because you’re not going to have sex with your Honda, Whiz! You’re not going to take it out to dinner. You’re not going to marry it.
Was he going to marry Cassandra? That had been his plan whenever the inevitable law was passed legalizing human-robot marriages.
But did he still want to marry her now?
Tie himself down to a Shy/Neat Mech?
For life?
Mr. Kim ended up spending the next two hours on Newbotics’ smartsite, reading all of the literature regarding re-rolling. Then he navigated to a review aggregation site to read about the experiences of owners who had re-rolled their Mechs. Their reviews were a mixed bag, with those who’d gotten a decent re-roll largely saying it was worth the money, while those who’d gotten a shit re-roll disparaging the system and vowing never to give Newbotics another cent.
Mr. Kim focused on the positive reviews:
My new Mech changed my life…
Like night and day compared to the old one…
Highly recommended!
You won’t regret re-rolling…
I love the new one to death…
Just do it! Your dream Mech awaits…
***
He could do it too, Mr. Kim decided, after having analyzed the funds in his bank accounts. A re-roll would wipe out his entire savings, but the money was there. He wouldn’t need financing. A quick bank transfer, and he could be re-rolling tonight.
Your dream Mech awaits…
***
Mr. Kim found Cassandra in the laundry room on her hands and knees, scrubbing the grout between the floor tiles with an old toothbrush.
She smiled up at him. “Hi, Whiz—”
“I’m re-rolling you.”
***
Cassandra leapt to her feet, her Audrey Hepburn eyes widening to the size of silver dollars.
“What?” she demanded. “You’re re-rolling me? But why?”
“I don’t like your traits,” he said simply.
“But—but you h
aven’t given me a chance yet. I can change.”
“Nuh-uh. You already told me you couldn’t change.”
“I can work on myself!”
“Listen, babe,” Mr. Kim said, “you’re a nice girl and everything, but I need…more. You know what I’m saying?”
“But…but… Oh my…” She looked down at her feet.
This time, however, her shyness didn’t bother him.
Because tomorrow you’re going to have an all-new Mech, buddy boy!
Savor the day!
“Don’t look so sad,” Mr. Kim told her. “I’ve read all about this. You don’t feel a thing.”
“I know. It’s just—it’s happening so quickly. I’ve only lived one day.”
Mr. Kim gave her a shit-happens shrug.
“I haven’t even painted a picture yet,” she added. “I was going to paint a portrait of you…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a downer. But this is just a bit much for me to take in.”
“You have to accept this!” he said, wanting to sound stern, though he came across as whiny. “You can’t say no. I’ve read the rules. You’re programmed to accept this.”
“I know that. I accept your decision. I’m just…sad, is all.”
“Okay, well, that’s good,” he said, relieved she wasn’t going to put up a stink. “So let’s say five o’clock? That’s in about two hours from now. I’m not going to throw a re-rolling party or anything. But I want to have a couple of beers to celebrate. Hey—maybe you can squeeze in that portrait of me before…you know…?”
“I think I’m just going to lie down.”
“Sure, sure, that’s you’re prerogative, babe. You do what you have to do. Just make sure you’re in my study in two. And don’t be late.”
***
Mr. Kim had a shower and a shave. Then in the bedroom he changed into a slim-fitting black shirt and matching slacks. He swapped his hexagonal eyeglasses for a similar pair with tinted lenses, and he styled his hair into a moptop that swooped across his forehead.
Studying himself in the large mirror above the dresser, he virtually switched the color of his outfit to white, then to red, then back to black, deciding to stick with what he had already put on. He tipped his reflection a wink.
