Telephantom

by Gentry Race

  “Like I said, sounds like a bad case of the Femroids. You should see a doctor about that, doctor,” Trevor quipped.

  Dr. Betamax looked at Ms. Joy like he was her disappointed uncle. Playing on this thought, Trevor bolstered his false confidence by trying to take command of the interrogation.

  “So, Betamax, cut the crap. You want to turn this town into a freakshow. Yeah, these sorts of things don’t usually turn out well for the population,” he said.

  Dr. Betamax and Ms. Joy were silent as they looked at each other, confusion blanketing their faces.

  “I’m sorry, son. Were you even listening to the plan while you were upstairs?” Dr. Betamax balked. “You sound like a corny radio serial. I am your friend, Trevor. We will all be fine. Trust me.”

  Trevor stared intently into Dr. Betamax’s eyes, trying to find the truth, but nothing seemed to register. “Okay… If you say so, Dr. B…”

  Trevor turned away, walking back up the stairs.

  Dr. Betamax flipped the switch on the Teledeportator to ‘Send.’ Electric arcs fired above the machine, opening its door, and Betamax stepped in with a weaselly smile.

  “Ms. Joy! Take care of that buffoon, and please… put your damn wig on,” he yelled out from within the machine.

  Ms. Joy was hesitant, looking around for a weapon to use. She grabbed the nearby fish bowl and chucked it at Trevor’s head.

  “Whoa! I only like tuna,” he retorted, catching the rim of the bowl with his mop and gyrating it around into a seamless alley-oop back toward the Femroid.

  The fish bowl and all its contents hit Ms. Joy hard, knocking her down on the ground and ricocheting toward Dr. Betamax. He caught the fish, and the bowl, just as the Teledeportator’s door closed.

  “No, you idiot!” the doctor yelled, screaming in agony just as the machine completed its process, vanishing everything inside in a bright flash.

  The interior of machine was now empty.

  Trevor brushed his hands together like he’d finished a hard day’s work. “Well, that about does it.”

  He looked back at the Femroid on the ground, weeping. Here was a beautiful robot woman with no place to go. Could she possibly need my help?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “He left me,” Ms. Joy said.

  Trevor walked over to the poor Femroid, looking down at her, and even closer at her beehive wig to make sure no insects were in sight. “You know, you look tired, Ms. Joy.”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were running with mascara, and she sniffled ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve been running in my mind all day.” Trevor gave her a flirtatious smile.

  Ms. Joy smiled and squirted white liquid from under her dress.

  Trevor was perplexed by the color. “What was that?”

  “It’s my acidic secretion. Sometimes I get… excited,” Ms. Joy explained.

  Trevor felt easy around her, especially knowing he was making her happy. He had felt his dick swell under his radio-valet jumpsuit as she told him that. For the first time, he had a beautiful woman — errr, robot — on her knees, and she was getting all creamy. He had never had this happen to him before.

  “You know, I am gonna have to clean that up,” he told her, stepping closer as she got to both knees.

  “Well, I can get a little… dirty,” she said. She rubbed his legs up and down slowly, lightly passing over his plump member under his uniform.

  Trevor felt every nuanced touch. His dick felt trapped, engorged. He reached down for her soft breasts, each one a perfect replica of a real female’s. He pulled them out, revealing dime-sized nipples that were softer than pink itself.

  “Your breasts are amazing,” he said impulsively.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, “Dr. Betamax modeled them after the voluptuous Marilyn Monroe.”

  Ms. Joy, still on her knees, rose up from sitting on her feet. She grabbed Trevor’s main zipper on his uniformed suit and gently pulled it down. He wiggled his radio-valet vest off his arms, and it all fell to the floor. Her eyes lit up when she saw his swollen member just under his tightie-whities — it looked like a meaty, coiled sausage, ready for a brewfest.

  “Now, that’s quite the equipment you have,” she said, pulling his dick out and straightening it to its proper length. His tip was wet with beads of precum.

  Trevor clenched his cheeks, jutting his dick out as for as he could to get it closer to Ms. Joy’s mouth. He felt her wet lips purse slowly against his tip as she opened for a mouthful. It was heaven. Thoughts ran through his main head while she slurped on his other head down below.

  This is my first BJ, and it’s from a robot!

  With a loud smack, she cleaned off his dick, not leaving a drop of her saliva behind. He watched Ms. Joy wipe her mouth off like she’d just had a whole knob of ice cream. She laid back and opened her legs.

  “You, uh,” Trevor stammered, curious what was under her dress. "You normal down there?"

  “I am only a beta version and not complete,” she said, grabbing his dick and plunging it into her mouth again.

  Ms. Joy was so hot, and she wanted his shaft bad. He felt the tip of his dick glide between her wet lips and pushed it into the softest world he ever felt. Trevor gyrated the way he swung his mop around. In and out, side to side, feeling each groove inside her mouth. The tip of his dick seemed to hit something soft inside with every other thrust.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  Ms. Joy tried to open her cock-filled mouth and unhinged her jaw one notch, gurgling, “Fit your balls into me.”

  Trevor pumped faster and harder. The motion was heaven-like, building to a crescendo like an orchestra. First the overture, the strings, and now the brass! His balls swished on her tongue now, his dick in her throat.

  Ms. Joy’s eyes rolled back. Sparks flew from the back of her neck, and her wig came off. She was short-circuiting, bald, and wiry, but Trevor didn’t stop. He was so close to finishing.

  “If you cum in me, I will double—” Ms. Joy gurgled.

  “Double? Double your freshness,” Trevor began to sing the melody of his favorite commercial. “Double your fun…”

  THUNK!

  His mop stick slammed against his head.

  Trevor fell to the side, trying to get a sense of what happened, but it was too late. His dick popped out of Ms. Joy’s mouth, and he felt it tighten and pulsate rhythmically in the air. Cum shot out in long, white, silky ropes; he was surprised how much distance it got. Then, as if someone had showed him a picture of his mother, his dick went limp, and he realized his juice was all on a man standing in front of him.

  “Doublemint cum?” he finished lamely.

  “Gross!” Eric yelled, batting Trevor’s head again. “You’re a nasty son of a bitch.”

  “Well, look who likes fucking dolls,” Missy said as she popped out from behind Eric’s large frame. She was fully clothed now, to Trevor’s disappointment. Her disgusted look changed to a humorous one when she got a sight of his white-goo-tipped pecker. She then blurted, “He’s a gusher,” and covered her mouth.

  Trevor could see that Eric was slightly jealous of her gander, as he shot Missy a cold look. “Nevermind that. Turn on that machine.”

  Missy nodded, walking her sexy butt over to the machine. She yelled out like some Saturday game show host, “Now for the next contestant, Pervert Janitor Boy!”

  Missy came over and cracked the mop stick over his head again.

  The room was spinning, and his ears buzzed with noise. He felt his body thud against the cold metal walls of the Teledeportator. After a clanking noise, the air got hot and thick. He was sitting naked, covered in cum, when he realized that Missy and Eric were waving goodbye with menacing smiles.

  “Let’s burn this place,” Eric said.

  Missy slammed down the Teledeportator switch. “But first, let’s fry him.”

  Rogue energy waves struck Trevor’s body, rattling the Teledeportator.
A flash of light ensued, and then he felt nothing more.

  There was only blackness.

  4

  Beyond the Wreckage

  The ruins of MolecuLab smoldered in the distance among the cold morning fog, though sunrays peeked through, trying to illuminate what was left of the jagged iron structure. Anita Dickens rode passenger next to her dad, Dr. Dickens, trying to get a better glimpse. Her soft, brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun, as if not to bother her. She wanted to be treated like a scientist, not a doll.

  Despite her professionalism, she couldn’t hold back the emotion when her stomach sank, as they pulled up to the charred entry gate. MolecuLabs, the place where she had accepted her first scientific position was now destroyed— a fire had occurred.

  “What do you think started it?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the destruction, trying to spot a piece of her research that might have survived the inferno.

  “Dr. Betamax was working late last night, but no one called in the fire until it was too late,” Dr. Dickens said sadly.

  Custodial technicians were seen all about, sifting through the wreckage. Anita paid no attention to these small-minded folks. They were there just to clean up. If only they’d make the effort to achieve something higher, they could be so much more.

  The large car pulled up as close as it could, but custodial technicians had blocked off the area where the fire had burned fiercest. Anita recognized the stage, the now incinerated balcony, and her destroyed achievement — the Teledeportator. She shot out of the car, pushing past the officials still sectioning off quadrants for their investigation.

  “It’s all gone,” she said with tears in her eyes. All my hard work — gone.

  Her father walked up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She could tell he was just as hurt.

  Something caught his eye, and he moved past her, kneeling down to examine something shiny. He picked up a broken piece of glass, inspecting it and shaking his head.

  “I told him we should have stuck with the refrigerator. Hell, even a Delorean. People don’t get excited about refrigerators anymore,” Dr. Dickens said. “They want phone booths and futuristic cars.

  “That’s ridiculous. Refrigerator or not, this fire happened.” Anita said, walking past him, kicking the burnt wreckage. She spotted burned clothes sporting a flag she could still make out. “Russians,” she noted.

  Dr. Dickens’ eye caught on another shiny piece of the wreckage, surprisingly not covered in soot. It was rectangular and had writing inscribed on it.

  “‘ROVERT’,” he sounded out.

  “What does that mean?” Anita asked, still looking off at the smoldering tragedy. She looked back to see her father closing his eyes, searching for the answer.

  “If I remember correctly, ‘rovert’ means… ‘to devolve to a vegetative state’,” he said confidently, kicking wreckage as if to uncover more clues.

  Anita just stared at her father in disbelief. He was always running with hair-brained ideas, jumping to conclusions.

  Dr. Dickens picked up the burnt flag, putting two and two together. “The Russians.”

  “But why would Dr. Betamax want to help the Russians?” Anita asked.

  “We need to look closer,” Dr. Dickens replied. “Most likely, my colleague wanted to use the Teledeportator to help the Soviets develop a biological warfare weapon.”

  Anita stared blankly at her father’s suggestion.

  “You see, by applying the fault process of the Teledeportator to potatoes, he can turn them into vicious sprouts that could, in turn, put the whole town to sleep using alcoholic fumes,” Dr Dickens surmised.

  “Vodka?” Anita balked.

  “Precisely,” he confirmed.

  She couldn’t believe what her father was suggesting. “So, Dr. Betamax was planning on developing biological warfare with the Russians using potatoes to produce vodka?”

  “You need a clue, my girl,” Dickens teased, trying to make wordplay on her name. “The Soviet uniform and the message ‘ROVERT’ — meaning ‘vegetative states’ — were no accidents.”

  Anita paused for a second. “Father, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Potatoes don’t even grow here in Prime City,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, but if you could teledeport potatoes from somewhere else… Remember what happened to Cosma?” Dr. Dickens asked.

  Anita felt sad, thinking about what had happened to her old friend. “I remember. Please don’t speak of it. It’s too painful.”

  “That’s why, my dear, we have to reconstruct the Teledeportator and find where Dr. Betamax has gone. Perhaps we can solve this enigma and end his madness.”

  Dr. Dickens’ old mansion sat on top of Claremont hill, at the end of Willamette Falls Drive. While rumored to be Victorian architecture, the less ornate and monumental style truthfully represented the Edwardian period in which it was built. Anita felt fortunate to have grown up in such a venerable residence.

  She and her father now stood in the basement laboratory just in front of a partially assembled Teledeportator machine. While the lab was christened with mad scientific equipment, exuberant trinkets sat along rich mahogany furnishings, like some kind of 'Tales of the Astonishing’ museum.

  Having spent most of the night trying to reconstruct the apparatus, they looked at each other in agreement, deciding they had a fine replicated product. This one had been made from the original blueprints, housing a small centered window, and resembled a nineteen-sixties refrigerator.

  Dr. Dickens grabbed the switch on the newly constructed Teledeportator that read ‘Retrieve.’ Anita’s heart raced in anticipation. There was no telling what would come back.

  Dickens flipped the switch down, turning the machine on. Blue electrical arcs sparked all around the machine. As it rumbled, Anita could see small flecks clumping together, beginning to jet voluminous rays from within each of the particles. Like fairy dust sparkling in the sun. She leaned in closer to get a better look, and what had only been particles was now a humanoid form.

  “It’s working! I see something… A man,” Anita confirmed, looking at the screen that read ‘ERROR’.

  The humanoid figure began to turn slightly opaque. Anita cocked her head when she realized it was not Dr. Betamax she was looking at, but two round, bluish, glowing mounds. She was speechless and wondered if she and her father had conjured some sort of Jell-O. She waited a moment and realized the mounds were not Jell-O, but two butt cheeks, translucent and revealing bones inside like an X-ray image.

  Anita fell back. “What in the hell is it, Father? OMG!”

  Dickens moved past her and peered into the small, waist-high window. The figure inside turned around, filling the window with a large, meaty cock. “Well, it looks to be Gonzo from the Muppets. You remember Gonzo, sweetie? That was your favorite show.”

  Anita shook her head in disgust. “That… is a penis.”

  Dr. Dickens realized what he was looking at and covered the window. “By god, your virgin eyes!”

  Anita smiled. Her dad was not too privy on her affairs as a grown adult woman. She peeked inside again and could see the man now in full, as he floated away from the window. The retrieval had been a success, but they’d brought back something unexpected. Is this Dr. Betamax? Her anger swelled inside of the possibility of who it was. Thoughts of where Cosma had disappeared to filled her mind.

  “Let’s see who this culprit is,” she said.

  She leaned forward and grabbed the Teledeportator handle, opening it. Steam shot out as she cracked the seal, jetting the gas from within.

  Trevor’s body began to fade along with the mist.

  Her father was quick to close the door in response. “No, my dear, he is dissipating,” Dr. Dickens said. “His biological molecularity is unstable. We must contain him.”

  Trevor was now fully awake.

  Anita could see the face of a young man overlaying a bony skeletal structure. She didn’t mind the grim sight, having studied h
uman anatomy in college. This was far less horrid than the sight of a cadaver.

  “If his molecules spread too much, that might be the last we see of him. We must contain him,” Dr. Dickens continued, “Either that, or he will need to learn how to control them himself.

  The young, translucent man squirmed and kicked. His face was a mask of terror now. He began to convulse and go into shock. Then he was still, simply floating in the substrate that kept his body together.

  Anita stepped back. She had never seen anything like this before. An unstable molecular structure of a man. She remembered what happened to Cosma. The pain these two were experiencing must have been excruciating and it was her fault.

  “We must make a suit for this… phantom,” Dr. Dickens said finally, locking the door shut.

  Trevor opened his eyes. They were heavy, and his body was too numb to feel the gentle motion of the globular liquid, swishing back and forth. He felt like an infant, lying in a mother’s warm womb. He felt more confident, but unsure where he was exactly. He looked down at his hands. Soft, blue skin was translucent over what looked like denser bone structure. He looked lower and saw that his penis was different now. Bigger.

  “What happened to my dick?” he asked in a panic, but only heard the faint echo of his own voice come back to him.

  The shadowy figure of an older man suddenly appeared in the small window before him. Trevor looked closer and instantly recognized Dr. Dickens, his employer. Relief fell over him, knowing that if anyone could help him, it was the doctor.

  “Hello,” he said reluctantly.

  “Yes, hello. My name is Dr. Dickens. What’s your name, son?” the older man asked.

  “I know who you are. My name is Trevor. I am a custodial technician for MolecuLabs.” He knocked on the thick Teledeportator door. “Now let me out of here! What the hell is happening to me? I’m a goddamn monster!”

  “Calm down, you nincompoop,” Dr. Dickens said, looking off while fiddling with the dials. “You are in this mess because you were not wearing your radio-valet vest in the first place.”