e Story Magda POV tintel, playman, lovemake, bed, love

Magda:

1.0 You are Magda. You live many, many centuries in the future when our world is a faded memory. You know nothing about babies, youth, or men since you are 85 years old. Tintel, the computer, regenerates your beautiful perfect body when the time comes. You take it all for granted. Playmen you construct. They must please you. You construct them from recycled parts using Tintel, you don’t know the intricacies. It’s artificial you know but when artificial has been used for a very long time it becomes natural.

This day will be exciting you think as you rise and shower. The ultrasonic shower seems to take forever. You dress, rush to the re-cycler, open Tintel and the re-cycled organ bank.

It lies waiting for you, within the re-cycler base on the lev-field. Playman 256. It will be the best one yet in your long line of experiments. “Now, my lovely” you mentalise as you connect pipes to the aortic arteries of the cadaver, “Just fill you up and you will be ready for me tonight”. You add, licking your lips in anticipation. “What time revival, Magda?” Tintel asks within your mind. “Set auto-revive for 8:30 this day”, you mentally reply.

You walk to the bed and array a ritual lovemake outfit on it as you’ve done many, many times before. You hear 256 filling up with blood, a soft almost sensual sound for you. You walk to the front wall pass through it without thinking, your mind locked on tonight and playman 256.

You walk to the transmit centre all alone. You always leave early to avoid the playman rush. As you walk along the metal corridor at work, beside the playmen workrooms your mind reiterates your experiment. Playman 256 will be re-vived in mental isolation of Tintel. Fact one you mentalise. Yes, it will have to learn, not re-cycle already known facts stored in the re-cycled brain. The genitalia modifications, Fact 2, you mentalise. Playmen genitalia appear to have two ducts not connected. These appear to produce hormones needed for learning you have deduced. So, 256 genitalia will have these ducts connected. His learning power will be increased. You nod, assenting to yourself as you enter the rest room where Catrina and Bellina sit waiting for the shift to commence.

2.0 Catrina nods good morning while Bellina turns away from you. Never liked the bitch anyway you mentalise. You sit in the spare chair. Bellina turns to you, bitching, “I hear you are up to playman 256 or something” she says. Catrina is amazed. “256? What happened to the other 255?” she adds. Embarrassed you explain your theories. Catrina sits listening in amazement, then, as you finish she adds, “Tintel must still be making mistakes” nodding, one-upmanship-like, agreeing with herself.

“Mistakes?” you query. “Yes, last week I discovered Tintel was adding something to the water we drink. Research showed it to be some substance the ancients used to stop their playmen misbehaving.”

You are both puzzled and intrigued. “What was the substance called?” you ask. Catrina looks upwards, trying to remember, “I think it was termed ‘mens-stration-inhibitor’.” She triumphantly, proudly adds. “I stopped Tintel from doing this hoping our playmen would learn to misbehave, we will have to see if it will work.” Bellina laughs, “If her 256 misbehaves she’ll have problems. It will get in the way of true lovemake,” She turns to Catrina, “Do you know she has specified an enormous genitalia for her 256?” You almost rise to the bait but calm yourself knowing Bellina. Catrina merely ignores the comment as the soft start-work tone sounds.

You rise with the others; today you supervise the largest work quadrant, some one thousand playmen. As you proceed you think of them and how they will be inferior to your 256 now being physically re-vived by Tintel to be ready to lovemake with you this night. You look at the wall, thinking time, the wall transmutes to a clock.

It is 7:30 a.m.

Your mind imagines: Tintel commences re-vival of 256. You’ve watched many, many times before. The blue flashing of life forcing, the cessation of infusion, the actual time of life stirring with the playman, blood now flowing independently of Tintel. But this day is different. Tintel suffers a brownout, rare in this society.

Had you been there you would have seen Tintel’s screen flicker, for 500 milliseconds displaying ‘Playman 256, Lifeforcing.’ Then, ‘Blank,’

‘Playman, April 25, Year 2001, time 7:30 a.m.,

Lifeforcing ----------.’

3.0 You return home eagerly, since playman 256 awaits you, awaits your every desired whim. You rush in to find it unconscious on the floor, its genitalia erect and stiff and an eye organ you forgot to re-cycle beside it. Concerned you invoke Tintel to examine it. Asleep is the diagnosis. You throw the useless eye organ back into the organ bank. You dress 256 in typical playman pajamas and with difficulty lift it back into its re-cycler. Your concern diminishes excepting for the erectness of the genitalia which you’ve never encountered before. ‘It feels very nice as it pushes into my groin area,’ Your mind notes when lifting 256.

You have a quick ultrasonic shower and spend time, a lot of time making your face stimulating. You instruct Tintel to play some ‘lovemake’ stimulant music and increase stimulant emission from 256’s arousal implant. You hear 256, it whimpers. You go to the re-cycler look down on it, ask, “Are you awake 256?” It groans as if in pain, curls up into a ball, spittle running from its mouth. Concerned you bend, attempting to lift it into a sitting position. It makes mouth-sucking noises as you are unsuccessful lifting it. Concerned you console, “Now, 256 calm down. Nothing is going to hurt you”, and step back from the now quivering playman. You wonder if some of the organs you used in assembling it were damaged.

You take its hands, examining, “These don’t hurt do they?” you ask. This seems to make it worse. “Come over here,” you add and lead it towards the bed. You sit beside it very puzzled. The genitalia’s permanently sticking out from its loins continues to worry you.

You are amazed when it says, “Why do you call me 256 when my name is Jonathan Thomas?” You squeal with delight, rotate and throw yourself face downwards on the bed, invoke Tintel’s audio mode and begin. “Begin recording, voice mode,” you instruct. “I think I have at last done it. 256 does have creative thought. It has even given itself a name, ‘Jonathan Thomas”.

You continue pouring out your data summary to Tintel, you prefer verbalization to just thinking it but then feel a hand on your leg, tracing up to your frontal small hole area. You turn; sit up and grab 256’s hand. “What are you doing, 256?” you ask grabbing its hand. 256 whimpers, crosses its legs. You stand facing 256, look down on it. “You are my playman number 256 and we have a lot to learn tonight. Most important is I must teach you to lovemake this night, to please my every wish,” you instruct it as you’ve done many, many times before. Two hundred and fifty-five times you mentalise. 256 opens its legs, reaches up to grab you trying to pull you down on it. You push it back, instruct, “No, 256, wait there.”

You turn; go through the wall to the shower.

4.0 You take an ultrasonic shower, put on a bland cotton nightdress remove the remnants of the stimulant makeup and are surprised to find 256 under the bedsheet on your return. You walk to the re-cycler initiate Tintel and decrease the effect of the arousal implant in it’s head. You walk to your bed. Lying down beside it you mentally invoke Tintel, voice mode and record your intent, “The sterile brain of 256 is making it fearful so I have instructed Tintel to reduce arousal in its brain implant. I will now teach 256 to lovemake.”

At last, you think, as you part your legs exposing your clitoris to the best stimulation height according to the lovemake standard, ISO 9000, leap on the playman and commence the act you’ve yearned for, for decades. To your surprise the stiff genitalia of 256 helps. It attempts to reach up and pull you down onto it, which annoys you. You gasp, “No’, between motions, “256”, just lie there, that’s what playmen, ………are, ………supposed, to do”. You culminate screaming in delight. Finished, you roll off 256 and drop, consummated beside it. “Oh, 256, that was nice”, you gasp. “It’s finished?” asks 256 “Of course”, you reply somewhat satiated and turn over. “But what about me?” It whimpers at you. Puzzled, you turn to face it, “You? Why, what about you?” you ask. “Shouldn’t I get something out of lovemake”, it replies. More puzzled you say, “You? Why, no. Playmen are for our enjoyment, not the other way around.” You turn away from it again. “Magda, I hurt”, it says. This concerns you so you sit up, turn to it, ask, “What is it, 256?” The answer confuses, “I need to kiss you to make the hurt stop”, it utters. “Kiss? What is that?” you reply. “May I show you?” It utters. You are puzzled, inquisitive “Why, yes, if it stops your hurt, please show me.”

It slowly sits up; reaches out to pull you close. You are puzzled.

5.0 It’s face overpowers you. You are attracted to it for unknown reasons. Its lips touch yours and yours tingle like never before as it’s tongue parts them sending uncontrollable shivers down your spine. You don’t know what is happening. Lost.

You try to pull back but its tongue flicks in and out like some universal hypnotic command, you subside, become compliant, subservient. A woman.

You feel it removing your nightdress, slowly kissing, nurturing, softly caressing every inch of you with its lips, teeth and tongue. Always driving lower, your breasts, each one getting attention, your midriff, navel, then onto lower areas, depths unimaginable until you lay prostrate before it. Demanding. Wanting, a now participating complement of mutual lust never before experienced in your long life.

The penetration of its hard, erect organ mystifies you. It hurts as your hymen ruptures for the very first time in your long life but somehow seems right. You thrust your hips like as in lovemake and it moans injecting fire deep within your belly, time and time and time again. You bite, scream, kick, squeeze and moan in delight at your ‘first time’. You make mad, passionate lust with 256 until the early hours of the morning.

6.0 You wake, the memory of the night before stirring you. You mentally invoke Tintel and begin to record your concerns with 256, it must have defects. You pause, panic rising, realizing its not in bed with you, its re-cycler also empty. You panic more, get up and run to the eating area. It sits there throwing good, nourishing food all over the floor. Your “And what do you think you’re doing, 256”, disturbs it. It turns and smiles, looking at you in a manner most disturbing, sucking away your normal female confidence. Cautiously you sit opposite it, take food off the table and slowly commence eating. “I said what are you doing, 256?” You reiterate. It smiles again, says nothing. You get agitated. Playmen do not act in this manner. “256, what did you do to me last night?” you ask. Its smile turns to puzzlement, “Last night? I made love to you.” “No you did not.” You quickly reply. “I showed you how to lovemake and then you went and spoiled it.” 256 smiles, again, defiantly, “Why, didn’t you like it?” “Yes,” you say, confused over the truth, “I mean no, playmen are not supposed to act that way”.

It shrugs, sorts amongst the food for something else to throw on the floor again. You eat in silence casting awed glances at it.

The fire within your belly is still there torturing your sanity. You rise when finished and hesitantly tell it to clear things away before it goes to work. Carefully you leave the eating area. You walk back to your bed, sit on it trying to make sense of what is happening to you.

It walks past ignoring you and enters the ultrasonic shower. You pick up its ident and move to the front wall waiting for it. It appears dressed for work. You open the main doorway and hand it the ident as it leaves through the door. You stand there for a long time watching it become one of the faceless playmen walking along on the road towards the transmit booth.

You return inside and clear up the eating area. 256 also disobeys, you mentalise. You work this afternoon so you begin a contingency plan to prepare for playman 257 just in case there is really something wrong with 256. You leave for the afternoon shift somewhat late.

7.0 Your shift over you rush home, rush past 256 sleeping in its re-cycler. You excitedly want to know what its been making at work for you. It used enormous amounts of energy Tintel’s workplace log had informed you. You mentally instruct Tintel ‘Food’ and the sight on the table meeting your eyes angers you.

Nothing to eat, everything you touch crumbling and falling to dust in your hands. Angrily you go to your bed, reach under it and take out the stimulator. You hesitate, thinking back to the night before.

The memory of the fire in your belly decides for you. You shrug and replace it back under the bed.

You confront the supine form of 256, “And what do we do now, 256?” You ask standing looking down at it your hands on your hips, very angry. It smiles, sits up, and rubs sleep from its eyes. “What’s up?” it meekly replies. You angrily stamp your foot grab its hand, dragging it from the re-cycler and leading it into the eating area where you show 256 everything it made at work this day is rubbish. 256 giggles. You’re not amused, “We’ll have nothing to eat for a long time”, you angrily accuse, picking up a half-formed breast that crumbles to dust in your hand. 256 giggles again making you very angry. You grab its hand and drag it back to its re-cycler. You initiate Tintel. “If you continue to disobey me I will re-cycle you”, you malevolently state. “Re-cycle?” It says. And giggles again.

You calm and get confused, “Why, all playmen know that. You will be taken apart, organ by organ and the organs will be re-cycled so that we can make better playmen.” You shake your head in disbelief at its ignorance. It suddenly runs back to the eating area. You stand there not sure what to expect. It return with armfuls of the rubbish from the table, piles it into its re-cycler. “What are you doing, 256”, you ask querulous. “Go-on then”, it says, daringly, “Recycle that lot then and we can make some proper stuff.”

Your eyes light at it’s ingenuity, you initiate the re-cycle sequence watching the rubbish re-cycle marveling and getting excited at such a creative thought from your playman, you were right after all. It does have creative thought!

8.0 256 runs to and fro from the eating place to the re-cycler dumping armfuls of rubbish into it. You watch, then something catches your eye. You reach; pick it up, your hand tingling at its touch, your body quivering. “What is this?” you ask, so excited by it’s touch. “It’s called a nightdress, I made it for you,” it replies.

You cannot get your garment off fast enough to put this silken fantastic ‘nightdress’ on. Each time you touch it quivers run down your spine, makes you emit gasps of pleasure. You run to sit on your bed fondling the nightdress cooing and bubbling with its feel.

Ages seemingly pass and the sensation slowly diminishes. You lie on the bed; you must record this tumultuous event. A real, thinking playman at last. You invoke Tintel, voice-mode. First you enter data and on and on until, “…And with a mi-nute amount of tuition 256 made absolutely fabulous garment for me, ‘nightdress’ it called it. And it really thinks it has the name, Jonathan Thomas”, you add. “Magda, what do I do?” from 256 interrupts. You turn, breaking your thoughts, “Why, nothing 256, go to sleep.” “Do we lovemake tonight, Magda?” it asks. “Go to sleep 256, I will tell you when”, you aggressively retort. “All I have to do is lie here thinking?” it spontaneously replies. You get excited, jump off the bed, run to its re-cycler, “And what do you think of, 256?” you excitedly ask. “All this”, it replies, “What happened to me. Who you are?” it adds. “I have already told you, 256”, you reply, looking down at it. “I don’t really know who you are, why you’re so beautiful”, it adds. Intrigued and complemented you prance. “I am Magda. I am eighty-five years of age” you reply, taken with its comment. “I had my first bust transplant at thirty”, you add, pruning your firm breasts, one in each hand, “and my total body skin was replaced at sixty”, you add. “But what about babies”, it asks. You stop in mid-prance. “Babies? What are they?” You shrug; continue prancing and telling it about your lonely life, how many playmen you’ve recycled.

You get lost in your own words until it suddenly grabs you, pulling you close, saying, “Your breasts are so firm”, which puzzles you, they have always and will always be firm. “Like the breasts of an eighteen-year old”. This annoys you. No one you know is younger than thirty. You slap it’s face and return to the bed to lie there more confused over its possible good characteristics one moment and absolutely awful ones the next.

9.0 256 interrupts your thoughts, “Magda?” it whines. You chastise, “Sleep”. “But Magda, I hurt”, it replies. Concerned you look over. “I hurt. SO much” it adds. You jump up, rush to the re-cycler, something really is wrong with it.

“It’s not your genitalia, is it, 256. I have wondered why it always sticks out,” you ask, reaching over to access Tintel. “I will take it off and replace it. It will not hurt.”

“Yes, that’s it, I can show you how to make it go away.” It replies, stopping you in mid-reach.

You look down at it, wonderment setting in at such self-diagnosis, “Please show me how, 256” you ask. It grins, “I must serve you. Will you let me? If I cannot serve you I must recycle myself”. In all your long life you have never heard such a thing. Especially from a playman! It makes you gasp. Makes your juices commence flowing. “256, I wish you to serve me but only I must recycle you, Oh! 256!”

You leap astride it into the re-cycler touching its wall. You scream, “Re-cycle, Oh, 256. -- Re-cycle, Oh, 256” completely elated in the moment, wanting to lovemake with it, Oh so much.

It commences pelvic thrusting and moving like it should in lovemake, which arouses you more. You close your eyes like it should be, thrust harder, crushing your clitoris between the labia majora and its very stiff genitalia.

10.0 You lovemake so hard you fall from the re-cycler to lie dazed on the floor. 256 gets out from the re-cycler pulls you to it.

You continue thrusting at it, moaning, “Re-cycle, Oh, 256.” It stops your thrusting and slips its tongue into your mouth. You start trembling as its tongue drives you insane.

The feelings you experience cannot be explained. Then it removes its tongue and says, “I will show you my lovemake” as it removes the nightdress and slides downwards on your body stopping to caress your breasts with its soft tongue, one you had deliberately chosen from the re-cycled organ bin, the tongue caressing your navel and your secret areas that send you to the floor in a quivering ecstatic, waiting, longing want. 256 penetrates you, giver and taker fused into an indescribable sense of one, a mutual orgasm that satiates your longing, your being, through to the core yet brings despair in an unknown manner. A coital union nearing complete love, unknowingly.

It wakens you by softly kissing your face. You sleepily react. Think of the night before when it’s lovemake methodology drove you mad. You think over and over trying to recapture the feeling never experienced before. It certainly is proving you correct you think. Then panic sets in, you’ll be late for your shift. You rise and rush for the commitment.

11.0 You rush home after the shift. You feel funny. A longing, never before experienced, deep within your stomach.

Randy it would normally be termed, but you have no concept of this state. 256 lies asleep, on your bed, seemingly to you waiting to serve. The sight of him makes your nipples harden, a searing pain starts within your stomach, you know not why. You long for him to take each breast in his mouth like before. You know not why.

12.0 Quickly you don the lovemake outfit insatiability forcing neglect to put on the bizarre lovemake face. You rush to its side. Waken it.

Slowly it wakens. “It is time to lovemake, 256” you demand. “I’m too tired, Magda, love” it replies, turning over. “256, I order you to lovemake or I will stimulate you to do so” you admonish as you bend, retrieving the stimulator from beneath the bed. It turns over, “Stimulate me as you will but it’ll get you nowhere, I’m really too tired”.

You stamp your foot as always when very angry, point the stimulator at it and pull the trigger. You shrug and walk into the eating area, stimulator in-hand. You know it’s necessary but there’s something you cannot see in playmen after stimulating them.

You sit at the eating table mentally order Tintel, ’Food.’ When the blue light subsides your eyes widen at the array meeting them. Squiggly-looking red and white crispy things, which break in your hand but taste so delicious as never before. White, circular things with yellow centres, that run down your chin onto the eating table as you bite into them. They are so delicious you even lick the eating table savouring every new taste your almost extinct taste buds can stand. Glass bottles filled with coloured water, which tingles the tongue and burns the throat in a nice way, making you feel dizzy sometime afterwards. Then there are the peculiar shaped golden coloured cups with stems, so heavy.

You glance towards the bedroom area. Back to the volume of items 256 must have made that day. Mentally you calculate the energy requirement for the task and realise why he is so tired.

For the very first time in your long life you consider a playman as a man but do so unconsciously.

13.0 Guilt and concern rise within you for the very first time since your creation. You rush back to the quivering mass on the bed, take his head in your arms and kiss the rigid flaccid, stimulator-driven muscles in an attempt to stop the energy rippling through them, all in vain. You lie beside him. Caress his face.

Somehow water comes from your eyes. You don’t understand why. It’s the first time you have cried. The first time in your long life.

An eternity seems to pass, an eternity of profuse apology, then you notice he is regaining consciousness. You scatter apologetic kisses on his bald head. Hold him close, say with the hope he will hear, “I am sorry, 256. I should have realised you would be exhausted after making all that marvelous food for me. I forgot the stimulator was still set for 255. It had gotten used to it so I had to increase power. Please forgive me, 256”.

The wetness starts again. From your eyes, dropping down on his now sleeping, lovely face, baptising it. Your mind questions, “Why do you mentalise a playman, ‘Him’?’ But the thought passes in the moment without reality dawning on you.

You fall into a repentant sleep still holding this wonderful thing you have made close to your breast.

14.0 You are slowly wakened by 256 kissing your lips, his face close to yours as you still cradle him, mother-like in your arms. You feel his thing, which always sticks out, pushing into your thighs. You want that thing, Oh so much, want that thing deep inside you, spraying its warming fire throughout your being. But you withhold the desire, not knowing why.

You have no concept of the word ‘love.’ You smile, push his face gently away, and sit up. “No, 256, you are too weak to lovemake. You must rest this day. I will make excuse at work for you.” You get up as he rolls onto his back. You shower, dress and return to 256 still lying on his back. You bend, kissing him on the forehead and leave for the shift. At work strange thoughts commence entering your mind.

“Why do you call a playman “He”? again emanates across your mind, “Isn’t it an ‘It’?” follows.

You ponder this, for a long time. You decide caution. To carry on with playman 257. One cannot trust playmen.

You visit the Tintel library to do more research. It is late when you leave.

15.0 You return home. 256 appears not apparent but you are immersed in preparation for 257, your contingency. You open Tintel; commence input and data analysis on what you have learnt about 256 so far.

Deep in concentration you fail to hear him creep up behind you. As his hands slide under your upper garment to caress both your nipples, pushing them deep inside your breasts, you feel lower parts yearning in an attention-wanting fashion. His sucking mouth on your neck starts your whole being glowing.

You whimper in delight, turn only to find the delight of his tongue entering your mouth, yours in his in a game of eroticism. You carefully mute Tintel with your hand, hoping he hasn’t seen and slide it down his pants, grasping the item you initially thought was paining him, very firmly. It must soon pain you, you wantonly mentalise.

You are lost, electrified by his magic. You commence floating on a sea of love, as yet, not knowing, lost in desirous revelry in compliant consummation.

You both fall to the floor and make love, real love, to each other, all night long.

16.0 256 carries a peculiar golden coloured artifact laden with items wakens you. You sit up. He places the heavy item across your legs. You look down at the alien array of magnificent foodstuffs before you, knowing how glorious they will taste having been made by your playman 256. You look up at his lovely face.

He bends, kissing you, his tongue entering your mouth quickly, teasingly, soon gone, as he will be. You commence eating, savouring tastes never experienced before. Your whole body quivers as real nourishment commences flowing within its sterile, recycled organs mixing with the hormones released by Catrina’s meddling with the water supply. You feel alive for the first time as new life commences to grow within your being.

Finished eating you rise, shower and dress. You walk, yet feel it’s gliding some inches above the floor, to the eating-place. Eagerly you command Tintel to see what he has made this day for you. You see all sorts of garments appearing making you squeal with delight at their touch. Garment after garment you dress in, frolic about in and place each one reverently, in sequence, into a storage wall. Other things materialise, large things falling to the floor. You don’t know what they are, only wanting to dress in the magnificent items now stored within the wall and show them off to everyone, as has always been the wont of the women of all eras.

17.0 As time passes you do not notice how Jonathan changes the habitat daily, the bed changes, curtains appear, mirrors. You are lost in your self-conscious desire of daily worship from your peers when you display the garments he made for you only to return at night to his arms and the feel of the warmth of the beautiful fire he sprays within your new being. The thoughts of playman 257 are far, very far from your ‘now’ thoughts.

Then it happens. You return home from the nightclub. Jonathan appears angry. You know how to stem the anger. You run up to him. “And where have you been?” he asks. You smile, kiss him gently on the cheek, step back and pirouette about the room. “Everyone envies me, Jonathan. Even Catrina wants to borrow you. And it’s all your doing, all these lovely things you make for us.” You say as you dance off into the eating area. He follows, sits opposite you. He diatribes, as always, “But you never take me out, Magda”. “Out, why should I, Jonathan. You would not like all the attention you would get.” You respond. “I don’t mind attention, Magda, it’s better than being lonely here.” He adds. “Jonathan, if you promise to behave I’ll take you to the club. It may grow on you.”

You lean over to him, kiss him, your tongue now titillating him, you learn quickly, manipulatingly, like all women from any era. He tells you that he has something else growing. Compliantly you unzip his lower garment, delve your hand to grab the organ you initially equipped him with and giggle as he shudders with desire for you.

You teasingly let go of the erect thing, giggle, run back to the bedroom area, disrobe to only wear his shirt under the dress. You always wear the shirt knowing not why. He comes after you, tears his clothes off. This makes your erogenous parts harden in anticipation.

He brutally rips the shirt from your body as he takes you in his arms.

Slowly, very slowly you make love, not as lustful wanton things but as one becoming the other.

Each orgasm he has spurs you to your next until you seem to be floating on a sea of sensation never experienced before.

You become one in passion, movement, complementing each other as nature intended until he is drained of fluid and must wait to rejuvenate.

Then, for you, the best part. You lovingly fondle his hair; glowing with satisfaction he has given you. “What was that dung stuff you put outside?” You ask, followed by, “You don’t really believe the ‘seed’ things will grow in it do you?” He laughs. You get serious, “This hair growing on your head also worries me Jonathan,“ you say. And the hair you are growing in other parts must all be due to some modifications I was experimenting with,“ you add as your subsequent sounds are smothered by his kiss.

For the very first time in your long life you are deeply in love. In love with this old, young creation of yours, but you dare not tell him since you know not the feeling, the reason or the word for the feeling, they are unknown both to you and within your society.

18.0 You are dressed and ready to take Jonathan out. Out for the very first time. He’s been on about it for so long you felt you had to comply. “Do I really have to wear this stupid garb?” he asks. You smile, nod. You look down at the small ballet skirt girthing his waist, the gaily-coloured tights, and the turned-up toes clown shoes. So attractive you think, for a playman.

The huge, gaily painted enhancer protruding from his genital area makes you wet with desirous mouthing to swallow it. “Don’t worry, Jonathan, I’ll be the envy of all those bitches when they see you. After all, you did want me to take you out, didn’t you?” You add, trying to console the worry you somehow sense within your magnificent creation. He nods, reluctantly. You look down at the garment you now wear, Jonathan calls it a ‘bikini’.

Everyone tonight will worship you, you think.

19.0 You enter the club every woman stopping to stare at 256. You feel elated at this. You go to your table, sit, him opposite you. He seems embarrassed, you cannot think why, all the women there want him and he’s yours, your creation. Woman after woman pays respect to your achievement, 256, the result of experimentation with playmen. No one anymore will doubt you. Catrina sits congratulating you.

Jonathan rises and screams, “Leave my bloody dick alone, you, … you…” he cannot finish as he falls back to his seat sobbing.

You realise what they all want, at last. How naïve have you been.

He’s yours, all yours the thing they all want. Angrily you rise, step to the side, punch Catrina full in the face and cuddle Jonathan closely to you shouting, “All of you, Jonathan is mine, do you hear, mine!” before escorting him, whimpering away from the now awful club.

You have experienced what is termed jealousy but your society has no understanding of, or even knows the meaning of the word.

20.0 You lie beside your only true love not knowing it. He’s said this word to you many times before but you don’t understand.

This night you took him. He didn’t mind as it pleased him. He again couldn’t help cry out that he ‘loved’ you. It just came, at the precise instant you did, he did.

You glance at his face through squinting eyes, waiting for the word not understood.

It’s starting to irritate you now. The not knowing, not the feeling.

It comes, softly, “I love you, Magda.”

You open your eyes fully, lovingly trying to comprehend, your eyes showing the puzzlement, “Love? What is that?” You innocently ask.

He turns his back on you, pouting. Angry. “Jonathan, I asked what is love?” you add.

He gets up, fuming, goes to his re-cycler for the first time in a very long time, gets in pulling the velvet curtains closed.

Confused you turn over. You fester, selfish want building. “Jonathan, what is wrong?” your question is ignored. Again you ask becoming jealous of the word not understood, “256, if you do not obey me and tell me what is wrong I will re-cycle you,” again, it ignores you.

Angrily you mentally invoke Tintel, voice mode and instruct, “Re-cycle 256 at 12 midnight” you softly whisper, “Make ready playman 257.”

You turn over thinking you made it, so you can make another one. You drift off into dreamful sleep, whimpering and remembering him.

21.0 From the depths of slumber you call, “Jonathan, Jonathan…”

You dream he stands beside you saying goodbye. You whimper loudly at the loss, the total loss you dreamingly feel.

You waken slowly then reality dawns. You jump up, run to Jonathan’s re-cycler.

The cadaver of playman 257 there, inert, lifeless, the genital area awaiting the genitalia with further modifications you ordered.

You commence to cry, the only female in this insane world with the capability.

Pulling yourself together you take the new genitalia from the re-cycled organ bank and Tintel helps you attach it to the corpse still lifelessly dormant in the re-cycler. You connect up the blood aortic pipes. Command Tintel to life force but you know, somehow, it is all in vain. Jonathan has been re-cycled.

Your tears flow more.

You wonder why you feel so sick each morning. You’ve never been sick in your eighty-five years existence.

In the flickering blue light of life-forcing you sink to the floor crying your heart out not knowing what crying is or why you are doing it.

It is the first morning of the rest of your life.

END ------ GOTO Jonathan