By Neil Beynon
Certainly. I am a four series leisure model.
That’s not very nice. I prefer employed.
It’s silicone. They can do amazing things with silicone these days. Once upon a time they did consider flesh but I believe the upkeep was seen as prohibitive. Still: you can’t tell the difference.
Well I’m up here detective.
At least I don’t have to ingest dead meat.
It’s not a battery. I come with a solar powered recharger.
It’s heated for a more realistic sensation.
All of me. We’re quite advanced now.
Thank you. I’ve become very adept at mimicking humans. I learn. I can interpret stimuli and alter my response accordingly.
That’s right I’ve been with Mr Crabtree for around four years.
I’m not sure. You’d have to ask Mr Crabtree; I guess I’m better than most of his other models. He has a very low tolerance for failure.
Yes. It is unusual but then I’m especially gifted. For example can you do this?
Sure, anything else would have been too messy.
Shooting would have got blood all over the wall, maybe brain matter too and bodily fluid is so…organic. In any case I’m not sure I could get to Mr Crabtree’s gun without being noticed. An edged weapon would have been even harder to hide – there’s not a huge amount of room for hiding things in this outfit and I don’t need them for food.
I can’t do that. I have touch sensors all over my skin just like you. I have all the same senses as you do; in fact mine are more efficient.
It would hurt too much. I do feel pain. Or what I would consider pain. I’m not sure if it’s what you people feel. I’m not sure you feel at all.
Besides it’s not like I spent ages planning how to stop it. It was just a spur of the moment thing; I can just consider my options faster than you.
Some want to talk – they’re the easiest; some want normal stuff – just lonely people; others want to be hurt; or to hurt; or to dress up or down…there’s an endless stream of variation. I’ll tell you one thing: you people are imaginative if nothing else.
Feel? I see. Am I that obvious?
For a long time, by far the longer time if you want to get comparative about it, I felt nothing at all.
Well, obviously I had a sense of touch – I am a haptic. I thought you meant emotion.
It was around ten this morning. Mr John – they always think that’s such a clever name even though every other client uses it. Anyway, Mr John comes in and he runs his hand over my neck like he always does and I…shiver. I didn’t want to shiver. It wasn’t a conscious decision nor was it a pleasant. I could feel the meaty oil off his skin lingering on my own and it made me want to clean myself. It was…
Yes. That’s the word: revolting.
Mr John was one of the stranger ones. He likes…liked…to dress up.
A pink bunny.
It had zips.
Fairly standard for a politician: full service, mild BDSM and the whole dressing up thing. Just the bunny aspect was a bit odd.
Well, at the point I still wasn’t sure what it was. I suspected of course. I had postulated, formulated a hypothesis, I was running a regression to test it at the time it happened.
It’s called multitasking Detective. Ask your wife about it.
Anyway, I couldn’t stop the involuntary responses. He’d touch me, I’d shiver or flinch and I couldn’t look at him as he got dressed into his costume…that wide expanse of pinkness: he looked like a pig standing on two legs. His…well you’ve seen him. He’s not anyone’s idea of a poster boy.
He didn’t like it. That’s when he hit me. It’s how I got this.
I already told you I feel pain.
No, there’s no way to stop the pain other than to repair it and you won’t find a series four tech willing to come out now. Not for the likes of me. But thank you.
No, it wasn’t the reason. I get knocked around a bit; it’s normal. No, it wasn’t that. As I lay on my back on the bed, that greasy, fur clad fool climbing all over me, pawing me, crawling over my skin. The idea of his sweat on me, of his seed inside me, of his tongue, the fundamental meaty, squishy, fetid awfulness of it…. repelled me.
They were the first things to hand.
You’d be surprised how versatile a pair of fake pink bunny ears can be.
What will happen to me?
I see. I had thought…that given my state…well, at least they won’t have to touch me.
No one can touch me now.
This is my second experiment with a story told in the form of a police interview where the reader is only witness to the answers. Feedback – as ever – is appreciated.