Monday, September 26, 2011

Spanner 19.2: The Perfect Girl

I had Cure song titles in mind for this and the previous installment. Last section’s title didn’t quite fit the text, so I added a word to it (the song in question being “The Snake Pit” from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me). This section’s title (from the same album), however, proved... perfect — but not for the reason you’d expect. Also, if you notice my style changing to grammar’s detriment (I the grammar nazi), I’m learning how D.H. Lawrence liked to use incomplete sentences as prose poetry, remembering the late futurist FM-2030’s notorious fondness for colliding adjectives or verbs together without commas, and realizing I no longer need to overuse the word “then”.

...from previous

Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 19: Hackers of Reality
Part 2: The Perfect Girl
5 november 2011...
Robert Shelley is thirteen today. Arvid Shield, his beautiful uncle with pale skin and long black hair, gently kisses him on the lips. Rob says, “I’m scared.”

“I love you, and I only want you to be happy. But what you need is sexual healing. I’m going to make love to you. I promise to be gentle.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Arvid gently nudges Rob to turn over. He marvels at the boy’s beauty. He is just as gorgeous from behind as he is in front. He goes over to the dresser to take an elastic hair tie to tie up his hair and a tube of lubricant. Returning to the bed, he caresses and kisses the boy’s beautiful butt. Rob moans sweetly. “Relax,” says Arvid as he massages Rob’s anus. After a few minutes of this, Rob melts.

Arvid sticks the tube slightly into his anus and squeezes some lubricant into it. “It’s cold,” Rob giggles. He sticks a finger in and gently massages. When Rob’s rectal muscle relaxes, he inserts a second, and then a third, until he’s ready.

“I’m going to make love to you now. Are you ready?”

“I don’t care anymore. Just do it.”

Slowly, gently, he slips his erect penis between the boy’s beautiful quivering buttocks and into his waiting anus. “I’m going to teach you now. Relax.” Rob cries out when Arvid’s penis reaches his pleasure spot. When it’s in all the way, Arvid says, “Now squeeze as hard as you can.” Arvid slowly, carefully extracts his hard phallus; Rob tries to crush the hard phallus the way he taught him, the way a woman does.

Arvid repeats the movement over and over, bringing himself and the boy to escalating ecstasy and shattering climax. He falls on top of the young beauty and holds him firmly yet gently. “See? It wasn’t that bad.”

“But why do you make love to me when Grandfather rapes me?”

“Because you are sweet and beautiful, and I love you.” Arvid gives Rob a long and passionate kiss. “Do you love me?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“Yes. Please do it.”
17 october 2014.
suburban house.
In a standard suburban house in a standard suburban neighbourhood lives a writer of standard conservative thrillers named Joanne Partridge. She scorns her effeminate son Kenneth enough to put his bedroom in the basement. She never fails to remind him that she reserves the master bedroom to herself because she is superior to him. At least it has windows, he thinks.

Shira gave back the crumpled hit list she stole from him. She told him neither she nor he no longer need it because the targets are perfectly happy to save them the effort by taking each other out. Now it lies on his desk. He stares at it as if trying to divine some occult significance from it. It does not respond.

Kenny believes he is a failure even at being evil. He failed to take out the Student Council. He is a wimpy emo non-athlete. His grades are relentlessly mediocre. The In Kids constantly punish him for the crime of not having pull. Or he has pull, but refuses to use it to his advantage like they do. They accuse him of having a conscience like it’s a bad thing.

He crumples the paper for the last time and tosses it across the room. How dare the Student Council deprive him of his revenge! At least if he blows up the principal’s office and takes out that smirking creep of a principal, the drill-sergeant fascist vice principal, and their concentration-camp commandant, at least he can go out in a blaze of infamy. But then he remembers that if he survives, he’ll be just another crime statistic like Shira said, and then a footnote in obscure criminology textbooks as Jennifer patiently explained in explicit detail. He gives up on the idea.

He takes out the netbook from its hiding place in his desk and opens it. It boots into Ubuntu Linux; he insists on the standard XFCE interface instead of the limited Netbook Remix. Beautiful dark-skinned Shira shamelessly opens up her nude body to him in the beautifully processed photo he uses for desktop wallpaper. He hates himself for his impotence. She silently tells him she can cure it. Her laughter echoes in his head. She is laughing at not him, but his mother, the frigid bitch.

He fires up Libre Office Writer. The blank document stares at him blankly. He remembers what the writing books told him: don’t bother structuring your novel in the first draft; just write. The voice of reason tells him that though his mother’s standard conservative thrillers instantly sell millions of copies to Party members whether enthusiastic or unwilling, her works will not survive. His can if he just writes them right. He loads the novel he’s working on. It reads as badly as a network news pundit’s ghostwriters. It’s only a first draft says Reason. He ctrl-ends to the end of the file, remembers where he left off last time, thinks of Shira, and types.

downtown Seattle. Billy Bob Skeever is a politically powerful oil trader and weapons dealer known for his eagerness to deal with terrorists and enemy nations strictly for profit. He married five wives in succession; each bore him a son before he divorced them and screwed them over. The last was a granddaughter of Thomas Drake Becket of Dictel, Incorporated. She is still his wife, and her child — Roger Becket Skeever — is his golden child, his heir, his prince.

The resentful sons of his gold-digging exes are gangsters. The oldest is Johnny, Marine sniper turned professional hitman; the biggest is Geordie; the meanest is Tony; the craziest is Eddie. That’s Eddie Evil, lead singer (sic) of hate metal band Gang. In the living room of ultra-luxo top-floor flat overlooking Elliott Bay that their father bought to stash away his wife, they glare down at baby brother Beck.

“I’m told,” growls Johnny Skeever, “you and your friends keep getting your dicks handed to you by a girl.”

“Her name is Shira Thomas,” snarls Beck bitterly. “She loves to fuck with us. She’s got Bart freaked. Charmian’s obsessed with her. Bitch’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”

“You think Shira Thomas is crazy?” wails Eddie. “You should see that psycho Eurotrash girlfriend of hers.”

“You mean she’s got a girlfriend?” marvels Geordie.

“Leila Renata Shelley, AC/DC fashion model, ninja goth girl, and total fucking nutcase,” Beck explains. “So fuckin’ psycho, she and her pretty-boy faggot twin brother got kicked right out of Pretty City.”

“That’s fucked, man.”

Eddie shakes his head violently. “Talk about fucked, you see her slice and dice Frankie Becket’s devil man into bite size bits?”


“We was fuckin” trying to sacrifice some fuckin’ Wog whores to the Devil, and here come fuckin’ Shira Thomas and her crazy-ass Eurotrash ninja girlfriend with the fuckin’ Slasher Hunters to fuck everything up.”

“Shit, that’s fucked.”

Johnny says, “We’re gonna have to do something to fuck that bitch up.”

“And her crazy-ass ninja girlfriend.”

Beck moans, “You go after those chicks, you guys better be really fuckin’ careful.”

Johnny crosses his arms and looks at Beck like he’s nuts. “What the fuck are you sayin’, Beck? You afraid of a couple of fuckin’ girls?”

“Fuck the Slasher Hunters, bro. It’s the girls. You better be afraid of those two. They’re fuckin’ nuts.”

Mudlark House. Connor tests out Tansie’s lovemaking abilities by making love to her while Jennifer looks on. He kisses her deeply; her lips are soft and kiss him beautifully. He caresses, kneads, sucks, and nibbles her breasts in order; she responds with sweet moans and obvious pleasure, or at least an excellent simulation, though her skin tastes a bit rubbery. He licks her nether lips, nibbles up and down each one, rubs her clit with her teeth, plunges his tongue deep into her cunt, squeezes her soft buttocks hard; she moans, screams, writhes like a real woman, and her vaginal lubricant tastes as sweet and delicious as a real woman’s, a very good sign. He slips his penis deep inside her; she squeezes and releases it with the skill of a master and somehow prolongs and intensifies his orgasm. He tries not to take too long so he can save her for his sister.

When he empties himself into her and collapses onto her, he gazes into her beautifully engineered eyes and is surprised to find not just a perfect innocence but something that can only be called deep love. Jennifer observes them up close. “Connor, she loves you!”

“Did you simulate that?”

“This is too perfect for mere simulation. It has to be an emergent property, like true emotion in real humans. Oh, this is so beautiful!” She playfully slaps her brother’s naked butt. “My turn!” He struggles to get off while she rushes to climb on.

Jennifer gives her robot girl the most passionate loving kiss she can muster. Tansie’s lips and entire body respond with what in a real human could only be love and overwhelming desire. When Jennifer breaks the kiss at last, Tansie gasps, “I love you.” She looks at Connor, and Jennifer lets him kiss her. She says, “I love you too, Connor.” Jennifer is overwhelmed by excitement; she gets off Tansie to remove her contacts so she can see the gynoid’s energy patterns directly. What she sees shocks her.

“What is it, Jen?” asks Connor.

His sister turns to her, eyes and mouth wide open. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “It’s so beautiful. Her energy patterns are pure like I’ve never seen in a human. They show a perfect innocence and a pure heart that would be impossible in a real woman.”

“Jennifer, you are an absolute genius.” She beams with excitement and pleasure.

She tells her robot girl, “Tansie, I’m going to lie down beside you. I want you to make love to me.”

“Can she do lesbian sex?”

“All the best models can, and she’s the best.” She directs Tansie to roll onto her, runs her hands down her smooth body from her shoulders to her soft buttocks, kisses her deeply. The robot girl kisses down her body, slowly down, searching for pleasure spots on the way to her breasts. Whenever Jennifer lets her know with louder higher cries and explicit directions, she stores the location in her memory.

Tansie caresses her breasts, first gently, then harder, then sucks them. She nibbles and then bites the nipples at Jennifer’s request. She kisses downward toward her cunt, kisses the nether lips, opens them, licks them, kisses the hard clitoris, rubs it with her teeth harder and harder, plunges the tongue up her moist slit. Jennifer’s screaming ecstasy tells her she’s doing it right.

Jennifer cries out, “Mount me! Now!” Tansie obeys. She locks their cunts together, puts their clits in contact, rubs them together. They share their pleasure and scream out their love in discordant harmony. Once they finish, Jennifer lowers her smiling blissful gynoid onto her, caresses her soft smooth body, kisses her long and deeply. “I love you!” gasps Tansie.

“I’m in love with you too. You’re so beautiful. I’m so glad you’re mine.”

Connor looks down in pleasure at his sister and their beautiful robot girl. “How’d she test?”

“She’s perfect.” Jennifer goes back to kissing Tansie’s soft lips.

Bangor squats. Scope follows Amanda Currie through crowded alleys, around squalid shanties, past illegally occupied warehouses and mini-storage units, keeping his focus on her always. “What the official news networks refuse to tell you,” she reports, “is the rumors of sex slave rings operated by gangs in the slums. If this were a case of ‘Missing White Woman Syndrome,’ they’d inform you immediately and relentlessly, and the authorities would shut down the slave rings immediately. But though the clients are white, the slaves are not, therefore it’s a non-issue and simply the way things are done in America. But injustice is still injustice, no matter how you officially spin it. ‘The way things are‘ doesn’t cut it.”

What would Rebecca Street do? she asks herself. Her soul wordlessly answers; at once she knows exactly what to do. She spots some suspected slave traders, directs Scope to hide, and uses herself as bait. Her microphone captures their conversation. “Hey, lookie that!” “Yo, that’s some fine white tail.” “How much we gonna get for that?” “She looks worth a lot.” “Let’s go for the big score.”

She captures every word clearly. Her viewers catch every single one.
Shira sits before the camera wearing a blue sailor-suit school uniform. Two burly men, one tall and one short, sit behind her. She smiles bashfully.

I’ve got something to confess. I admit I’ve been doing wrong. I’ve decided to blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...

She starts to remove her shirt.

Big man:
Oh, no!

Small man:
She’s malfunctioning!

...blah, blah, blah, blah...

Shira (or her simulacrum) continues to monotonously repeat the same syllable as the two men forcibly stop her from stripping. She throws them off; they fly to either side, out of the picture. She throws off the scarf, proceeds to tear the blouse’s thick fabric in front with an audible rip, throws it behind her. With one yank she snaps off her bra and discards it. She shows off pert pretty breasts with large nipples. She stands up, drops her skirt and panties, exposes shapely hips and hairless pubis...

Yo, Rat Bastard! You think I’m stupid? You must be trying to make our viewers think I’m a robot.

The camera follows her to her left. Leaning down she embraces the naked smiling Shirabot sitting in front of her. Bliss holds Freddy Freakbeak up, using the Furby to strategically cover her breasts with her forearms.


Bangor squats. Amanda flees the gangsters. They giggle psychopathically. She lures them into a rival gang’s ambush. The two gangs trade punches.

A gangster tries to grab her. She wiggles her way out and kicks him in the groin. He takes out his gun, shoots at Scope, is shot, falls down. Two gangs, then a third, shoot at each other.

Shira’s apartment. Naked again, Shira watches in fascination as her own father has sex with her likeness. Bliss pleasures him like an expert, the way she was designed; he pumps her harder and lets himself lose control. Sparks, still dressed, hugs her from behind and asks, “How can you watch your own dad having sex?”

“He and Mom gave up trying to keep me out when I was three. They know I’ll watch whether they like it or not.”

“Well, it looks like he’s actually having sex with you.”

“Hot damn if it doesn’t turn me on.”

He looks at her strangely. She winks back.

KCUF studio. When Amanda returns, the crew greet her like a conquering hero. Their cheers, hugs, and encouragement give her a euphoria she has never felt as a reporter before.

Desiree throws herself joyfully screaming into her arms. They jump up and down together, losing themselves in each other, their hero worship mutual at last. And for the last time, the soul of Amanda Currie and the image of Rebecca Street fuse to become one.

Shira’s apartment. Ric Thomas drinks lots of water and lets himself cool off. He pisses the water out into the toilet. He wanders into his daughter’s bedroom and finds Bliss lying on the bed awaiting him, lying on her side, legs open and bent. He jumps her. She answers with a wicked grin. He goes cold as he realizes this girl is not Bliss, but Shira.

He tries to leave. “No.”

She traps him. “Yes.” She kisses his lips hard, slips her tongue through them deep, not letting go. They struggle for minutes. She releases him, he gasps, she pants.

“Shira, don’t do this.”

“Give up already. I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”

He glares at her furiously. She smiles at him with undisguised lust. “Well, then. So how are you in bed?”

“I’m a savage.”

They lock lips more furiously than before. She bites his ears hard, he squeezes sucks bites her breasts, spears her; she turns him over tops him crushes, roars teeth clenched howls screams, clamps his penis down renders him helpless, tortures him into endless beautiful blissful hurt; he explodes into her, she explodes him, they melt merge fuse into one—

—then fall apart, collapse her atop him, shake their heads violently to regain their equilibrium, stare into each other’s eyes, stare deep. They breathe hard at first but regain their breath. Shira says, “I’m in love with you, Cedric. I have been, always.”

“Shira, you shouldn’t have done this.”

“Too late now. I’m not a child anymore.” She plants a sweet deep kiss onto his unwilling lips, signalling no more words necessary.

Suddenly they sense another presence. Leila stands next to the doorway, drenched in sweat, hand on cunt. She has been accompanying their pleasure with her own. Ric fights off embarrassment. “What’s she doing here?”

“Don’t worry about her. She likes to watch.”

Black Tower. In the highest office in Seattle, Governor Brinkman and R.G. Litton watch Shira blue defeated by Shira yellow. Brinkman frowns. “It almost looks as if she’s anticipating your every move.”

“Bitch got some skills. Plays a hard game. Oughta hire her.”

“Good luck trying. You and I know full well she’ll laugh in your face.”

“Hmph. England won all the battles but France won the war. I’ll get the last laugh yet.”

on to the next...

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Copyright © 2011 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.
Creative Commons License

[Revision 2, 9/26/11: Opening flashback taken nearly unmodified from first scene of chapter first draft; Skeever Brothers scene heavily modified from first draft to fit new continuity; everything else all new material.]

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