By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

“Harley Banks calling Molly Banks … 8:00 AM … Harley Banks calling Molly Banks.”

The aggressive pitch of her twin’s voice bored through her brain like a hydraulic drill through frozen pavement. What could Harley possibly want at this hour? Molly had spent all night supervising the filming of Colin Channer’s novel, Waiting In Vain, and it was 6:30 AM when she finally stripped off her clothes and stumbled into bed. Now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Harley Banks calling Molly Banks.”

Molly glared at her Phone Center as it sat blinking mindlessly at her from her bedside table. Last night she’d forgotten to shut off the Voice Connect and it was now relaying directly from her sister’s Center into her own … and loudly! She hated that feature. It was an invasion of privacy, like dropping in on somebody unannounced used to be in the Busy Days, as they were now called, and she refused to participate. If she wanted to talk to somebody she telephoned, let it ring, and the person she was calling either picked up or didn’t.

“I’m still here … Clap on, Moll.”

“Clap on, clap on . . . the Clapper!” The old commercial danced its rhythmic way across Molly’s memory. This clapping business had started as an innovative aid for the elderly: Clap on some light for the old girl! Clap out that television and let the old guy get some sleep! Clap up some help for the old gal who’s fallen and can’t get up! Those claps were important. Nowadays, it was clap and gossip. It had become too much work to even pick up a telephone.

“Moll … I know you’re there … Clap on Moll.”
Apparently Harley had no intention of giving up, so Molly clapped.
“You woke me up Harley. This better be important.”

“It is! Cancel whatever you have planned for tonight. I’ve ordered a new Him, a Combo-Him, and he’ll be here late this afternoon. You’ve got to come over and check him out.”

“What’s a Combo-Him, and what happened to the Rich Guy model you were so happy with a few months ago? I thought you were going to stick with him at least until he’d taken you on a trip to the moon.”

“I kept him for a month, but he wasn’t programmed to talk about feelings and stuff, like the Sensitive Man was. And his equipment, shall we say, wasn’t as generous as the Football Champion’s was – that one was a real sex machine. Moll, everything I want in a man is available in one RoboType or another, just not all in one. So what I did was mix and match up my own special order, my Combo-Him. It cost a fortune, but … ”

“Isn’t that illegal, Harley? I thought the government strictly forbade cross-designing, that the only models available were the catalogued prototypes?”

“That’s all you can get at the Government Depots, but I called around to some of the Independent Him-Makers until I got one to take my order for a price, a hefty price, mind you. And since it was the first one they’d ever done, they wouldn’t guarantee performance, but I’m willing to take my chances. He should be something special, girl, so you just be here at five.”

The very thought of what Harley might be getting herself into was giving Molly a headache. They were identical twins, but scratch below the surface and you’d find polar opposites. Molly was conservative; Harley was impulsive. Harley loved nothing better than to work on her wardrobe enhancements while she watched her favorite Game and Reality Worlds. Molly still loved to read books and would spend hours at her computer devouring pages from the history and philosophy sites. However despite their differences, they loved each other desperately and every disagreement they had ended with a mutually acceptable compromise. Like now, Molly knew that the best response to Harley’s enthusiastic request was to give in to it. Besides, she was very, very curious.

“Okay, I’ll be there. See you around five.”

“By the end of tonight, you’re gonna’ want your own Him. See you later, Sis.”

“Bye.”

Molly clapped once more to disconnect, and then pressed the Do Not Disturb button. All incoming messages would now be saved in the Tele-Bank and she’d have some peace. Everywhere she went, it felt like somebody was watching her and feeding her information, so she guarded her solitude like the treasure it was. She wished she could sleep herself back to the Busy Days when everybody worked and played and made love to each other, when Robots were a thing of the future. But she couldn’t go back, and her problem now was that she was wide awake with a day off, and she was too tired to do anything with it.

She dropped her hand to the side of the bed and pressed the Lift and Breakfast buttons on the remote control panel. She relaxed against her pillows as the mattress gently hummed her into a comfy sitting position. She could smell the first drippings of her favorite Blue Mountain Coffee and her heating Danish, and wondered idly about what Harley’s Combo-Him would be like. Molly had never ordered a Robo-Him and at thirty-five years old she’d made love to only one real man.

She closed her eyes, and memories of Michael Murphy filled her. She could see his sculpted latte-colored face and laughing brown eyes; hear his deep rumbling voice; feel his touch. Her breakfast tray whirred up its shining shaft to stop on its arm-swing just higher than the bedside table. She pulled it closer and could feel the heat emanating from the metal pot. Breakfast could wait. She lay back warmed by thoughts of Michael, feeling hot with missing Michael, missing a man. She’d been a virgin when they met and an insatiably passionate woman when he kissed her goodbye for good. (He’d accepted a position on the President’s legal staff.) A part of her died that day, and the rest of her filled to overflowing with the remembered sight and sound and feel and smell of him.

Molly poured herself a cup of coffee, sipped, and thought of the beginning. Michael was a young lawyer, Molly a young writer, and they were teamed up to write policy emails aimed at attracting the female vote to candidate May B. Fine. (The female voting population then was 19.4% higher than the male population, and candidate Fine was determined to ride that demographic to victory.) She hung her political hat on two promises: First, shorter work hours for women, four half-days a week. And second, an end to loneliness. There were too few men and too many frustrated and unhappy women fighting over them, said Fine. She’d spend whatever it took on AI research and development, offer Roboticists lucrative incentives, and pave the way legally for a brand new world in which women had what they needed, Robots designed to keep them sexually satisfied. She was the first female presidential hopeful, in the first on-line voting election, and she touched a nerve with women. It was rumored that her backroom girls were encouraging women, wherever men were voting, to get under those computer desks and cock-suck their way to the right vote, and thus their leisure and sexual fulfillment. In any event, May Fine won by a landslide and at the very moment her victory was being announced, Molly was spread-eagled on a desk in one of the campaign headquarter offices, Michael’s tongue sucking her into a silent, screaming orgasm.

Molly put down her coffee cup. Her hands were shaking and her pulse was racing because her daydream was as real, hot, and raging as a forest fire in the wind after a long drought. Molly ran her palms in slow circles over her extended nipples. They were tingling, itching to be handled. She took one between each thumb and forefinger, twisting and squeezing, feeling the pleasure deep in her groin. She lifted her large breasts together, admiring their weight, form and cleavage. She had been embarrassed by her over-sized breasts until Michael. He loved them, said they were as big as his head. He taught her to love them. She took one baby gently, supporting it in both her hands. She lifted it lovingly to her mouth and licked before suckling it, before gobbling it greedily in her warm mouth. Michael. Her other breast was sensitive with need and so she gave it a turn, nibbling and biting, over and back across the line of pleasure and pain. She was dripping now. Her pussy was dripping and she could smell her pungent hunger mixing with the Jamaican coffee and the total recall of what greeted her face when she’d bury it in the crease where leg met Michael’s balls. She was touching her pussy, running her finger over her engorged clit, and her breath caught and released in irregular spurts. Sticky fluid escaped onto her fingers. Poised on the edge, she stopped, pulling her hand away for a second, prolonging the agony of her exquisite pleasure. She spanked herself playfully, she rubbed, she feather-touched until she heard herself begging: Please, please, please. And then she squeezed her fingers between her legs as slowly and then as tightly as she could, until she groaned release into the morning silence.

She lay still for awhile and then swung the tray over her lap. In the quiet calm that follows orgasm, she could admit it: She was lonely, lonely and horny. But the idea of a Robo-Him, who didn’t smell or care, repulsed her. She wanted a man, a real man. She picked at her Danish. It smelled of cherries and Michael’s lemony cologne. She was getting sleepy again. She pushed the tray out of her way, pressed Recline and sank back against her pillows. Through her floor to ceiling windows she could see an ice-breaker churning its way through masses of cold air that billowed over the frozen lake’s surface like moving clouds blown from the sky. Cold for July, Molly thought, just before drifting off.

She slept the day away, waking to the feeling that she’d almost been made love to, almost been loved, and wanting to be both. She was rested, restless and relieved that in an hour or so she’d be on her way to Harley’s. She didn’t feel like being alone. Should she drive? No, Harley would probably be serving Cunny Juice and that would make her too spacey to drive. Cunny Juice was one of Molly’s weaknesses. Touted as the woman’s pleasure drink, the female answer to what Viagra gave men in the Busy Days, it increased blood flow, enhanced lubrication, increased arousal, and placed orgasm within easy reach. Molly loved the way it made her feel and the only reason she didn’t keep it on hand was that she was afraid she’d end up playing with herself all day or even, God forbid, renting herself a Him. Laughing at herself, she ordered a cab, showered and dressed, and was ringing her sister’s doorbell at 5:10 PM.

Harley opened the door to Molly and her usually perfectly styled hair was an untidy mop. Her face was flushed and her incorrectly buttoned blouse was only half tucked into her slacks.

“Oops, have I come at a bad time?” Molly asked.
“No, come in. Come in.”
“This weather,” Harley said, taking Molly’s coat and hanging it in a hall closet. “We were swimming at Christmas and we’re freezing now. I don’t know . . .,” her voice drifted off.
They walked into the living room, and sat on the couch. A pitcher of Cunny Juice sat on the coffee table. Harley poured a glass for Molly and refilled her own.
“Let’s toast to Robo-Hims and all the pleasure they bring,” Harley said, lifting her glass and giggling crazily.
“You’re feeling pretty good aren’t you?” Molly said, sipping her drink. “I have some catching up to do.”
The sisters sat quietly for a moment. Molly could feel a river of warmth flowing through her body. A familiar tingling was teasing her clit, making her wet. She could feel tender hands stroking her breasts. The room seemed charged with sexual tension.
“Well, where is he?” Molly asked.
“Here’s in his chair recharging. He got here about three hours ago and Molly, we were in bed in five minutes flat. He’s supposedly programmed to respond to me, but to actually wait to get down and dirty until I call his name, Wildly Wong. But he didn’t wait.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear all this. I’m horny enough already,” Molly chuckled.
“First of all, he’s gorgeous,” Harley continued as if Molly hadn’t spoken. “Six feet four with strong features, handsome not pretty, and he has an athletic body to die for. You’re gonna’ want one so bad when you see him.”
“I want a real man,” Molly said firmly. “No Robo-Him for me. And my man won’t have to be perfect, just real.”
“You say that now. Anyway, as soon as he saw me, and you’ve got to hear that deep, rich sexy voice, he says, ‘Come here,’ and when I did, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. It was like his tongue and lips were charged with erotic electricity. I was so turned on that I wanted to cry. My knees actually got weak and he had to catch me. I still hadn’t said, Wildly Wong, but we went straight to the bedroom and he lay me down and started at my feet, massaging and kissing his way up my thighs to my pussy. I had at least six orgasms. I have never wanted to be fucked more than I did right then. But he stopped, got off the bed, and looked like he was leaving. ‘Wait one minute,’ I told him. He came back, stood over me and told me to beg. ‘Beg if you want cock,’ he said. ‘Beg!’ Well, you know, Moll, I don’t know where that came from because I let the Makers know that if anything, I’m a Dom, there’s no Sub in me. But when he asked me to beg, I did, Molly. He made me get down on my knees and suck his cock and I really got into it. It’s so long and it was so hard and spongy soft at the same time. I sucked and sucked it. They don’t come or anything, but they act like they love it. Then he told me to get back on the bed and spread my legs wide. I did and then he finally climbed over me and gave it to me. I came from a Robo-Man’s fucking cock about ten times. Molly, feel my heart and I’m just thinking about it.”
Harley took her sister’s hand and placed it on her boob. Molly could feel her sister’s heart pounding in her chest. Molly could feel herself creeping up the cliff of an orgasm, her panties drenched, and her own heart throbbing. The sisters sat sipping Cunny Juice, their faces flushed, their bodies primed.
“Am I going to meet this creature or should I just go on home and leave you to it?” Molly asked.
“I’ll go get . . .” she stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Sounds like he’s taken himself off his seat.”
“That’s not normal is it, for a Robot to have a mind of his own; to not wait for the social interactive command cues programmed into him? He doesn’t sound right, Harley.”
“Lighten up, Moll. He’s right enough for me and I’m looking forward to a long night of fun and games. So meet him, finish up you Cunny Juice and go home,” Harley laughed.
The two sisters sat together, their eyes glued to the steps leading down from the second floor. He appeared and the first thing Molly noticed, or rather felt, was his smile. It was as handsome a smile as she’d ever seen and warm like the sun. She could actually feel the heat from him radiating across the room. He started toward them and then stopped, looking from one face to the other.
“Two,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Two,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Harley said, getting up from the couch and moving toward him. “We’re twins. This is my sister.”
“Two,” he said again, his voice rising. “Two,” he said, moving around Harley and heading for Molly and the couch.
Instinctively Molly got up. This thing didn’t know anything about twins and nothing Harley was saying was registering. In two seconds flat he was standing in front of her, pulling her to him, one hand around her waist, the other massaging her mountains of breasts. He hefted them, feeling their weight. He twisted her long, rubbery nipples, one way and then the other. Her breasts were so sensitive. He was driving her wild. Harley? He puckered his mouth as if he were suckling at her breasts. Molly couldn’t think any more, not even of Harley. She was lost in quicksand under a drowning wave of sexuality. Combo-Him placed his hand in her hair and guided her lips to his. They were kissing. They’re tongues rolling across and around each other’s. Molly felt his hand on her ass massaging her, pressing her into him, into the largest bulge of a cock she’d ever felt. And still he was kissing her, now on her face and neck, licking her ears and now back into her mouth, devouring her. What about Harley? The voice inside her head was useless, pathetic. The Cunny Juice had worked its magic and she was too close to the fire. She could feel it hypnotizing her. She pressed her gushing pussy into his cock, finding that place where the fire was. And his tongue was plunging into hers, thick and slow at first, and then fast and furiously; his tongue was fucking her mouth. Her pussy was grinding her clit against his cock, fucking his cock and she could feel the fire getting closer and deliciously closer until it burned her, setting off rockets, sending her screaming into a blinding, scorching orgasm.
Molly fell back on the couch, breathless, confused and ashamed.
“Oh my God,” she could hear Harley saying. “Oh my God!”
Molly watched Harley spring into action. She grabbed Combo-Him by the hand and was leading him up the steps and away. A few minutes later, Molly could hear the slam of a door. Molly was afraid, desperately afraid of what had just happened, what it would do to her sister, to them.
Harley came down the stairs, a cell phone and a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said tersely. “I know what it’s like, but he’s got to go. Robot or no Robot, it was awful watching him kiss you, make love to you. I forgot he was a machine. It hurt.”
“I’m so sorry, Harley.” Molly was fighting tears.

“He’s got to go,” Harley repeated.
She made a call to the emergency line at the Him-Makers and asked for a Disabler to come over immediately. The sisters sat quietly waiting.

“Are you all right?” Harley asked.
“Yes … You?”
“I’m okay, just tired. I don’t think the world’s ready for Robots and Robots are not ready for this world.”
They held hands, not saying much until the Disabler arrived. He went upstairs with his laptop and came down a few minutes later.

“He’s finished, folks,” he said. “I hope he didn’t cause too much havoc. I’ve never seen a model like this before.”
“Custom made. My fault,” Harley said quietly.

“Shouldn’t have gone there, lady. There’s no control on cowboy models. Could have been dangerous.”
“It was,” Harley said. “When will they pick it up.”
“Tomorrow morning?”

“Fine,” Harley said as the man headed for the door.
“You’re tired. I’d better call a cab,” Molly said.

“Where do you live? I’ll give you a lift,” the man said.
“555 Merchant Row,” Molly said.

The sisters hugged a little longer that usual.
“Call me tomorrow,” Harley said at the door.

“I will,” Molly said.
“Goodnight,” the man said.
He was a short man, balding and a little overweight. He was a kind man who held the car door open for Molly. A worn copy of Stephen King’s, The Stand lay on the passenger seat.
“Are you reading this?” she asked, placing it in her lap.
“Yes. I love to read,” the man said.

“Me too,” Molly said to the real man, already just a little bit in love.