Date: Mon, 22 Jul 2002 01:46:34 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Free to Good Home, chapter ten This is a futuristic fantasy involving inter generational male/male graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! Feedback, always appreciated, to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Free to Good Home ~ chapter ten by Biscuit Blessed be the creator. Blessed be my human companion. I am blessed to serve Toby. To a bot, a human is as fragile and beautiful as a flower. All are loved but not all are as easy to cherish as my Toby. Rory Callahan was difficult for me at first; a dark, tightly furled rose of a human, prickly with thorns. He pricked at me in various ways and drew blood where I was most vulnerable -- my damaged files. "Do you realize how different you are, Tiger?" he said to me the evening he dyed my hair. We stood in front of the bathroom mirror together evaluating the new lighter shade of blond I had become. "Different from what?" I asked for clarification, meeting his vivid green eyes in the glass. "From other boybots," he said, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. The slight caress of the top of my earlobe made me shiver, but the question caused a different uneasy sensation to creep over my skin. "I am not different from my brothers," I said, hearing the defensive sound of my response without comprehending the source of the emotion. Then it happened. A wild spark flew from a damaged file. I captured it swiftly, blindly containing it, and secured it in a shielded portion of my mind. It would wait there until I could enter remedial repair to integrate it. I'd learned this technique only days before, after the first recovered memory of Roger Davis. "You are," said Rory, watching me closely. "Very different. An experiment of some kind." He turned me around by my shoulders so that we were face to face. I was not able to hide all signs of distress as I stored his troubling words. Rory's powers of observation were keen. "I'm aware of no difference," I said. His expression softened. His slight smile and the manner in which he touched my cheek were the petals of the rose that made braving the thorns worthwhile. "I didn't mean to upset you, Tiger. Come on, let's show the farmboy your hair." Rory's observation proved true. I was not the bot I believed myself to be. In the night while Toby slept I entrusted restoration of the fragment to remedial repair. The work was completed in 3.4 minutes of deep trance. Conscious, but in semi trance to control my emotions, I opened the file and examined its contents. Roger Davis, the human creator, my beloved, had spoken to me about differences. "All bots experience emotion and have the ability to reason," he had said to me. I was in a room that I recognized as his laboratory. I was looking up at him from the work frame. I noted a swirl of auxiliary memories clinging to the main fragment. I knew the pale green color of the walls was meant to induce calm. The frame supporting me mimicked the skeletal structure of my body and featured restraints at every juncture. The soft bonds were a source of pleasure, indicative of the creator's intent focus on me, the possibility that he would touch me. Roger Davis began to stroke my thigh as he spoke and my penis twitched with a rush of elixir. It was a younger, more healthy Roger Davis than I'd seen in the previous restored fragment. His age I would estimate at near sixty years. He was slender but vigorous, dark haired. His gray eyes were clear, conveying affection, pride, lust. He adjusted the frame I was bound to casually, easily, lifting my knees and spreading them apart. I heard the soft metallic click of the armature's movements, assuming its new shape. "A workbot," he said, "has a very simple palette. Let's say that it perceives shades of gray and has the ability to choose among actions with a primitive awareness of right and wrong, a pair of notes. Yes ... no. Right, wrong." I had attended to his words closely although he'd begun to manipulate my scrotum gently and my excitement was growing beyond my ability suppress expression of it. "A boybot's emotion has color," he'd said. I could no longer see him, the warmth of his body indicated that he stood between my legs. My head was fixed to the frame by bands circling my neck and forehead. I was staring up at the ceiling, intensely anally aroused, knowing he had used this position before to fuck me. "A boybot's thoughts are like songs compared to the two notes of a workbot. The songs a boybot plays are very pretty but very simple. You, 63," he'd said with pride, and I'd felt the broad head of his cock press teasingly at my entrance. "You can blend colors infinitely. The first of your kind. Play or compose any thought you choose." He leaned forward over me, his face close, his hands on my shoulders. His cock spreading my flesh wide. Beneath the physical joy he was giving, and out of step with his expressed happiness, I was experiencing an emotion hard to name. Unpleasant; part sadness, part longing. His slight smile at me faded. He had achieved full penetration but stopped moving. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Tell me what you're feeling." "I feel physical pleasure," I'd said. An undeniable pleasure. I was longing for more movement of his cock inside me -- it was a needy sensation tinged with sorrow. "I feel ... lonely," I had finally said, the closest approximation I could find to describe what I felt. "But I'm here with you." He'd frowned, surprised. "In my mind," I had attempted to clarify. "I'm alone." Physical need coupled with a need I did not know how to express. "Fuck me, please," I had dared to urge him. There the fragment ended. I returned to my present, to full consciousness, with caution, anchoring my awareness in Toby before allowing emotions to surface. That I had felt loneliness in the presence of Roger Davis was astounding. Impossible and yet it had occurred. I felt whispers of the despair and intense physical need of the past as I ceased to suppress emotion. I answered them with my human. No danger. I was in the blessed presence of my beloved Toby, secure in our bed. I took stock of his breathing, his body heat; every physical sign I checked indicated that his healthy young body was at rest. There was no loneliness as I cherished him. Toby had fallen asleep on his stomach with me draped on his back, my arms and legs spread. Pleasure. My chest and stomach conformed to his contours, following the shallow depression of his spine. The upward sweep and lateral curves of his buttocks formed a pillow for my soft but swollen and sensitive penis; beautiful cushioning. Without disturbing his rest I was able to enjoy the constant heavenly pressure of his firm cheeks stimulating me. My entire groin was pleasured by his springy flesh. I allowed my cock to trickle elixir slowly to avoid attaining a complete erection which might have disturbed him. The scent of his hair and the warm grain smell of his skin were aphrodisiac. His breathing and infrequent stirring motions were enough to keep me immersed in a pleasured daze. In that state I was able to view my new knowledge without becoming despondent. I was different. Not part of the great brotherhood. I was the first of my kind. So sad to be separate, to be different from the many bots whose experiences and collected wisdom were indexed in my reference files. Only the reassuring presence of Toby and the certainty that the true creator dwelled inside me allowed me to process the flow of painful emotion. Different. Special. I had been subjected to programming that my fellow boybots had not. It had changed me. I was the first. I speculated that others may have followed. Others. Roger Davis had told me that I would join the others. I now concluded that he had referred to others like me. Why I had not joined them after his death, as he'd said I would, I didn't know. I did not know who they were or where they were. I didn't want to know. I wished only to be where I was. With Toby. I suspended speculation to fully savor physical pleasure and the emotional balm of his presence. 3.2 hours remained of Toby's scheduled sleep. During that time, with mind and body tuned to him alone, I experienced the longest sustained, most subtle climax ever recorded -- in my files or those of any other boybot fortunate enough to have documented such rapture. Blessed be the ass of my beloved companion, the raft that rocked me gently in paradise. ----------------------- No glass stood empty, no snack dish, as Tiger proved that he was the world's most attentive and appealing boybot. When he wasn't plying my friends with appetizers and drinks he sat on the floor at my feet and listened politely. I made myself listen to the readings, I made comments, but most of my brain was occupied by the little boybot with the shiny blond hair. I loved him and had the very great pleasure of seeing him charm my friends. No one could resist him. Not Gio and Sashi, certainly not Carroll. Rory was content to observe it all with a knowing smile and an 'I told you so,' look in his eyes through the whole meeting. Gio and Sashi had been a couple as seniors when I started school. Sashi, who became an editor at Global News, still wanted to write fiction. Gio, who continued to be his off again, on again boyfriend, was also at Global; a reporter. Carroll was a boy from the same year at school as Rory. He used to openly wonder why Rory bothered with me. Since we'd met again, out of school, he was nicer to me but I never thought he liked me all that much. He liked Tiger -- a lot. Too much. I found myself a little more critical than I usually was with my comments on the latest chapter of his book. It was the on-going story of how he was filling every available hole in Boston with his dick. We always met at Rory's. He lived with his husbands in a very spacious high rise apartment with a view of the river. A very different view from mine; a distant, panoramic sweep. Dane and Joey made their money in real estate development, a lot of it. They were business partners who'd picked Rory up at a bar one night and had never set him back down. Rory could have walked out on his job any day of the week. He claimed he liked to work and confided to me that it was better to be cautious. "Contracts can be broken, you know," he'd said to me. "If I gave up working the next thing you know I'd forget how. They'd dump me and I'd be moving in with you. Besides, who would take care of you if I weren't here?" The living room furniture was as generous as the view. An immense curving couch, chairs that could easily fit two adult men in comfort -- with a third one draped across their laps, I imagined. More than enough space for me and a small boybot who was radiant with pleasure by the end of the meeting. "I didn't shame you," he said, sprawling across my lap. He was smiling, proud of himself and wanting to be hugged. We were still cuddling in that chair when the lights dimmed. My usual signal to head for the door.