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Was feeling a bit homesick for England again today so decided to pay a surprise visit on Nik this afternoon and take my mind off things. That snooty bitch at the reception desk made a hoo-ha about whether the boss would have time etc but he must have said something to her over the phone because after that she was as nice as pie. I don't trust her, she's just too flawless. Anyway, Nik was his usual charming self — he's doing amazing stuff with microscopic cybernetic components which he earnestly tried to explain. Must look up some of the stuff he was talking about. Time just flew and before I knew it, it was evening and the other staff had gone home. But would an empty lab and a willing woman be enough to tempt my mad scientist? Not at all. Must wear slingbacks next time: they make more noise as I walk. Receptionist still there looking cool as we left. Taken out for a pizza (700 calories) and then drive home... a peck on the lips and off he went. Had a vodka and tonic, 50% vodka before icecubes. Feeling sore so period about to begin, off schedule again.
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Nik
invited me out to a party last night —
rang up at work in the afternoon. One mad dash for things to wear later, almost
on time. Strange couple —
Zoe and someone else, wasn't a party really, just an evening sitting round talking
and drinking wine. Did I drink too much? Just noticed everyone looking at me
towards the end of the evening, as if I'd done something silly. I asked Nik
but he put his arm around me (#1
date in year —
noted!) and told me not to worry, I'd been a total wow. Hmm. Must
have really enjoyed myself 'cos the evening just went too fast. This evening
when I got home there was this gorgeous red rose waiting for me. The reasopn
why I left England was because the men were so slow and stuffy. I thought Californians
were meant to be all laid back and impulsive —
maybe Nik is a closet Brit.
Note: next time, be more explicit with the boy.
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Just wandered by Nik's lab today in my powder blue sweater and black leather mini and yes thank you dear diary my cloppety slingbacks and Chanel 5. I thought I'd get the smart rebuff from the blonde bombe but she just smiled and said Mr Nik was doing a demo just now and would I like to sit in at the back. There were about 20 or so real business types in pinstripes and dear Nik was telling them stuff like a child molester handing out sweeties. They were lapping it up. During the coffee break he came up to me and introduced me to all the guys — they were really top drawer stuff. I hope I didn't let him down. I told them I had nothing whatsoever to do with cybernetics but I thought Nik's work was really wonderful. I had to go out while the guys spoke business and had an interesting chat over coffee with the bombe. She asked me if I liked being the size I am all the time. Eh? Didn't I like to change the size of my boobs every now and again? That girl is either over-compensating or else a plastic surgeon's meal ticket. Distinctly odd. Why does coffee get cold so quickly here in California? One moment it was steaming hot and the next... it felt as if it'd been standing around for hours. Later Nik and I had a quiet tete-a-tete over a glass of wine in the bistro down the road from his lab. Three cheers for the powder blue sweater. Feel realy grotty tonight not the period. Must go to the quack tomorrow see what's wrong. Should I give up the cigs?
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Doc says I'm fine, should do more exercise — workouts they call them over here. Sal isn't working out enough apparently. Said I was sound as a bell. Perhaps am in lurve with dear Nik? Time goes so slowly when he's not around! Was asked to give a seminar on something of my choice and decided for the hell of it to revisit Mary Shelly and look at the language she was using in Frankenstein compared to some of the admittedly more popular articles appearing about micro cybernetics recently. One of them is Nik's. Unlike in Shelly's time nowadays there is much more acceptance of the idea of artificially created bio-constructs. Why does PB Shelly's line come to mind: 'compulsive are the arrows/ of that silver sphere'? 9pm. Time for one vodka and tonic and then to work. Slimline tonic.
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Nik must think I'm his good luck charm or something. Went out to dinner with one of his business types last night. Hotel suite for drinky-poos afterwards, all very luxurious, private bar etc. Felt a bit sick though and Nik took me home. Resisted his offer to tuck me into bed damn it why don't men choose their moments better? Must have eaten something bad cos today had a sore bum and the runs. Long online chat with him tonight — he said I was marvellous, the deal's all sewn up thanks to me apparently. Oh well, girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Talk coming along nicely. Two vodka and tonics, second was slightly more than 50% vodka cos there was ice in the glass already.
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Really scary. I'm totally spooked. Talk went very well — Andy the business type was in the audience as well with Zoe (why she???) Then went to see Nik. No blonde bombe at reception so went in the back. He was doing something over a workbench and dear diary it was the blond bombe streached out naked. I was just going to make a quick depart when Nik caught me by the arm. He had her face off: she's completely artificial and yes her boobs come off and she doesn't have any equipment below the navel: no vagina or asshole (she does have a pretty navel though.) He or rather him and his lab made her. He put on a C size pair of boobs on her and when she was all screwed back (I am writing this though I don't believe it) he took out a small silver remote, pressed a few buttons, and hey presto! Blonde bombe back to flawless (almost!!) life. She is kept in a large kind of toolchest when she's not working. Apparently she has a program that wakes her at eight, she dresses and puts her makeup on, and then is her elegant cool self at reception by nine. Wish I had a chip inside me that made mornings as effortless! Scary yet? Wait for it. The three of us had a nice chat together, she totally naked and us two in our usual duds. She was totally oblivious of her nakedness and when I said something about her being a bot, she turned on me and told me that of course she wasn't. She seemed to be totally convinced that she was a real human. Nik was smiling his superior smug smile as I just got more and more heated and finally she said, and I'm quoting pretty verbatim here, 'perhaps it's you Sally who is the bot but your programming won't let you believe it.' Jee-sus as they say round here. After she said that, Nik pressed another button on his little silver remote and she just got up and quietly went into her toolchest, settled in, and closed her eyes.
I asked Nik to take me home and not to call me for a million years. Here's the good part — unless she does good head, he's not having sex with her. But of course without having to breathe, she most probably does do fantastic head. Three vodka and tonics. I just passed the tonic bottle over the top of the glass quickly without unscrewing the top. Well, it still counts as a vodka and tonic, doesn't it? A few more and I'll be ready for bed. Feeling very depressed. Somehow feel I'm not getting the PBS quote right: the arrows aren't compulsive but what are they?
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That was three days ago. On saturday a million years had obviously passed and Nik invited me out to a beach party and dear diary like a total fool I said yes. Odd crowd, but a good time was had by all — private beach of course, natch. The blonde bombe was there looking very inflated in a DD boob job but she kept herself decent and unrevealed although that's not what one would have said about some of the girls there. I did keep my bikini on too, although I had a quick peek to check I still had my equipment underneath my knickers (yes I did and still do.... my god, I hope I'm not going screwy — perhaps I need a therapist or whateever they call them here.) Zoe was there as well, with another guy in tow, one of the older business types. They seemed to be having a good time. Not used to too much red wine. Found myself sitting close to Zoe at one stage, arms on each other's shoulders, hugging her in a sisterly way. Hope didn't give Nik the wrong impression. Head clear this morning, sand in the strangest of places. Obviously a lot to learn about beach parties. I think I will forgive Nik — he's a fascinating man even if he doesn't have a PhD. He told me he's writing one. I told him what with his accomplishments he should go for a Nobel Peace Prize and sod the doctorate. He's having a problem with his latest experiment he told me. PhD's are like that — a bit like loosing your virginity — you need to do it so you can get on with the rest of your life. He said he'll call later. This of course means total and utter committment to Sally from the little shit tonight otherwise I shall dismantle him with tweezers.
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I'm finding this a bit hard to take. Appointment with a Dr Savroni on thurs, well recommended by Anna (I asked for a special personal appointment with her on monday and she said California can get to you, that's why everyone has a shrink, why not you too.) There do seem to be gaps in my time with Nik, and this is really frightening. Yesterday he said I was his final experiment. Hello?? Anyway, that's what I think he said writing here now. I've read over what I've been writing recently and it looks as if it makes sense unless of course I'm simply not reading what I really wrote. If blondie can persuade herself she's not a bot, then it's be easy peasy for me to persude myself to read something other than what I've written, right? Now Anna did say my seminar was brilliant and I ought to make an article out of it. Anyway, that's what I think now she said then. Dear diary — I'm so confused. False memeories, gaps in time, inaccurate perceptions. Welcome to the state of fruits and nutcases, Sally. I do miss London and would give an arm or a leg for a pint of tepid bitter. Oh god — I hope I don't mean that literally. Nik's always so sweet and normal most of the time! It must be because he's American.
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Said was busy to Nik tonight. Two vodka and tonics. Reading Frankenstein again. Shame Mary Shelley didn't write another one. Funny how her diction becomes increasingly personal as the book goes on — almost as if someone was debugging her writing style, improving it bit by bit. Am not going to continue this line of thought. The icebergs are calling... 'of that silver sphere/ whose intense lamp narrows/ when the day is near...' What is all this with the fucking silver sphere?
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Well, Bruno (Dr Savroni to you dear diary) sorted it all out in a matter of minutes. He's a tall, balding, dark haired and intense Serbian posing as an Italian who claims America has ruined his native accent but you can hear those slavic consonants which are a dead giveway. He's very into Freud. You see, dear diary, I had intense emotional experiences with my dad which I have never wanted to accept and so when I finally find a man with whom I am falling in love as I did with my daddy (naturally) I blank out portions of my experience so as not to feel guilt about the way I betrayed him (which of course is not something I can remember either since I blanked that experience out too.) Him of course being daddy. I tried to explain to Bruno that I would rather die of embarassment than call my father 'daddy' but he smiled and said dear lady, every girl calls her father daddy. And all that stuff about the blonde bombe? That was so simple he hardly even paused for breath on that one. I'm obviously projecting my sexual anxiety on a woman whom I see as a competitor for Nik.
Am seriously thinking of changing my therapist.
++++
Anna says that's normal with therapists but to stay with it for a while — they usually settle down after a bit and start telling you useful things you may need to know. Nik asked me out tonight. I said only if we stay in public places, no beach parties, private bars and certainly not within a mile of his lab. He said ok.
I have enough money for a oneway ticket back to England and can work in the stables until I find another post in the UK.
++++
Before I went out tonight I took all my clothes off and looked at my self in the mirror. Yes, I still have all my bits and especially I have a vagina. All my bras are C cups — I even checked the ones in the washing basket. Memo to self: get that crap into the washing machine before you're reduced to going naked. Better still, spend tomorrow morning shopping AND get the crap washed. Of course this tells me nothing as Descartes would say but radical doubt should not be taken too seriously on an everyday basis. I mean, Descartes also had his moments, but he was talking about clockwork dolls and besides, he never to my knowledge wore a bra or met the blonde bombe.
The evening was really sweet — Nik was at his charming and entertaining best. I kept an eye on my wrist watch and broke a match every half hour. I now have 5 match halves in front of me taken out of my jacket pocket. I was out from 9 till midnight so that means I should have 6 unless I forgot to break one of the halves at some time. No, that's not right either. It's hard work being a blonde, sometimes. Really. Nik asked me to see him tomorrow because he has something serious to say to me. I think I'm ok — he'll never have the time to go to Oxford and back to ask my father for my hand between now and then.
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Dr Savroni phoned and asked why I didn't keep our appointment. I told him I didn't think it was getting us anywhere. Brilliant! he said in that phoney accent of his. I never expected you to start the rejection process so soon! I hung up on him. Meeting Nik at his lab tonight. He promised no funny stuff, whatever that means. Forgot to book ticket to London.
++++
The correct quotation from PB is: 'keen as are the arrows/ of that silver sphere.' That silver sphere being lodged behind my neck and activated by a pink (aiiieeeeeee!!!) remote control which sends the arrows down my nervous system and which Nik has in his lab. I'm so emotional tonight I'm going straight to bed. Only one more vodka and tonic. No tonic left. What the hell. Vodka.
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Dear Diary. Let me try and explain what has happened. It would appear that about a month ago, at a rather drunken party, I met Nik and we went to his place for what should come naturally after a drunken party, ie random acts of sex followed by a swinish stupor. The video he took shows me agreeing to have an implant and then bending my head and keeping my hair out of the way while he zaps me with something out of a Buck Rodgers science fiction movie pressed right against my neck just behind and below my right ear. I stagger a little but am soon brought under control by a press or two of his little pink remote. The scar is very small and I can barely feel it with my fingertips as I write now. When he presses the 'activate' button, I loose all sense of control and I follow his commands. His commands... are rather... explicit. There is a sequence in which I dance around naked singing 'yankee doodle' and end up doing the splits and wildly flapping my breasts around for the last verse. Dear dear diary.... I never knew the last verse to that stupid song, honest. This pales into insignificance compared to the sequence where I strip off my all to the assembled grey suits at Nik's seminar and ride a massive plastic dildo while fellating the Andy person. In public. Nik says the programming is excellent with one little flaw — I can't remember a thing about it afterwards. He also said that Zoe and I do an excellent double act, she being Zoebot and I of course Sallybot. That explains the sand after the beach party. There is an amateur quality video of that little episode as well. If I had any blusher left I'd throw it away because I'll never need blusher again. All I have to do is to remember the beach party. He apologised for the quality of the video.
The quality of the video. He. Apologised. For. It.
What else is there? Ah yes, the private suite. I was buggered by four men, one after another, seemingly in a state of complete and utter delirious abandonment. If there is a quality of manhood lower than that of a gentleman, then Nik has certainly achieved it. The fact that on several occasions I was also strapped naked to what looks like a dentist's chair in his lab while he downloaded the latest 'patches' to my programming is really neither here nor there. None of the patches seemed to work, ie, restore me to consciousness while I am under the influence of his fucking little pink remote. Hence failure. Oh yes, the little silver sphere is now so embedded in my nervous system that I'd most probably suffer irretrievable brain damage if anyone were to attempt to take it out. Thanks a bunch, Nik. He'd rather I not ride horses or drive fast cars until he sorts the glitch out. Nor I.
The strangest thing is, I now suddenly feel completely at peace with myself and I'm also still in love with Nik. He said that was not part of the programming, I did that one myself. Tearing him apart with tweezers is no longer on. I have a small pair of nail clippers which will do the job much more slowly. Got more slimline tonic but lemons are all gone. 80% vodka. I need it.
++++
Another session with Nik. Bombe is back to a fetching B cup and an off-the-shoulder silk wraparound number which displays her perfect legs encased in high heeled strappy sandals. Must get a pair like that perhaps with a smaller heel — say only four inches. She was so polite I could tear her face off, but Nik most probably has a replacement. He said, would I like to stay conscious while he tried another upload. So Sal strips off and clambers into the chair. Are them straps necessary I enquire as he ties me in. Oh yes, he says. In case you have a convulsion and damage yourself. All I experience is bright lights and tingling up and down my spine. That's it ma'am. He undid me, and when I was standing, he pressed the remote. The next thing I know is I'm fully dressed again and the tingling feeling has been transferred to my crotch. One look at Nik and I know (a) he's fucked me again when I was under; (b) I remember nothing about it. I feel so sorry for him I put my arms around him and give him a full kiss on the lips. I love it when men are contrite. Next time, I'll go for something much more expensive, like perhaps a champaigne dinner while I choose a diamante bracelet.
But, dear diary! Imagine to my surprise what fell to the floor as he put his jacket on. A little pink remote. And he never even noticed.
The pizza was actually excellent.
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What the heck — I had another appointment with Savroni and I told him everything. I even let him feel my scar. He said this was really excellent progress. My delusional state has accommodated to my repression and found a rational way out of it, quite in keeping with my complex personality. All we have to do now, he said, was to find a way of actualising my delusion. He suggested I co-operate as much as possible with Nik to suceed in the experiment and had the nerve to ask me, did I have a hard time finishing off my own doctoral thesis. We did some word association sequences, but since my verbal IQ is most definitely higher than his, he found he had to look up too many words for that to be very effective as a theraputic tool. It appears his doctorate is from some awful little place in Split.
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Tried pink remote on myself, pressed activate expecting to at least go unconscious until the cleaning lady came in next morning. Nothing. Did it in the mirror. Still nothing. Stripped, pressed it to my left breast and activated it. Nope. Not the right one either. Or the back of my neck. Engineered a deadfall of books to topple over the activate button while standing in front of the business end. Might as well have been the TV channel selector. Unlike masturbation, this is clearly not something you can do to yourself. Note to self: find a way of returning said gadget to Nik without letting on that I stole it. Vodka and tonic, straight 50-50 before ice or lemon added. Science is hell. I'm glad I don't have anything to do with it.
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The faculty committee were so impressed with my seminar (yes, godammit, I am writing it up!) that I have been invited to give the annual public lecture. The series is funded by some industrialists who do state of the art bio-cyber work and so the theme should be 'contemporarily relevant' (damn, I always wanted to re-run that lecture on Shakespeare's use of the comma!) I shall prepare a theme on the comparisons between scientific experimentation and personal experience — the title will be, 'Was Mary Shelly a Bot?' It appears that there will be no need to use any of Nik's videos of me. Most of the industrialists funding the series were present at the seminar in which I performed so memorably so the lessons will not be lost on them. Slipped remote back into Nik's pocket last night while smooching. Like taking candy off a child. He said we can't do any more uploads for the moment because the lab's being upgraded. He looks a little hassled. Poor dear.
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Because of the contract, Nik's place has been transformed. There are now two blonde bombes to start with — exact replicas of each other. They do not appear to be aware of each others' existence but work in perfect harmony. I have labelled them 'prime bombe' and 'beta bombe' but since you can't tell which is which this is simply a personal statement.
The decor is now sort of post 21st century holocaust which means lots of tacky steel pipes and unvarnished wood scorched in places. Nik's lab is magnificent: his dentist's chair now has servos and grapples and has real leather upholstery. I no longer have to remove my clothes. All I have to do is to sink into it, and mechanisation, as they say, takes its course. I am stripped, probed, fastened, and downloaded in minutes. The process is still a bugger. Today I ended up having an orgasm without even having to touch myself once while Nik (embarassed) and three of his team mates (one of whom is gay) looked on with interest. Interestingly, when I was released, and Nik pressed 'activate' I felt myself falling into a sort of dreamlike state in which I found myself perfectly willing to act out the sometimes outrageous suggestions of whomever was holding the damned little pink remote at the time. Each act of obedience earned me a blissful jolt of pleasure which was intimately connected to my nipples and clitoris and sent a little tingle up my bum for good measure. In front of the four of them, I put nipple clamps on my breasts, and then swung two heavy weights from them bent over, hands supported on my knees. I gave Nik a blow job and someone else assfucked me.
On de-activation, I was still naked, arms at sides, ready for the next command, slightly leaky from the behind. Nik asked me almost shyly did I remember anything. I thought for a moment of pretending I didn't, but my grin gave it away. Dear diary. Men are such brutes. They congratulated Nik in an orgy of male bonding and I slunk off to make myself decent in a corner to the sound of champaigne corks popping. Is it possible to dismember a male using only a blunt cuticle remover?
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Nik was very very sweet last night and I decided I wasn't going to use the cuticle remover after all. He's much better as he is. For the first time, we made love together without me being under the control of the little pink remote. He came three times altogether during the night. I love that expression of complete bewilderment on his face as he erupts into an orgasm.
After a really nice dinner in a very swanky place by the seaside, we strolled along the sand ankle deep in the surf and I proposed to him that since he's most probably had me in many more ways than I could possibly imagine when I was unconscious, why not try it for real this time? He looked so shy I gave him a big hug and a long and lingering kiss at match five and he agreed. I'm going to buy shares in J'Adore. His knowledge of my body was so complete, so intimate, I was able to give myself to him in a way I had never imagined I could give myself to another human being. I soared, I flew. In short, dear diary, I am more than in love — I am hornily, ruttingly, salaciously in lust.
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Clearing up the debris from the night before I found to my surprise a little blue remote had slipped from his pocket as we had undressed each other in riotous haste. Now I had expected a little pink one maybe... but blue? Stabs of jealousy pierced my heart and the cuticle remover began to look like a mercy instrument again, but I phoned him anyway and asked, who was the lucky male bot?
There was a silence at the other end of the line. Do you want to know the truth? he asked. I informed him calmly (for the circumstances) that the countdown was already ticking and that the ice age was peanuts compared to what would happen when I reached zero. He hastily told me that the control was for him. At this point I sank down on the edge of the bed and asked him to repeat his last statement as there appeared to be a glitch in the line. He was quite good and managed to repeat it word for word. But it doesn't work, he said. Another failed experiment. Who pressed your button? I enquired. Well, I do it to myself, he replied. I've undergone all the uploads I did on you, even the last one, and it's still a bummer. I imagined my dear Nik spreadeagled on the enhanced dentist chair shooting his wad off into the cybernatic yonder and sweetly invited him here this evening, oh and bring my pink remote. Giggle, click. I rose from the telephone like a queen transformed into a minor deity.
Dear diary... I shall be wearing my sexy little black number tonight and the little strappy sandals (four and a bit inch heels.... not quite five...) and my lover and I shall face each other, point the right little gadgets at each other's respective desirable bodies, and press 'activate' on the count of three. I have decided that since my father would never ever understand what this was about, it would be a waste of time for Nik to go over and ask him for my remote.