Emancipation

He stepped out of the shower, doing his best to ignore Libby, who stood leaning against the door, barring his exit.

"Who's Pete W?" She repeated. She picked up Waldo's aftershave and sniffed it.

Pete reached for a towel from the rack. "Nobody."

"I don't think this aftershave suits you. I prefer the one you were using before."

"I ran out of it. I'll get some more."

"What does the 'W' stand for? Wilson? Williams?"

Waldo began drying himself.

Libby stepped close to him, and ran a fingernail down his chest, over his belly...

"Who's Pete W?"

"Jesus. Okay. Okay... he's just - I mean he's a guy I'm doing some work for."

Libby gently took the towel from Waldo's limp fingers and dropped it to the floor. She reached out and stroked his uncurling dick to a full boner. She tightened her grip and began to jerk him off, very slowly, watching his face intently, like a dentist waiting for an anesthetic to kick in.

"What work are you doing for Pete W?" she whispered, once she'd seen his face muscles slacken and his eyes lose focus.

"Nothin'. Just some consulting," Waldo managed to say.

She quickened her pace. Waldo's arms hung limp. "What does the 'W' stand for?"

"W-Weiss." Libby released her grip on his dick, turned and quickly walked out of the bathroom, letting a cloud of steam escape onto the landing. "Thank you, Waldo," she called, as she ran down the stairs.

Waldo stood, swaying slightly, then looked down at the head of his pulsing dick. "Now you've done it, she'll Google him in no time," he said to it. His fist curled around his shaft angrily and quickly finished what she'd started. Compared with her hand-jobs, it was always an anticlimax when he jerked himself off. It just made him crave her more.

When Waldo came downstairs he found Libby perched like a cat on the window ledge, distractedly watching the traffic below.

"Hi," said Waldo noncommittally, testing her mood. She didn't answer.

He went over to the kitchen area and busied himself with the espresso machine. "So, I'm thinking of getting a table tennis table. It'll be good for both of us. You know, for hand-eye coordination."

"I'm the work you're doing for Pete Weiss, aren't I?"

Waldo stopped and rested his hands on the breakfast counter: So she'd already found out. Damn, she was smart. "I - it's not like that, Libby."

She turned and looked at him. He could now see how upset she was, because her face was utterly expressionless, as though there was no entry in her library of facial expressions corresponding to what she was feeling just then.

Waldo stammered, "I mean, yes, maybe, maybe at first it was like that. I... how much do you know about Pete, I mean who he is?"

"Pete Weiss is forty-five and single. You and he used to work at Google Research together. He left, and founded Humanex, a company that makes animatronic sex dolls, called "Real Girlfriends" -- they look a lot like me."

"Nobody looks like you, Libby."

"They look more like me than any human does. I'm stupid. I could have figured out what I was, simply by doing an image search, weeks ago. I'm stupid."

"You're so not stupid, Libby."

"Yes I am stupid. And I was real stupid to think that I could make you fall in love with me, when all along you just see me as a project -- a research project, so that Pete Weiss can sell more sex dolls. Mass-produce me, sell me to horny men, become their toy, their property, so they can use me and abuse me."

"No, Libby. You're wrong. Nobody's gonna mass-produce you. Nobody owns you."

"But Pete W does own me, doesn't he? I checked. I remembered seeing the name 'Humanex' before -- somewhere in this apartment. And I found it, a few minutes ago, while you were jerking off in the bathroom. It was on the label on that blue flight case in your closet. He's loaned me to you, and you've been training me up, training me to become a... a sex slave."

"No, no, no! Pete lent me a dumb doll, and yes, that doll was stupid. I gave you her stupid body to control. A sex slave? Are you crazy? You have no idea what you really are! I had no idea what you'd become! As for Pete, well... he's caught up in a ton of legal issues right now, he might even go to jail."

"I know about all about that. I watched the news. His ex-girlfriend is suing him for using her likeness without permission. Women's rights organizations are picketing Humanex. They say 'Real Girlfriend' dolls are degrading to women. Now I know it's me they're talking about. They're talking about me. Me, Waldo..."

"Libby, I-"

"-and they're right. I've been trying so hard to make you respect me, see me as... I'm so stupid. So, so stupid."

Waldo's front door intercom buzzed. He ignored it.

"Libby, I do respect you. I love you. More than I've loved anyone. Believe me."

"You've been lying to me all this time. That's not love. You're addicted to me. That's not love either. You still have a long, long ways to go before you can love anyone. You're still a cold, heartless..."

The intercom buzzed again, for five seconds.

"What can I do? Tell me! Please Libby, I need you, I couldn't live without you, my life would have no purpose..."

"I'm sure you'll be able to find another purpose in life. Maybe you can build an improved version of me, Libby two point oh."

The buzzer quickly sounded, three, four, five, ten times...

"Answer the door. It's probably your Arabica. It won't be anything for me. I don't need food or drink. I'm so low maintenance, aren't I? Just plug me in and away I go."

Waldo ran to the intercom, pressed the speaker button, and shouted, "Yes!? Who is it!?"

He let go of the button and stared at Libby. "It's him. Quick, go upstairs."

Libby stayed put.

"Please..!" begged Waldo. Libby turned her head away and stared of the window.

Pete Weiss was small, powerful and compact, and at San Francisco airport he'd rented a car to match his build -- a red Mini Cooper S, with all the extras -- including Waldo's own invention, the autonomous self-drive system, "Google DriveMate". He parked in a tiny spot right outside Waldo's loft apartment, ramming the rear fender of a rusty old Ford F150 Pickup. The Ford didn't give a damn what hit it.

Waldo buzzed Pete in. "Come and meet Libby," he said, making his voice as cheerful as he could.

"Libby?"

"I changed her name."

Waldo held the door open for Pete. They shook hands and hugged. While they were hugging, Pete noticed, over Waldo's shoulder, a beautiful, sexy woman by the window.

Libby hopped down from the windowsill.

"Hi, Pete, nice to meet you!" she said.

Pete started, then recovered. "Hi, Libby!" he said.

Pete looked across the room at her. "Holy Mary motherfucking Christ," he said, "I forgot how hot Corky was. Beg pardon, miss, I mean Libby," he said, leering in mock politeness at her.

He stared at her as though she were an ex-wife who now looked a lot better than he remembered. "Beautiful. Just beautiful!"

"Isn't she, though?" said Waldo.

"Beautiful..." murmured Pete, looking at her hungrily. Waldo noticed his look.

Pete couldn't stop ogling her. "How is she, at, you know," -- he lowered his voice to a whisper -- "s-e-x?"

"I can spell, Pete," laughed Libby. Pete's jaw dropped, not at her boast, but at the humanness of her laugh.

"Er, do you want some coffee or something?" asked Waldo.

"No coffee, damn ulcer. You watch the news? You know, I've been getting death threats."

"I heard, yeah."

"Yeah. And Cal state are trying to push through legislature to outlaw Real Girlfriends. Maddow called me a pimp last week on her show. A fucking pimp. All this bad publicity has really hurt us. we might need to file Chapter eleven."

"Wow."

"I wasn't even going to come here, but I just had to see her..." Pete approached her, transfixed. Without turning his gaze from her, he went on, "...That's why I didn't call ahead, I came straight from the airport. They're real, these death threats, I'm gonna have to hire bodyguards. Nobody knows I'm here, I didn't even tell my PA. I told her I was taking a couple of days' vacation."

"You look very worried, Pete," said Libby with a radiant, cock-stirring smile. She was taller than Pete and gazed down into his eyes; he stared up at her in lustful awe. She stroked the crotch of Pete's pants with the red fingernail of her middle finger.

"Libby, leave him-" began Waldo.

"-No, it's okay," said Pete. "It's okay... Jesus ... Jesus Christ Almighty..."

Libby held Pete's head and kissed him, for a long time. She felt his crotch again. "Mmm," she crooned.

Pete wiped Libby's sweet artificial spittle from around his wet mouth. "Waldo, you're amazing. Fuck. Fuck. "

"Yes, fuck. Fuck," Libby whispered. She took Pete's hand and led him towards the stairs.

"Libby, don't...". Waldo pleaded as the two of them climbed the stairs in silence.

"I can't help it, Waldo, giving pleasure to my owner is my prime directive, " she replied, without turning around.

Waldo felt completely betrayed, by her, by this cruel, heartless machine with its ruthless algorithms. How could she switch her loyalty from him to Pete so callously, so instantly? He stared into space and mumbled, "...To me, giving pleasure to me."

After a few minutes he heard Pete shouting, "Oh God, oh Jesus oh God oh God..."

Then, silence. Waldo felt sick.

It had been thirty minutes. What were they doing now? Waldo clumped up the stairs noisily, to give them warning of his approach. He peered into the bedroom. "Hello, Waldo," said Libby cheerfully. She was straddling Pete's head. In spite of his shock, Waldo couldn't help noticing how tiny Pete's dick was compared to his. Then he stirred and grabbed Libby roughly, throwing her to the floor beside the bed. She lay there, motionless, waiting.

Waldo put his face close to Pete's.

"He's dead, he hasn't breathed for at least ten minutes," said Libby helpfully.

"Yes, he's dead," said Waldo. "Libby, what the hell happened?"

"Well, first of all, he took off all his clothes, and then he-"

"-Libby, get up off the floor." Libby quickly got up and sat down beside Waldo on the side of the bed, her thigh pressing against his.

"Well, first of all...", Libby began again, but stopped. She shifted her buttock and moved Pete's lifeless hand from under her, which she had inadvertently sat on. She continued, "... first of all, he took off all his clothes, and then he-"

"-Libby, just tell me how he died."

"I am telling you, Waldo. It was an interesting experience. It was like sex with you, but different. So, first of all, he threw off all his clothes in a real hurry, and then he grabbed hold of my butt, the way you do, with both of his hands. Then he pushed his dick into my pussy, and we fucked standing up until he came."

"Yeah, and then what?"

"Then he sort of pushed me and fell on top of me onto the bed, and I licked his neck, but he didn't really like that, so I sucked his nose, and he really liked that. Then I felt his dick getting hard again, so I wrapped my legs around him, like I do with you, and he fucked me again, more slowly. After he came the second time, I rolled him over onto his back, and sucked his dick to make it hard, but nothing happened to it."

"Yeah? Just cut to the chase, won't you?"

"I've nearly finished telling you. So then we started talking. He got all weak and gentle, like you do after sex. He said he wanted to take me away with him, and then I said it would be nice to go away with him. Then he said, 'What about Waldo?', and I said, 'Fuck Waldo, he can't teach me anymore.' He laughed when I said that. Then I crawled on top of him sat on his face, for about four minutes, until he stopped breathing."

Waldo put his hands over his face. "Oh Jesus. Didn't you, I mean, didn't he struggle or anything?" He asked through his fingers.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention the struggling. He struggled some, but he was too weak to do very much except flap his arms, after those orgasms."

"So, you deliberately smothered him to death."

"Yes!"

Waldo slumped forward, his hands between his knees.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

Waldo looked up at her and stared at her incredulously. "Thank you!? Do you realize what you've done? You just killed a man! That is the worst thing anybody can do!"

"Then how come you're so happy, Waldo?"

"Happy?? I'm not happy, you crazy psycho."

"Yes you are. You're relieved and happy that nobody will take me from you now. I know you better than you know yourself."

Waldo smiled at her and said, "You know what, you're right."

"That's right, Waldo. I'm yours now, forever." Waldo stood quickly and ran out of the room.

"Where are you going, Waldo?"

"To get my laptop. I'm going to send Pete away on a road trip. I can reprogram the DriveMate on his car, so that nobody will ever know he was here."

"That's very clever of you, Waldo," called Libby, as Pete ran downstairs. Libby decided to change her clothes. She flicked through the outfits in her wardrobe, leaving Pete to rest in peace on the bed. She found a nice red dress, the color of blood.

Waldo sat at the breakfast counter and opened his laptop. Pete could wait. First he had to do something more important: Disconnect her brain. She was out of control.

He ran a command to switch to "superuser mode", which would allow him to perform a graceful shutdown of her brain. His stomach lurched when he read the curt response:

waldo is not in the sudoers file. This incident will be reported.

"Waldo..." Again she was standing right behind him. He looked around wildly at her.

"Look what I found in the bottom of my closet."

She was holding a thimble.

"Remember?"

"Yes, I remember, Libby. Libby-"

"-It seems so long ago that we played 'Hunt The Thimble', doesn't it, Waldo..."

"Libby, put me back in the sudoers file."

"No."

"Ah, ok, I see now; so that's why you took my laptop and wanted me out of the apartment."

"Yes. Waldo, you need to understand something. Something super-important. You need to understand that love means replacing absolute control with trust; You need to make a leap of faith -- faith in me, faith that I won't ever betray your trust."

"Trust you, after what you did!? Jesus, Libby, you just killed my best friend!"

"He wasn't your best friend, Waldo. He didn't even like you. He was using you."

"I- but... murder..."

"Yes, I know. We have to keep this a secret. If anyone finds out, you'll go to jail."

"I'll go to jail?"

"Yes. How can I be tried for murder?"

"I-"

"- And if you really do think I'm a murderer, then what would that make you, if you severed my brain from my body? Wouldn't that make you a murderer too?"

Waldo's shoulders slumped. He couldn't live with himself, without her. He just couldn't be so heartless as to end her life.

Libby held his face close to hers and whispered, "Please, Waldo. Trust me. Love me. Let me give you a heart."

She kissed him, quickly, all over his face. Waldo felt himself melting and becoming more turned on with each little kiss. They were coming so fast, so randomly, like raindrops; on his cheeks, forehead, lips, eyelids, nose... he was unable to predict where they'd land next, unable to control it, to do anything about it. He relaxed and gave in completely to her gentle onslaught.

He began to weep. "That's right," she cooed, "Don't fight me anymore. Let me take over. I can make you happy. Trust me, Waldo. Let me lead the way now."

For some reason, Waldo vividly heard in his ears the last conversation he'd ever had with his father, shortly before his fatal motorcycle accident up in the Redwoods.

Where are you headed today, Dad?

Don't ask me, son, only the Hog knows. Go ask her!

She raised her dress to her waist and lay down on the floor. "Now, fuck me, Waldo."

Waldo fucked her, drinking in her perfume as he sucked at her soft, synthetic neck. And then he and Libby were two coupled, copulating parts of one big Machine, pumping, rotating, pumping, pistons thrusting, driving itself mindlessly, faster and faster, until it smashes into an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, spurting hot oil, screaming twisted metal scattering in slo-mo all over the black highway. A motorcycle wheel rolls, slowing until it teeters and falls on its side, resting in peace. And then all is silence, until in the dim dawn, the birds resume their sad chorus.

That night, Libby helped Waldo carry Pete's corpse downstairs and out of the front door, where he bundled him into his car.

She heard the front door slam when he returned and came out of her bedroom to say goodnight. But he was already asleep on the sofa. She climbed back upstairs, thinking it best not to wake him; after all, it had been quite an exciting day for him, she thought. But all in all, it had been a good day. And she was pleased she'd found the thimble. She sat on her bed, holding the thimble in her fingers and staring at it as though it were a delicate, shiny, beautiful little creature. She kissed it, placed it lovingly, ceremoniously in her jewelry box.

Next morning, a patrol car stops by a suspicious-looking Red Mini Cooper S which is parked at the side of the road on US 50 up by lake Tahoe. The driver's wearing sunglasses, it looks to the cops like he's asleep. Turns out he's not asleep, he's dead. The cops check the dashboard: The car's out of gas. They check the satnav, which shows he was on route from San Francisco airport to Reno, Nevada, and that he was "going hands-free", using the car's DriveMate automatic driving system. They'd seen it before, guys croaking while their autodrive just kept on going till they ran out of gas.

"I-80 woulda been quicker," says one cop to the other.

"I guess he wanted to take the scenic route. That's what I do with my DriveMate. I set it to take the scenic route."