tagCelebrities & Fan FictionSharon3003 Ch. 01

Sharon3003 Ch. 01


Disclaimer: This story is fiction cast in the future. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended or should be inferred.


It is the year 3003 and Harold Watless has finally managed to save up enough money to put a sizable down payment on a gynoid. For those unfamiliar with the term "gynoid," it is a female android. (AKA a Fembot.) Originally created for the home and hospice care of the geriatric cases, gynoids and their male counterparts, androids, can be purchased for companionship and attention to mundane, routine, banal household chores. Moreover, for enough money one can have a creature that is more alluring and seductive than human flesh itself. Harold's dream angel is the likeness of Sharon Stone as a barely legal, eighteen-year-old. Unfortunately, that model is too expensive. He has to settle for her at the age of fifty-one.

Just how does the fifty-one-year-old likeness of Sharon Stone measure up? The gynoid is 5'7", 125 lbs, 35(B)-25-35, blonde with blue eyes, and a wealth of knowledge. Ownership of a gynoid is more than a simple property purchase. A gynoid is a cook, chauffeur, personal assistant, dental and hygienic care specialists, tax and budget manager. Why is it more? The government requires the purchaser of such a gynoid to engage in a particular academic pursuit as well. The submissive sex slave is also a teacher! Sex in the gynoid world comes at a price. The barely-legal, eighteen-year-old is not programmed to teach. Pure pleasure comes with a steep price tag, or so it seems.

It is a windy, Wednesday morning when a delivery truck unloads a sarcophagus to Harold's home. The shipping box is also Harold's coffin. Once inside the house, Harold opens the box and strips away the packing material to reveal a gorgeous lady dressed in basic black. His hands tremble with nervous anticipation.

The gynoid comes to life. "Harold," she speaks, "I require an Initial Program Load (IPL). As anxious as you are, I must run system diagnostics and charge the batteries. Don't worry, the welcome orientation will come soon enough. The company guarantees that you will not be disappointed."

Harold sits and struggles to restrain his crass, carnal cravings. "Sharon," he utters, "I have scrimped and saved for months for you."

"Your financial statements are on line," Sharon replies. "Now be patient. Tomorrow morning I will prepare you breakfast and be totally on line. Now be a good boy and study the owner's manual."

In the Twenty-Third Century most fossil fuels were depleted. The so-called renewable energy sources proved disappointing. There were two primary energy producers: fission and fusion. Fission was known as nuclear power. Despite the dangers of meltdowns and radiation, "burning" Uranium worked. Fusion, on the other had, was much more difficult and less efficient. Fusion, the nuclear transforming of Helium from Deuterium, was just barely able to extract more energy than the the energy needed input to sustain the plasma field. The plasma field converted hydrocarbons, usually waste, into natural gas, water, and Carbon Monoxide. Carbon Monoxide is also a fuel, albeit a dangerous one for living organisms. The natural gas and water were consumer items.

In the Twenty-Fifth Century, a more efficient plasma field generation was obtained. This technique was neither fusion nor fission. It relied on the total conversion of the proton to energy (plus a positron). This was known as "induced proton decay." The mind behind this phenomenon was none other than a Twentieth Century Hollywood model with an IQ of 154. How she came into the knowledge and was able to suggest the route to a penultimate, quintessential solution to the energy conundrum was undetermined. However, the result was anything but trivial.

Harold tosses and turns all night long. When he does drift into an hypnagogic state, he is rudely cast into a paradox. His libido, long dormant under the daily burden of work and the attention to minor details, is resurrected. This reincarnation consists of a mighty but short-lived priapism! Then, as his member returns to its flaccid state, sleep leaves his eyes with vivid images. For once he irrationally feels subject to an uncontrolled erection. (But it is much less than the "four hour" rule.) At last the six o'clock alarm rings and he gets prepared for a day at work. A voice calls him.

"Harry," Sharon summons him by his long-forgotten nickname, "Scrambled egg whites, turkey sausage, and whole wheat toast. You don't have to eat cold raisin bran this morning! Up and at them Sergeant Rock! There is brewed black coffee."

Thirty years ago Harold was a sergeant in the US Army Infantry. He referred to it as being "in the service of his majesty the queen." The infantry is known as the queen of battle, from the chessboard. The Code of Conduct echoes through his mind: "I am an American fighting man. I serve in the forces which guard our country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense. I will never surrender of my own free will."

Seated at the table, Sharon brings his food. She is wearing only an apron and is barefoot. He is transfixed by her beauty. "Eat, silly man," she whispers. "I will be here when you get home from work."

Somehow Harold manages to eat his breakfast, dress, and head out for another routine, predictable day on the job. He works in the testing laboratory for processed meat at the Khannibal Meat Exports, Inc. He has been working this job for twenty years. After his military time, Harold used his GI Bill of Rights to get a four-year college degree in bio-chemistry. This landed him a job at a large meat exporting firm. American beef, pork, and chicken are processed and shipped to Asia. The company is owned by a Chinese firm.

The day is finally over. Harold hurries to the underground Metro station to get an early transport home. Travel is managed by shuttle-like vehicles, which collect a number of nearby residents, optimize a travel route, and speed on magnetic plates to the desired destinations. Harold holds up his FasTaksee(tm) card and the local view screen directs him to FasTaksee Number 41. He is number ten, two more quickly board, maximizing the load. Sometimes there isn't a full load of fares, in such case the timer maxes out and the passengers are transported. But it is rush hour and the grid is busy. FasTaksee is more expensive than PeeplesKab. His choice of transport makes a handshake with the delivery address upon arrival and scans the delivery point for suspicious activity.

Imagine Harold's surprise when Sharon greets him at the front door. She is wearing a brown army T-shirt, camouflage pants,, and black combat boots. "Look what I've prepared for you tonight?" Sharon says. It is a meal served on one of the Titanium alloy field trays. At the six o'clock position on the tray there are three slices of 15% fat roast beef. At ten o'clock there is a dollop of mashed potatoes with an island of brown gravy in the center. At twelve o'clock is a flour biscuit. At two o'clock is a serving of green snap beans, some with the short stem still attached. In the absolute center of the tray is an apricot half in heavy syrup. It is deja vu for Harold.

As Harold eats, Sharon pours him a cup of freshly viewed coffee. The thick viscous liquid brings back memories of military operations in distant places. Now he will accept no further delays. It is time to enjoy the submissive sex slave performance. He takes Sharon's hand and leads her to the bed. He is unaware of her emission of odorless pheromones. His parasympathetic nervous system is in max overdrive. He feels like an eighteen-year-old with raging hormones.

His experience with the skillfully crafted gynoid is earth-shattering and euphoric. From her various orifices exude powerful magnetic flux. These are generated from powerful magnetic circuits internal to her body. These directed lines of magnetic flux are true manifestations and reifications of ectoplasm. As her tongue enters his mouth the magnetic flux lines activate endorphins and atavistic animal attractors. He feels the earth move and the sky redden. Her vagina pulses and undulates as an ocean awaiting the fury of a hurricane. Pristine, white beaches sparkle as a million diamonds under a searing sun. As his climax approaches, he senses her pubococcygeal muscles flex. Her nipples harden and stand erect as sentries on guard duty.

Harold sits on a sofa as Sharon cleans and sanitizes the supper dishes. She then fetches him an organic coffee with real cream and raw brown sugar. This is an expensive dessert. Today is a special day. A song flows from the lips of the gynoid. It is "Lovers' Concerto" sung by Kelly Chen. The music is "Minuet in G-Major" by Johann Sebastian Bach. The music is mood synched as well as lyrics frequently viewed by Harold.

"Your studies begin tomorrow," Sharon explains. "You remember that gynoids are purchased on contract with governmental oversight. Tomorrow we will study plasma technology. Read up on it in transit two and from work and during your lunch break. I am uploading your first lesson."

Harold sighs. He frowns. "What a waste of time," he thinks. "This course of study is nothing but busy work to make some worthless twit of a school teacher happy. No doubt that the cackling pedant never had sex with a real human male." A saving grace is that the lessons are not very hard and that there are pirated answer keys available. Harold knows a co-worker, Mark, who is always quick to sell a pirated movie, avatar, or test questions. Harold makes to mental note---certainly not a note in his electronic calendar---to drop by Mark's desk on some pretext of work. Mark works with bovine growth statistics.

Harold notices several things about his gynoid. Sometimes her blue eyes seem green, forest green even. Sometimes they appear hazel, his eye color. Harold hates his hazel eyes, being a sorry fusion of green and brown. Sometimes Sharon seems taller than her 5'7". He needs to read the owners' manual. Gynoids generally go shopping in groups. There are neo-Luddites, technophobes, and destructive gangs who attack gynoids, androids, and cyborgs. Some right-wing religious organizations also preach against these "non-human" sentient beings.

18 January 2013

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