From TALES They Fired Your Nannybot For Telling You

by A. R. Gregory

 

Wang's App for Blue Balls

....Astra let’s herself slouch into Blade’s arms — his biobody arms! — as she sits with him in his new Vector Viper. When she feels his hand inch down her side, then swerve around her hip, across her belly, down... she squirms, pushes him away. “No, Blade, stop it!” She backs against the cramped car’s passenger hatch. When he reaches for her again, she scowls, snaps, “No! Just don’t!”
     Blade grimaces as he cups his groin with both hands. “Jeez, Astra! I can’t believe how hot you are, even realworld. You’ve given me blue balls, for Christ’s sake!”
     She squints at him, her jaw sagging. Blue balls? Is he serious? Of course she’s heard that oldtime slang, the name for that frustrating sensation twentieth-century teenage boys supposedly used to whine about to sucker their gullible girlfriends into biosex, right.
     She watches Blade shift in his seat, moan, stretch one leg, then the other. Meet him in his Viper, he said? Then biobody kissing? Now blue balls? She sucks in a breath through her clamped teeth. Is this the Blade she thought she knew? What’s with him now? 
     Hasn’t being together always seemed natural to them both? They love playing together, being together in the mindworlds, especially in Xanadalia! So why biosex? Isn’t that what Blade’s up to, what he’s trying to get her to do? But why put up with such messiness and inconvenience? Why, with more-real-than-real mindsex a thought away?
     She sits back, stares at Blade still panting and squirming. Is he simply looking for something different? she wonders. But biosex? Is Blade that imagination challenged? His mind and hers, with all the global resources of World Mindspace, aren’t enough for him anymore?
     Suddenly Blade looks back into her eyes. “C’mon, Astra. I’m backed up here. I need release.” He catches her wrist, tugs it toward his groin. “Just your hand, okay? Just touch me.”
     She jerks her wrist away. “Look, we kissed. But...” She glances at his lap again, at his other hand cupped desperately over his crotch. She wrinkles her nose. “What’s wrong with you, Blade? That’s so grank! Just do it to yourself if you have to.”
     Blade squints at her. “You really are a biosex virgin? You — really?” He frowns at her as if she’s radioactive, then huffs, shakes his head. “Everybodytriesbiosex sometime. It’s just part of growing up. Jeez, who’d have thought you...”
     She glares at him. “I can’t believe this. If this is what you expect, meeting realworld was a big mistake.”
     He folds his arms, swivels away from her. “C’mon, Astra, I could tell when we kissed you were into it too. So what now, you’re gonna be a prick-tease?”
     She winces, then scowles at him. “Sulking mode now, Blade?” Prick-tease, she thinks, steeling herself, even more twentieth-century grank? She jabs the hatch’s manual release pad with her elbow. “I’m outta here. I’ll take the Central home.” When the hatch door hisses open, she scrambles out of the Viper. Without giving Blade a last glance, she heads for the nearest Central Airtube station.

 

As her scramboots skatewalk her, Astra thinks and fumes. Hasn’t Blade always been so good in the mindsex worlds? Naughty, witty, daring, inventive, even like a dream? And she knows dreams. She’s always thought Blade sold himself short as a mind properties trader. Sure, his cash creds are great, but is that any reason to neglect his creativity? In the
mindsex worlds Blade’s been more creative, more of a dream, than any male dreamseed designer she’s known. Now biosex, blue balls, prick-tease? Has he been conning her all along, hiding his real self? Could Blade be a secret realworld sluglife, a biosex pervert?
     She rolls past one of the megacity’s many domed tree parks as a mindspace sign flashes its name and number before her eyes — Glimmering Glades 23 — which she ignores. Then she glides through the swirling, gleaming synthetic-coral towers of another residential complex, each blossoming with stacked, bulging living modules. All along her scramboots coordinate her strides, keeping her balanced and safe, guiding her toward her intended Airtube station as she pouts and shakes her head, pondering what happened with Blade.
     At every turn and glance, new mindspace ads pop up before her, vying for her attention, trying to sell her faster scramboots, feast snacks, access to new sexworlds, dream aphrodisiacs, whatever. If it weren’t for her scramboots having minds of their own, she’d never get anywhere thanks to all the outrageous come-ons. At least dreamseed ads only accost people in their sleep, she thinks, and the ones she creates blend seamlessly into people’s dream themes, the secret to her success.
     She thought commands her privacy sphere to expand, to block all distractions from her consciousness. She needs to think. She snaps Blade’s private portal closed too, in case he tries to mindcall her, make excuses, beg her to come back, even tries to apologize. She’ll decide later if she wants to delete Blade altogether, she tells herself.
     She’s heard the stories of lowlife guys who crave biosex. They obviously aren’t just urban legends, she thinks, are they, Blade? But what sort of girl would... She cringes, takes another deep breath. Biosex may have worked for reproduction, but why would anyone want to do it now? Even people in the backward cultures that still practice ritual biosex only do it on wedding nights or just before gestator births. Primitive initiation rights have to be painfully memorable, right. But biosex in a megacity? Grank!
     Or is it a guy thing? she wonders. Even all guys, if they’re honest. She exhales heavily. Guys and their macho male egos still yearning to splash their semen around? Isn’t that what sexbots are all about? Can’t any guy with the urge rent one with his ideal simulated female biobody? So that isn’t enough for Blade? In the mindsex worlds guys can even sire whole nations, whole planets if reproductive excess is their big turn-on, and do it all “more-real-than-real.” But World Mindspace living up to its slogan even in that absurdly indulgent way isn’t enough for Blade?
     “Wait!” she blurts and instantly halts as her scramboots jerk her legs one last step forward to keep her from tumbling. ”That’s why Blade wants biosex?” she mumbles to herself. He wants to squirt his actual semen into her biobody so he can fantasize, maybe fantasize better — she shivers — about impregnating her the way men used to impregnate women? And what of the rest of the fantasy, her swelling up like a fat tic ready to pop, turning into a bloated, waddling, barefoot living gestator, with a screaming, kicking human parasite growing in her belly? Grank to the tenth!
     She zooms off again, clenching her fists, unable to excise Blade and his blue-balled biobody from her mind. Like doing that to a woman is anything to fantasize about? Thank God for mindsex, and cloning and genegineering and gestator clinics. And what about menstruating, like her mother did when she was young? Grank! Isn’t parenthood enough of a responsibility without all the horrors of pregnancy and childbirth, plus that bloody once-a-month disgrace? Who has the time or patience for parenting anyway before they’re forty or fifty? She’s still only twenty-eight, Blade thirty. Are they even full adults yet?
     Marriage as reproductive bondage? Why would Blade want to fantasize about such medieval nonsense? Aren’t some things even too disgusting for fantasy play? Marriage today means friendship, fun, mind and dream sharing, maybe even parenting, but later, only after everything else has proven right. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head. At least she’s finally found out about Blade. Just delete him, she tells herself as she approaches the tube station. Delete Blade and all his backward nonsense....

 

Copyright 2020 A. R. Gregory