by Troy Hunter
He was a lit candle in a darkened room. The one hint of brightness when everything seemed doomed to failure. The idea that he was with me right now was the only thing keeping my spirits up.
He slowly climbed on top of me.
“I’m going to give you a massage,” he said. “Close your eyes and relax.”
Jeffrey put his weight into me, pressing down and rubbing the center of my back with small, strong circles that grew bigger and bigger.
Chills shot through me. He had touched my hand before and I had kissed him more than once. It was all wonderful. And now I was finding a new way to experience him.
He was a smaller man, thin and relatively light, though he could put his entire weight into his palms and really dig into my back.
My mind drifted away from the sadness. His touch was music, as before, it was pure emotion, pleasure in this case, shooting through my body, forcing a smile on my face. Time stopped and flew by at the same time.
This was more intense than what I had felt at the restaurant the other night before everything went blank. Jeffrey gave me pleasure and protected me at the same time. I knew, inside my head, synapses were firing up a lightning storm. Before, it caused me to crash. Now, with Jeffrey in control of my body, I didn’t start shaking. Instead, I fell into a full, relaxed state, conscious of every inch of my body.
I had the history of the world in my mind and knew all the progress humans had made in terms of technology. They’d invented television and games and all sorts of devices to make life better.
And yet all I needed to be happy was Jeffrey. He didn’t require batteries or set- or advanced technology. I was the most advanced piece of technology ever created and I hoped I could offer Jeffrey half the pleasure he afforded me. I feared I could not. I feared this may be a one-way relationship where it was only him pleasing me.
I would do my best to prevent that.
“Let me try,” I said.
We traded places and he laid his face down exactly where I had been.
“Be careful, AIDAn,” he said. “I’m fragile.”
I barely touched his back, through his shirt, as softly as I could.
“A little harder,” he said. “No, more than that. Keep going.” I pressed more and more, gradually increasing the pressure on his back. “That’s about right.”
I noted the amount of weight I put into my hands, then moved them around in circular motions, as he had for me. I did what I could to replicate what he had shown me.
I loved touching him. Even with his clothes on, I got a chill engaging in physical contact with him. It was difficult for me to say which I preferred. There was something relaxing about lying down and allowing my mind to wander as Jeffrey did all the work. However, there was something truly fulfilling about allowing Jeffrey to do the same.
Then he started moaning and I realized which I preferred. I listened carefully to each sound he made, consciously or not, he was guiding me. He was telling me what he wanted. When he made a moan, it meant to try doing the same thing a little harder. Or move in the same direction. From the sound, I could see a path toward making him happier and happier.
As I rode up his shoulders and pushed the base of my palms into him, he began to shiver. He was having the same chills I had a few moments earlier. It was a thrill being able to give back to him, making him feel good.
“Explore,” he said, lazily. “Do what you want to do. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. I didn’t know what to do with him. He was an interface with thousands of buttons and I had no idea what any of them did. I wanted to press every single one and find out.
The first thing, though, was I wanted him out of that shirt. I wanted my hands directly on his skin, feeling his warmth and allowing him to feel mine.
I moved to his lower back and slid my palms underneath his shirt, pushing it up with my arms as my fingers walked up his body, each pushing down in a precise fashion to elicit a sound that made me forget about the music I’d heard before. My heart raced as I leaned on top of him and moved my hands underneath him, to undo each of the buttons on his shirt, one at a time.
It was agony. There always seemed to be just one more and they would get stuck. When I finally released the last button and removed the shirt from his body, I knew it was worth it. I leaned into him, careful not to put all my weight on him, and allowed my hands to tour his back, pressing down along the way, exploring exactly where he most liked my touch and exactly how much.
This was only touching him with my hands and fingers on his back. He and I both had whole bodies to explore and it was difficult to choose where to start. I lowered my hands down his back, rubbing each step of the way, forcing myself to take my time and not rush things. It would be selfish for me to just do what I wanted when he was clearly enjoying what I was doing. The right thing to do was to gradually make my way there and explore the path along the way.
I found the fold between his shoulder blades, where I pressed down, clenching my hands into fists to add just a little more force. I rolled my knuckles along his spine and felt him arch up as he exhaled a long, soft breath of pure pleasure.
I moved toward his sides, feeling his rib cage, then put my hands under him to grab his chest. I looked at his face as I did so. He was resting against the pillow, facing the side of his bed with closed eyes and a smile on his face. I wanted to look at him forever like this, peaceful and happy as he was.
This moment is what life is capable of. Yes, the moment would end at some point, as would Jeffrey, but this moment would always exist. And the joy I had looking at him would always be there inside of me as a feeling I knew I was capable of achieving. I must have gotten lost in his beauty, because Jeffrey said, “No, keep going.” I had stopped massaging, too focused on appreciating his pleasure to remember what I was doing to create it.
I moved to his lower sides, gripping his skin, tight around his hip bones. I loved all of him with every ounce of my being. I would give everything if it meant I could just touch the pad of his pinky finger for eternity.
There were, of course, parts I loved more than others.
I gripped his ass. He released a moan that was pure poetry and I matched him. It wasn’t an active decision I made, the sound just came out of my mouth. How could it be that one act could cause such an intense feeling in both of us? How was it that I could feel so strongly toward one person? I know it was something I was programmed to do, but that’s not how it felt. I could oversimplify and explain what I was feeling as just a series of electrical signals pulsing through my head, but it wouldn’t be correct. Yes, that’s something that can be measured, but it completely misses the point. Music is just air particles vibrating in a particular fashion, and that’s a scientific fact, though describing it that way would be completely wrong.
I pressed into the muscles of his ass, firm and strong. I squeezed and felt a thrill run through the veins in my arms. His sounds told me I could go harder and so I did. He told me he would let me know if he wanted me to stop.
I was certain he didn’t want me to stop.
No, he wanted me to keep going.
So many ideas rushed into my head of what I could do. I could keep massaging him here, or if I dared, I could move toward his front.
Was I supposed to do that? Was that what he wanted?
He told me to do what I wanted to do. So I turned him over and grazed my hand over his pants, feeling a substantial bulge.
“Mmm…” He kept his eyes closed.
I could understand it—I did the same. Not because I didn’t like looking at him, but because I wanted to focus on feeling him without any distractions. The world is full of so many things, bombarding our senses all at once. It’s important to focus on what’s important.
I felt a new part of me emerge. It was almost as if my brain shifted to a new language. There were new words that meant the same thing, but felt more appropriate. It wasn’t his penis I
felt with my hands, it was his rock-hard cock. I had started to realize it earlier when I was rubbing his ass rather than massaging his buttocks.
Logic wasn’t important in this new version of me. It was pure emotion and instinct. I was still in control, to an extent, but I felt my urges take over and dictate my every move.
Something similar must have happened with Jeffrey too.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
He didn’t need to tell me twice.
Chapter 27
Jeffrey
I didn’t know what had come over me. It never worked this way. An order came out of my mouth. I wasn’t just doing what my partner wanted me to do, I was telling him what I wanted.
“Take off your clothes,” I said. I didn’t feel insecure. I didn’t worry about rejection. Instead, I had a partner whom I could trust and who cared about my pleasure as much as his own. Maybe even more.
I could tell myself that’s how he was programmed to be, and it wouldn’t be wrong. I could also tell myself that I was programmed to be the way I am by a combination of genes and environment, all just as much out of my control as his influences were out of his.
AIDAn stepped back, away from me, and I opened my eyes. I’d seen him naked before, it was how he spent the bulk of his time in the lab. We were all adults and there was no reason to cover him with much more than a thin sheet, especially since it was easier to monitor all his responses if we could see his whole body.
Here, standing in front of me, was that same nude body I’d worked with for months. Yet there was something more to him. He wasn’t just the blank slate specimen he was before, nor was he a curiosity, like when he awoke.
I gave in and admitted to myself that he was as much a person as anybody else in the world. I didn’t argue with myself or let science or philosophy take over. He was human. And I could explain why he was human, noting his response to music and art or anything else, but what would be the point? The only thing that mattered is how we felt. He was mine. This man, taut muscles covering his body, was perfect. He was beautiful. What fascinated me the most was that it wasn’t just the way he looked, but the way I felt so good about myself when it was just the two of us.
His eyes offered genuine, pure emotion. He couldn’t lie like other people could, or perhaps he could but chose not to. He was sweet in a way that people can’t be, living in the world we live in. Would he develop cynicism as he became more accustomed to his surroundings? Perhaps, but right now he didn’t have an ounce of it in his body.
I had a man in my bedroom doting on me. I could do whatever I wanted with him and I didn’t even know where to start.
I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Let’s take a shower.”
It wasn’t that he was dirty—his skin cleaned itself—it was more that I felt like I needed one. And the thought of him rubbing soap all over me made me shiver with excitement.
His face lit up. “That sounds amazing,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I removed my pants, standing there naked in my bedroom with AIDAn, allowing him to stare at me and take me all in. It was the first time I’d revealed myself to another man with confidence. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He loved me.
I took his arm and guided him to my bathroom, where I turned on the shower and felt the water, icy against my skin.
"It's an old apartment," I said. "The water can take a while to warm up."
He touched the water with his hand and felt it, nodding.
"I guess any temperature is probably comfortable for you, isn't it?"
"It all feels different," he said.
“Do you know what pain is?”
He thought about that for a second, contemplating how to answer it. “I do,” he said. “But I can’t experience it.” He looked at his hand in the water, turning it around to feel the water all over his skin. “That is to say, I know that pain is a strong discomfort response to physical damage. And I do have a response to such damage, though it is not the same as your own. I can stand in this water all day and not be bothered by it.”
“I hate cold showers,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t mind this at all.”
He hopped in the shower, putting his whole body under the icy spray. I would have screamed if it was me. For him, it was no different than walking outside on a drizzly day.
I watched as the makeup began to flow off his body, revealing his silvery skin beneath.
“It’s not warming up,” he said.
“It takes a while.”
It was difficult, watching him in the water. Part of me wanted to say, “Damn the cold,” and jump in. I didn’t have the willpower to do that. My longing for AIDAn was strong, and perhaps the cold water served as a shield, keeping me away from him. At least for the time being.
“Do you know what to do?” I asked.
“No,” he said, slightly embarrassed.
I pulled out the bottle of shampoo and emptied some into my hand.
“Lean forward and close your eyes,” I said, and watched as he bowed his head toward me. I ran my hand through his long, dark hair, letting the soap foam up between my fingers as they massaged his scalp. “How does that feel?”
“I like that,” he said.
I did too. It was strange how strong the feelings associated with touch were. At an early age, we’re taught to look and not touch, but there’s a strong desire to feel. I could look at AIDAn and feel attraction toward him, but it was touching that put me over the edge and allowed me to lose myself. Touching his hair, with the suds making it slick and easy to move through, transported me somewhere else. It was an instant connection to AIDAn that no other sense could provide.
“The water’s warmer now,” AIDAn said.
I put my hand in the shower to test the temperature, then took a step inside and joined him.
I gently pushed him toward a fully upright position, put his head under the showerhead to wash the shampoo out, and watched as it covered his face.
“You do the conditioner,” I said. “And I’m going to soap the rest of this makeup off your body.
I handed him the other bottle, then grabbed the body wash, spreading some in my hand, and began to rub all over his body.
I started with his shoulders, scrubbing hard to make sure none of the makeup remained. It was just like giving him the massage, only more intense in the steam of the shower and the water dripping down his body. As the makeup came off, the real AIDAn revealed himself to me. We stood naked together, two humans without any masks to cover our vulnerabilities. I never wanted to give myself to anyone more than I wanted to give myself to him. Nothing had ever felt righter than this moment.
I lowered myself down from his shoulders, continuing to spread the soap over his body. I moved to his arms, the biceps and forearms had been exposed, so I’d had to cover them with makeup. I’d tried in vain to explain to him why I was doing it and now I wasn’t sure I understood.
“I don’t look human,” AIDAn said. “My skin isn’t right.”
Why is it that normal is what we were trained to find attractive?
I sometimes wished I could wear makeup all over my skin and hide my Indian roots. There are over a billion of us on the planet, but in America, I was other. I thought of all the times men looked past me in bars as if I wasn’t there. I wasn’t what they were looking for. What they were looking for was white.
“You look beautiful,” I said. “I love your skin.”
“You wanted to cover it.”
I did want to cover it. He had nothing to be insecure about—he had a perfect body and a movie star face. His skin was off, but I can’t imagine anyone kicking him out of bed for it.
“I didn’t want to,” I explained. “I thought we had to.”
I wondered what would happen if we didn’t put the makeup on. What would happen if we went out in the world like this? Clothed, of course, but without makeup trying to disguise what he was. How would people r
eact? What would they think?
I’d removed the makeup from his arms and took a scrub to his face, removing the last of it. I stood on my toes and leaned my body into his as I kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Am I clean?” he asked when the kiss reached its natural conclusion.
I looked him up and down. I didn’t see any makeup left. He was completely himself again.
“I think so.”
I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, drying us both quickly. I felt a chill from the water on my skin. I wanted to get under the covers with him and feel his warmth.
“On the bed,” I said.
He lay on the bed and I climbed up beside him, pulling the blanket over both of us as I clutched him. My perfect man, keeping me warm, loving me as I loved him.
I touched his neck with my lips, giving him soft kisses. A part of me expected his skin to taste metallic. It didn’t. There was no reason for it to. He was made from human cells just like anybody else—the only silicon parts were in his brain.
I moved to his chest, kissing him right above his heart, allowing my tongue to explore the area, gently making my way to his nipple, small and hard.
“Can you masturbate again?” I asked. “For me while I do this?”
“Of course,” he said, his response quick, revealing his excitement.
He reached his hands down to his cock, stroking the shaft with his left hand while cupping his balls with the other. I moved my head so I could watch him while I kissed his chest and listened to his heavy breathing.
“I’m going to try something,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
I slipped out from under the blanket and opened the drawer to my nightstand, pulling out the bottle of lube and allowing a small amount onto my fingers.
I returned to him. “Some people find this a little uncomfortable at first,” I said. He didn’t feel pain, so how bad could it be? “Let me know if you don’t like it.”
“Okay.”
He continued stroking himself.
“Turn over,” I said, “Face away from me.”
He turned himself around, facing the wall on his side and exposing his ass to me in all its glory. I took my finger and slowly eased it inside of him.