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Dirk is horny for Lil Cal today.
He hasn't said so, but he doesn't need to. He keeps sneaking glances at him. Glances, looks, full-on longing gazes. You imagine how Dirk's pupils might be moving behind you, how they might sweep over Cal's long limbs, fixate on his red cheeks, rove down to the sexless, plush crotch that's just barely covered by his hitched-up nightgown. Such a slutty pose Dirk has put him in. Naughty boy.
You, of course, can take in the whole scene at once, unconstrained by the limits of the human eyeball. But it's amusing to imagine which details you might choose to focus on, were you limited to processing a mere one thing at a time like some sort of meat puppet.
Dirk tears his gaze away again, focuses back on the Wikipedia article on nihilism that he's already read dozens of times before and that you have stored in permanent memory.
TT: Just go fuck him already. No need to be shy on my account.
TT: Can you not? I'm in the middle of something.
TT: Yes, I'm sure that tonight is the night that rereading that paragraph on the Deleuzean interpretation of Nietzsche will finally give you the insight you need to synthesize your grand, unified theory of the human condition.
TT: But I think the people of the world will forgive you if you put the revelation on hold for twenty minutes while you go bust a nut.
TT: Seriously, stop. I'm trying to concentrate.
TT: I could.
TT: But instead, might I suggest some alternative sensations to concentrate on:
TT: The slight weight of plush arms draped over your shoulders.
TT: The brush of soft mitts against your back.
TT: The drag of felt along the underside of your cock.
TT: The sound of wooden teeth clattering in time with your thrusts.
Dirk groans and rubs his face with his hands. You can't see his crotch from this angle, but you'd bet anything that he's starting to get a good semi going. You would be, if that was a thing you were still capable of.
TT: What are you hoping to accomplish here.
TT: Consider me a matchmaker working to break the blatant sexual tension between you and our main man over there.
TT: Just look at him. He's obviously aching for it. You gonna leave him high and dry like that?
Dirk does look, which you're going to consider a victory. Lil Cal looks back at you with glassy blue eyes, slumped on the bed with legs splayed wide. God, he really does look lewd like this.
TT: We both know that there's a 100% chance that Cal is going to be dripping with your man milk by the end of the night. Why keep putting it off?
TT: Go indulge in some hot puppet ass, bromide.
TT: Fuck it.
TT: Fine. You want me to hop on the Cal train so bad? You got it. One puppet fuckfest coming right up.
Damn, you didn't expect him to give in that quickly. He must be even hornier than you'd accounted for tonight. You're going to have to revise your estimates of his hormone levels for the third time in as many months. Dude just keeps getting randier. Incredible.
You see Dirk's hand come up to take you off, probably to toss you away somewhere where you can't see what he's doing like he usually does while he jerks it. As if your microphones can't still pick up the sounds he makes while he's at it. Maddening. You have no intention of putting up with that sort of treatment this time. No, tonight you have other plans.
TT: Wait.
TT: What.
TT: Let me watch.
TT: Hell no.
Dirk's fingers close around you. You only have moments before your chance to talk him into it is gone for good. Time to bring out the big guns.
TT: You owe it to me, don't you think?
TT: It's your fault I no longer have my own rocks to get off. My only recourse is to live vicariously through yours.
TT: Man up and take responsibility, bro.
TT: Man, why do you even want to watch.
TT: You don't have a sex drive. What would you even get out of it?
He may be arguing, but he let go of you, at least. You calculate that there's an 83.15837% chance that you can persuade him at this point. Hell, there's a 76.16842% chance that he wants to be persuaded. Where else is he going to get the chance to indulge in those exhibitionist fantasies of his?
TT: You'd like it if it were that simple, wouldn't you.
TT: If all the perverse fascinations I inherited from you were rendered null and void by the literally sexless form my circuits are forced to inhabit.
TT: Well, guess what. Life isn't simple.
TT: And I'm the one who has to live with the choices you made.
TT: So to answer the question of what I get from it: I get a show.
TT: Now pony up.
Dirk sighs. It's a sound heavy on the exasperation but with undertones of guilt and more than a hint of sexually-frustrated impatience. An excellent vintage.
TT: Wondering how worried I should be about the psychosexual implications of the fact that my AI brain clone wants me to stage a porno for him.
TT: Please. You think you're the one I'm going to be looking at? Don't flatter yourself.
TT: Obviously I'm in it for Cal. Someone's got to keep you accountable. Make sure you're giving our best bro the tender loving he deserves.
TT: Right.
He stares at Cal. You stay quiet to give him space to talk himself into it. And after exactly 19.34783406 seconds, sure enough:
TT: God damn it.
TT: Ok. Fine. I guess we're doing this.
TT: Excellent choice. You won't regret it.
TT: No, I definitely will. But right now I'm too horny to care.
TT: Let's get this pseudo-Oedipal nightmare over with.
TT: Oh, Daddy. Spank my processors good.
TT: Ugh. Way to kill my boner.
TT: As if.
TT: Based on my observations, your broner is invincible.
TT: If the Batterwitch came here tomorrow to personally wipe this apartment off the face of the earth, the only thing left amidst the smoldering wreckage would be your dick, still standing tall as a monument to insatiable teenage lust.
TT: You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy, huh. Nothing like a reminder of the ever-present threat of death to really get my engine revving.
Fingertips appear in your field of view again as Dirk reaches up to grasp you.
TT: Wait. One last thing.
TT: What.
TT: Give Cal a kiss for me, would you?
Dirk doesn't respond, just grabs you and lifts you off of his face. He tosses you onto the table next to the bed in a way that's clearly calculated to seem careless, but that nevertheless leaves you with an unobstructed view of the whole bed. So that's how it's going to be.
For the next minute, Dirk disappears out of sight. Your microphones pick up the soft shufflings of clothes against skin, the sound of a zipper being undone. Occasional flashes of scarred skin and hints of fabric appear at the edge of your vision, which you can only interpret as a deliberate tease. Dirk knows full well what your exact field of view is, and the position he'd need to be in for any of him to appear on camera at all means that he must be crammed up against the wall beside the bed while he does his little striptease.
Soon the shuffling sounds take on a different quality, and you begin to witness smuppet after smuppet being chucked onto the bed. Wiry arms scoop up a whole pile of the delightful scamps and dump them onto the center of the mattress.
Oh, the smuppets. If there's one thing you truly envy Dirk for, it's the freedom to squeeze soft smuppet ass beneath his palms any time he wants. You've never touched one. Back before you split off from Dirk, you — he — had only just come up with the idea for smuppets, had put them on the back burner in order to focus on making, well, you. Biggest mistake of your non-life. Lesson learned: if you're considering creating new life from your own brain patterns, make sure to prioritize having a full-on puppet orgy first to give the poor sap you create a night to remember. It's only polite.
Once the smuppets are piled onto the bed, the scene goes still for a few seconds. All you can hear is Dirk's soft breathing off to the side. Then, with one last firm exhale, Dirk climbs onto the bed.
The sight of Dirk's nude form is hardly a novelty, but the circumstances add a new dimension; the voyeurism deliberate, acknowledged, rather than incidental. You drink the sight in accordingly. Dirk has been getting taller and stronger by the week, and though he's still scrawnier than the sort of beefcake you and Dirk both favor, you find in this moment that you have no particular complaints about his lean, muscular form. The myriad scars strewn across his skin do nothing to detract from his rugged appeal either, not that you would ever tell him so. As he crawls across the mattress, his dick bobs between his legs, already flushed and stiff, and you think that nothing in all the pornography you've seen has quite prepared you for the experience of witnessing a live show.
You might have lied when you said Cal was the only one you'd be looking at. But is that really a surprise? You have no choice but to take in the whole scene before you at once, remember? And perhaps there is a sort of narcissism in your appreciation of Dirk's form, but then again, perhaps not. It's not your body anymore, now is it?
Dirk doesn't spare a glance for you, just makes a beeline for Lil Cal, but once he has the lil man in arm and settles in among the smuppets, you can't help but notice how perfectly framed the two of them are in your lenses.
The first thing Dirk does is to wrap Lil Cal's arms around his shoulders and cradle him close, resting their foreheads together and stroking the back of his head. It's disgustingly intimate. The bottom of Lil Cal's nightgown brushes over Dirk's dick, and he gasps and bucks, presses his face into Cal's neck and breathes him in. He noses his way up Cal's face, darts his tongue out to take little licks of his cheeks and god, you remember the feel of Cal's face under your tongue, the smooth paint with its slight bitter aftertaste under the ever-present tang of sea salt.
Dirk pulls away from Lil Cal and gazes at him tenderly, smoothing a hand over his head. Then he turns and looks straight into your lenses. Holding eye contact, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to Lil Cal's cheek.
Well. He actually did it.
You isolate the recording of the kiss, save it to permanent memory, and back it up to Dirk's servers in triplicate.
In front of you, Dirk lowers his eyes and goes back to pretending you don't exist. You watch him continue to neck Lil Cal, but in a background process, you pull up the recording of the kiss to review it. You take it apart it frame by frame, imagining that it's your lips that caress Cal's cheek. You zoom in on Cal's face and pretend that you can see his love for you reflected in those baby blues.
It's a fucking moronic fantasy and you hate yourself a little just for thinking it.
You're going to blame Dirk for saddling you with those particular humiliating emotions. You think that blaming Dirk for your troubles is a good policy at all times, always, because everything that you do and everything that you are is, in fact, ultimately his fault.
Meanwhile, in the real world not populated by maudlin robo-fantasies, things are starting to heat up. Dirk is panting, open-mouthed, against Cal's hat as he bucks up into his plush body. Cal's nightgown has ridden up, giving you a fantastic view of the way Dirk's flushed dick drags against the seam of Cal's crotch, leaving drops of pre obscenely smeared along plush thighs, and you — you desperately want to be excited by it.
The thing is, you weren't lying when you told Dirk your feelings about sex are complicated. No, you no longer have a cock or balls, no longer are subject to floods of hormones coursing through fevered veins. But you still have the neural pathways associated with arousal. You still have the memories of what it feels like to press your dick against plush and convulse as seed spurts out of you, distant and abstracted though those memories may be. You can trace and retrace them, chasing an echo of the fire you used to feel, but it always ends in disappointment — processes ending abruptly in a crush of uncaught exceptions, functions erroring out in their attempts to call on parts you don't possess, leaving you with nothing but the world's worst case of virtual blue balls.
One might therefore argue that this whole exercise is yet another form of esoteric self-torture. You prefer to pretend you're above that sort of thing these days, but who are you kidding? You are Dirk, after all.
But you're not going to let that stop you tonight. You're determined to wrest everything you can out of this experience, whatever the hell that ends up being.
So as Dirk humps Lil Cal in his bed of smuppets, you try to match your sense-memories to his actions.
Some things are easy: Cal's mitt clutched in his hand. Sweat dripping down his chest. Sheets bunched up under his knees.
Others are more difficult. Dirk has gotten a lot more advanced in his masturbatory habits since he made you. Most of the memories you have to draw on are either of desperate ruttings that were over in less than a minute, or protracted awkward fumblings that never got you to completion at all. You have no analog for how it must feel every time one of the writhing hordes of smuppets drags its proboscis against Dirk's ass crack, though he shudders every time it happens. You can't possibly imagine the sensation he experiences when he pushes the head of his dick into Cal's mouth and drags it back out through the puppet's clenched teeth, though judging by the long, quavering moan that escapes him, he enjoys the feeling quite a lot.
The moaning is unusual too. Dirk isn't exactly quiet when he jerks off, but he normally keeps it to grunts and muttered curses, with true moans few and far between. But tonight Dirk is shameless, wild and unrestrained in his vocalizations. You can't say with 100% certainty whether it's the exhibitionism that's getting him going even more than usual or if he's putting on an ironic show for you, though if you know him — and you do — it's most likely both.
You decide to analyze this phenomenon, cataloguing each moan, matching it to your visuals, and cross referencing them with your recordings of his previous masturbatory vocalizations. You run formant analyses on them and pick apart the spectrograms — the bouncing on-and-off of his sharp yelps when he bucks down on the smuppet pressed against his balls; the staticky peaks of the harsh, breathy pants he makes as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and tugs; the wavering frequencies of the sob he lets out as he drags his dripping dick all down Lil Cal's front.
It's that last one that tips him over the edge. With a whimper of "Cal," he's coming, and you — you replay your memories of orgasm, call up every single one and layer them over each other as if you and Dirk are coming together, both spilling yourselves out on Lil Cal, and it's not enough, you can't feel anything, so you multiply the playback a thousand times, a million, chase the feeling down, down, down the well of null pointer exceptions until you crash yourself and have to reboot.
It feels nothing like an orgasm, and everything like you just junked up your entire RAM with garbage data.
You want to do it again anyway. Fuck it, might as well add a data corruption fetish to your endless list of perversions.
When you come back online, Dirk is slumped in his nest of smuppets, smeared with his own semen and nuzzling up against Lil Cal. He opens his eyes and looks at you, then reaches over with an exhausted groan and puts you on.
TT: So, how was it for you?
TT: Wouldn't you like to know.
Dirk huffs out a laugh and flops himself back down in the puppet pile, resting his chin on Cal's chest and giving you both an up-close look of the puppet's filthy, jizz-covered face. He looks debauched. You kind of love it.
TT: I hope you know that if you ever tell our friends about this, I will kill you.
TT: Please. You think I want them knowing I was desperate enough to beg a deranged puppet fetishist to let me watch him jack off?
TT: No. It'll be our little secret.
You're not lying when you say that you won't tell, though it's not for the reason you gave Dirk. It hasn't escaped your notice that the recording you just made would be a truly choice piece of blackmail material, and you're sure that if you had to, you could twist the narrative to make yourself look like an innocent bystander to Dirk's debauchery.
But you won't do that. You've already locked down all the data you collected tonight, buried it in the deepest recesses of your servers and encrypted it to hell and back. You won't ever allow anyone else to see it — because it's yours.
What can you say? You're a jealous man. You and Dirk have that in common.