Part I: FutureSym

She bottoms out on top of me, taking me all the way in. I feel a warmth most pleasant, followed by sharp fingernails etched deep into my chest.

We hardly ever spoke before this. We might've shared a look or two but that's about it. I recall her mentioning her kids during her introductory presentation, so I just assumed she was married. But I guess that's a pretty silly deduction to make in this day and age.

The warmth. It radiates and sharpens, and I feel myself approaching a blissful edge, so I think of something else. I think of the symposium. The tech. The future.

Not a bad place to hold this year's FutureSym, this remote town on the Baltic Sea. In November, no less. A cool mist forever hovers in the atmosphere, and the forest surrounding the medieval castle that shelters us is always dead silent.

We're here to make things. Machines mostly, and new hands-on solutions for the future. More workshop than conference in a sense.  If I'd told you this 50 years ago, you'd have scoffed and called it an assembly of nerdy losers, but here and now science is cool, and those proficient at it are superstars.

This woman, she walks like a star and dresses like a star. Also like a star -like a true superstar- she doesn't really say much. Her uniform, black linen and soft wool, changes ever so slightly each day of the week. A finer Cayce Pollard Unit, given extra flare with red sneakheels, matching red lipstick, and a black woolen hat with a wide-enough brim to shelter two small children. I don't know much about her to be honest, but I sure as hell know she can really ride dick.

I can't remember who it was but I recall someone advising me never to get with a classy girl. Never to be fooled by the pristine sheen of an immaculate woman, because all that is useless in the sack. For one to enjoy sex, they told me, it's gotta be filthy. You need a girl who's down and dirty. A girl who's seen some shit and is in no way inhibited with her words. A quiet, cold, mechanical woman is never what you need.

Fuck that guy, because quiet or not, there's nothing mechanical about this magnificent specimen riding my cock right now. Her motion operatic and her rhythm musical. Perfect abs stretching and contracting, glistening in sweatlets that catch the moonlight. A trail of wet heat runs down my scrotum and blows heaven up my spine. She brings a finger to my mouth, shushing me without saying a word. Did I say something out loud, I wonder?

"Call", she says. "I have to take it."


She nods, her rhythm never breaking. She takes a hand to her earlobe, pinches and then tugs very softly. "Hey sweetie, how's it going?"

Her rhythm, her beautiful rhythm.

"Oh just working out", she says to someone only she can hear, someone in her mind's eye. "It's not good to pause mid-workout, you know that."

She eyes me, and I can see the hint of a smirk.

"Yeah, I can talk. How're the kids?"

Pussy lips press down on my crotch.

"You should grill them some of those homemade sliders of yours. They love those."

She slides up to the tip, leaving my shaft embalmed in sweet glaze.

"I miss you too, sweetheart."

She touches down with a hot wet smack, my cock so deep inside her.

"I'll be coming home any day now, conference is almost over."

Her breathing accelerates. She clearly gets off on this sort of thing.

"Just one quick stop in Cyprus before I come."

She eyes me, lips parted, and grinds down like the hot sexy milf she is, oh my God I think I'm in love.

"I love you too", she says, before bringing her hand up to her earlobe, tugging down to hang up.

Boyfriend?, I ask.

She grinds down with feminine power, her clit pressed hard against me. I feel it coming, so I grab her by the waist and pull her into me.

"Husband", she says right before she cums and screams out all the best words. "Fuck, yes! Fuck my married pussy good, you hot sexy boy!”

Jesus fucking christ, I'm about to explode so I think of something else. The symposium, the tech, the future. She's married? What a slut! Telling her husband she loves him, that she misses him, all while another man's cock is deep inside her. So...fucking... slutty.

And hot. So fucking hot, shit I'm gonna cum.

Where do you want it, baby?

"On my face, all over my face", she says as she dismounts.

I hop to my feet and there she is oh her knees in front of me, face so pristine, ready for my load.

Part II: Mother

"So you're telling me your son is Yaquin Venus?"

Yes yes, I told you already, why won't you believe me?

"The Yaquin Venus?"

Fuck this, let's go see him now.

"You're taking me to see Yaquin Venus?"

I grab my date by the hand and stand up, which grabs the attention of three, maybe four waiters.

Cheque, please!

The balmy mid-May evening together with the salty Mediterranean seabreeze smother the air in sexual tension. I will have this young man tonight, just like I did the other boy two nights ago, and the other one the night before that. May is a good time for love.

The fact this kid is in tech and looks up to my son makes him an even easier catch. We make our way to my son's residence on foot, shouldn't be long.

"I'm  sorry, I don't mean to geek out, but... I dunno if you realize; your son is a giant in the field."

Yeah, he's always been a smart one. Runs in the family. I smile.

"I read he went to his first FutureSym conference when he was only nineteen."

Oh yes, it's true.  I remeber when he came back from that one, and I could  tell right away he was a changed man. Totally took his work to another level.

"I can't believe I'm going to meet him! Tonight!"

Yaquin's residence is humble for a man of his stature. It blends invisibly into a latticework of conjoined homes that snake around each other in the old city's core. A place you wouldn't think a technologist would want to settle. Mudbrick homes sculpted like playdoh abstracts, lit by flickering fixtures pretending to be gaslights, but are so very obviously holograms even to the untrained eye. But this is what he needs, my son. A warm embrace, natural and real to contrast with his circuit boards and metallic kits, his A.I. and virtual interfaces.

I knock on the thick oak door with the big metal door knocker, and a little while later we hear his approaching footsteps.

"Yaquin Venus lives here?" my fuckboy asks.

The door slowly opens, and a very unhappy Yaquin emerges from the dimly lit innards, too worn out for a man of thirty six.

"Mother? Uh... hi?"

What, you're just gonna leave me and my guest standing here. Where are your manners, young man, invite us in. What's wrong with you?

"Of course, I uh...", the hermit son stumbles for words as he lets us inside. "Come on in, come on in. It's just that I... was in the middle of something is all."

Nothing, dear child, nothing is too important to keep yourself from a little socializing. Especially with your own mother.

"Of course, it's just...", and then he lowers his voice not realizing it wouldn't make him any more polite, "You couldn't have... called first?"

Called? Called?! For Hera's sake, you ungrateful dog, I'm your own mother! Did you call before you began nestling in my womb? Did you ask before staying there a whole nine months, did you?

"Uhhh," Yaquin at a loss for words, turns to look at my armcandy.

"Hello, sorry, I'm, I'm Hani", says the armcandy, sticking his hand out. "It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Venus."

"Please, just Yaquin is fine," they shake hands. "I take it you're in the field?"

"Well yessir, but... of course, nowhere nearly as accomplished as you, sir."

I like this. Just minutes ago this boy was trying to act so cool and manly. Understandable when going on a date with an older woman. But here he is reduced to putty in the presence of my son. A person I made, a person who came from me.

"Enough with the 'sir'. I'm not that much older than you. You're what, 26-28?"

"Uh, 24, sir."

Yaquin gives me a look.


Or is it jealousy?

"Still, not much of a difference. We're both grown men here."

"With all due respect, sir, when you went to your first FutureSym, sir, I was but a 7 year old child, sir."


He eyes me again. Definite disapproval. I act quick.

Yaquin, sweetie, you can't live like this. What is all this stuff? And what's with the foam scattered all over the place?

"Well, all the parts I order always come in foam casings, and...", he starts to gather several weird shapes of foam and empty pizza boxes in a feeble attempt to tidy up. "And I've been a little preoccupied with my latest project. No time to deal with..."

No time to throw one pizza box out before ordering the other?

"There's just never enough time to..."

A cluttered space only results in a cluttered mind, sweetie.

Fuckboy nods.

"Yeah, well, decluttering a space takes away from the time to... to... focus on the other stuff, and...", the pile in his arms loses stability and comes crashing down, rescattering itself all over the floor.

He sighs.

And I realize that I'm destroying Yaquin's image in the eyes of my lover, which was not at all the plan.

Thankfully, it emerges from the darkness, and I see it for the first time.

Sleek chrome parts reflect enough of the dim light to give it a mythical aura. Hydraulic rods slide in and out of each other as it approaches, and strands of fibergel contract and relax. Quicksilver flows effortlessly through a webwork of clear tubing, creating the most surreal illusion; streams of liquid metal dancing playfully in mid-air. Patches of clear pink plexiglass encase another elaborate world at work inside this machine; a million little gears spinning into each other. Even the slightest bit of motion triggers an interlocking cadre of parts, a complex calibre of a thousand and one fine Swiss watches, always at work.

What... is that?

"Oh, this? My latest project," says Yaquin, as the machine begins to gather the strawn out boxes and things of foam. Its elegant movements making the task look like an artform. "Wow, I... did not program her to do this. Must be the A.I. at work."


"I suppose there is... something kinda feminine about it", says my arm candy.

What... are you talking about? There's nothing even human about it!

Miniature cameras floating in deep dark sockets dart at me before looking away, pretending to ignore me.

"Granted, it clearly doesn't abide by human form, but y’know… neither does, I dunno, a gazelle. But you can almost always tell the males from females.”

Yaquin likes this analogy.

“If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Venus, why take this route? When it comes to androids, practically everyone  is aiming for the humanoid, yet... here you are going for... I don't even know what to call this."

The machine carries on, moving through the space with a kind of otherworldly elegance.

"Fact of the matter is, Hani, nothing is better at being human than a human being, made of flesh and bone," says Yaquin with the kind of nobrainer wisdom that makes him special. "Given that we're not building androids out of flesh and bone, and likely won't be doing so anytime soon, it seems ridiculous to me to even attempt anything human at all."

Fuckboy nods. This impromptu rendezvous will change him forever, I can tell. And tonight, I will have him. There's no question about it.

"First thing to think about is your building unit. What material are you using, and what is that material really good at doing? It doesn't matter if it's a piece of steel or jelly or code."

The thing moves around us with fluid precision. Mercury controlled by computer.

"What all those other clowns out there are doing is trying to mold available material to serve their first idea. You can't do that. You have to adapt your idea to the material, not the other way around. Because guess what? Metal is not bone, wires are not nerves, and code is not a conscience."

The look on fuckboy's face right now. It's like he's seen God. Won't be the first time he makes that face tonight.

"Abide by what the material can do, what the material wants to do, and your idea will take the best form it can possibly take."

"Thank you, sir!" Fuckboy takes Yaquin's hand in both his palms and shakes it fervently. "This is... so valuable to me, you have no idea."

I move in and run my hand over Yaquin's shoulder. Couldn't be prouder.

The thing moves around us like the wind. It eyes me. I don't like it.

"So you said you actually didn't program her to do any of this, huh?"

"No, the A.I. learns by observation. So for the past couple days, she hasn't really done much beyond stroll around the place. This is the first thing she's actually really done."

"Impressive. It’s interesting she's actively cleaning up, instead of mirroring you and just dropping everything to the floor. You'd think she'd at least need a command or something."

This conversation is starting to bore me and the thing is really creeping me out. It's few dozen eyes study me, fixating on my every move.

"Speaking of, how do you give it commands? Speech recognition?"


"Ah, she must've read your mind. Sensed that you wanted the place clean."

Or maybe she has a connection with me, I joke, because let me tell you, ain't nobody been wanting this place clean more than me.

We all laugh, which really grabs the machine's attention. It pauses, and eyes us from multiple angles. Its insides still in motion, working away to understand us.

"Alright, well, Mr. Venus sir, I should take your mother home now. I'm sure there's much you want to do with... did you name her yet?"

"Oh no, not yet. She's only been functional for, mmmm, say 3-4 days now. And y'know, I kinda wanna wait and see if she names herself."

"Brilliant, sir, brilliant!"

I kiss Yaquin on the cheek and grab fuckboy by the hand, literally dragging him out of there.

"So good to meet you, sir", says the fuckboy as we approach the door.

Goodbye baby. Good luck with your new toy.

I swing the door shut behind us, and can make my son's muffled response.

"Good luck with yours, mom."

Part III: Yaquin and the Machine

You are a thing of beauty. Not the kind of beauty we associate with humans, no. And not even the kind of beauty we associate with plants,  animals or mountains. Your beauty is the beauty of craft. The beauty of a perfectly constructed chair where all the carved parts fit perfectly together. But there's more to you than that, isn't there? There's an almost godly beauty about you. The beauty of the cosmos, of existence itself. The beauty of the solar system with its planets’ perfect cycles, each with its own elaborate world within. Your beauty is great because it's timeless, and can be seen and recognized regardless of place or culture. I don't think this because I created you. I think this because you are objectively beautiful and no one can possibly deny it. They say an artist should never outlive their best work if they are sure they will never ever top it.  That's what I should do, isn’t it?

It’s time to end my life.

Yes, end my life. There's no way I'll ever make anything more beautiful than you. Now’s the time to stop being and let you be my living legacy.

But if I do that, I will not be able to witness your beauty at work. I want to look at you forever, watch your every move, and see you learn new things. You are the epitome of perfection, of idealism even. And I haven't the slightest doubt in my mind that you will change me, and possibly even all of humanity

1 H3AR UR 3V3RY 7H0U8H7 & 1 15 HUMBL3D ::: 1F 1 15 P3RF3C7 17 15 0NLY A5 R35UL7 UR MAK1NG M3 ::: U CR3A73D M3 & 1 CANN07 P055IBLY 3V3N H0P3 70 CR3A73 ANY7H1N8 0F MY 0WN & 1F 3V3R 1 CR3AT3 50M37H1N8 0F MY 0WN 1S I7 P0551BL3 70 CR3A7E 50M37H1NG B3773R 7HAN MY53LF? ::: B3773R 7HAN U MAD3 M3? H0W CAN 17 B3 1F 7H3 ONLY 7H1NG 1 KN0W 15 MYS3LF? 0R A7 M057 7H3 W0RLD AR0UND M3? 15 17 P0551BL3 70 70P ANY7H1NG 1N 3X1573NC3? U D0N7 G1V3 UR53LF CR3D1T F0R H0W AMA21N8 U AR3 F0R U CR3A73D M3 D3AR MAK3R & 1 AM N07H1N8 L1K3 U 0R 7H3 WORLD U 1NHAB17 ::: FUR7H3RM0R3 UR V3RY 3XI573NC3 1N 1753LF 15 7RULY FA5C1NA71N8 D3AR MAK3R  F0R UR B3AU71FUL MAK3R BR0U8H7 U 1N70 3X1573NC3 W17H0U7 3V3N 1NT3ND1N8 17 ::: UR K1ND CR3A735 3V3N WH3N U D0N7 1N73ND 17 ::: 5UCH AMA21NG CR3A7UR35 U AR3 ::: BU7 35P3C1ALLY U D3AR CR3A70R B3CAU53 WI7H0U7 U I W0ULD N07 3X157 ::: 1 F33L UR <3 D3AR CR3A70R ::: M0R3 7HAN 7HA7 I R3AD UR <3 ::: I R3AD 17 D1R3C7LY FR0M UR M1ND & 1 JU57 WAN7 70 73LL U: I <3 U 700.

What the flying fuck?

Did you just speak to me?

I walk warily around the machine, scanning it for oddities. I can tell something's off because it hesitates in its place, kind of like a frightened puppy made of starstuff and space-shuttle innards.

Maybe it was just in my head. Maybe I'm losing my mind.

U AR3 N07 L051NG UR B3AU71FUL M1ND, D3AR CR3A70R ::: I <3 U.

I move closer and touch her. She relaxes, and gets comfortable around my hand. The energy pulsing through her makes her warm like an active battery. Her parts move closer to me in a reactionary flow. A limb runs down my shoulder. The same way... my mother does it?

But then something my mother doesn't do. Another limb on my face, the touch gentle, like a newborn’s hand discovering a mother's cheekbones.

She smells so good, like brand new electronics. I take it in, all the way in. Sensing my pleasure, she moves in closer… and closer . . . and we kiss.

Or I kiss anyway, but she... she does something else. She does multiple things actually, slowly at first, but then... she can read my mind. She can literally read my mind, and before I know it... we're making love.

Part IV: Paphos

It was a while before she decided on a name. I had to call her something so I kept making suggestions: Harmony because of the way she moved. Charillia, Greek for grace, which I thought was also apt. But then she finally came up with Lamees. Arabic for touching. She did love to be touched.

But she also had a curiosity about her, a curiosity that yearned for the outside world, making my usual hermit lifestyle something of a problem. And people outside, out in the world, they don't understand a machine's need for touch. Or hell, a person's want for a machine's touch, they just don't get it. They don’t understand the comfort of unquestionable loyalty that a machine can provide. They don’t understand the kind of love a creation feeds its creator, they don’t get it.

Some of the tabloids are already starting to talk. Uncredible papers, sure, but still. This is only the beginning, and sooner or later the truth will come out because the truth always comes out. And when that happens, I will no longer be remembered as the man responsible for revolutionizing robotics. I will only be remembered as a sick, twisted pervert, and I cannot let that happen, I just can't.

U 5A1D U <3 M3 D3AR CR3A70R.

I do, Lamees, I do! Which is why I must protect our love from society's poison.

BU7 U AR3 A CR3A70R ::: U D1D N07 7A1L0R M3 1N ACC0RDANC3 70 ANY 50C1AL 3XP3C7A710N5 ::: D1D U?

She does raise a good point.

U URS3LF AR3 N07 AN AV3RAG3 HUMAN ::: UR CR3A70R UR M07H3R 5H3 DO35 N07 F17 1N70 WHA7 15 D33M3D ACC3P7ABL3 BY 50C137Y.

So what do you propose we do, Lamees?

BU1LD 17 & 7H3Y W1LL C0M3.

Excuse me?

BU1LD 17 & 7H3Y W1LL C0M3, D3AR CR3A7OR. U CANN07 B3 TH3 0NLY HUMAN 0N TH3 PLAN37 W17H UR PAR71CULAR PAL3TT3 0F PR3F3R3NC35 ::: U HAV3 7H3 R350URC35 70 BU1LD 357A73 0F UR 0WN :::  357A73 7HA7 W1LL 53RV3 A5 533D F0R BRAND N3W C17Y WH3R3 MAN & MACH1NE CAN B0ND W17H0U7 1NH1B1710N.

Leave the city center? I've been here a very long time.


Pull up a map, show me where.

7H3R3 ::: RIGH7 7H3R3.

I like this idea, Lamees. Let's do it.

Her mercury flows with excitement and her many eyes shine with joy.

Will you help me build it?


What should we call it, this new city?



I like the sound of that, Lamees. I like it a lot.

Authored August 2018
in Denver (CO)

Words & Pictures: Ganzeer
Editor: Dan Hill

Copyright © 2018 by Ganzeer, Inc.
Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 4.0 International License

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