Perverted Science

He thrust the bottle at Taj.

"Pour us some bubbly, Taj," Jim said.

"Where are the wine glasses?"

"The kitchen cabinet, above the stove. I'm sure you can find it."

When Taj left the room, Jim started jumping around the room.

"Dude, let's pimp him!"

"What? No way."

Jim, for all of his vicious dislike of his father, had the same strain of cold-blooded capitalist tendencies that ran through all the men in his family. There was little doubt that he one day become a card carrying Log Cabin Republican.

"Why the hell not?" Jim asked.

"We've imbued him with human-like attributes. He passes the Turing test, okay? If we reduce him to chattel sex slavery we forfeit our own humanity, and pave the way for, I don't know, a bloody robot rebellion somewhere down the line, or something."

"Well, that's a risk we have to take. How else am I going to recoup the cost of building him? Did you really think I invested a cool half-mill just so I could have someplace to stick it in? If that's all I wanted, I would have bought a fleshlight."

It was hard to argue with Jim. Yes, Will had aided greatly in the process, but ultimately it had all been done on Jim's dime. They were co-creators, but not co-owners.

"Do you really think he could pull it off? He's only been online a few minutes; maybe we should take him for a trial run?

"Should I do the honors, or would you rather be the one to break him in?"

"Be my guest," Will said, with a shrug.

When Taj returned, he poured champagne for his creators. He waited patiently while they sipped.

"Taj, I think I'm going to take you for a spin," Jim said.

"What do you want to do first, Jim?"

"'Master'. Call me 'Master'."

"What do you want to do first, Master?"

"Let's fuck."

"Yes, Master."

Will chuckled, in spite of himself. Neither Jim nor Taj paid him any attention as they raced up the basement stairs.

Once inside his room, Jim shed his clothes in record time. He was soon, however, struck by pangs of inadequacy.

Jim's body was pale, and slender, compared to his sex toy. He had some slight muscle definition in his chest, and abs, but he wasn't cut like the gym rats Taj had been modeled on. Again, however, he wasn't a dog, and although he occupied a place far from the top of the social pyramid, more than a few Jefferson Davis High girls had been disappointed to hear of his preferences. Jim knew those same girls wouldn't even notice him if they saw him standing next to Taj.

The robo-stud moved forward to touch Jim, and his penis stiffened once more. Jim's cock was six and half inches hard, the base of which was ringed by a thick crown of black pubic hair that looked somehow gauche.

Taj's own genitalia was as smooth, and hairless as the muscle gods Will and Jim admired in their porn collection.

"You like that?" Taj asked.

The big jock gripped Jim's pole with a meaty hand, and felt the dorsal vein throb against his palm with hot, quick blood.

Jim heard a single, breathy moan escape from his lips.

There was a wicked gleam in Taj's eye, he knew Jim was completely under his spell.

"Suck my fucking dick, bro," Jim said.

"Yes, Master."

There was smirking insolence in Taj's tone that turned Jim on even more.

The gorgeous alpha male lowered himself to his knees.

The jock regarded the head of his master's penis with curiosity and amusement. He squeezed the shaft, making the fat, carnation colored glans bulge.

Time to hone your oral skills, Jim thought, and a sliver of fear shone in his thoughts when he recalled the hardness of Taj's aluminum teeth.

But his fear proved unfounded.

Jim groaned, as Taj began to cover his dickhead with wet, sloppy kisses. The stud-bot flicked his eyes up at his master to register to his reaction, and was not disappointed.

Jim was in ecstasy, his mouth an open, black oval.

"Yeah, you like my dick, bitch? Choke on it."

Taj attacked his teen creator's helpless nerve endings with his twisting tongue. To Jim it felt like his penis was riding through one of those winding, never-ending slides in a water park, his exposed flesh carried along, gaining momentum as he rocketed toward a big splash. Oh God, it was good!

Jim's testicles drew up into his abdomen. Another second of this and he would burst.

"Okay, enough!"

Jim found those words harder to say than he had expected. He was right on the edge of orgasm, and for a terrible split-second, he was sure he had climaxed.

But his erection did not begin to subside as his dick out of Taj's mouth with a wet popping sound, not unlike the uncorking of a wine bottle.

Precum and saliva dribbled from the jock's plush, made-to-order dick sucking lips.

"Get up, turn around, baby, and lay on the bed."

Taj obeyed.

The sight of his artificial man lying his wait made his heart stop for a moment.

This is it, Jim thought.

Jim squirted a glob of moisturizer on his erection, and worked his slick hands up and down the length of the shaft.

He slid his throbbing dick between Taj's crack, moving it up and down, until the friction brought him back to the edge.

Jim delicately squeezed his glans inside his man-droid.

"Oooh, daddy, it hurts so good," Taj said. It was one of thousands of pre-programmed phrases Taj had been designed to say, but it sounded natural enough.

It was all the encouragement Jim needed to thrust his dick all the way inside Taj's anus.

"Unnnnnnghhhhhh!"

"Your ass is so fucking tight, boy."

This was better than his best fantasy.

"Unghh!"

Jim commenced to fuck the shit out of his jock lover.

Underneath the hard, flat slapping sounds of flesh against flesh, and the moaning, was the monotonous melody from the mattress springs below:

Squeak-squeak-squeak.

"Oh yeah, yeah, get it, big daddy!" Taj said in his seductive baritone.

For a moment, Jim could fully buy into the illusion, and Taj was no longer a thing, a construct they had labored over in his basement like the world's most elaborate science fair project.

No longer able to hold back, Jim shuddered as electricity coursed through his body. His toes curled, his spinchter contracted, and every thought inside his head was suddenly wiped away, replaced by a sublime peace. Le petit morte.

"FUCK YES!"

He shot four loads into Taj, each ejaculation punctuated with a violent thrust of his pelvis against the jock's upraised ass. He jerked forward, carried away by a primal fervor that stole away his reason and higher thoughts, like a marionette on strings.

Jim felt a wave of serenity overwhelm him, as the refractory period began.

He turned Taj over to observe his cock. It was covered in sweetish smelling, white, viscous fluid. Success!

"How many times did you come for me, baby?" Jim asked.

"Seven."

"Good boy."

Jim reached down with his finger, and scooped a glob of semen from Taj's softening cock. He brought to his lips, and flicked his tongue out for a taste.

Yum!

Taj's come had a strong citrus flavor, although its main component was high-fructose corn syrup.

Will knocked at the door, drawn by the sounds.

"I guess Taj works," Will said, peeking inside.

"Like a charm."

Jim was lying in bed with Taj now, his arm around the big jock's shoulders. The room was suffused with the mingled scents of semen and sweat.

Will smiled. Eight minutes, he thought, he exceeded my expectations by seven minutes and thirty seconds.

They spent their remaining cash on giving Taj a final wardrobe polish at the local mall. Jim and Will enjoyed the stares, and the murmur of appreciative females as they dragged their gorgeous boy toy from store to store. They fitted him with a selection of polo shirts, sports coats, and khaki pants from Ralph Polo Lauren for business causal settings, Calvin Klein jeans were chosen for more informal occasions, and some loose fitting tees and shorts from Under Armour were to be used as workout attire. This last was their favorite stop, since it included the purchase of Under Armour jockstraps in various colors, which Jim and Will had decided would be the only thing Taj could wear under his clothes.

He was now the perfect preppy jock rent-boy.

They placed an ad on localboys.com, advertising the following rates: $350.00 USD for the first hour, $250.00 for each additional hour, and $2,000 for overnight sessions.

The reviews on his page poured in fast, and were unanimous in their assessment:

"He looks even better in person than in his picture, which I didn't think possible. I felt like I just got fucked by Michelangelo's David. Bellisimo!"

"Taj is an amazingly gifted young man, with a body and horse cock to die for. I'm only in town for a few days on business, but I think I might just have to schedule a return trip in the near future!"

And Jim's favorite, a simple two word review, read:

"Fantasy fulfilled."

Since hiding an android (especially a gainfully employed one) at home was not really an option for either Jim or Will, they were forced to be a little creative. The boys forged an identity for Taj, complete with a social security number, and secured an apartment for him with part of his earnings.

"This will be the ultimate test, Taj. Let's see if you can carry on a semi-autonomous existence," Jim said.

When Jim's parents were out of the house, Jim and Will played marathon Halo sessions, with Taj on hand to serve them Mountain Dew, pizza rolls, and blow jobs. He rushed in and out, in various Under Armour jockstraps.

Will was not altogether comfortable with this set up. It was mainly Jim's inclination to use Taj as maid, waiter, and whore. Will thought, a mind is a terrible thing to waste, even if it's artificial.

Finally, he could no longer resist. It was a gorgeous spring day. The Indian Hawthorn was in full bloom around his house, and up and down his street. Not so much as a single cloud loomed in the sky, to cast the specter of April showers. A perfect day for an outing.

"Jim, is it okay if I take Taj out?"

"You mean just the two of you? Sounds romantic," Jim said, with a slight purr as he rolled the 'r' in romantic.

"Yeah, I guess that's kind of the idea."

Jim looked up at Will, baffled.

"It's just, well, I've always wondered what it would be like, walking out in public with a-a boyfriend."

"That's pretty...brave of you," Jim said.

Will always pretended to be interested in women whenever the subject came up in class, even though ninety percent of his classmates had already guessed at the truth And hell, it was a pretty wild thing to do in their little corner of the universe, given that Texas had been one of the first states to petition to secede when Obama was re-elected. The fact was their success in creating a piece of sophisticated A.I. had filled Will with a renewed vigor, and sense of possibility in the world around him.

"Don't wait up for us, Jim," Will said, and left the room without another word.

Typical Will, Jim thought, he'd go out with the Tin Man from Oz before me, as long as he had a nice set of abs.

"What do you want me to wear, Will?" Taj asked.

"Just wear whatever you think looks good," he replied.

Taj decided on an American Eagle polo, khaki shorts, and sandals. He looked like the ultimate BMOC teen dream.

Will drove them out to the beach, in his Mercedes Benz. He debated whether or not to go through with the outing for a bit, until Taj asked why they weren't getting out of the car.

"It's complicated," Will replied.

Here goes nothing.

Will and Taj held hands as they walked out on the beach. There were no problems at first, much to his surprise. A few older women even smiled at them, while their husbands looked away in thinly veiled disgust.

"How adorable," a fortyish soccer mom remarked as they passed, in a mellifluous down-home accent.

If only Rick Hanover could see us now, Will thought.

"Don't be nervous. We're doing okay," Taj said.

And they were, at least until they started walking toward surf.

"Faggots!"

Will fought the urge to become paralyzed. That word was, and always would be a powerful trigger. A word he associated eating lunch alone in the boy's room, with scurrying through crowded halls, jumpy like a neurotic cat, with looking out classroom windows at wide, green lawns, and letting his thoughts drift from dull lectures and the deep, terrible knowledge that he was and always would be alone, and unloved.

But Taj did not have any such associations, or fears. He turned around to face the cat-caller.

"I'm sorry what was that?"

"I think you heard me just fine, queer."

The man giving them shit must have been about twenty-one or twenty-two. He was thin, and lanky, with the mean eyes of a rodent shining under the brim of his shit-kicker hat. There was a half-drunk bottle of Corona in his hand, and he looked like he was fighting to stay on his feet.

He spat on the ground in front of him.

"What's your fucking problem?" Taj said.

Will was suddenly aware that a small crowd was gathering.

The blonde housewife who had cooed with pleasure over their PDA a half hour before was now reaching for her cell phone, a worried expression on her face.

"Taj-"

"There's no reason for you to harass us. We were minding our own business. I suggest you do the same, unless you're looking to get your ass handed to you, motherfucker."

The redneck kid looked at Taj a little incredulously. But a fissure had erupted in his hardass façade.

He was at a loss for words. He staggered back a couple steps.

"That gay dude is going to destroy him!" one of the on-lookers said, with a tone of mild disbelief.

At that exact moment, two guys in shirts and sandals who must have been hat man's friend rushed up, and hooked their arms around his to steady him.

The smaller of the two shot an apologetic glance at Will and Taj.

"Sorry, man. He's been drinking. He's just joking around, honest."

"Your friend's got a fucked up sense of humor, you know that?"

"We're going away, okay? He just needs to sober up."

Will and Taj heard hat man mutter, "fucking psychopath," under his breath, as his friends lead him away.

They decide not make anything further of it.

"I think I hear sirens."

"Let's go," Will said.

They started back toward Will's Benz. So much for their outing.

Will wanted to tell Taj that what he had done was dangerous, that it was socially inappropriate, but all he managed was, "thanks."

He had to admit, it kinda turned him on.

"No problem, babe," Taj replied, "why was that dickhead even hassling us?"

Will sighed. How to best to explain the intricate web of socio-political forces that had helped lead to his creation in the first place?

"You'd never understand. You're made of the future."

And Will, who had help stitch the beautiful man in front of him out of aluminum and silicone, could no longer help himself. He was head over heels.

It got to be so Jim began to call Will less and less frequently. Will had found in his Taj golem the ultimate fulfillment of not only his every sexual fantasy, but every romantic one as well.

Even Costa's class was bearable now that he had Taj to look forward to after class. Taj, Will thought, smiling, who was at once everything he wanted to be himself, and everything he wanted in a man, Taj who was the superior lover, and yet was unschooled in the endless varieties of fucking-who relied on Jim and Will to point the way in the bedroom.

Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was Taj who made navigating the choppy waters of adolescence, in the twilight of their high school careers, seem almost like cruising through a summer lake in a speedboat, for both Jim and Will It was Taj who was ever ready to service them with his enormous penis, Taj the chiseled jock stud who was both their student in the art of love and sexual plaything. It took Will's breath away to think of it.

Greg Costa sensed a change in his pupils, one that sent ripples of uneasy through him, and tied his stomach in knots for no real reason that he could name. He couldn't stop himself from glancing at Jim and Will out of the corner of his eyes, as he announced the last major assignment for the semester.

"This essay must be a minimum of five pages, singe spaced, and typed. I will not accept e-mail attachments, understand? It must be in MLA format, of course, and it must include a works cited page."

"Yo, Mr. C, what should the essay be about?" Richie Jenkins asked.

Richie Jenkins was the class mouth-breather, a hick who was inclined to call girls who complained about his lecherous stares "cunts", and drove a pick-up truck with a set of balls dangling from the back, just below a bumper sticker that read, "Beware: I'm white, and I vote."

Costa liked him a lot.

"You guys can write about anything you want, as long as it relates to a current issue in our society. Just try to avoid doing on a paper on why marijuana should be legalized. It's been done to death."

Jim and Will conferred with each as the class wound down.

"What are you going to write your paper on?" Will asked.

"I don't know. You?"

"The influence of gays on American culture," Will replied.

Just at that moment, Costa's baleful eyes fixed on Will. The teen was very animated now, his face filling with earnest enthusiasm for the scholarly work ahead of him.

"Hey, sweeties, this isn't social hour!" Costa said.

It took a moment for Jim and Will to realize he had singled them out. The entire class was wrapped up in conversation, most of it related to their weekend plans.

There was a look of surprise and hurt in Will's face as he looked to his teacher.

Yes, Costa thought, now he's getting the picture. These little queers have been getting a little cocky-ha ha. When I was their age, a kid would have gotten their face rearranged if anyone even suspected them of queer. Hell, their parents would have disowned them. Someone's got to make these little asswipes understand their place in the Great Chain of Being. Someone like me.

"Class, if you want to get ahead in life, don't be like these two lover boys. You have to actually pay attention to what's going on around you, instead of being wrapped up in your own little puppy love dream world."

Everyone erupted into uncertain laughter, but thankfully the dismissal bell rung a few seconds later.

Will and Jim took longer than necessary to stuff their textbooks into their backpacks, waiting for most of the class to clear out. They felt about a foot tall each.

He shook his head in disgust as he watched them scurry out.

Faggots.

The day was over, and now he could focus on the evening that lay ahead of him.

As luck would have it, his wife was out of town, which is just about the nicest thing that bitch ever did for him anymore. It's no secret that most men marry women who subconsciously remind them of their mother, and Costa was no different. He had gotten himself hitched at nineteen when he thought he had knocked her up, but lo and behold, seven months into her pregnancy, Marjorie Hoover Costa miscarried. That did not, however, curb her weight gain, which steadily increased with each passing year; by the time 2012 rolled around, she nicely approximated his mother's size (three hundred pounds at the time of her death, which came courtesy of a coronary her friends and family described as coming "out of the blue").

She had a temper to match her girth, this lady, and when he heard that Marjorie's Great Aunt Edna had slipped getting out of the tub, and shattered her hip, he just about dropped to his knees in rapturous relief. Great Aunt Edna lived two counties away, and that meant an overnight stay.