+J.M.J.+

Conversations with a Mecha Named Joe

By "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

In time for the New Year, I have Cecie's full account of the New Year's Eve smooch which she talks about in "Runnin' Loose on the Streets of Rouge City". I actually wrote this New Year's Eve; I suppose one can argue that this is a bit of a Mary Sue on a tangent, since I still didn't have anyone to kiss me at midnight for luck, least of all someone as good a kisser as Joe.

Disclaimer:

See Chapter I

Chapter VI: New Year's Faux Pas

I usually stay put in my rooms on New Year's Eve, not because I'm anti-social, but just because I've had some nasty experiences at New Year's Eve parties. In college, I let one guy kiss me at midnight at one such party, which he took to mean he could go further, but I think that guy quickly resolved, on the spot, never to try that again with anyone.

But, at my first New Year's Eve in "Sin City, U.S.A.", I decided to go out and see what I could see. Rouge City is like one giant New Year's Eve party most of the time any way, so I had to see how wild it could get.

The partying started even before nightfall. Crowds of people poured into the streets. Music blared over loudspeakers and the squares were jammed with gyrating couples. People streamed into the clubs, as if they were serving free drinks or something. As a matter of fact, I later found out they were serving free drinks. Every sex bot in the city must have been on the streets, and most of them had business. A lot of business. I tried to keep close to the walls and facades of the buildings to avoid the press of the crowd, but I nearly tripped over and bumped into couples heavily engaged against the walls.

I found a small oasis of relative calm around the door to Our Lady of the Immaculate Heart chapel. I nipped inside to get in out of the horde and to say a few prayers for the people mobbing the streets, that they might find something better…

As I stepped out onto the street again, I nearly walked into Joe, who stood in his usual spot against a lamppost, in between customers. He turned to face me with a click of his heels and a flick of his coattails.

"So are you among the many who have come out to break the resolutions you mean to keep for the New Year that begins tomorrow?" he asked, eyes dancing.

"No, I don't make those kinds of resolutions; I don't have to," I said.

"What then did you resolve?" he asked, looking into my face with that "Come now, you know what you want", look in his brilliant eyes. His smile widened a little and the smolder in his eyes warmed up, just on the verge of turning to an electrical fire.

I smiled back. "Nope, I can't tell them to you or to anyone else, or I'll be less likely to keep 'em."

"You have that mistaken. That course of action is what you Orga take when you make a wish and you want it to come true," he teased.

"Well, that's the way it works with me. I used to tell people my resolutions, in the past, and then I never kept them."

He cocked his head. "Why did that happen?"

I shrugged. "I dunno."

At that point, a stocky, bosomy old dowager in her fifties, bundled up in a fur coat and a pouffy hat toddled up, her eyes on Joe.

"Oh my, aren't you the cutest little thing!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "You're just the fellow I was looking for."

"Are you sure of that?" Joe asked, teasingly, as he stepped up to her.

"Oh, I'm sure of that, you sweet young thing," she cooed, drawing him away with her.

I hung around, knowing he would probably be back, depending on what the dowager asked of him.

I whiled away the time making up a scenario for the dowager. She was…the widow or the ex-wife of someone who owned a silicon rendering plant: huge money there…lonely as a sock missing its mate in the laundry, has a different companion every night: Orgas, Mechas, all of them young guys in their twenties, but she has an especial place in her heart for boys with British accents because…her first love was a young British actor she wanted to marry, but…her wealthy father refused to allow it.

Sure enough, a half an hour later, Joe returned, straightening the skirts of his coat and looking rather pleased with himself.

"That didn't take long," I said.

"She was but a childlike woman who wanted only a gentle massage to calm her senses before she settled down to sleep," he said. "Not all who ask for me by name desire the most physical of my capabilities, you among them." He paused, considering me with warm eyes. "But there is a difference with you."

"Oh?" I asked, innocently.

He looked me up and down, his eyes returning to my face. "You seek my company as an end in itself, not as a means to another, less innocent end…No one has ever before approached me thusly…and I find it very arousing." He edged closer to me, his hips cocked, anticipating more.

"We're all different," I said, coolly but not coldly.

"But would you not desire a higher level of delight? I can lead you to the highest pinnacles of pleasure."

I shook my head. "No, you don't have to do that, Joe. Like I've said: we're just friends."

He stepped back slightly, his eyes cooling and assuming a bit of a sad-puppy look with a touch of puzzlement, as if to say, These Orgas and their varied demands…

Another Orga with a different demand than mine approached Joe: a tall woman wearing a black topcoat over what was clearly a "power suit".

"You there, the Mecha: what model are you?" she said.

"A Companionates model J-04679," he said.

"You're just the kind I'm looking for." She took him by the shoulder and drew him away with her, steering him through the crowd.

Now, she's a designer or some bigwig like that at another corporation, sampling the abilities of the competition's product, I thought. Yeah, she's arranged the trials for several dozen models, but she's never allowed to take part in those trials, or she'd be biased by what she knows. But…she secretly grades new models on her own, keeps a very detailed list of every Mecha she's ever consorted with…coupled with? Except for one word in particular, I was at a loss for a word to label this kind of action. Gad, that woman was more machine-like than Joe was. I wondered if she'd ever cried out with delight in any Mecha's arms.

A whole hour and a half later, Joe returned, straightening out his shirt collar as well as his coat.

"She put you through your paces, Joe?" I asked.

"Indeed she did," he said. "She ordered me to disrobe completely before she would so much as touch me, denying herself of discovering the beauty of my form for herself."

"I imagine she must have been difficult to please."

"These experts are indeed difficult to pleasure." He leaned closer to me with a conspiratorial air. "Women like her know far too much about the limits of my talents, therefore they test those limits."

"I imagine there must be some things you can't do."

A disheveled woman approached us, walking so crookedly that she nearly fell over at every step.

"Hey, you two fellas, how much f' bofe ah yahzz?" she asked, thickly.

"There is but one of me, but I cannot tell you my fee," Joe replied.

"Why naw??" she slurred.

"You are in no condition to be able to enjoy fully the delight of my company," he said.

I stepped out of the shadows. "Ma'am, you okay? You need someone to help you back to your hotel room?"

"Hotel 'oom, yeah. Hotel Sssa'fire," she managed, looking at me with unfocussed eyes. I took her by the arm and steered her to the hotel, Joe following us as a kind of rear guard. Once we got her inside the hotel door, a doorman and a clerk took her up to her room.

"When a woman drinks herself into that state, it is a sign she is trying to keep something in her brain from functioning," Joe observed as we walked back to his usual spot.

"You're absolutely right on that one," I said. "Let's see…her husband left her, and her kids are mad at her because she was partly responsible for their dad leaving…so she's trying to drown her sadness and her guilt in vodka."

He looked at me, head cocked. "How do you know of all this?" he asked.

"I don't really know it: I'm just guessing it, making up possible scenarios."

"Ah…this sounds like a delightful trick with which to pass the last minutes of the old year in anticipation of the new," he said.

I glanced at my watch. It was already half-past 23.00, getting closer to the big 24 and the first minutes of 2158.

Oddly enough, no one else came looking for Joe, so we stayed put, basically. I started dancing just to keep warm at first, so he—by nature!—joined in. I let myself loose then, singing along when I knew the words.

But then the music cut off. A drum roll rattled, the sound filling the square. The crowd stopped dancing.

Overhead hung a holoprojection of a flat screen, dark blue with silver 3-D numbers counting down the last ten seconds of the old year.

5…4…3…2…1….

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

As an electronic music version of "Auld Lang Syne" blared from the loudspeakers, I saw other couples in the vast crowd kissing. Not having anyone to kiss for luck, I turned and touched Joe on the arm. He looked at me.

"Just a kiss for luck?" I asked.

"Indeed…" he said, that faint smile of his widening.

I lowered my eyelids and tilted my head, turning my face to his.

He moved in, placing one hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist.

And then I felt his lips on mine, softer than mine, soft as velvet, as smooth as silk or as a rose petal. I relaxed my jaw a little; he drew back slightly, just enough to change the angle of his head and kiss me again, deeper, lips parted. Yes…just the right amount of wetness on the lining of his mouth, not slobbery, not cottony either.

I slipped my arm about his waist and drew him closer. He retracted his mouth from mine for just a split second, then we were on each other again, open-mouthed. I think our tongues must have touched because I suddenly sensed a…taste in my mouth…suggestive of dark chocolate and mint…goodness, how did he know that?!

His hand on my waist spread, fingers feathered, the tip of his index finger tracing along the base of my breast. I tensed a little under this touch.

He released my mouth from his, eyes looking into mine, as if seeking a cue that I wanted more.

At that same moment, I thought I heard a camera shutter click nearby, but I couldn't be sure where it came from. I only had eyes for Joe…

"Thanks," I said, pressing the small of his back lightly and releasing him.

He let me go more lingeringly, almost unwillingly. "Are you staying out here, or shall I see you safely to your hotel?"

"I've had enough out here: I imagine it must get crazier out here as the night wears on."

We walked back to the Graceley; I took care to walk separately from him.

But this innocent—or, some would call it not so innocent—kiss came back to bite me on the nose later on.

Next day, I logged onto the 'Net to check my e-mail and take a look at the Rouge City homepage. I often have to look past some of the racier photos; but one jumped out at me.

It was a close up side-shot of Joe and I, kissing, my face partly obscured by Joe's glossy head. But below that one was a different photo, where my face could be seen better. The caption beneath them read, 'Is this local committed virgin Cecie Martin chewin' face with one of the city's most popular Mecha man-whores???'

I started blushing all over.

Naturally, a rumor started that I wasn't a virgin any longer and Joe had something to do with this. Vautrin was the first to ask me if any of this was true.

"No, it isn't," I said. "I just wanted a New Year's kiss from Joe, nothing more."

"Now that's hard to believe even though I know you fairly well," he said. "I may have to scan his cube for corroboration."

"Take it from the Orga's mouth: I only kissed him."

Next day, the pictures vanished from the website…but I still have them stored on my scriber…

More to come…

Literary Easter Eggs:

The dowager's squeal—inspired by the squeal of delight emitted by a friend of my friend "fom4life" as she was passing by a window display of stuffed ducks at the Boston F.A.O Schwartz (And then she let out similar noises as we passed by the window displays at Shreve, Crump, and Lowe across the street!).