To Be a Woman (3 page)

“Don't call yourself that!”

She looked hurt. “I apologize. I will not do it again.”

He felt guilty. “It's that I want you to be a woman, not just for sex.”

“I want that too.” Once more she paused. “To be a Woman.”

“You
are
a woman. Just not a living one.”

“Thank you.”

Then they were into sex again, as it had been six years before. She knew how to work him up regardless of recency, and it was slow and immensely satisfying. This time he stayed in her, and drifted off to sleep in her close embrace.

He woke dimly, finding her still there with him, her eyes closed in seeming repose. “I love you, Elasa,” he murmured, and drifted off again.

In his dream he thought he heard her later response. “And I love you, Banner.” And she kissed him on the ear.

In due course he woke again. It was now late in the day. He must have been tired from his overnight concern, and from his sudden acquisition of the perfect woman. She remained there with him, so lovely and accommodating. If only she were real!

Her eyes opened. “Now?” she asked, though he had not said anything.

“I--”

“You don't need to ask. I am always ready.” She kissed him, and soon they were in the throes of sex again.

Damn it, he really liked this woman! So it was her programming to be a sexbot, it worked for him.

They cleaned up and dressed. Banner noted that Elasa even had to do her mussed hair; it was not molded in place. He liked that too.

Elasa rummaged in his kitchen, and from incidental scraps she made him a fine meal. “I won't bother to eat unless you prefer it,” she said. “I can eat, but then have to process out the foot, and it is wasted.”

“No need,” he agreed quickly. Then he wondered.

“Yes, I have an anus,” she said. “But no digestive system. Merely a storage tube.”

“Then why--?”

“Some men like it, sexually.”

Oh.

She washed the dishes efficiently and put them away. She was one competent housewife.

They watched TV in the evening. It was Thursday, and there was a football game on. “I don't suppose you enjoy this kind of thing,” he said.

“I do if you do.”

Oh, to please him. But he was curious. “When I watch, I need to know which team is which, and to identify with one of them. Otherwise it is meaningless.”

“Please help me to understand.”

“That's not in your programming?”

“There is a good deal that is left to individual circumstances. I can connect to the Internet and get the team histories if you wish. But this watching experience is not in my direct memory bank.”

So he explained about football, and she was an eager learner. That turned him on, and he fetched her to him and kissed her.

“Now?” she asked.

“Uh, no, not during the game when it's just getting exciting. I just wanted you to know that I like your attitude.”

“And I like yours.” She kissed him.

Soon she was rooting for the chosen team right along with him, and looking hurt when it messed up. She had gotten into the spirit of it.

During a bank of commercials she spoke again. “Tomorrow is Friday. You will go to work. I will, with your permission, put the house in order.”

“I know it's sloppy,” he said, embarrassed. “Bachelor habit.”

“You were without a woman. That has changed.”

In the evening they turned in, having sex again and a joint shower. He refrained from inquiring whether she risked shorting out; obviously she didn't. Then he removed his nose plug. “I generally sleep without it so it doesn't get knocked off,” he explained. “I forgot to do that when I was with you before.”

“It did knock off,” she said. “I replaced it.”

“That didn't turn you off?”

“I love you as you are.” She kissed him on the remaining stub of his nose.

He really,
really
liked her.

They had sex several times in the night; he couldn't restrain himself, and she facilitated it so smoothly that it certainly seemed as if she liked it. So it was her programming; so what? She was, indeed, made for this.

Friday morning she helped him dress neatly, made sure his nose was straight, and he drove off to work, leaving her at the house. At the noon break he phoned the house, just checking, and she answered. “This is the Thomkins residence. He is at work now. May I take a message?”

“Elasa, it's me,” he said. “Just checking. Are you okay?”

“Of course. I don't wish to burden you with having to verify my presence.”

“Elasa, I like doing it. I never had a woman at home before.”

“Then I am pleased to hear from you, Banner.”

He knew it was just her programming, again, but he liked it. The folk who made this machine really knew what they were doing.

When he returned in the afternoon, he was amazed to discover the house spotless and in perfect order. She had cleaned it throughout and put everything in order. “Oh, Elasa!” he exclaimed, hugging her.

“Now?”

“You bet!” And they retired to the bedroom for more sex. He noticed that the bed was perfectly made.

Then she fixed him supper. “You will need more supplies tomorrow,” she informed him. “And healthier food. You have not been taking proper care of yourself.”

“Yes dear,” he agreed with a smile.

She paused briefly in that way she had. “May I call you that in return?”

Now he paused, remembering Shesa's warning. Elasa was not his girlfriend, she was a femdroid, a walking talking machine.

“I shouldn't have asked,” she said quickly.

“No, no, Elasa! It's fine. Call me that if you want to.”

“You hesitated.”

“I'm not supposed to forget you are a fembot. ‘Dear’ is an emotional term. Maybe I should not let us use it.”

“Do you want to use it?”

He gazed at her. “Yes.”

“Then you are entitled. You are the master in this house.”

That settled it. “I guess so. Dear.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Now,” he breathed.

She nodded and went to the bedroom. He joined her there, and they had enthusiastic sex again.

“May I ask?” she asked as he relaxed.

“Why I wanted it this time?” He considered briefly. “I know you are a machine. I still like you. You helped me realize that it is okay for me to feel as I do, even knowing it's only pretense for you.”

“It's not pretense. I get what pleasure I am capable of from making you happy. I would not like frustrating you in this or any other way.”

“Oh, I wish you could feel what I feel!”

“I wish so too,” she said wistfully.

Damn.

Next day was Saturday. They had shopping to do. “I must be the billboard in public,” she said. “I hope this does not distress you.”

He had almost forgotten. “It won't distress me. I agreed to do it. It's why I get you free for a month.”

“I will be sorry when that month ends.”

“They'll just wipe your memory, or I guess replace it with a new bank, and reprogram you for the next assignment. Then you won't suffer, to the degree you can theoretically suffer.”

“Yes. I do not look forward to that.”

“Why should it matter to you?”

“Because the concept of erasure is equivalent to death for a living person, and you do not want that for me. So it bothers me too. I am not serving you as well as I should.”

She had nailed it. He did think of erasure as femdroid death.

She donned the I AM AN ESTROBOT signs, front and back, and they drove to town. They entered the supermarket.

A man pushing a basketful of groceries paused to read the sign. “What's this, a promotion?” he asked. “What's an estrobot?”

“A female humanoid robot,” Elasa replied. “We are commercially available for rental. I am helping my companion to shop.”

“A robot,” the man repeated, staring at her. “I don't believe it.”

She opened her shirt and then the two chest panels. “My power packs, left and right,” she said. “So that they can be replaced in turn without interrupting my functioning.” She closed her panels and shirt.

The man shook his head and moved on out of the store. He looked as if he had just had a wild dream.

A store manager appeared. “Please, miss, do not bare your bosom in public. It disturbs the shoppers.”

“But I am a billboard,” Elasa protested. “I am required to show the public my nature.”

“Unless you have a permit from the management to advertise on these premises, don't do it,” the man said firmly.

“This is a detail we didn't think of,” Banner said quickly. “We apologize. Is it all right if she leaves the signs on, but does not show her body?”

The manager seemed glad to have an easy compromise. “Yes. I will see about that permit.” He hurried off.

They continued shopping. A number of people inquired about the signs, and Elasa explained that she really was a robot, and would be glad to show them once she was outside the store. When the two of them emerged pushing their cartful, there was a small crowd waiting. Elasa demonstrated her chest panels. Banner saw several people jotting down the contact information. It was an impressive demonstration, and not just because of the amazement people had to discover she really was a machine. The men obviously loved the flash of her fine breasts.

It seemed like only moments, before a police car pulled up. “Ma'am that's indecent exposure,” the cop said. “We got a complaint. We have to ask you to stop.” He looked as if he appreciated the view himself, but had a job to do.

“But I'm a machine, as the sign says,” Elasa said, closing the panel. “How else can I demonstrate that?”

The cop took another good look at her exquisitely bare breasts. “Maybe get a permit?”

“I will see about it,” she said, closing her shirt. “Thank you, officer.” She gave him a nice smile.

“Okay,” he said, evidently fazed. He had seen her battery pack and knew she was a robot, but she came across as a lovely woman. Banner knew exactly how the man felt.

The small crowd dissipated, and they went to the car. “Maybe the shop can arrange something,” Banner said.

“I will contact the shop,” she said. Then, after a pause, “They say it's an oversight in the program. I'm not supposed to bare my body for anyone but you, in private.”

“But you need to advertise,” he protested. “No one will believe you're a fembot without seeing your wiring.”

She smiled. “Which is ironic.”

“Why?”

“Because it is fake. I don't use a battery pack the way my prior animation did. My whole body is a capacitor storing the power I require.”

Banner laughed. “All part of the demo! Are there any other apertures you can show, that aren't on your torso?”

“My limbs can be removed, and my head.”

“You don't want to remove your head in public. That would really freak them out. But what about a hand?”

“I can do that.”

They returned home, put away the groceries, then went out to another mall. When someone inquired, Elasa was ready. “Yes, I am a machine. I was assembled in the shop. See, I have no blood.” She took hold of her left hand with her right, pressed a hidden stud, twisted, and the hand came off, showing only the metallic connections. She let the person hold the hand, verifying its nature.

Others collected, as before. “You certainly seem real,” a woman said.

“I am real. I merely am not alive. But if you rent a unit like me, she will pretend to be alive if you ask her.”

“I'd like to have an estrobot like you,” a man said. “If she--”

“She would be excellent in bed,” Elasa said. “We are crafted for sex.”

“Oh!” a woman said, shocked.

“What, don't like the competition, honey?” the man asked snidely.

The woman stalked off. That could be mischief.

But Banner was willing to bet that the shop would receive a number of calls. Elasa was doing her job. And he was doing his part, facilitating her public exposure.

Sure enough, a woman with a press hat approached, trailed by a man mounting a camera. “I'm from WARP TV. May I ask you some questions?” she asked.

“You may,” Elasa agreed. “I will answer them.” There was a certain literal streak in her.

“Please give your name.”

“I am Elasa. It is a contraction of Electronic Associates.”

“Is it true you are not a woman but a machine?”

“I am a female machine,” Elasa said.

“You look completely human. Can you demonstrate that you are not?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “I mean, please do so,” the woman said, faintly nettled.

Elasa twisted off her hand.

“I was thinking of the other demonstration.”

“I have been cautioned not to do that in public.”

“This is not public. It's an interview.”

Elasa glanced at Banner, seeking social guidance. He suffered a passing siege of mischief. “Do it,” he said.

Elasa opened her shirt and then her breasts, showing the fake battery pack as the camera whirred.

“It looks so real,” the woman said. “Until it isn't.”

Elasa closed the panels. “The breasts are crafted to look and feel real. You may squeeze them if you wish.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, evidently somewhat taken aback. She did not touch a breast. “This has been an excellent interview.” She hurried off, eager to turn in her scoop.

“Wow!” a bystander murmured.

It was on the local news that night, cutting off only as Elasa began to open her shirt, then switching to the view of the battery pack. Her bared breasts never quite showed.

“I wonder how many units that will sell,” Banner said as they watched.

“I can inquire.”

“Do it.”

In a moment she had the report. “Three thousand two hundred and forty nine queries in the past fifteen minutes. Five hundred and sixty nine commitments to rent.”

“That should please the shop.”

“They are extremely pleased.”

“You're really doing your job.”

“It is your job, Banner. You are facilitating the publicity.”

“You could have done it without me.”

“I am not allowed. I must be seen in public with you.”

Oh. He had forgotten. “Aside from that stupid law.”

“It is more than that. They want me to demonstrate that I can function in human society on my own. Apart from the unit locator, I have no direct contact with the shop unless I initiate it. You are enabling me to do that. I owe such success as I have to you.”