"Yeeaahhh," sighed the smiling, dirty-blonde stoner girl in her cozy, low voice. "Again." She sat slumped beside Perry on his long, dilapidated couch.
Perry indignantly reached back under the girl's wool sweater and rubbed her on her belly. By now the gimmick had evolved from saucy to subservient. "How hard can it be to find the song I want?" he muttered. "Stop complaining, dude," grumbled the girl, lazily in control. "Touch me again. You gotta touch me again to go through the menu." Suddenly she violently shivered—in a manner somewhat sensual, and somewhat like a cell phone receiving a text message. "Oooh." The stoner girl tipped forward and fell heavily against Perry. Then, leaning on him, she messily gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, delivered in a mood halfway between lover and prankster. "Mmh. Somebody liked your webpage."
She vibrated again. "Nnggh. You keep getting these texts, man. 'Act now, you can still orden.' What the hell's 'orden'?" "It's 'order,'" Perry grumbled. "Motorola doesn't get why I didn't buy their Moto X phone, with its touchless control and active display. Ever since I blocked their calls on my landline, their sales hotline has been texting me on you." Motorola's salespeople genuinely wondered—some days, the whole world seemed to wonder—why Perry put up with his Lazy Phone. Rather than adopt a pocketsized, up-to-date cell phone like most people, Perry had chosen to stick with his old phone; the life-sized, none-too-skilled fembot model.
Or rather, the Lazy Phone had skills; she just required Perry to do certain old-fashioned, counter-intuitive things to access them, like putting up with her joking humiliation, or pleasuring her in pointless, vanilla ways. She now sat sprawled against him with her socked feet up on the table. Perry leaned forward to move the stacks of magazines on the table before she could inadvertently kick them off.
"I, like, still can't find your song," she half-smiled, half-pouted. "Touch me again." "Can't touch you right now," Perry said. "My hands." He was now holding an awkward armload of magazines. "Uh—you know, I want some romantic music—like 'Adorn,' by Miguel." "You know the rules," grinned Lazy Phone. "No touchy, no Miguely." Perry strained to rub his elbow against the stoner girl's belly. It was so inviting… he'd have his hands free in a minute—oops! Perry's armload of magazines fell to the floor. "Hah! You fail, bitch!" grinned Lazy Phone. "I'll just sing it. 'These liiiips,'" she began. Lazy Phone couldn't sing to save her gynoid life, but that never stopped her from trying. "Theesseee lipss…. can't wait to taste your skin. And this body, boy… I wanna drape it on ya…" Her breath, redolent of hash smoke, hung over Perry as she sang.
She paused for a moment, leaned really close, smiled coolly, and pressed a finger against the tip of Perry's nose. "Boop," she said—less a mechanical bleep than a spoken word, like Betty Boop's surname. "Fully recharged." She glanced over to where, on the far side of the couch, a small cable ran from her hip to the wall. Perry sat for a moment, enjoying her closeness and her clueless invasion of space. "Fully recharged. Unplug me, man," she said, half a whine, half a command. Perry tried to lean past her to reach for the cord, but lost his balance and fell onto her lap. "Sorry." "Fuck you," she said with a teasing grin. "You're disobedient, dude. Hah!" As Perry lay over her, she began to laugh and pat out a rhythm on his back with her hands. She was remarkably intuitive as to what felt good. But then—ouch! She pinched him gently on the back of the neck, too.
"Hey! What the hell?" Perry raised an eyebrow as the stoner girl continued to pat out her rhythm. "Tsk. Remember my alarm, man," smiled Lazy Phone. All this action must be it. "I'm s'posed to remind you you gotta set the… Viva? Ha-ha! Viva Las Vegas, man!" She continued her rhythmic pounding and pinching. It was getting a little much to endure. "Viva? You mean Tivo," grumbled Perry, annoyed by what was now becoming a physical assault. Why had he set her alarm to this signal? Maybe the poking and slapping seemed cute the first time. Either way, of course, the Lazy Phone would not turn the alarm off herself. "S-stop," Perry said, trying to hold the girl's wrists. But she continued prodding and poking him with a big grin. "Uh-uh. YOU gotta turn the alarm off. Not me." God, was she lazy. How did turning off the alarm even work? Oh, right. Perry groped in a dish on the table for a blunt. Awkwardly lighting it, he handed it to the stoner chick. "Score! Thank you," she breathed, leaning back and taking a deep drag. Her alarm was now off. This was ridiculous; Lazy Phone was an android, drugs could have no real effect on her. But she knew what she wanted, or what she was programmed to want. Was all this trouble worth it?
Lazy Phone resumed her singing. "And this body, boy, I wanna drape it on ya—just put it all over you, like a big ol' sheet, man." Hmm. Perry hadn't asked her to start the music again. She was so disobedient. Or maybe she was right; HE was disobedient. Catching her eye, he noticed her winking at him. Oh, it was that special app he'd installed, wasn't it? Enough smoke, and the stoner girl would— "Bed?" he asked. "Fuck that," she grinned, "I'm not leaving this couch." Her mouth frankly flew against Perry's, kissing him with such horny enthusiasm that their teeth banged together with an audible clack. Then she was all over him, squeezing and licking and crawling. Her legs rubbed against his arms. They were cold and had little goose pimples. God, technology was wonderful. Lazy Phone finished sucking on Perry's neck, got eye-to-eye with him, smiled lazily and said, "Let me just get more comfortable." "You couldn't get more comfortable!" Perry grinned wryly. "Can too, bitch," grinned Lazy Phone, reaching into his shorts. "Dude, I love this app."
Smoke slowly drifted up toward the ceiling.