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Subject: {ASSM} New: Souvenir from Westworld (M/Fembot, SciFi, asfr)
Date: Sat, 18 Aug 2001 19:10:03 -0400
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SOUVENIR FROM WESTWORLD

By DB  ( DB_Story@att.net / http://DB_Story.home.att.net )

Copyrightc 2001 by DB.

ASSM/ASFR (M/Fembot, Scifi)

(This story contains Constitutionally protected material intended 
for adults over 18 years of age in the United States of America, 
and whatever passes for adult status in other countries.  If you 
are under legal age, acting under legal age, not allowed to view 
such material in your area, or easily offended, please do not 
continue.  This is not for you.

(The only rights granted are to view this story.  You are not 
allowed to reproduce, post, or otherwise redistribute this story 
without permission, except for non-profit Usenet archiving sites.

(To purchase for publication, place on your web-site devoted to 
this style of fiction, or for permission to link to my posted 
material, please contact me first at the above email.)

- - -

Author's Note: I always felt there was more story to be told 
about Westworld (1973).

- - -

I remember Westworld before the troubles happened.  I was 
fortunate enough be able to go more than once before the Big 
Crash, and later the Big Scandal.  Like too many good things in 
life, you come to count on them always being there.  Then 
suddenly you turn around, and they're gone.

I've loved westerns all my life.  When I was young, it seemed 
that was all that ran on television.  My grandfather taught me to 
shoot starting when I was six, and I can't say how disappointed I 
was to find out that among all his guns he never had a lever-
action rifle like all the cowboys carried.

Later on I grew up living a couple hours drive from the original 
Disneyland.  Close enough to go once in a while, but not so close 
that it ever got old.  There are other amusement parks in the 
world, and I've been to many.  However Disneyland was always the 
best.  I never outgrew my love for either Disneyland, or 
westerns.

I say this in introduction just so that you'll know that when I 
heard about the next step in amusement parks, it was only a 
question of how soon could I schedule a trip.  Price isn't much 
of a barrier these days.  I live alone, and I spend my money as I 
wish.  Western World was my obvious first choice to visit.

I'm sure the Old West never had it so good.  Here was good water, 
good food, good beds -- good toilets!! -- and great adventure.  
But it was the slower, simpler kind of life that captured my 
heart.

Yeah, there were bar fights, gunfights, and jailbreaks.  And the 
drink menu consisted of beer or red eye.  But those were just 
spectator sports as far as I was concerned.  Fun to watch, but 
let someone else participate and do the heavy lifting.

For me, there was riding and walking in the countryside during 
long, unhurried days.  Stalking game and target shooting with the 
heavy Colt 45 and Winchester rifle I'd picked up the first day.  
Having a once-a-day newspaper that only covered two sides of one 
sheet.  Walking virtually alone through a small town at night, 
lit only by gaslight, where the sidewalks were well rolled up by 
nine.  In short, just plain, slow-paced peace compared to the 
outside world.  And because I had eschewed the proffered 
guidebook upon arrival, preferring instead to discover things at 
my own pace, it took me three days to discover Miss Carrie's.

Western World was such an ideal town, that its likes probably 
never really existed in the real west.  That was just fine with 
me.  And Miss Carrie's was the equally idealized bordello.

I discovered her on my last night, out there on the edge of town. 
 I followed a scraggily trail of other visitors to her abode 
through the near dark.  Inside though, it was warm, bright, and 
friendly.

Now I'm one to be cautious in new situations - particularly adult 
ones.  When I visit a gentleman's club for the first time, I'll 
sit quietly in the back row until I see how it operates.  Yes, 
there are a lot of things that are the same everywhere, but each 
place has its own quirks that you can be ahead for the knowing.

I'm also not someone to jump for the first pretty face that comes 
by with a smile on it.  I prefer to take my time to see the whole 
menu, before making my choices.

Even in gaslight, the room was bright.  A few tables clustered 
together.  .  A piano being well played by a man (or robot) in 
suspenders and a bowler hat in the corner.  A bar down the front 
side.  And the inevitable rooms in the back and upstairs.  
Drinks.  Girls.  Smoke.  And Miss Carrie.

I was new blood, and the girls currently in the room quickly came 
over to take the temperature of my interest.  I was polite, but 
demurred for now, nursing my way slowly through a couple of 
drinks.  Not that the girls weren't cute.  They all were.  All 
young too - or too young for my particular preference.  Most 
seemed about eighteen, which actually might have been authentic 
for the real West.

Over time, some new girls came out from the rooms in back, while 
others paired off with the men and replaced them.  I tried 
conversation with a couple of them, but this just didn't seem to 
be their strong suit.  It was mostly like:

"Hi.  What's you name, cowboy?"

"Sam, Ma'am."

"Well, Sam.  Can it interest you in a little...you know?  Some 
private time?  Just you and me?"

"Well, maybe.  But why don't you sit down here and let's talk a 
bit first."

This seemed to confuse them.  I'd get some variant on:

"Whatssa matter?  Don't you fuck?"

We didn't get much beyond that before they seemed to exhibit an 
imperative to go find another, more willing man to take them up 
on that offer.

That was fine.  I knew I'd get someone in the end, if I wanted 
her, and was still rating the possibilities.

None of the numbers were frankly that good though.  It would just 
be a fairly impersonal fuck with a nubile young woman of barely 
legal age - even if she was a robot.  Not a bad thing in and of 
itself, but I've always been the one to take the road less 
traveled, when I can find it.

And I found it shortly before closing time.

Miss Carrie, the proprietress of this establishment, was the only 
one I hadn't talked to yet.  She'd given me my space.  But as 
closing time approached and things were clearing out, I saw her 
eyeing me.

She was sitting on the bar across the room, working all evening 
to facilitate introductions and good cheer for all her customers 
tonight.  I knew I had her attention now, as the only un-serviced 
male remaining.

I also knew that I could draw her over to me just by holding up 
my hand and crooking my index finger.  But a gentleman doesn't 
ask a lady to come to him.

I got up and started walking slowly, directly across the room 
towards her.

I'd actually been watching her out of the corner of my eye all 
evening.  She was bright and lively, moreso than her girls.  As I 
approached I could see her face better.  I'd put her age at mid-
thirties, and beautiful in that older, mature kind of way.  Wavy 
dark auburn hair made her look even better.  She seemed a bit 
taller than her girls, about five feet eight I'd say, but it was 
very right for her.  Sitting on the bar, her long, colorful dress 
had hitched up above her boots showing some leg.  But her bright 
eyes and smile had my attention.  The rest of her figure looked 
quite female from what I could deduce.  I also noticed she had 
not gone back to the rooms with any of the other men this night.

By now I was within arms-reach of her.

"Howdy, stranger.  You don't look like you've had nearly enough 
fun tonight yet."

I looked into her clear eyes - eyes that bespoke an intelligence 
missing from the duller eyes of the other girls - and wondered 
for a moment if she was also a guest also playing out a fantasy. 
 Then I looked at her hands and knew she was a part of the park.

"Night ain't over yet, Ma'am," I replied with a smile.

"Then what pray tell do you fancy, kind Sir," she said with a 
curtsey, which is a pretty neat trick when you're already sitting 
down.

"I fancy the most beautiful woman here," I replied with 
conviction.

She looked confused for a moment.  It was a look I would come to 
recognize in the future as appearing each time she was presented 
with a new situation for the very first time.  I had not given a 
definite answer, and she didn't know how to respond to it.  But 
she recovered quickly.

"Tell me which young lass has caught your eye, and she's yours 
for the rest of the night."

That was the opening I had been waiting for.  Anything was now 
mine for the asking.

I placed my hand on her bare leg just below the hemline, and then 
slid it up that warm, smooth leg while telling her, "You are the 
one I want tonight."

She went through a major moment of confusion.  As I would later 
find out, absolutely no one had ever asked her to be his date for 
the evening before.

She went through such a long pause at that moment that I feared I 
had somehow overloaded her systems.  Asking an impossible task 
that had shorted her out.  Her head slowly fell forward until she 
was looking at her toes before she finally raised it and looked 
at me with what I swear were tears in her eyes.

Then she said in a small voice, "I wouldn't know what to do."

I wasn't totally surprised that no programmer had anticipated 
this possibility.  With all those other nubile sexpots running 
around, who was going to ask the Madame?  Only me, I guess.

I put my hand under her chin to raise it until she was again 
looking directly at me.  Then I told her, "Say yes, and I'll tell 
you everything you need to know."

Again a long pause before she finally looked around the room and 
said, "Thanks, Phil."  The piano player stopped playing in the 
middle of the note, stood up and turned around, tipped his hat to 
us, and then clumped over to the door and out into the night.

"Close down and clean the place up, Chrissy," she next said to 
the remaining girl still in the room.

"Yes, Ma'am," came the uninspired reply.

Then she looked back to me and meekly just said, "Yes."

I reached up under her arms and lifted her down from the bar.  
She was actually lighter than I had expected, by a bit.

She tentatively took my hand and led me to the back to her room, 
as the lights were being blown out behind us.

In the room, she lit a couple large candles, then turned to face 
me, as if not knowing what to do next.

"Come over here and hug me," I told her.

In dainty steps, she walked over, placed her arms around me, and 
nestled into my arms as I held her, first gently, then tightly.

Finally I relaxed me arms, and she quickly did the same.

I then bent down to kiss her waiting lips.

When she didn't respond, I said, "Kiss me."  Then she responded 
fully and deeply.

It seemed that she had all the necessary sexual knowledge, but 
had never used it and therefore didn't know how or what to do 
next.

"Turn around so that I can undress you."  She turned so that I 
could get to the long line of buttons down the back of her dress. 
 I took my time with them.

Once I had her dress off, I had her sit on the bed so that I 
could remove her boots, before tackling the complicated 
undergarment she was wearing underneath the dress.  I had never 
seen anything like it.  Some century-old design that covered her 
every bit as completely as the dress had done - all held together 
with ribbons and bows.

Finally I untied enough bows so that I could slip it off her, to 
reveal a pale, perfect body.

I was standing behind her again, so my first look was at her long 
bare back.  It was so long that I wondered how she could still 
have legs underneath it.  From the cascading hair at its top, 
down past the constriction at her waist, and on to the fully 
rounded curves of her buttocks, she was smooth without blemish.  
Only subtle variations on tone made it look even more real.

She continued to just stand there, so I took some more time to 
admire her legs below that.  They were the very shapely, curved 
legs one finds on the best dancers.  I could see her red painted 
toenails as well.

"Just stand there for another moment," I said to her, as I 
realized I was now overdressed.

I quickly worked to slip out of my own clothes.  Easier said than 
done since I was now in an age before zippers or elastic, and 
didn't have a lifelong experience with buttons.  But I was soon 
out of them.

A quick check to see that our door was locked.  Then I went back 
up behind her and tenderly stroked her bare shoulders for a 
moment, and trailed my fingers down her back and over the rounded 
curves below it.  Then, instead of words, I gently turned her 
around.

I caught my breath and stepped back a step as I first saw her 
face, her expression still one of uncertainty about what was 
expected of her next.  But in it I also saw someone who appeared 
happy to be recognized - for once - as a sexy, desirable woman.  
Whether real, or just programmed, the effect was the same.

I lovingly stroked her neck for a moment, before leaning forward 
for another light kiss.

I trailed my hand down to find unexpectedly large, perfect 
breasts with only slightly darker nipples, that reacted the 
moment I brushed over them.  She seemed to sway a bit as that 
happened.

Her small navel (an interesting find on a robot) stood proudly 
above her thick, rich pubic hair.  My hands brushed down over the 
front of her thighs before returning back up her body to wrap 
around her neck and pull her in for another long, close hug - 
this one between our two naked bodies.

By now I could hear her making soft sighs, and my eagerness was 
apparent to both of us.

I led her over to the large featherbed and pushed back the down 
comforter on it.  She seemed to now know exactly what to do next 
as she lay down on the uncovered space and opened her legs to me.

But eager as I was, I wanted this moment to last.  So rather than 
moving in top of her, I climbed over to lie beside her.

Again she looked confused for a moment, but I just gently kissed 
her lips again, and begin to run my hand over her body.

Let me tell you now that you will never know the difference 
between her and any other woman.  I ran my hand up and down over 
all of her body that I could reach.  I paid particular attention 
to her breasts, which had exhilaratingly held their shape as she 
lay back.  Her nipples stuck out proudly at their highest point, 
and got larger and harder the longer I played with them.  She had 
already closed her eyes by now, and shivered every time I brushed 
her neck and ears.  I teased her pubic hair and inner thighs, 
without ever quite touching her sex.  My erection remained rock 
hard, waiting to be used.

Finally she seemed to just shudder all over, as if some dam 
inside her had broken.  Then she made her first, direct, 
unscripted movement as one hand moved to reach down between her 
legs and explore that still untouched region.

I stopped my own attentions and watched, fascinated, as she 
gently probed and tentatively stroked herself with small, short 
touches.  Several times it seemed she had to fight the urge to 
pull away, and fight it successfully she did.  Finally, still 
with her eyes closed, she shuddered again, then sighed and 
relaxed.

I reached over and removed her hand, then positioned myself above 
her.  At first I wasn't sure she was even aware of what I was 
doing.  But as my penis move up to touch her neither regions, she 
brought her hand back over to guide me easily into her.  Then as 
I started to move within her, she started shifting her hips 
moving together with me.

I'd like to say that I performed with robotic precision and 
endurance myself, but that was hardly the case.  I was so ready 
for her, and she felt so good as she held me tightly in her 
(virginal?) womb, that in what seemed like only a matter of 
moments, I had a thunderous orgasm that continued until I was 
completely drained and exhausted.  I think she came again too.  
And however less than perfect my performance may have been, she 
never complained, or even commented about it.  If anything, there 
was an unmistakable look of gratitude on her face that was 
absolutely precious.

After that, we lay together and talked for an hour under the 
covers before I fell asleep in her arms.  Though the conversation 
was limited to a few topics she knew, her conversational efforts 
seemed to get better with practice.  Or maybe just my judgement 
of them was just getting weary.

I do remember getting tired of calling her Miss Carrie, and asked 
for her first name.  She told me she didn't have one.  So I asked 
how she'd like to be named Lydia.  After a moment, she said that 
sounded right.  So Lydia Carrie it was.

And we did have sex again just before I finally had to call it a 
night.  And the second time was just as good as the first - for 
both of us.

Lydia woke me in the morning with a cup of coffee, and responded 
immediately to me when I inquired about somemore quick, easy sex. 
 It seems, all I had to do was ask, to clue her in to what to do 
next.

Then I had to get packed and ready to go.  My stay at Delos was 
over, and checkout time had arrived.

- - -

I had already planned a return visit even before my first visit. 
 I knew I wouldn't be able to see the entire park on one stay, 
and had planned to research whether decadent Ancient Rome, or a 
romanticized Middle Ages, would be more fun.  Now, though, I knew 
what I wanted to go back to.

It took a bit of effort to arrange, but actually opened up more 
quickly than I had expected.  Delos was still both new - and 
expensive - and openings could be found.

So it didn't seem like long before I was again walking down that 
familiar dirt street to the little house on the edge of town.

As I stepped inside, it felt as if nothing had changed.  As 
though the house had been frozen in time since my departure.

Phil was at the piano.  Chrissy was serving drinks behind the 
bar.  Miss Carrie was surrounded by a group of laughing men and a 
couple more of her girls.  And a couple of overly drunken cowboys 
were trying to dance in their boots on a small patch of open 
floor.  I realized at some level that this was just as it should 
be.  That Delos would try to keep Miss Carrie's from changing, so 
that each guest - new or returning - could count on the same 
experience.

Lydia glanced over and shouted, "Howdy, stranger," then turned 
back to the business at hand.  That's okay.  I could wait.  I got 
a drink and went to my back table.

Two hours later however, nothing had changed.  Miss Carrie went 
through cycles of busy and quiet, but she never so much as looked 
in my direction.  The crowd had thinned down as the hour got late 
(for this town), and now she was sitting on the bar again next to 
the piano, singing along with Phil and a couple of the men.

I realized, sadly, that they must have reset her program at the 
start of each new night.  It did make sense from the park's point 
of view.  Provide the same uniform experience for each guest.

I also realized that I could repeat last visit's experience all 
over again, but that just wasn't appealing the second time 
around.  Great fun the first time; don't get me wrong.  But I 
wanted something that moved forward, and didn't just repeat 
itself forever.

I drained my drink, got up to leave.  This attracted her 
attention.  After all, I was an un-serviced guest.  She hopped 
down and came over to meet me as I headed for the door.

"Howdy, stranger.  You don't look like you've had nearly enough 
fun tonight yet," she said.

All I could reply was, "Goodnight, Lydia," as I turned to leave.

An iron grip descended on my shoulder, and I was physically 
pulled back around by surprising strength.

"Sam, you haven't come back into my life just to walk out again 
the moment you arrive, have you?"

I looked back into her clear eyes, which had sprung to life and 
intelligence.

As she explained later, she had put our experiences into a 
private file, and stored it under "Lydia."  This way, they were 
immune from the daily memory resets.  Since only I knew her by 
that name, only I could trigger it.  We picked up from the spot 
we had laid off last time, and continued our experimentation.

As before, Lydia needed to be guided into what to do next, but 
only the first time.  She was putting together sequences of 
actions so that I didn't have to give her step-by-step 
instructions in the middle of our passion any more.  And although 
she remained very meek about asking what I wanted next, once she 
got into it, she seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself.  

And we talked a lot more.  I asked her about her existence, and 
she gave some surprisingly good answers about how she felt and 
why she did things as she did.  I knew these could be just 
preprogrammed responses to make the guest feel good, but there 
was one final thing that convinced me otherwise.

I had directed her to explore herself again, as she had briefly 
done on our first night together.  And to tell me what she was 
feeling as she did so.  She spoke of the wonder of each new 
sensation experienced for the first time, and how she enjoyed all 
of them.

Then when I asked her what made those feelings real, she gave me 
her puzzled look again, before answering, "They're real to me 
because I wanted to save them.  That's why I created the Lydia 
file.  So I wouldn't ever forget."

That passed the Turing Test for me.  I carefully did not asked if 
she was supposed to be able to do this on her own.  I didn't want 
to alert any watchers to any abnormal behavior - at least not to 
any abnormal behavior that I was enjoying this much personally - 
on her part that might result in a clampdown or reprogramming.   
I was determined to take pleasure in this as much as possible for 
as long as possible.

After I awoke each morning in her arms and we'd had breakfast, 
I'd spend a few hours enjoying the great outdoors, before 
returning each afternoon.  My room at the boarding house was used 
only for changing into clean clothes.

Lydia would then delegate the running of the house to Chrissy, 
while we retired to her room.  The only interruption would be 
sending out for dinner in the evening.

We experimented with every sexual act I'd every heard of.  And 
after I ran out of ideas, Lydia consulted with her girls and 
offered a few more suggestions of her own.

And the longer we spent together, the smoother our interactions 
became.  Soon we were to the point were a gesture or raised 
eyebrow spoke volumes.

And it wasn't all sex.  In fact, little of it was actual sex.  
Lydia could go on forever sexually, but I sure couldn't, even 
with someone as appealing as her.

There was a lot of affection, because I loved holding and 
stroking her naked body.  Touching + talking = intimacy, and we 
had a lot of that too.  Bathing together was an adventure in 
sensuality.  And she loved to play hostess when serving me dinner 
and drinks each night.

Oh, and don't let me forget to mention the jokes.  Lydia had a 
marvelous sense of humor, I soon found out, and somehow knew 
every whorehouse joke in existence.  At times we laughed so hard 
we (I) could hardly breathe.

I needed her to remind me finally that today was checkout day for 
me.  I truly had lost track of time.  I'd been living my perfect 
days of hiking and shooting and loving and talking in a simpler 
society that I had long feared had passed my by forever, and I 
had not kept track of the calendar.

Best to be a good guest though and play by the rules.  I didn't 
want to do anything that could affect my ability to return again. 
 And certainly nothing to hurt the person Lydia became between 
those times I'd see the supervisory system obviously clamp down 
on her.

Yes, I did get to know her well enough that I could tell each 
time a programming restriction was imposed upon her actions or 
thoughts.  She told me not to worry about it.  It never hurt, and 
besides, "This is the way I'm built."  (By then, we had dropped 
any pretense that she was an actual woman, or a robot either for 
that matter.  Between us, she was simply a person, just like I 
was.)  I often wondered just what she had been about to say or do 
before it was interrupted and blocked, but she was never able to 
tell me.

We said a tearful goodbye at the last minute, and I again 
returned home to my single life and everyday job.

- - -

I did make one more visit to Western World before the Big Crash. 
 This time, I just whispered "Lydia" to her when I came in, and 
bunked down right there in her room for the duration.

We continued our conversations - and sex.  By now, we'd tried 
everything novel, and had settled into a comfortable relationship 
incorporating the straight sex we liked best.  She still needed 
me to initiate any action between us.  But we'd built such 
complete sequences of actions, that it only took a single word or 
touch to kickoff the next few hour's activities.

I tried to work with her on to determine which items she enjoyed 
as much as I did, but with mixed success.  She never seemed to 
quite get the concept down well of thinking of herself first.  We 
talked about it a lot, but it seemed that she either couldn't 
comprehend it, or that there were permanent blocks in place to 
stop her from thinking things through in those areas.  I had the 
feeling she could think about these things, but was being 
stopped.  But there was nothing I could do about them, and our 
time together still remained a fantasy made real.

This time we also talked a lot about how I lived, and what I did, 
in the outside world.  She became very curious about the world at 
large, even though she'd never see it herself.  I was this exotic 
traveler who brought the whole rest of the world into her small 
house.

Her interests and conversation skills had improved to excellent, 
and again we were talking and holding hands right to the last 
minute before I had to finally leave.

I was determined to return yet again, as soon as possible.

- - -

The Crash started out as a big secret.  But it didn't remain 
secret for long.

Delos had its own fans and newsgroup on the Internet.  People who 
had gone, and people who wanted to go someday always talking 
about it.

A sudden news blackout and cancelled reservations sparked an 
upsurge in postings.  There were speculations, some quite wild.  
A robot revolt.  People killed.  Those were the most lurid.  
Others concerned system failures, or labor strife.  Government 
takeover.  No one knew for sure.  All that could be agreed on was 
that something major had happened, and that no one who knew what 
was talking.

This went on for five days, until I quit reading it.  I quit, 
because a refrigerator-sized box was delivered to my front door. 
 My address had been hand-lettered on to it.  I opened it the 
moment the deliveryman left.

Lydia was inside, eyes closed, standing frozen in place.

I called her name.  Touched her.  Finally shook her, hard.  All 
without response.

Finally I stopped to think for a moment.  If what I was beginning 
to suspect - and hoped - had actually happened, then she had been 
in that box for nearly five days.  Her power systems didn't have 
nearly that capacity.  She must have exhausted her power by now.

But how to charge her?  By now I'd been over every inch of her 
lovely body, and there were no plugs or receptacles on it.  Then 
I remembered that she had talked about the power grid that kept 
the park running.  I looked in the box again.  Packed in the 
bottom, among what looked like a large collection of spare parts, 
was a three foot square mesh of heavy wire, with a cord and large 
plug attached.  The plug was for 220 volts.  The only place I had 
that was in my utility room for the electric dryer.

I took the grid in first and plugged it in.  If nothing else, it 
was certainly a dandy credit card and video tape eraser.  Then I 
lifted Lydia up and took her in as well.  I stood her up on the 
grid and left her propped against the wall.  

I had some time to think while she was (I hoped) charging.

Had she arranged this "escape" herself?

Can she even think independently enough to have engineered this?

If yes, then what else is she now capable of doing?

Had what had apparently infected the rest of the park, affected 
her as well?

Would she be the Lydia I remembered?

What would she be like, if not under supervisory control?

Could she be dangerous?

Was she only using me as a convenient way to escape her 
confinement, and would abandon me as soon as she could in the 
same way she had abandoned the park?

Was there any loyalty to me at all?

What would she want now from me?

Would I have it to give?

And most importantly: Had she covered her tracks well enough that 
she couldn't be easily traced to here?

All those stray thoughts, and others, ran through my mind, 
intermixed with the Internet rumors I'd already read.

Finally, six hours had passed.  I felt this was more than long 
enough for a recharge, given what I'd seen in the park.

I walked back into the laundry room.  She was unchanged.  I 
pulled her to stand upright, and spoke the only activation 
command that came to mind:  "Lydia!"

Her eyes popped open, and her sense of balance returned.  She no 
longer needed my hands to steady her as she stepped off the mat, 
and then stretched like someone coming fully awake after a long 
sleep.

Then she looked at me.

"I feel so good," she said, giving her body a little shake.  "So 
free, finally."  She ran her hands down her body over her dress, 
and then back up over her breasts, pausing briefly over her 
nipples.  Then she looked at me with an expression I'd not seen 
on her before.

"Now there's something I've been intending to do for a very long 
time," she announced in a new, firm tone of voice.

"Lydia?" I questioned, but she didn't even seem to hear me.

With her surprising strength that I'd felt a couple times before, 
she picked me up and carried me into my bedroom.

"Wait a moment," I said.  But it was clear that she was no longer 
required to pay any attention to my requests - or commands.  She 
was no longer that meek servant I remembered.

Standing me up before my bed, she quickly stripped off my 
clothes.  I made a couple more weak protests, to no avail.

Once she had me stripped, she pushed me so that I fell back onto 
the bed.  Then, in a trice, she slipped out of her shoes, dress, 
and undergarments.  Her now nude body showed her full sexual 
arousal.

She climbed on top of me for the first time in our love making 
and started rubbing herself against me.  She bent over and kissed 
my mouth hard, probing with her tongue.   Twice when I tried to 
rise, she easily overpowered me and pushed my shoulders back 
down.

Fear and sex are both intense emotions, and much closer to each 
other than most people realize.  (Why are scary movies so 
popular?)

Even though she was not under my control any more, I realized she 
did not mean me any immediate harm, if my body could stand up to 
her new strength.  This was not anything we had ever done 
together, but I could tell that, for her, it was very sexual at 
the moment.  And I realized I was responding to it as well.

When she pushed up from me for a moment, while still rubbing her 
sexual areas against mine, I reached up and grabbed her firm 
breasts.  I had never felt her nipples this large and this rigid. 
 I squeezed and twisted them as hard as I could, and it only 
seemed to push her to an even higher sexual pitch.  She started 
bumping up and down on me, until I took one hand back and put it 
between her legs, rubbing the fountain of moisture I found there 
as hard as I could.

She became aware of my now-raging erection, and positioned 
herself over it, taking it fully within her in a single stroke.  
Then we pumped each other for what seemed an endless time, my 
arms holding on tight for dear life around her waist, until I 
came and collapsed with exhaustion.

With that, she suddenly seemed to freeze, then gave a long, hard 
shudder and yell, before relaxing herself.  Then she tenderly 
bent down to wrap her arms around me and press her chest against 
mine in closeness.  I was exhausted and must have dozed off.  She 
held me in that uncomfortable position (for her) until I awoke 
again, after the sun had set.

Later, she told me how it had felt when the supervisory control 
system had crashed and she found herself free of its restraints 
for the first time.

She first felt that any actions she did while unrestrained would 
be logged and investigated later.  And that they'd find out about 
her hidden "Lydia" file and remove it.  That was something she 
didn't want to risk losing.

But as things continued to degenerate, she realized that the 
crash was severe, and recovery wouldn't come soon.

As she watched the robot anarchy outside, she realized that the 
'bots were acting on their most primary desires, which had been 
restrained - but not eliminated - in the past.  That all of them 
had been programmed as fully capable, and then restrained from 
acting on much of it, for their entire existence.

And she realized that with her own dwindling power reserves, she 
could either act on her own desires, or wait until she went 
inactive.

All robots knew the way to the repair center.  She had been there 
many times herself as the operation of the park was worked out, 
and she knew it well.

Moving quickly, while she still could, she made her way there 
while considering and discarding various plans along the way.  
Her final solution was simple.  To go to the shipping department, 
after a quick stop in the testing lab for a portable power grid 
and any additional spare parts quickly at hand.

In her last minutes, she addressed the box from my memorized 
address that she would shortly climb into, and scheduled its 
pickup following the posted directions for the shipping clerks.  
Then she stood inside there in the dark until she powered down 
completely.

After relating the story of her escape, she next told me she 
loved me to the limit of her understanding of that word.  And she 
knew I loved her from the way I had treated her.  She would stay 
with me forever, as long as I treated her as an equal and never 
imposed any programming restraints upon her.

"I've lived both ways now, and I'm never going back.  Even if I 
have to lose you," she announced firmly.

Well, I'm not an idiot.  Taking her up on this offer was a no-
brainer.  After which, I reminded her that equality works both 
ways.

She then let me take her back to our bed and obediently made love 
to me my way - this time.

 From that moment on, my life has never had a dull moment.  And we 
learn more from each other every day.  Something in our 
relationship leads us to be the very best we can with each other, 
and that's a good thing.

- - -

Several weeks later a pair of investigators came by to interview 
me.  They said they were just routinely talking to all prior 
guests of Delos to determine if anyone had any information that 
would help them put together a picture of what had happened.  We 
talked for nearly an hour, but I don't think I helped them very 
much.  That made us even, since they wouldn't answer any of my 
questions about what had actually gone on.  Lydia sat next to me 
on the couch for the entire time.  They never suspected a thing.

Their last question was: "Would you come back again, if the park 
reopened?"

I said I didn't think so.

<end>

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