Ultimate Toy Chapter 2: Minneapolis
Jay Caldwell sighed. How had he gotten himself into this? Ten years ago, life had made sense. Ten years ago, he had been an up-and-coming medical resident. A lone wolf in a dog-eat-dog world. He would have been a surgeon by now. And he could pinpoint ten years ago as when it all went screwy.
Now, though... He'd ended up taking a typing course. He'd become the personal assistant to Josef Petrov, the creator of the PAL. He had a fancy title, he drove a fancy car... The job payed well. In fact, life was going pretty well for him.
And then, of course... There was this.
He didn't like this.
He approached the wall and touched a few hidden panels, and looked behind him to make sure nobody was watching. The false wall slid away, and he slowly approached the shadowy figure. It was suspended in the air
"Sir..."
The creature raised its twisted face, and the light caught it for a second. He steeled himself. He'd seen this before, but it still chilled him.
"Yes?" Asked the creature in a dark, guttural voice.
"Sir... I..." How to phrase it. "I didn't know before, but... The tour." He said. "On the news..." He paused. "Huffman... I've heard of him. He's a good reporter."
"Do you think I do not know this?"
"Of course you know, sir, but... It may change the plans."
"It changes nothing."
"But sir..." Objected Jay, "We do not know..."
"I know everything!" Interrupted the suspended creature.
"But, sir..."
The creature drew closer, its face mere inches from his, "I KNOW EVERYTHING!" It yelled.
"Yes sir... And one other thing... A new group of..."
Its head threw back. Its eyes closed. What could have been a smile passed over the face, and it began breathing lightly. "Yes..." It said, "Yes... More... MORE!" It shouted. "More... Oh, yes..." It came down from its temporary state of rapture. "Yes... What were you going to tell me?" It asked, more calm, but its voice still distorted.
"I...Guess you already knew."
As he backed out of the room, he heard the suspended fur whisper.
"I know everything."
Minneapolis . It was a beautiful city. It hadn't been much to look at before, not until PalCorp came to town. The most fortunate of the fortune five hundreds. With PalCorp's presence, Minneapolis thrived. People flocked to it. Minneapolis had become the second most popular city in America . The nightlife was busy. The population was booming. The people were... City-dwellers, but that was to be expected.
Thomas Hull was enjoying it. The city had treated him well. The hotel had even let him check in with the PAL. And now he was enjoying himself. He'd just finished playing with the PAL. It had been great, as usual. He'd came hard, like there was no tomorrow. Now, he lay on the bed, his head on his shoulders, watching the television. Presently, the post-orgasmic fatigue faded.
"Arisa?" He asked of the PAL, "I feel like an oil massage. Order up a table and some oil from room service.."
The PAL nodded, and walked to the phone. Presently, the door rang. The PAL answered it.
"Thank you." She said, taking the table and set it up in the middle of the floor. Thomas pulled himself onto it, and felt the PAL's hands start to rub the oil onto his back.
"You're tense..." She commented, her hands roaming along his back muscles. He found it incredible that she was computerized. Her hands felt real, and expert too.
"I've got a lot on my mind." He said.
"Can I help with that?"
"Yes..." He said, "I need a full biography of Josef Petrov."
"By your command." Said the PAL, continuing the massage. "Josef Petrov is an Russian inventor best known for his invention of the PAL, or Programmable Artificial Lover. He was born on September 29th, 1976 to Ivan and Marina petrov outside of Novouzensk , Russia ." Said the PAL, while her hands continued to roam about his body, rubbing the warm oil in, "He attended Novouzensk Highschool, which he gra..."
"Skip through that part." He said, "Start when he got to America ."
The PAL paused and continued, her hands massaging the muscles firmly. "In 1994, Josef was accepted to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he majored in robotics, before transferring to the Yale School of Business in 1996. He graduated two years later. During his Senior year, Josef and his friend, Felix Everto, discovered Evertium, an Yttrium-Iodine-Fluorine compound." Thomas let out a sigh as her hands rolled over a particularly tricky knot in his back "The night that Evertium was discovered, Josef and Felix were involved in a car accident when they drifted into the oncoming traffic lane, and were struck by a truck transporting RealDolls to Hartford , Connecticut . Josef would later say that it was the contents of the truck that inspired him to create PALs.."
"Stop..." He said... "Just the massage now..." He smiled.
"By your command." She stopped speaking, and he relaxed, feeling her expert hands roaming around his body. Up and down his back, massaging the shoulders, rubbing the oil in. An oil massage... He'd never had one. They were a rare luxury in a world where everyone was covered with fur...
But this was on Josef's budget. The massage, and the warm bath afterward. And oh, did it feel wonderful. PALs... What a brilliant invention. Between the warm oil and the PAL's highly trained fingers, he swiftly found himself falling asleep.
Michael Huffman had flown in less than an hour ago. Goddamn Tribune... They'd kept him writing a story until the last moment. He checked his watch sleepily. One thirty. The tour was at noon. He'd need to be up at ten to get there.
Not gonna be an easy day tomorrow. He'd manage. This was the gazelle who interviewed the president after two sleepless days reporting from a Dominican barrio. He'd get through it.
Still, a nice night's rest would help.
He checked in at the front desk, dropped his bags by the hotel room door, took off his jacket and started taking off his tie when the door rang.
Oh, God, who could it be at this hour?
At least he hadn't finished removing his clothes. He opened the door. A beautiful young husky greeted him.
"Iris." He said.
"Michael!" She exclaimed, as if she hadn't expected to see him after knocking on his door, "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"Trying to sleep." He said, and started to close the door. A foot blocked his way.
"What do you want?" He asked.
"Oh, nothing, nothing... Can't old friends chat?"
"We aren't friends, Iris." He said. "We've never been friends."
"Oh?" She asked, "Then what were we last month in Florida? Or those three months before in Morocco? Or all three of those weeks in Spain?"
He was temporarily silenced in the matter.
"Oh, don't tell me you don't remember." She said.
"I don't forget." He said.
"Oh, good." She said. "I'd like to think I'm memorable."
He looked sleepily at her.
"Iris, I need to sleep. I'm going to have to take notes on the tour. You see," he said, as if talking to a small child, "Some of us have to work for a living."
"I work!" Objected the husky, stepping into the room.
"You sit in front of a camera for half an hour and read off a little blue screen. That's not work." He said.
"How many furs do you think read your paper, hmm?" She asked. "Maybe a hundred thousand? If the article's about a celebrity. The stuff you write, maybe twenty thousand."
"Iris..." He said,
"Six million watched my last broadcast." She said, "That's twenty-five million furs who would believe pretty much anything I chose to say. I'm one of the most influencial people in the country."
"Shut up..." He said cautioned...
"What? It's the truth. Michael, the newspaper is dying. Even the tabloid's dying. Televisions and computers, that's where people look for their news. That cat Jon Stewart gets more attention than you and he's a comedian!"
"Goddamnit, Iris!" He yelled, shoving her against the wall and kicking the door closed. Iris smiled.
"That got something out of you, didn't it? Let's see if I can get some more. "Yesterday, Sixty Minutes got nine million viewers. Dateline got 8.2 million. Your paper sold less than half of that, and less than half of them probably didn't even read your article on... Whatever it was."
"The fact that the genocide in Darfur has become a non-issue."
"That. In fact, most people don't even know where Darfur is. The top rated TV show in the last week was game six of the NBA finals, which drew 16 million viewers. That's almost more than Dateline OR sixty minutes. If we count repeat viewers... Face it," she said, "Nobody cares about the news. But they just might care more if a beautiful husky like myself tells it to them."
"Fuck you, Iris."
She stopped, giving him a slight smile.
"I dare ya."
Within seconds, the pair was on the floor, wrestling, grasping at each-other's bodies.
"Come on, Michael..." Iris taunted him, "Make me scream."
Michael positioned himself at her entrance and thrust in. "That's it..." Murmured Iris, "Oh, yeah. Fuck me." Michael obliged, pulling himself out, and thrusting back in. Pulling, thrusting, pulling, thrusting. He had to give it to her, she was a hot fuck, moaning beneath him on the bedroom floor. All the times they'd met before rushed back to him. The beaches. The bedrooms. The cheap motels with a bible by the bed for afterward. Not that he read it. "Fuck me, Michael." She moaned again.
"Fuck you, Iris..." He replied, thrusting into her, feeling her warmth, her tightness around him.
They rolled all over the room. In the bed. The bathtub. There was even a little kitchenette, and they fucked there. He held her against the wall... Eventually, the guy next door, some lion, had to ask them to quiet down. She finally left at five o'clock.
He showered, and went to sleep, his clothes still thrown wildly on the floor.