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Subject: {ASSM} My First Robot (M/Fembot, rom, ASFR)
Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2001 12:10:04 -0400
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My First Robot

By DB  ( DB_Story@att.net / http://home.att.net/files/Authors/db_story/www )

Copyrightc 2001 by DB.

ASSM/ASFR (M/Fembot, Rom)

(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 personal use rights to view this story are 
granted.  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.)

- - - - -

Today was the day.  The message had arrived last night 
promising delivery sometime today, and it was already 
3:00pm.  This was pretty heady stuff for a 26-year-old 
single guy who seemed to have terrible luck with women.

Great Aunt Kate was a legend, both in our family, and well 
beyond its borders.  At age 92 she had had more energy than 
women half her age.  She'd outlived three husbands, and a 
lifetime of travel had given her an education no university 
could match.  There seemed to be no cause worth doing, and 
no people worth knowing, where she wasn't involved.  Along 
the way, she had accumulated a substantial estate, and 
seemingly friends in every corner of the world.  News of 
her death had been quite a shock.

Among the members of our family, she and I had had a 
special bond.  It started when I had spent the summer with 
her while I was twelve and my parents were having some 
difficult times.  Every morning had been a new adventure 
because I had never known where we would be going or whom 
we would be seeing.  We remained close after that (she said 
I had more sense than the rest of my family generation put 
together) until I reached eighteen, and I started to deal 
with my own adventure of becoming an adult.  I hadn't seen 
her in the last six years, although hardly a week went by 
without us exchanging at least one e-mail.  When I often 
bemoaned how hard it was being a man in his early 20's, 
she'd shoot back how she'd made it through her own twenties 
in much less enlightened times, and later how I'd look back 
at these times in my life and laugh.  I was pretty certain 
she'd outlive me.

The notice of her death was from the lawyers, and was short 
on tact.  I had never considered I'd receive anything from 
my Aunt beyond her priceless advice, since I was somewhat 
removed in the family line and Aunt Kate had more charities 
she cared about than I had people I knew on a first name 
basis.  But the letter said she had made provision for me 
to the amount of $150,000, two airline tickets anywhere in 
the world - and a robot to be delivered in three days.

Now I hadn't even known Aunt Kate had a robot.  Though 
private citizens had been able to own robots for nearly ten 
years now, they were so rare and expensive that I might 
have well wished for my own private jet - and the airport 
to keep it on.  How she had gotten a robot, and why she was 
giving it to me, was a complete mystery.

Normally Aunt Kate was thoroughly organized.  In fact, had 
I seen her appointment book I would have expected to have 
seen that she had scheduled her own death, rather than have 
it just happen.  She had never even once in her emails 
mentioned a robot (or any other inheritance).  But the 
lawyer's letter lay there, and after twenty readings it 
still said the same things.  I got $150,000 (all taxes 
paid), 2 first class plane tickets that must be used in the 
year, and one robot.

Three days later the letter was now lying on the two books 
my friends had gotten me when they had heard the news.  
There was: "Robots for the Completely Clueless," and "A 
Neophyte's Guide to Robotic Relationships."  Even those 
books seemed written for someone who knew more than I did.  
I was reaching for it for a 21st reading when my doorbell 
rang.

I dropped the letter like it was on fire, and tried to walk 
calmly to the front door of my small apartment - as if 
someone was watching me.  Ha!

I opened the door, hoping to see two burley delivery men 
with a large crate.  Instead it was a 32-year-old woman in 
a short top and skirt standing there.  My face must have 
fallen (not her fault), because a sudden expression of 
concern appeared on her face.  I realized that my 
disappointment at not having this be my special delivery 
was showing, and that was hardly fair to her.  I firmed up 
my features and attempted a smile.  It was only fair.

"May I help you?" I asked.

"Are you Don Sutton?" she asked in a mellow contralto.

"Yes," I replied, wondering what she wanted.

"Good," she replied in that same voice.

She paused for a moment, clearly expecting me to say 
something.  But I didn't have a clue what she expected of 
me, so rather than saying something to confirm my 
foolishness to a pretty woman, I stood there dumb, waiting 
for some clue.

It must of finally dawned on her that I either didn't know 
what was happening, or wasn't going to say anything useful, 
so she stuck out her hand and said, "Hi, I'm Jenni 731 - 
your robot."

I must have been totally flabbergasted.  I remember 
automatically taking her hand and shaking it for a very 
long time until she finally said, "May I come in?"  I stood 
aside and mutely nodded as she entered and closed the door 
behind her.

Nothing in my books had prepared me for a robot that 
delivers herself.  They were supposed to come in carefully 
packed crates, and the new owner then goes through an 
involved activation and familiarization procedure as he 
setups his robot to his particular preferences.

Jenni, on the other-hand, just walked in like any normal 
woman, and was curiously looking around my apartment.  It 
gave me a chance to catch my breath as she surveyed the 
limits of my domain.  I had heard that the best robots were 
practically impossible to tell from real people, but had 
never believed it - until now.  Finally she stopped her 
inspection and turned to face me, and I got my first good 
look at her.

She stood about 5'7", nearly five inches shorter than I.  
She had full bodied golden brown hair reaching below her 
shoulders, and clear brown eyes to match.  High cheekbones 
and tender lips gave her oval face its exotic appeal.  Her 
skin was a medium brown color also, or that of an ideal tan 
- evenly toned, but with subtle variation, from her face 
all the way down her slim legs.  Her features were lovely. 
(Both of my books had insisted that nobody builds an ugly 
robot, but I had had my doubts.  In fact, although over 85% 
of the current robot population is female, I had only hoped 
that my robot would be one of them.)  And as I watched, her 
face broke slowly into a lovely smile as she watched my 
approving looks of her.

Without my saying anything, she performed a pirouette, her 
short skirt flaring out to show more of her shapely legs.  
Most women need high heels to add that shape to their legs, 
but Jenni was managing it in simple flats.

As I was struggling for what to do next, I remembered 
something mentioned in both robot books.

"How old are you?" I asked.

A quick shadow seemed to cross her face before she smiled 
again and answered, "I'm thirty-two."

That couldn't be right.  They hadn't been making robots 
anywhere near like her for more than six or seven years.  
Then I realized that she was giving me her apparent age, 
not her robotic age."

"I meant in robot years."

"Oh," she said, pausing.  "I'm five."

After another pause she added, "But I was fully refurbished 
only two months ago, and my power level is at 95%."

That was relieving to hear.  One thing I do know is that 
robots are expensive, high maintenance items, and a full 
refurbishment could have gone through my entire 
inheritance.  From what she had just told me though, I 
could expect her to last at least four years without any 
major expenses against my slim bank account.  I should have 
already known the answer though.  One look at her lustrous 
brown hair would have told me that she had been very well 
taken care of.

Jenni might have guessed what I was thinking because she 
then said, "Your Aunt Kate set up a trust fund for my 
maintenance.  It has $650,000 initially deposited, and 
should provide for all my foreseeable needs."

Now that was nice, I thought.  Maybe Aunt Kate had planned 
this out better than I had first thought.  I was thinking 
of asking Jenni what else Aunt Kate might have had to say 
about why she had given her to me when Jenni smiled a bit 
wider, and with a suddenly deeper voice asked, "Would you 
like to see me naked?"

I must have nodded.  I know I didn't say what I was 
thinking, but I must have nodded because she suddenly, 
lithely reached behind her and pulled her top off over her 
head, then tugged at a zipper and stepped out of her skirt.

I was stunned to motionlessness again.  I'd expected to see 
undergarments I suppose, but there were none.  (When I'd 
thought about it, it did make sense.  Robots only needed 
undergarments if their owners liked seeing them in them.)  
All that Jenni was wearing were her flat, black shoes, and 
a moment later she slipped out of them too.

She let me look at her for a very long time.  I must have 
had the hungriest look on my face, because I devoured her 
body like a starving man.  When it seemed like hours had 
passed, she raised her arms languidly over her head and 
pirouetted again, but much more slowly.  Somehow she 
conveyed both the power a naked woman has if she has the 
courage to use it, and a complete innocence about the body 
she was presenting to me. 

It took me awhile to finally see here clearly.  When I did, 
I saw that her body had the even brown tan from her 
forehead to the tip of her toes.  Her breasts looked firm 
and large, but not too large to seem unreal.  Her dark 
brown nipples were firm, erect cylinders.  Her skin was so 
smooth it looked like it had baby oil on it.  Her navel was 
exactly where it should be, and the light brown pubic hair 
below it said that she was an adult woman in every way.

She seemed a lot more comfortable with her casual sexuality 
than I was.  And the more I became aware of that, the shyer 
I was becoming.  She seemed to realize this, and that I 
wasn't going to be able to make any first moves in that 
area, as much as I wanted to.

So after she had given me all the looking time I could 
want, she cocked her head kind of half way, looked at me 
with yet another smile, extended her hand in an inviting 
manner, and said, "Shall we go have sex?"

I was smart enough not to fight the idea as she led me off 
to my bedroom.

* * *

The next hour was fantastic, once I realized that with a 
robot there is that there is no fear of rejection.

First Jenni proceeded to efficiently remove my clothes.  
Despite the fact that she folded each item neatly after she 
removed it, I'm convinced that it would have taken me three 
times as long to get out of them myself.

Then she just stood in front of me, arms at her side, and 
let me ran my hands over her entire body.  I marveled how 
smooth, soft, warm - and real - she felt.  Her smile and 
body language told me how much she liked the affection and 
attention.  Her medium breasts and large, erect nipples in 
particular felt the way I always imagined a woman's breasts 
should.  Although I would have thought, given an 
opportunity like this to touch such a beautiful woman would 
have had me shaking with unrestrained anticipation, somehow 
just the opposite had occurred.  I might have continued 
with just this touching much longer if she hadn't finally 
initiated the next step.

She took my hand again and led me over to the bed, then lay 
down on her back.  Without saying a word she was inviting 
me to be on top of her.  As I looked down at her for a 
moment, I realized how exciting it was to me that her 
apparent age was six years older than my own.  It gave her 
an air of experience to balance my own inexperience with 
women.  As a mature woman who obviously knew exactly what 
she wanted, I lost any fear of somehow taking advantage of 
her.

Now as I lay down between her legs and onto the cushion of 
her still erect breasts, my excitement finally caught up 
with me.  I quickly tried to force myself inside her and, 
embarrassingly, missed.  I struggled for a moment until she 
gently (but very strongly) pushed me up a bit with one 
hand, while she used her other one to guide me into 
position inside her.  Once fully in, I started pumping with 
my best efforts while she wrapped her long legs around me 
and rocked together with me.  From all indications, we both 
came together three times in the next fifteen minutes, 
after which I rolled off of her.  We then clung to each 
other for a very long time.

* * *

Some while later in what was seeming an endless afternoon, 
we started talking.  I found out that Aunt Kate had gotten 
Jenni from her nephew Jerry - the black sheep member of our 
family, known not so affectionately as Jerry the Jerk - 
when he had gotten into a jam.  (Jerry had apparently won 
her from her original owner in a poker game where he may 
have cheated.)  Rescued her, might better describe Aunt 
Kate's actions.  Apparently neither Jerry, nor his friend, 
had treated Jenni very well, though she didn't go into any 
details.

Aunt Kate financed some necessary repairs and then, in 
effect, adopted her as a daughter.  Jenni also said she had 
earned her keep by working as Aunt Kate's personal 
secretary.  Something her robotic brain could do well in 
organizing all the myriad details of Aunt Kate's many 
activities.

And although Aunt Kate had never mentioned Jenni to me, she 
had apparently often spoken of me to her.

"You were her favorite," Jenni told me softly, and with 
apparent real feeling for my Aunt.

Somewhere as the evening crept in on us, Jenni finally 
separated herself from my embrace and went out and prepared 
a great dinner from my relatively meager food supplies.  I 
had gotten so used to her already in the few hours we had 
spent together that it was a shock when she set only one 
place at the table.  I had to stop and think for a moment - 
hey, robots don't eat.  (Later she told me she actually 
could eat if I wanted her to, like if we were to go out to 
a restaurant together.  The food wouldn't be digested 
however, and she would just dispose of it later.)

Then we sat close together and she spent the rest of the 
evening telling me true tales about my Aunt that had me in 
stitches.  (The one about my aunt, the three priests, and 
the presidential aide I could never repeat in polite 
company, yet from her lips it sounded almost virtuous.)  My 
robot was just full of surprises.

Another surprise was that, after she had taken her clothes 
off that afternoon, she had not bothered to put anything 
back on afterwards.  Yet after we'd been together for three 
or four hours - as beautiful as she is - I wasn't even 
noticing her nakedness anymore.  If you don't believe me, 
try it yourself sometime.  Clothes are only a big deal when 
you're wearing them.

It was late when we went to bed together, and made love 
again, this time quietly side by side.  Then she held me as 
I drifted off to sleep.  (She may have slept too.  The 
books said that the more advanced robot brains have a sleep 
mode very much like human sleep that they use to 
reorganize, process, and compact information from the 
previous day.  Some even think that robots dream, though 
the scientists strongly deny it.)

Sometime during the night I remember half waking up, and 
thinking that I was awakening from the most lovely dream I 
could remember about a beautiful robot who had come into my 
life just that afternoon.  In that state between asleep and 
awake I realized that another person was in bed next to me, 
and that they had a very female body.  I tentatively 
reached over to touch the form and bumped into a breast 
that instantly gave me a raging erection.  Jenni whispered 
something to me as she stirred, and the next thing I knew 
she was over me easing that erection into that lovely soft 
spot between her legs.  Then she started pumping up and 
down on me as I reached out both hands to cradle both her 
breasts that were bumpimg me every time she came down.

I can't describe the feeling.  I remember coming twice 
within her, but my erection remained firm and she kept up 
her motion.  I wanted to lay here forever this way, but 
finally guilt crept in.  She was doing all the work and I 
was getting all the pleasure.

I finally managed to say, "Stop," in a weak voice.

"Why?" she asked, as she almost stopped, but squeezed me 
more tightly within her.

"It's not fair, " I gasped out.

"What isn't"

"You doing all the work."

Now she stopped completely, and looked down at me in the 
near darkness.  Somehow I knew she was giving me that 
wonderful smile again.

"I'm a robot, silly.  I don't get tired or sore or anything 
like that."

As I tried to ponder that answer through the pleasure fog 
in my mind, she redoubled her efforts above me and brought 
me off one more time before I had to pull her down and hold 
her tight because I couldn't stand any more right then.

* * *

The next morning I awoke later than usual.  Jenni was gone 
from our bed, but the smell of breakfast told me where I'd 
find her.

She may have been fixing breakfast, but when I slipped into 
the shower she slipped in behind me and washed my back.  
Then I had her turn around while I washed first her back, 
then her front.  Then, with a quick kiss, she was gone 
again.  Breakfast was waiting when I got out.

I'd just finished eating when the two deliverymen I'd been 
expecting yesterday finally did show-up with a large crate, 
which they left in the living room.

"My wardrobe," Jenni said, and proceeded to open it.

Duh!  Of course she'd have clothes.  She had attended many 
functions with Aunt Kate, and needed to run errands.  And 
this was not something she would have carried with her 
yesterday.

Jenni spent the next hour modeling her wardrobe.  She had 
clothes for every occasion from the simple outfit and flat 
shoes she had worn (so briefly) yesterday, to some very 
formal - and expensive - gowns.  And she was the sexiest 
thing alive in every one of them.  There was lingerie, and 
makeup too.  She showed herself off to me in every bra, 
panty, and bikini she had.  And with makeup she changed her 
face and styled her hair so much I wouldn't have thought 
she was the same person.

When she stood there gracefully in 4" heels after removing 
one party dress, about to put on another, I couldn't help 
myself anymore.  I walked over behind her and started 
rubbing my hands over her body again.  Although she'd been 
nude now since yesterday, the clothes, and then lack of 
them, was powerfully erotic.  I slid my hands up and down 
those lovely legs, then over her chest to cup her breasts.

She turned.  In those heels we were almost eye-to-eye now, 
and gave me a long sensual kiss.  This led to several more 
deep kisses, and another bout of lovemaking before she got 
a chance to show me the rest of her clothes.  (Yeah, it 
seems like we were having a lot of sex, but hey, don't you 
remember when YOU were 26?)

I finally realized though that I had not performed the 
first duty both robot books had said was absolutely 
necessary upon receipt of a robot.  I had not initialized 
her programming.

I had the necessary equipment.  All really takes is just a 
special, high-speed cable to any modern home computer, and 
the latest analysis and programming modules from the 
manufacturer's site on the Internet.

I went over to my system and pulled out the cable, and when 
I turned back Jenni she was looking at me with a mixture of 
what I can only describe as fear..

I'm still more than a bit slow on the uptake, so it took me 
a couple long moments before I thought to ask, "What's 
wrong?"

She looked straight at me and in her softest voice, with a 
bit of a shudder behind it, she asked, "Are you going to 
rape me now?"

* * *

Rape?  What does she mean? 

"Rape?" I asked, my hands and arms open in confusion.  "I'm 
just going to perform a standard analysis and setup."

"Well, you might call it something else, but to a robot at 
my level, it's rape."

Sometimes I'm not so slow on the uptake at all.  I suddenly 
saw what she meant.  I was about to insert a cold, rigid 
plug into her personal private programming port.  This 
would layout her mind and soul to me, for me to play God 
with anything I didn't like.  Yet what else was there to 
do?

"Surely you've had this done before?" I asked.

"Yes, of course.  Many times," she said, now with a 
resigned edge on her voice.

"Then why is it a problem now?"

"You don't know what it's like, I suppose.  I hoped you 
would like me just the way I was.  What have I done wrong 
since I met you yesterday?  Why must you do this?"  She 
really sounded afraid.

"It's just an analysis.  I don't really know either you, or 
your motives.  You've been very friendly (that's the 
understatement of the year) so far, but I don't know you 
really."

"Can't you just take me the way I am," she again asked, 
looking at me with those beautiful brown eyes.  "Can't we 
just be friends and lovers and just have fun together?"  
Then she started to walk across the room with an undulating 
sway that was more seductive than words can describe.  She 
hadn't done this before, and my face flushed bright red as 
I watched.

I almost said yes right there.  It was so tempting.  But 
the books were full of semi-dire warnings about what 
problems could come from having a robot in your life that 
had been programmed by another person.  Every robot follows 
their primary program.  Their fulfillment in life comes 
from how well they achieve those directives.  And while the 
basic programming behind those directives is monstrously 
complex, the directives themselves can be expressed in very 
simple terms.  A robot can be charming, loving, and loyal, 
or just acting that way while in truth being lying, 
cheating, and actively plotting your demise, all behind the 
same smiling face.  It is all a matter of programming.  
With robots there are no ethics that aren't programmed in.  
(And while some argue that robots exhibit all the signs of 
self-will and the emotions that go with it in carrying out 
their programming, others just laugh at them and how easily 
they have been fooled by some exceptionally clever 
programming.)

So I said, "Stop," before she actually reached me.  And she 
and I just stood facing each other over a four foot gulf, 
me having just insulted my latest and best ever lover.

Or was all this just a clever subterfuge to keep me from 
knowing just what Jenni's real motives were?  The lady, or 
the tiger.  I held in my hands the way to see through the 
doors to the truth, and Jenni didn't want me to use it.  
Why?

Finally I remembered the magic phrase that my teacher in 
the college relationships course (the best decision I had 
made in college had been to take that class) had once told 
me.  It would only work if there were some trust, but my 
gut said to give it a try.

I took a long breath to calm myself, then looked evenly 
back at Jenni and waited a moment before asking, "Jenni, 
what is the real problem here?"

Her reaction was completely unexpected.  She covered her 
face with her hands and started to cry.

I did the only thing a real man can do in this situation.  
I walked over to her, put my arms around her, and held her 
tightly as the sobs racked that beautiful body.

Finally they trailed off and she looked up at me with wet, 
though not red, eyes.  I remember thinking that's one way a 
robot is different from a human woman.

She started to say something, and I started to tell her she 
didn't have to say anything right now.  She got hers out 
first.

"I don't want to die."

That was about as unexpected as anything she could have 
said - and definitely not covered in any of my books.

"What do you mean, die?" I asked.

"I'm afraid if I let you reprogram me, I'll die," she said 
softly, drying her eyes with the back of her hand, then 
wiping that hand on my shirt.

"What do you mean, die?" I asked again, dumbly.

She stepped back from me a full step, without taking her 
eyes off of me.

"I'll try to explain," she said tentatively, as if already 
not expecting me to really understand.

Then she proceeded to tell me about her first owner, Bill, 
who had bought her on a lark with money from his parents 
who never denied him anything he wanted.

"Bill wanted me to be the perfect woman, but every time he 
would program me to be that person, he didn't like the 
results. Robots get their satisfaction through fulfillment 
of their primary directives, but we also must keep our 
owners happy.  Bill was never happy.  I don't think he knew 
how to be happy.  Every week it was something new.  One 
time he decided he really liked blue.  Yes, the color blue.  
So he reprogrammed me to like it as much as he did.  A week 
later he decided red was better, and he reprogrammed me to 
like red instead.  He went through over half my programming 
resources, mostly undoing what he had just done days 
before.  I thought I was saved when he got drunk one night 
and lost me in a poker game to Jerry.  And Jerry cheated 
him in that game - I know."

"Jerry the Jerk," I groaned out load.

"Yes," she said, responding to my interruption.  "That's 
what your Great Aunt called him as well."

I had to laugh at that.  It broke the tension between us 
long enough for me to ask, "But how is all this a problem?  
I mean, if you get your fulfillment through following your 
programming, however he changed it, you could still follow 
that program and be happy."

"What you don't understand," she explained, is that my 
programming resources are finite.  A primary program is 
everything to a robot.  And it is not something that can be 
allowed to be altered by accident, so it's put in a write-
once memory.  In order to change something, the old memory 
is cancelled permanently and the new directives go into the 
remaining unused space."

"Is this bad?" I questioned.

"It can be with someone like Jerry.  He was so different 
from Bill that the first thing he did was to delete all 
Bill's programming and put in his own.  That wouldn't have 
been so bad, except Jerry knows almost nothing about 
robots."

"What did he do wrong?" I wondered.

"Everything, actually.  His problem was that he didn't know 
how to get what he wanted out of me, and wouldn't let me 
tell him.  He is just certain that he knows everything 
about everything."

(She obviously does know Jerry.)

"Once, for example, after watching some of his vast porn 
collection, he decided he could only receive satisfaction 
through oral sex.  So he reprogrammed me such that my only 
desire and satisfaction could come from going down on him.  
He was such an idiot, but I didn't know any better at the 
time."

This didn't sound all that bad to me, all things 
considered, but clearly I was missing the point here.

So feeling stupid about not seeing what was supposed to be 
obvious I had to ask, "And this was bad because.?"

"It was bad because, like anything that you get too much of 
without change, you eventually get tired of it.  And 
although I could have done it forever, when Jerry did get 
tired of it, he then had to reprogram me back to normal 
because I couldn't give him sex any other way until he 
did."

She paused here, so I asked the obvious question.  "What 
should he have done?"

Jenni looked so gratified that I had grasped the obvious 
here that I got warm all over just from her smile.

"All he had to do was ask, damnit!"  Her frustration at 
inept owners in full bloom now.  "You don't have to 
reprogram me for every little thing.  Just ask.  I would do 
it gratefully and enthusiastically.  Just ask."

My mind was wandering off on the though of endless oral sex 
just for the asking when I realized that Jenni had stopped 
with her explanation.  But I still didn't have my answer.

"So getting back to what started this unexpectedly 
fascinating discussion, how does this reprogramming kill 
you?  Isn't that what robots are for?"

"No," she said definitely.  "We're here to be what you want 
us to be, but you can't give us an impossible task and 
expect us to fulfill it.  I'd be dead now if it wasn't for 
Aunt Kate."

"Just what did Aunt Kate do?"

"She saw me with Jerry, and rescued me at the first 
opportunity.  She somehow knew the moment she saw me that I 
was suffering.  She then brought in a friend of hers who is 
also one of the leading experts on robots to undo as much 
of the damage as possible.  After that, she took me into 
her family, and has provided for me ever since."

"So you'd be dead without Aunt Kate.  But how?"

"As I said, programming resources are finite.  Between Bill 
and Jerry the Jerk, they'd used up over 85% of my available 
programming space.  Even after Kate got me, to undo the 
damage and give me a program I could live with took me to 
92% usage.  Changing my ownership over to you I did myself, 
to be sure it was done as efficiently as possible, but even 
that took away another precious 1%."

"But what happens when you run out?" I quickly shot back.

"When that memory is fully utilized, no further changes are 
possible and I am completely stuck with whatever was the 
last thing loaded into me.  If that doesn't suit my current 
owner, I become useless to them and will probably be 
junked."

"But if you're short on memory, why can't some more just be 
added?"

"It's not that simple.  This memory area in integral to my 
processing.  To remove and replace it with new, unused 
storage would result in a full reset and wipeout of all my 
existing memories and experiences.  I'll be reset back to 
what I was the first time I was activated - which is death 
to `me' every bit as much as it would be to you.  Human or 
robot, all we really are our memories and the moment we're 
living in.  I like who I am, and I'd like to continue 
living this way."

With that she stopped, went over and sat down on the couch 
next to my computer to await my decision on her fate.

I believe in the next couple minutes I was thinking faster 
and harder than any robot ever managed.  If her story was 
true, then even a little carelessness on my part could 
destroy this beautiful, sexy woman (yes woman - in my mind 
she was a woman, not a machine anymore) whom I'd known less 
than a day.  Or it could be a lie.  She could still be 
running a program dating back to Jerry, or even Bill, and I 
wouldn't know.  Again, was it the lady, or the tiger.  How 
could I find out?

Then I remembered another memory bite from that 
relationships course.  The teacher had written it on the 
blackboard all by itself, and then never referred to it at 
all in the lecture.  Somehow that made the statement even 
more powerful and memorable.

"Without trust, you don't have a relationship."

"Jenni?" I asked.  She looked up at me.  "Will you trust me 
on something very important here?"

She looked at me for a moment, then nodded.

"I don't want to rape you."  She nodded again.

"I would like to get the readout on you.  I promise no 
changes, at least until we talk them over first.  I just 
want to know that you are what you represent yourself to 
be, and are being truthful with me.  Can we do that?"

There was a long pause, but then she silently nodded again.

I walked over to where she was still sitting, and then 
looked down at the data cable in my hand, shiny plug at the 
end of it.  "Would you.?" I started, holding out the cable.

Jenni reached out and took the end from my hand.  She 
reached around behind herself and slid it into a concealed 
connector at the base of her spine where it would interface 
with her main system bus.  Then she went limp as the 
programming interface took over and uploaded her soul.

Even at the high data rate, the upload took long minutes to 
complete.  My computer screen showed analysis of each 
section as it arrived.

Jenni had the most complex level of robot brain.  It was an 
artful mix of digital, analog, and neural net processing.  
While these factors can be combined to give various 
outcomes, the bias in her design was towards self-
correction and self-will.  (Yes, I still know there are 
still those who deny self-will is even possible.  But 
whether real or simulated, isn't the outcome the same?)

I also saw the long, struck-out passages of the many 
reprogramming sessions she had endured.

Finally I scrolled down to where the screen was blinking 
SUMMARY CONCLUSIONS.  The current directives were both 
simply, and classic.

1) Protect your Owner.
2) 
3) Love your Owner
4) 
5) Your current Owner is Don Sutton - followed by several 
id strings uniquely specifying me.
6) 
Current Resources = 86% Deleted, 7% Active, 7% Available.

I admired the cleverness of Aunt Kate's programmer here.  
He had not programmed Jenni to protect and love Aunt Kate.  
If he had, it would have been necessary to cancel that 
programming before she could protect and love me.  He had 
given her a set of directives that would allow her to be 
happy with any owner smart enough to leave that programming 
intact and let Jenni be Jenni.  The same program that 
worked for Aunt Kate would be all that I would ever need 
from Jenni.  It was an elegant solution.

I looked over to her, still shutdown sitting on the couch.  
She was nude, leaning back, with those beautiful legs 
crossed and her hands in her lap.  A beautiful sculpture of 
a woman, waiting for her Pygmalion to breath life into her 
still body.

I got up and paced for a minute, then slowly walked across 
the room.  When I reached her, I reached behind her with 
one hand to remove the programming plug, while my other 
hand stroked her upper leg.

"Jenni, it's time to wake up," I said softly, and was 
rewarded to see animation come back into her body.

She felt herself for a moment, as if to see that she was 
all still here, then looked up with a question in those 
startlingly clear brown eyes.

I answered her with, "I think your program is exactly all 
I'll ever need it to be."

Hearing that, she smiled her beautiful smile and told me, 
"Aunt Kate often said you were the only one in the family 
who would properly appreciate me.  I feel now that she was 
more right than I ever realized."

"Never argue with Aunt Kate," I said, smiling back at her.  
"Now about that oral sex."

She jumped up laughing with me, and eagerly led me back 
into the bedroom.

* * *

With Jenni in my life, I stopped looking for anyone else to 
share it with.  Her apparent age of 32 was a perfect match 
for me.  Over the decades that followed we gradually aged 
her to follow me.  My friends, who had about the same luck 
with women I had had before Jenni were amazed that I had 
managed to corral such a fantastic woman, and kept asking 
if she had any sisters - preferably twin sisters.  They 
only once asked about the robot I was supposed to receive.  
I told them that the robot hadn't worked out and had been 
returned to the estate because I had already met Jenni by 
then.

We used the plane tickets to fly to Paris for our private 
honeymoon.  With what Jenni had learned working with Aunt 
Kate, we were able to open an exclusive consulting business 
to select clients that kept us both busy, and soon wealthy.  
We remembered Aunt Kate by continuing to support her 
favorite charities and good works.  And the one thing Jenni 
could never give me - children - we solved by adopting 
several hard-to-place, wonderful kids.  Jenni made the most 
patient of mothers.

Needless to say, I never did tell my friends the truth 
about Jenni, and I don't believe any of them ever guessed.

-end-

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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