The Perfect Wife
by Philip J. Lees
When Sensha bit into the cookie, Victor could feel it, taste it. It was more than just a cookie; it was soft, dusty shortbread in two slices, the upper one smeared with chocolate, the lower plain, between them a thin layer of fruit compote, sweetly tart upon the palate. Victor brushed his mouth with the back of his hand, then realized that it was to Sensha’s lower lip that the crumb had adhered, not his own. She licked it away with a flick of her pink tongue and he felt a momentary thrill of sensuality.
While she was focused on her eating, Victor studied her. She had shoulder length, dark blonde hair that framed an oval face with a firm chin, high cheekbones and a straight nose between big blue eyes. As she changed her position in the chair her breasts shifted beneath the blue silk blouse and her narrow waist was accentuated by the tight belt of her white denims. She was just as he had ordered.
She finished her treat, looked up and smiled at him. “Shall we go now?” she asked.
A personal android should have been well beyond Victor’s budget, but after years of playing the lottery through hopeless habit he had finally struck lucky. Other people might have spent the money on a new house, a yacht, a round the world trip: Victor Kozlowsky had decided he deserved the perfect wife.
It was better to have the first meeting in a neutral place, the psychologist at Perfect People, Inc., had told him, so he had picked this coffee shop for their inaugural encounter. He had come early, waited for her, dressed himself up, showered, shaved, put on Aftergel, all the time feeling vaguely ridiculous. This was not a date and Sensha was not a real woman. He had bought her, that was all. She was his property.
It still felt like a first date, though. And he could still almost taste the chocolate in the roof of his mouth.
“Good idea,” he said. “I’ll just pay the check.”
As he steered her through the door to the street he touched his hand to the small of her back and felt a shiver run up his own spine. Sensha’s step faltered and her eyes closed for a second, then she straightened her shoulders and stepped away from him. The top of her head reached to just above his chin.
“Patience,” she whispered.
When Victor had checked the box marked ‘Tactile resonance’ he felt very daring. The salesman had explained that Sensha could be adjusted to emit a field around her body that would resonate with the electrical activity in Victor’s brain stem. Depending on how close together they were, he would be able to feel her tactile sensations—taste, touch, smell—and she his. The salesman assured him it would be well worth the extra charge.
And they were soon to get much closer.
§
Even through closed eyelids, Victor could tell that it was still light outside. He had woken from a dream and retained a memory of something disturbing, but the details slipped away before he could trap them. He couldn’t remember ever being this relaxed, still halfway between sleep and full wakefulness, and he hung on to the feeling, wallowing in it, as his mind replayed parts of that extraordinary afternoon.
She had led him straight upstairs to the bedroom, as if she had been there before. Then she had undressed him, as he tried to do the same for her, his fingers clumsy with desire. The first time was over almost before he knew it, with an urgency for both of them that brooked no delay. As he entered her he felt her response in his own loins, followed by the irresistible surge of an orgasm that joined them in heaving, straining union, Sensha clutching him as she wrapped her legs around his thighs, he feeling her swollen nipples rub against his chest, feeling it all for the two of them, grabbing onto her shoulders as if they were a lifebelt in a stormy sea.
Then they fell apart, slick with sweat, exhilarated, and laughed in unison, a laugh of sheer joy. After that they played with each other, sometimes both together, sometimes in turn, for a time that seemed to go on forever. He reveled in the curves and crevices of her body, touching, stroking, kissing, feeling her every reaction as if it were his own, and she did the same for him, sensing just what to do, for how long, whether to be rough or gentle, when to pause, when to start again, keeping him on a plane of pleasure beyond anything he had experienced. Finally exhausted, he had slept, his head pillowed on her belly, relishing the contact from both sides as he drifted into oblivion.
A sound startled him out of his reverie and, as he stiffened, there was a crash from downstairs, as of something breaking on a tiled floor. He turned his head and realized he was alone. Sensha must be doing something in the kitchen and was still learning her way around. Never mind. A piece of broken china was a small price to pay.
A few minutes later he heard footsteps on the stairs and then Sensha was in the doorway, holding a tray. She had dressed herself in a light robe that hung open from her throat almost down to the belt at her waist. She set the tray on the bedside table and leaned to kiss him on the forehead.
“Sit up,” she said, smiling. “You’re hungry. I’ve fixed you something to eat.”
He was hungry, although he didn’t usually eat at this hour. He raised himself and adjusted a pillow behind his back for support. Sensha straightened the covers and put a plate on his lap—omelet, asparagus, green salad with a dab of blue cheese dressing.
“I broke one plate,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. This looks delicious.”
She smiled again. “I knew you’d like it.”
He sliced off a piece of omelet, speared it with the fork and held it up.
“Try some?”
“No thanks.” She shook her head. “But if you enjoy it, so will I.”
Sensha sat on the edge of the bed while Victor ate what was probably the best omelet he had ever tasted in his life. When he had finished, she licked her lips, replaced the plate on the tray, then loosened her belt, slid the robe down from her shoulders and rolled across him to lie on his other side.
Then they started all over again.
§
Later on, Sensha wanted to go out somewhere. Victor was too tired really, and said so.
“It’s my very first day,” Sensha reasoned. “I like it here, but it would be sad if I didn’t go anywhere else on my first day.” Her voice was light and melodious, with no hint of complaint, just stating an opinion.
And it would be sad, Victor thought, darned sad. Just the idea of the poor girl being trapped in this house made him miserable himself—after all, she hadn’t had any life before. So he heaved himself out of the armchair he had been sprawled in for the last half hour and trudged upstairs again to get dressed. By the time he came down he was feeling better.
Sensha had stowed her few belongings in a cupboard in the spare bedroom and had dressed in there. She had put on the same denims as earlier, but now wore a tan woolen pullover with baggy sleeves. She had highlighted her eyes and mouth with a little makeup, but without overdoing it. Victor approved.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.” That and her smile gave him a sudden swell of joy.
He was hungry again, he realized, so he suggested a late supper in an Italian restaurant he went to occasionally. Sensha agreed, but without great enthusiasm, and he felt a pang of disappointment, as if he had failed her somehow.
“Anyway,” he said, “we don’t have to decide right now. We can just walk around for a bit and then see how we feel.”
That seemed to please her more, and indeed by the time he had driven down town and parked she was bubbling with enthusiasm. On the way she pointed out landmarks that he hardly noticed any more and asked him about them with the ingenuousness of a child—the courthouse, the Sears tower, the red lights that marked the antennas on top of the TV station. Of course, she was seeing all these things for the first time and her delight was infectious.
Once they started walking, their progress was slow, because Sensha was drawn to almost every shop window they passed. She pressed her forehead against the glass, as if trying to get as close as possible to the clothes, jewelry, objets d’art, drapery, whatever was on display inside.
They found a hotdog stand and she persuaded him to buy one for each of them.
“We can eat while we walk,” she said, and they did so. Eating together doubled the pleasure, Victor found, or perhaps it was just because it was Sensha’s first ever. He watched her surreptitiously as she kept pace by his side, chuckling when filling oozed from the sides of the bun over her fingers. Even when wiping ketchup from her chin her movements had a grace that he found quite charming and her happy mood made her fun to be with.
They could go to the Italian another evening.
§
“We can turn the tactile resonance off, if it’s bothering you,” the psychologist said. His name was Becker and his watery gray eyes were fixed on Victor’s face in a way that Victor found unnerving.
“No. I didn’t mean that,” Victor said. “I just wondered if you could give me any tips. It’s … er … fun most of the time, but now and then she seems to get upset for no reason. It hurts me to see her like that.”
Becker frowned, all the lines in his rumpled face turning down in disapproval, like a stack of chevrons. He bounced the eraser end of his pencil on the table.
“You shouldn’t treat her like a person, Mr. Kozlowski, she’s a machine. Organically constructed, to be sure, but a machine nonetheless. Her feelings aren’t real, they’re just a behavior enhancement. You don’t need to concern yourself. Would you care about how your freezer was feeling?”
“I suppose you’re right. But it’s hard to think of her as a machine. She’s so … so alive.”
The chevrons on Becker’s face reversed their direction. “Here at Perfect People we pride ourselves on our simulations, Mr. Kozlowski. Moods are a part of that. Just ignore the bad ones—they won’t last long and you’ll enjoy the good ones even more.”
Victor sighed. “I’ll try,” he said, but privately he thought that it wouldn’t be so easy.
“Good!” Becker said. “Now, is everything alright in the other departments, housekeeping and so on?”
“Fine. Perfect, in fact.”
The chevrons flattened out now. Becker was smug.
§
One down, two more to go. The weekly visits to Becker over the first month were part of the deal. Victor had been told that some people were unable to adjust to the presence of an android and he desperately hoped that he was not one of them, even though the eventuality was covered by a money back guarantee.
So what was bothering him, really? Nothing he could put his finger on. He came home every day to a spotless house and delicious home cooking. Sensha always seemed to anticipate what he would most like to eat and had it on the table just when he was ready for it. His sex life was out of this world and the exertion was already making inroads on his paunch. He felt fitter than he had in years.
He had already grown quite fond of Sensha. Not that he was falling in love with her, or anything like that, he told himself sternly. That would be quite ridiculous. No, it was more the kind of affection you felt for a family pet, the dog you had as a child. Victor had never been a cat person.
Back at work, it turned out he had hardly been missed. Victor supervised a team of maintenance engineers and between briefing them in the morning and collecting and filing their reports when they returned in the afternoon, there was usually little for him to do. He had given the dentist as the reason for his absences. For some reason he didn’t yet feel ready to tell his colleagues about his latest acquisition, as he hadn’t told them about his lottery win. It was none of their business, anyway. Maybe one day he would let it drop, casually, when a suitable opportunity arose.
As he put in the remainder of his time for the day, Victor’s mind kept turning to tomorrow. The weekend lay ahead of him—his first weekend with Sensha—and he found himself running a finger around between his neck and his collar, as if it had become suddenly too tight. He forced himself to concentrate on finishing up the reports, and when thoughts of Sensha intruded he focused on activities of a more prosaic nature. He would take her to the park. They would rent a rowboat. She would enjoy that. And the zoo. Yes. They could go to the zoo in the afternoon and watch the animals. Then they could go home and … .
Eventually the reports were done. Victor of the wandering mind was the last to leave. On the way home he thought over Becker’s advice again. Right. He would ignore Sensha’s bad moods. It wasn’t as if they were frequent, just a couple of times over the last week that she had started crying for no reason that he could discern and he himself had felt thoroughly miserable as a result. That would stop right now. She was a machine; those weren’t real tears, just a ‘behavior enhancement’. If it happened again he would just leave her alone until she got over it.
When he walked through the door, Sensha stood on tiptoe to kiss him, as she had made it her custom to do. Her hair was tied tightly back and she smelt of pastry and rose petals. There was a smudge of flour on her nose.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“What? Oh, Becker? Fine.” He smiled. “I told him how wonderful you are and he looked smug.” It bothered him sometimes that she knew things he hadn’t told her, but of course she would have been given any knowledge relevant to her new position.
She hugged him. “Thank you.” Then she pushed him away. “Now go and change into some more comfortable clothes and then we’ll eat.”
“Why not come up and help me?” Victor reached for her again, but she backed away coquettishly.
“Later,” she said. “The pie will be ready in fifteen minutes. I want you for longer than that.” She peeped at him sideways from under lowered eyelashes. “We can enjoy the anticipation.”
Victor laughed. “Okay,” he said. “First the food.” The pie did smell very good.
§
Later in the evening, after another euphoric bout of lovemaking, he got round to the question he had been putting off since he got home, the question he should probably have asked her at the start, except that it hadn’t even occurred to him.
“How do you feel about all this?” he asked. “Being here with me and everything.”
Sensha was curled up against his side, her head resting in the crook of his neck, her arm across his chest. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
“This is what I do,” she said. “It’s what I’m for. Are you disappointed with me?”
There was a catch in her voice, so Victor squeezed her tightly and bent his head to kiss her forehead.
“Of course not,” he said. “I told you, I think you’re wonderful. I’d just like to be able to understand you a little better.”
She walked her fingers down his body, ran one of them lightly around his navel.
“I enjoy the things we do together,” she said. “I like being with you. That’s enough, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Actually, it’s much more than enough.” She pushed her body up suddenly, leaning her weight on one elbow while the other hand still explored his belly. “You’re a very nice man, Victor, much better than I might have expected.”
Even in this reclining position, her breasts were perfectly symmetrical, Victor noticed. Then he realized with a shock that she had addressed him by his name for the first time. There was nothing unnatural about the way she spoke, but hearing his name in her mouth he felt that their relationship had somehow moved to a new level.
“Sensha,” he said, “you’re very kind.” He leaned to kiss her again, this time on the lips. It lasted a long time, then she sat up and lifted a knee over so that she was astride his body. Light from the bedside lamp reflected off moisture in the dark golden triangle between her thighs and Victor could feel the warm, sticky dampness against his stomach. He was starting to get hard again.
Sensha looked down at him severely.
“No work tomorrow,” she said. Then her serious expression changed to a licentious grin. “That means more play tonight.”
She pressed her hands flat against his body, then slid them upwards, at the same time moving her haunches down, slowly, undulating, until she was stretched out on top of him, her eyes level with his own, her breasts brushing his chest, the stickiness below just touching the tip of his now erect penis, the hairs tickling it as she settled in her new position. Sensha closed her eyes and moaned softly, then relaxed into him as Victor put his arms around her and held her as if he would never let her go.
§
On Saturday, after a late breakfast, they set off for the park. The wind was blowing and the lake was too choppy for a rowboat, but they bought a big bag of corn and stood by the water feeding the ducks. A couple of opportunistic squirrels dashed in and out to steal a share and Sensha squealed with laughter when one of them sat up and nibbled at the morsel held between its front paws.
“They’re wonderful!” she said. Then she put her arm around him. “Victor, thank you.”
Victor was starting to feel cold, but he felt too good otherwise to mention it.
“Let’s walk that way,” he suggested. “People sometimes fly kites here at the weekend and there’s a good breeze for it today.”
They strolled along an asphalt path through the trees, arm in arm, until they reached a huge open, grassy area. Now they could see that several kites were in the air, one of them, shaped and painted like a dragon, engaged in complex aerobatics as its teenage handler on the ground tugged at the control lines. Victor and Sensha walked down the slight incline to get a closer look.
The wind was getting stronger and most of the operators were reeling their kites in. The boy with the dragon kite, though, seemed to regard the wind as a challenge. His kite soared, ducked and swooped with ever increasing velocity until watching it started to make Victor feel dizzy. He could tell by the way Sensha clutched his arm that she was feeling the same way and he was about to suggest that they should move on or go back, when something happened. One of the control lines snapped with a twang and a hiss and before they could react, the kite was plunging in their direction.
Victor knew that the light materials of which the kite was constructed could do them little harm, even if it hit them at speed. So why did he feel this total terror? His limbs felt frozen, numb, his mind could not function behind this blanket of fear. He stood there, helpless, with Sensha beside him, until there was a rush of air and the kite smashed into the ground less than a yard from their feet.
It’s owner hurried over and cast a forlorn look at the wreckage before turning to them. He had a cheerful round face and wore a red pompom hat that came down almost to his pink ears.
“Sorry,” he said. “Line broke. I couldn’t control it.”
Victor nodded, trying to string enough words together into a sentence that would make the boy go away and leave them alone.
The youth pointed at Sensha. “Is your wife alright?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice.
Victor looked down. Her face was white and strained. He recovered his speech.
“She was just startled,” he said. “She’ll be okay.”
The boy nodded, relieved, then turned to collect what was left of his kite and carry it away.
Sensha shuddered once, violently, then seemed to pull herself together. He drew her to him and put his arm around her shoulders.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” he asked. “That fear was yours, not mine.”
Sensha nodded, her face half buried in his chest.
“It’s not just the physical sensations, is it? We feel each other’s emotions, too.”
She nodded again and looked up at him. Her eyes were moist.
“They didn’t tell me,” she said. “I didn’t expect it.” She stared at him intently, imploring. “Please believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said. “How long have you known?”
“I wasn’t certain until now. But once or twice, during the week, I felt you weren’t happy, and that made me afraid, afraid that you’d send me away. I didn’t know if I should tell you.”
“That’s okay,” Victor said. “I’m not going to send you away.”
She straightened up, stood back, wiped the tears from beneath her eyes with a knuckle. Not real tears, Victor reminded himself. But they looked real enough.
“They can fix me,” she said. “If you like. Take me back to the technicians so they can stop it happening any more.” There was a quaver in her voice.
Behavior enhancement, Victor thought. Was that all it was? Perhaps she was right. He could take her back to Perfect People, ask the engineers to adjust her, weaken or disable that part of her that had this effect on him. But what else would he be losing? He wasn’t willing to risk it.
“No,” he said. “I like you just the way you are.”
He would have to take control, then, that was all. Stay happy himself and keep her happy, too. He would have to be strong, for both of them. After all, that was not too steep a price to pay for the perfect wife, was it?
Victor took Sensha’s arm again and slowly, leaning against the wind, their bodies pressed together like Siamese twins, they began to walk back home.
- End -
© Copyright Philip J. Lees 2002