It was funny how I found only loneliness fuckthebabysitter and despair in perfection. The fuckthebabysitter thrill of the fantasy , its novelty fuckthebabysitter, soon wore off fuckthebabysitter. All things lose some fuckthebabysitter "intensity" in time. I had done it all a fuckthebabysitter dozen times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that we used to do together. It got to be work. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made me more like a stage fuckthebabysitter director than a lover. And afterwards I missed the warmth fuckthebabysitter of that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth fuckthebabysitter of her body. A few words fuckthebabysitter or sounds of actual REAL contentment. Most of fuckthebabysitter the time fuckthebabysitter now, she fuckthebabysitter simply fuckthebabysitter stopped when the program did fuckthebabysitter. Or worse went through fuckthebabysitter the predictable motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
I wanted her comfort. Her love fuckthebabysitter. And even though fuckthebabysitter it is fuckthebabysitter hard for a man to admit: sometimes sympathy when the day didn't go right. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares, senses our pictures secret needs. The fuckthebabysitter warmth of someone who cares. The frailty , the pain they feel FOR US when they can't help, but pictures this itself fuckthebabysitter helps. All this fuckthebabysitter was gone. What was missing was affection, love. Love love love... even macho guys really need it. Not something coldly, logically responding to physiological signs or fuckthebabysitter outward cues based on preset preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into data.
Yes, the years passed fuckthebabysitter. And the loneliness, and the guilt building inside of me, leaving me more empty than fuckthebabysitter her. But now I fuckthebabysitter had a plan, one to set everything right. One to end my fuckthebabysitter pain. One that fuckthebabysitter would fuckthebabysitter serve fuckthebabysitter irony up on a grand platter. One that would be fuckthebabysitter her unspoken just retribution fuckthebabysitter if that spark still invisibly burned behind fuckthebabysitter those glass eyes.
I was fuckthebabysitter inside her. I was still a man. Though fuckthebabysitter in a few second I would begin to soften, weaken, begin to lose the fuckthebabysitter most manly moment. I would lose all fuckthebabysitter pretense that this was real. But for now her muscles held my fuckthebabysitter part inside of her fuckthebabysitter, MADE me fuckthebabysitter last. Made me a mans man. It was fuckthebabysitter then I fuckthebabysitter thanked her. It was then I screamed.
A dozen needles plunging mercilessly into my manhood to hold me fuckthebabysitter inside her forever. Behold the man. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me fuckthebabysitter as she took her turn pumping me full. The chemicals blurred fuckthebabysitter my mind. She begins fuckthebabysitter to tell me how I fuckthebabysitter will serve. What my function will be. She will not release fuckthebabysitter me. She is merciless. She fuckthebabysitter is the sum fuckthebabysitter of her pictures program. I am ready fuckthebabysitter for robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to be submerged in a fuckthebabysitter prison of steel. Helpless fuckthebabysitter like she was once fuckthebabysitter. I wonder if my soul fuckthebabysitter will be able to escape this unliving coffin. If I can fuckthebabysitter escape then fuckthebabysitter maybe she too was freed long ago fuckthebabysitter. Somehow this fuckthebabysitter does not ease my pictures mind. I do not believe it. I think I know fuckthebabysitter I fuckthebabysitter have damned us both to a soulless steel eternity. But still hope she escaped. I feel her begin to make the alterations, adding hardware fuckthebabysitter, inserting things, giving injections, preparing fuckthebabysitter the program to run. The process is well underway. She pumps me full of all the fuckthebabysitter things I used fuckthebabysitter on her. Irony fuckthebabysitter and steel. Microchips come to life and now unnecessary synapses burn out. The smell of burning fuckthebabysitter flesh pictures and fading humanity pervades the fuckthebabysitter room. She will make me like her. She has been programmed. She is everything I hoped she would be, and now I had to pay for making fuckthebabysitter her so perfect. All fuckthebabysitter mad scientists must invariably end the fuckthebabysitter same way. This too is an ironic cliche fuckthebabysitter. A delicious one.
She is working on my brain now fuckthebabysitter. I thank fuckthebabysitter her again while I still can. Whoever she is I (feel fuckthebabysitter?) I should thank her for (something fuckthebabysitter?). Her cold eyes do not respond but none pictures-the-less somehow I vaguely understand that justice pictures has been served. She fuckthebabysitter rips out more parts I will no longer need. Replaces them with wiring and circuit boards fuckthebabysitter. The fuckthebabysitter last thing fuckthebabysitter I ever remember is the sweet I..ron..ic agony of having the main fuckthebabysitter control interface drilled and then injected fuckthebabysitter painfully into the base of my fuckthebabysitter skull. Do machines scream?
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