“You’d like something to eat?” Alexi asked me after having changed into a tight, black polo neck as well as her habitual combat trousers. “You’ve not had anything since breakfast, have you?”

 

“Don’t go to any trouble!” I called to her as she went back downstairs. About half an hour later I heard her calling me. “Yes, mum,” I mumbled and shuffled down.

 

Arnold was still at the door with the gun back in his hand. I entered the kitchen to find cooking debris everywhere but no Alexi, so I went into the dining room and found her there, as usual trying her best to hide her nerves. The room’s size was belied by its bareness which indicated that it probably wasn’t used too much but, cosily lit with two silver candelabra on a fairly small, circular glass table set for two, it was still inviting. In the corner stood a skinless which, with a napkin draped over the left arm, pulled a chair out from the table and looked at me expectantly. Alexi and I were sat in a similar manner and napkins were spread on our laps. Then the synth stood before the table with its upper body inclined forwards a little.

 

“Good evening, ladies,” it said in a most refined accent. “My I say that the chances of the roast beef being good today are three thousand, seven hundred and twenty to one.”

 

“Thank you,” I said, smirking. “I’ll have the veggie option.”

 

“Very good, madam. And for you, my ladyship?”

 

“Haha!” I burst out and Alexi smiled.

 

“Same for me, thank you.”

 

The synth bowed and passed into the kitchen. The table had been set so that my elbow was almost touching Alexi’s. I raised my eyebrows at her and she smiled warmly and innocently, still trying to keep her troubles from her mind. A version of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ that I hadn’t heard before, though I recognised the singer, played in the background. It was Alexi’s favorite, Jezzibella Trollope.

 

“I feel a little underdressed,” I confessed, though Alexi was no smarter. She gave me her smile and I noticed, only for the first time, how beautiful and warm a smile it was. We had lovely onion soup, followed by a vegetarian tagliatelle served with a sweet, white wine. I watched the neck of her sweater bulge slightly as she swallowed. I was glad of the music, otherwise it would have been a buttock-clenchingly awkward meal. When I had finished I sat back, sipped my wine and watched her finish.

 

“So, how did it go this evening?” I asked, trying a casual air. “Did you sell it?”

 

She swallowed a little loudly and bobbed her head.

 

“Just have to make some minor adjustments.”

 

“But they were impressed with, right? I mean, it’s an amazing piece of work.”

 

“Yeah, I think they liked it,” she answered after a pause.

 

She felt my gaze on her and smiled at me, wide-eyed, while I listened to the music for a while. Jezzibella had really mellowed.

 

“And,” I said more gently, “so what do I call you, now?” She froze for a second in mid-chew, swallowed, then smiled shyly. “Alexi?” I asked, “Beau or Mary?”

 

“You can call me whatever you like, darling.”

 

I let her finish eating.

 

“When had you planned on telling me?” I asked as she also relaxed with her wine.

 

“Soon,” she said and absently rubbed her throat just above the sweater’s tight neck.

 

"When?" I asked, laughing slightly.

 

She shook her head and looked down. “I don't know."

 

“I think it’s good you left the lab door open, then,” I said, arching my eyebrow, “otherwise I might never have known.”

 

I think she was about to answer me, but at that moment, the synth stepped up.

 

“Care for some dessert, madam? Ice cream or fruit salad?” it asked me in smooth tones.

 

“I think I’ll just have coffee, please,” I told it. Alexi nodded in agreement and a few minutes later the synth was pouring us fresh coffee from a shiny, steel cafetière. It left the remains of our meal so it seemed Alexi had not programmed it for tidiness. I sat for a long while, slowly relaxing, feeling comfortable with Alexi, despite her mysteries and inability to open up. I trusted her goodness and her innocence. I loved her charity and her genius. Our wandering gazes fell on each other. I felt her love, her yearning, her sadness. I thanked her for the meal and she told me I was welcome. This meek reply finally made me lose it and I slammed my fist down, making the cutlery and crockery do a ballet in mid-air.

 

“God damn it, Alexi!” I shouted, making her leap in her chair. “Is that it? Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time? After all we went through together? I know you’re shy but this is ridiculous. And what’s with the ‘normal’ routine? You trying respectability on for size? Well, it doesn’t suit you. I know what you’re really like. You’ll never be normal!”

 

She reached out to me nervously, apparently wanting to touch me, but afraid of my temper, so I took her hand and looked into her eyes.

 

“But I want to be more normal, Irma,” she said softly.

 

“Are you kidding?” I asked with incredulity. “Why?”

 

“Because,” she bit her lip, “because I want you to like me.”

 

“Alexi!” I squeezed her hand. “Don’t change for me. I would never have accessed your site if I had wanted normality. I wanted craziness and you, or Beau, gave me that.”

 

She looked down.

 

“I’m so afraid of loosing you,” she breathed.

 

Something more needed to be said, but neither of us had the courage. I was sure of her love, but how could I reciprocate it? How could I, now knowing what I was, truly love? If couldn’t love her then, I couldn’t now. I stood and she looked up at me with her eyes glistening in the light of the candles. I bent down, put my arms around her and hugged her tightly.

 

“Oh, Lexi,” I whispered against her ear, “I am very fond of you.”

 

When I released her, she shut her brimming eyes for a moment, then stood shakily and left the room. I watched her go and wished the earth would open and swallow me. I decided it might be best to leave her alone for moment so I stayed in the room while the waiter discretely hung back in the kitchen. Then I became concerned, ran to the hall and heard a familiar Al Bowlly tune from upstairs, so I vaulted the steps quickly.

 

When I reached the living room I found her in a smoochy dance with a woman I could only see from the back and their arms were around each other. The brown-haired woman was small, with a ballerina’s physique, dressed in a black leotard and pink pointe shoes. Over the woman’s shoulder, Alexi looked up and the look she gave me made my heart drop to the floor with sadness. When the other woman turned, I saw that the face was a featureless blank. I edged out of the room, nearly fell down the stairs and, not knowing where to go, found myself back in the dining room.

 

I then noticed on the wall a little framed photo of the Skolkov family, taken in Red Square with the distinctive mandarin red towers of the Kremlin behind them. It was a sweet picture, taken recently judging by Alexi’s appearance, and they all looked happy, though Lidiya was in a wheelchair and seemed very frail. It was so lovely to see them again. All the intervening years almost overwhelmed me and I was filled with regret for the loss of their friendship.

 

Near this photo were two illuminated glass cabinets, one larger than the other. I had noticed them during the meal and now I went over to look at them more closely. The larger one was home to miniature sculptures, awards, apparently from companies and institutes all over the world, all inscribed to ‘Skolkov Synthetics’. Framed diplomas and even doctorates filled the wall above the cabinet, each bearing the name ‘Alexandria Alexandrovna Skolkova’. The smaller cabinet was crammed full with figurines; a cute collection, befitting someone with Alexi’s interests, of famous, fictional robots from movies and TV shows. And in a small mirror above them, I saw their factual counterpart. It looked real, as real as any human, with none of the vacant stare of the other synths. I’d be able to pass for human in any social situation. I wondered how many security systems I might be able to pass, if any.

 

I thought of the bizarre scene upstairs and considered just walking out of the house again. But how far would I get?

 

I blew out some of the candles, drew a chair over to the french window and sat for a while looking out into the night. The singular figures of the house guards passed each other like ghosts, ignoring each other and seemingly lost in either deep thoughts or oblivion, I could not tell which. The black one was there, hands on hips, his fingers pointed at his tight crotch, debonair and so completely my type. He looked like someone whose appearance I had taken on myself in another life and also reminded me so much of my first boyfriend, James; gorgeous, chocolate-skinned, dancing James.

 

I remembered my life as a young immigrant, finding my way in the city, finding my way through relationships and through my sexuality. When I had first come here I had considered myself a one hundred per cent dyke, but two males I met early on had changed this. They were James, with whom I had been partnered in a production of ‘Coppélia’, and Nicky, a girlish sixteen year old male model with milky skin and tar black hair. Through their wildly differing types I had come to realise that, when it came to choosing my lovers, I was neither drawn to a particular gender nor a physical type.

 

It was so exciting, discovering the novelty of masculine wantonness, the violence and aggression of a man’s desire. I remembered being stretched open and tunnelled into, being penetrated with a drill of flesh for the first time, having my insides pounded and ravaged and my juices drawn out of me. Then, after having my first man, I became a boy’s first woman and guided him through his first, gauche fumblings, enjoying his pretty, young body that was so much like a girl’s. In the mornings, after I had spent the night passing the knowledge from my experiences with James onto Nicky, Bo would pretend she had not heard, but her blushes at the breakfast table would say otherwise.

 

Then, not long after Bo’s near drowning, the inevitable happened and I found I was pregnant. The reaction from both possible fathers was discouraging and, with my tenure at the Skolkov home apparently nearing its end, I chose termination and I never made the same mistake again.

 

But if only I had.

 

I felt human and I looked human but I knew there would be things this body could never do. I had considered having a child many times, but the time or the possible father had never been quite right. If there was one thing that would make me wish for a real female body over a male it was the ability to conceive and have a child. That possibility now having gone forever I had no wish to remain in female form anymore.

 

I took the mirror down and examined my face close up, thinking, There must be something to give it away. I pulled by eyelids and opened my mouth as wide as I could but my reflection continued to lie. I pulled up my top, baring my tits and belly, and felt all over, prodding myself for lumps and bumps I couldn’t remember from before. The reproduction was exact. But for how deep?

 

Alexi had done this for a clear purpose but, and I wouldn’t have expected anything less of her, she had given me the ability to choose. I chose. I took a knife from the table, gripped it hard and plunged it into my left breast.

 

Searing agony sang out from my skin. The knife sank into it as through butter and when I pulled it out there was no blood, not even a drop. This body was all so wrong. I pulled down my shorts and saw nothing to penetrate with, save the blade in my hand. I drew it across my belly and cried out while reaching in. The pain was so great I sank to my knees. I was only dimly aware of an alarm sounding, like a burglar alarm. I felt cold, hard hands on my back and fell against them, unable to move. The pain had been shut off, as if by a switch, but I seemed to have become paralysed. Alexi appeared before me and examined me briefly before ordering the waiter to carry me to the lab. There, I was laid out on a table while Alexi picked up a device and tapped a key. I blacked out again.

 

When I awoke I was still lying in the lab, looking at the mechanical arms above me. I turned to see the naked form of Beau, lying on his front, his head raised unnaturally so that his throat was flush with the surface, while a silvery crown-shaped device kept his buttocks wide open. He didn’t look conscious, at least, I hoped he wasn’t. Standing to my right was Alexi in her white coat, t-shirt and jeans, her hair in a ponytail and with what looked like a surgical headlight strapped to her forehead, watching something on a screen while rubbing her neck. I sat up and felt my breast and belly. Like Beau I was naked and I saw that there was no trace of the cuts I had made. Gliding my hands over myself I remembered my fingers touching something under the skin layer, something not soft and fleshy, but hard and inhuman.

 

“What were you doing?” she asked me, not turning from the screen.

 

Then I saw that the screen was playing a video of someone self-harming. It was a recording of my last few seconds of consciousness.

 

“Oh, great,” I said, “don’t I get any privacy at all, doctor?”

 

“I’m sorry.” She clicked the video off. “I’d just like to know why you did it.”

 

Her mouth twitched and she didn’t look up at me, her long hair hiding much of her face, as it often did. Her hands were in surgical gloves. I reached up and gently pushed some of the hair behind her ear, but still she seemed more interested in a piece of the artificial skin she had used to patch me up and, as she fiddled with it, I noticed it was in the shape of a heart. My clothes were draped over the chair, but I wanted to remain naked for the moment, despite feeling vulnerable under the lab’s harsh light and with so many sharp tools around.

 

“Alexi, look at me.”

 

She raised her eyes immediately, but stopped short of looking me in the eye.

 

“Alexi, why did you make me?”

 

“You know why, Irma,” she said looking down for a long moment before turning away to inspect Beau. She frowned as she took the odd goggles from around her neck, drew them over her eyes and switched the light on at her forehead. I followed her and saw, within the silvery, crown-like device, tiny machines shooting back and forth, weaving strands of tender tissue inside Beau’s crack.

 

“Yes, OK,” I said to her, “I understand that, but why this body?”

 

“What do you mean, Irma?” She stood back from Beau for a moment, touched a key at her temple and lifted her electronic gaze to me. “What’s wrong with it?” She sounded concerned. “Did I get something wrong? I worked so hard to make you the best synthetic body I possibly could, but whatever you don’t like, I’ll make an adjustment, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t say so before. My mind was on other things.” She bit her lip.

 

“No, my body is fine. It’s more than I could have hoped for. You’ve done so much for me and I’m very grateful.” I wondered how to explain myself. “What I mean is, Alexi, I don’t feel like I’m me.”

 

“But you have your memories? I was so careful to keep them. It’s the memories that matter, isn’t it? We’re defined by our memories. Those are still the things that make us who we are.”

 

“I agree, Alexi, and thanks for the lecture. What I mean is,” I struggled for words, “I don’t feel comfortable in this body anymore.”

 

She drew her mouth into a line and bent over Beau again. The process appeared to be complete, so she carefully lifted the crown from his buttocks, allowing the cheeks to rest against each other again. From a draw she pulled a small, shiny phallus and a lubricant. She smoothed some of the latter on the former, slowly inserted it into Beau’s anus and, after a minute of gentle probing, she seemed satisfied, removed the toy, then wiped the rim with tissues and patted his bottom. All of this was done with such loving tenderness that I thought a compassionate surgeon, caring for the sick, could hardly have been more gentle.

 

“I know you miss our other life, Irma,” she said, removing her goggles. “You can go back if you want. Now you don’t even need a nose plug.” She went over to Beau’s head, took his shoulders, told me to take his feet and we eased him onto his front. I was happy to see him back to a more comfortable-looking position. “But you know the risks. I can’t go back myself, so you’d be on your own.” She removed her gloves and binned them. “My brain circuitry was removed while I was in a coma for two weeks. I got off with a fine. I’m not going through all that again, unless,” and she broke off.

 

I absorbed this news for a minute, feeling guilty that these things hadn’t even occurred to me.

 

“But don’t you miss being Beau or Mary?”

 

“Sometimes,” she said, leaning against a cabinet and looking down, “ but I think it was mostly you I missed.”

 

“I don’t want to go back if you’re not there with me, Alexi.” I went over to her and took her hand. “I know things got a bit hot for us, but we had some great times together, didn’t we?”

 

For the millionth time, it seemed, I saw her blush, and I stroked her cheek with the back of my hand. I noticed how her upper teeth pushed her lower lip down slightly and ran my thumb along the skin just beneath it.

 

“You’re my Beau, my sweet, sweet Beau.”

 

She closed her eyes, kissed my hand and held it.

 

“Alright, Irma,” she said, and was finally able to look me in the eye. “I’ll make you a different body, if that’s what you’d like. I just want you to be be happy, but please promise me you won’t hurt yourself again, OK?”

 

“OK,” I agreed. At least I could give her that. The memory of the pain would see to that.

 

For a long moment we looked at each other until an intermittent buzzing broke the silence. She pulled a phone from her jeans, looked at the display with sudden anxiety, shook her hair back from her ear and answered. I could tell from her eyes who it was, and I turned away, suddenly feeling cold.

 

“This evening?” she said, and bit her nail.

 

I was listening to her say, “Yes, my lord,” a few times and starting to feel sick, when I heard her choke and drop the phone. Her face turned purple and her body doubled over. I took firm hold of her shoulders and drew her over to the desk where she vomited on the floor. She sat up, heaved some air into her lungs and focussed on my face while I gave her a glass of water and rubbed her back. I had no need to ask what had happened. After a minute, deciding she was out of immediate danger, I picked the phone up.

 

“Leave her alone, you fucking losers!” I screamed and hung up. She was rubbing at her neck and I pulled her hands away, remembering Precious’ warning. “Don’t, Alexi,” I whispered, horrified at the panic in her eyes and the irregularity of her breathing. “Try to breathe calmly, sweetheart.”

 

Her long legs were drawn up to her chest and her whole body was rigid, but slowly, under my gentle touches and cajoling, I felt her gradually soften. I made her a coffee and one for myself. For a long time I crouched beside her, patting and stroking her, looking up into her pale face until she breathed more easily. Eventually she stood and walked back to where Beau was still lying like a corpse in a morgue. She ran her hand through her hair, then tapped away at a keyboard. Beside her Beau’s limbs spasmed slightly, then he sat up and smiled at me, but Alexi’s back was turned to him as she concentrated on the same screen that had displayed my attempt at self-harm and which now showed the events of the trip out she had taken with Beau, as recorded from his point of view. She jumped to the moment when the wire had been placed about her neck, zooming in closely, watched it a few times, then shut it off with an angry stab at the keyboard. Beau’s smile displayed his blissful ignorance.

 

“Can’t you remove it?” I asked her.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe I could try, but I mightn’t get very far.”

 

I went over and put my arms around her, noticing, at her nape, a circle of reddened skin around the cube.

 

“Lexi?”

 

“Yes, Irma?” Her breathing was slow now after the shock her body received.

 

“What were you doing even accepting an order from those maniacs?” I tried not to sound angry.

 

“The order came from someone else, on their behalf. I didn’t know it was them.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. As I continued to hug her I felt, in turn, arms reach around to hug me from behind and hold Alexi’s arms. I found I was squeezed between Alexi and Beau. He was getting hard against me. Being sandwiched between them like this made me smile. I desperately, blindly wanted to feel safe, despite our situation. I kissed Alexi’s cheek, then she smiled. “You two are getting along well,” she commented, “hence his transmission to you, I suppose. I certainly didn't program him to do that.”

 

"Maybe it made him feel safer, knowing someone else was watching."

 

"No, I think it's just an empathy program I've been experimenting with. It does unpredictable things sometimes."

 

"Please don't talk about him like he's just a machine, Alexi."

 

“I think it's time for breakfast,” she said, clearly to avoid an argument. "Fook, I'm knackered."

 

I glanced at the clock and nodded so I took Beau's hand and we went through to the kitchen. He watched while we ate cereal. It was already midmorning and a hot sun was streaming through the windows.

 

“Like some strawberries?” she asked me and opened the door to the greenhouse. “There should be some fresh ones.”

 

Beau and I followed her in and we found ourselves in a fragrant space, so hot it made me glad I still hadn’t bothered to dress, surrounded by flowers, fruit and vegetables. Shiny blue dragonflies hopped from white lily to yellow orchid, butterflies of every color fluttered around us and bees buzzed around a hive at the back where a skinless was skilfully harvesting some of the honey. Glass enclosures housed stick insects and other exotic-looking forms, quite possibly the descendants of the little monsters the young Bo had used to keep in her bedroom. Beau and I inhaled the scent from drooping lilacs and admired the garish hues of plants I couldn’t name but which looked carnivorous. Alexi had stopped beside a bush bearing bright, red berries and plucked one for me. I sank my teeth into it and loved its freshness.

 

“Strictly no GMs,” she said.

 

A pleasant idea occurred to me. Beau’s continuing arousal was plain so I picked a handful of the strawberries myself, then knelt before him. With the fruit in my left hand I gripped him at the base of his willy and began working him up and down, rubbing my entire palm against him, closing my fingers around his modest girth and making him moan. Alexi folded her arms and watched indulgently, her face pink from the heat or from blushing, probably both. I tongued little Beau at the bright pink tip, tasted his sweet precum and continued pumping him until he ejaculated all over the fruit so that it was smothered in his snowy-white cream. I offered the first one to Alexi. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, allowing me to pop one inside. The cream dribbled from her mouth but I caught it with my finger which I then sucked. The two of us shared this delightful breakfast and, though the cream was warm, I knew that I had never breakfasted so sweetly.

 

Alexi was sweating and she leaned back against a shelf, taking enjoyment from just watching Beau and me. I found a little space on a bench to sit and admire the beauty around us. Here was a tiny piece of paradise in dying world. It looked, smelled and tasted so good. I took Beau’s hand, drew him to me with my legs apart, rested my arms on his shoulders, closed my eyes and kissed him, then felt another kiss, this on my cheek, and looked up to see Alexi bending over us.

 

“My sweet children,” she whispered and kissed Beau too. Thus blessed Beau and I were left to fuck among the flowers while Alexi presumably went to catch up on some sleep.

 

I wrapped my legs around Beau and kissed his face over and over as his prick pushed between my swollen petals. Our soft cries joined the buzzing of the insects and the scent of our bodies mingled with the scent of jasmine and gardenia. When we came our juices fountained in the heated air and we drank greedily from each other. Then, with him behind me, he continued to give me joy, holding me close, squeezing, stroking, kissing. Every movement was just right, as if rehearsed but with the thrill of spontaneity. I came again, and felt a flood tide released from my pussy, overwhelming me with the scent of honey. Beau replaced his prick with his pinky, then placed it at my mouth. I sucked up and down on his finger, then licked his hand.

 

In my post-coital haze I picked more fruit to which I also added some cream from Beau, standing behind him and directing the jet over all I had picked. I tightly pressed my sodden pussy hair into his buttocks and he responded by wiggling against me. Then came again that moment of heightened empathy as, during his orgasm, I saw through his eyes and felt the pulsating pleasure in his prick as if it was attached to my body.

 

At Beau’s eye level, just above some blackberries, was a jar, home to, as well as many twigs and leaves, two green bug-eyed mantises. Their long abdomens were joined, and the larger one’s jaws were buried in the neck of the smaller, levering its head off while the two bodies continued to copulate.

 

I disengaged from Beau, disturbed by the sight, my mind suddenly home to a chilling purpose.

 

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2015