Misc. Erotica The Problem With Immortality

They kept walking. They could see a giant sphinx being constructed in the distance. Thousands of workers were laboring away in the desert, dragging and hauling giant stones.

"What is that going to be?" Jessica asked.

"Me!" said George Washington. "They are going to put my face on it! Can you imagine that?"

Jessica gave a high pitched laugh.

"When is it going to be finished?" Anson asked.

"Well, they started yesterday. They tell me it will be at least two more days. But it will be worth the wait, I am told."

"Worth the wait," said Anson hollowly.

George Washington led them around to a neighboring village, called Asyut. Villages cheered his name, and all were happy to see him. Even the slaves!

"Washington! Washington! Washington! Slave Master! Great Master of Slaves, George Washington!" they cried.

George Washington smiled, enjoying every moment of it.

Anson looked at Jessica, who seemed to be amazed by the adulation as well.

President Marjorie Killjoy was ecstatic. She had just convinced the Congress to pass a bill legalizing all seven genders: Male, Female, All of the Above, Not Sure, He/She/Us/Them, Cyborg Input/Output Dataport, Bermuda Triangle, and TBA. Now boys and girls would be taught in school that they could be any gender they liked, and the government would pay for their gender reassignment surgery. If a boy or girl were unsure of their gender, the government would offer to remove their genitals by laser surgery, and tattoo in a TBA tattoo ("To be announced") over the empty space, to wait until they were old enough to decide what gender they had decided to select.

Her next effort was to ban cars, to fight Global Warming.

Marvin was happy that his wife was happy, but this he didn't really understand. "My dear, Global Warming was totally discredited in the 23rd century. The heating of the earth was found to be due entirely to natural variations in the output of the Sun. So why on earth are you pushing this agenda?"

"Because it's not about Global Warming," said Marjorie, her eyes shining. "It never was, even in the 20th and 21st century. It was about curbing mankind's reckless individualist behavior. We devoured the resources of our planet like popcorn. People sprawled all over the Earth like an infestation, each person wastefully driving their own vehicle wherever they wanted. It defiled the Earth. I'm going to push a new bill to ban cars, and require everyone to use public transportation. And then we're going to requires that all new housing be built within a half mile of mass transit lines."

"Who will want to live next to trains?" Marvin asked.

"Everyone will. Because they'll have no choice," Marjorie grinned.

"But dear... my lovely dear," said Marvin, taking her hand. "None of this is real. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," said Marjorie, sighing strongly as her large breasts heaved. "But I feel like I am an actress in a play. That I am retracing the steps of some of the most progressive figures in our time. Alyssa Makepeace, Oujua Okubia, Maoina Bin Laden-"

"But it's not real," Marvin insisted, gently grabbing her arms.

"But it feels real to me," said Marjorie. "What have I done with my life, out in the so-called real world? I wanted to be a social worker, helping people. Instead, I was in charge of robots who did the helping. What kind of a life was that? It was totally empty, totally sterile. This," she said, waving an arm to the Oval Office around her, "This experience has more meaning to me than my entire life."

Marvin looked at her for a long moment, and then said, "Well, if it makes you happy, then I'm happy." And he reached forward and kissed her.

When they pulled back, Marjorie was smiling at him. "And what about you, my sweet? How are you enjoying your time here?"

"I have to confess I am liking it too. I went to watch a game of football--real football, with real players."

"That's right. This was before they outlawed people playing football, before they replaced them with robots," said Marjorie. "But think of all the brain injuries!"

Marvin waved a hand dismissively. "People were playing against people. Crowds were cheering. There was beer and hot dogs. It was a tremendous experience."

"But dear, as you would tell me, that wasn't really people playing football. In fact, it was almost certainly holograms pretending to be people playing football," said Marjorie gently, working an arm around his waist.

"I know," said Marvin immediately. "But it felt real. It was like... like I was watching the idea of real players playing against each other. They all had names. They were interviewed during breaks. They acted real. It added so much passion to the game. So much excitement. And Marjorie--the hot dogs tasted like real meat."

"Real meat?"

"Yes! I don't know how they did it," said Marvin excitedly.

"I'll have to get on top of this," said Marjorie. "People playing football, people eating real meat... these require legislative solutions."

"Please don't take away my joys, dear," Marvin pleaded.

"You'll still have plenty of other things to enjoy, I'm sure," said Marjorie.

An aide entered the office. "Mrs. President, the committee on Sharia Law diversity is waiting to hear from you, and the committee to ban plastic straws would also like a moment of your time."

"A busy President is always being tugged in one direction or another," said Marjorie, looking into the eyes of the man she fell in love with, and still loved to this very day. "I'll see you at dinner, dear."

That night, there was another dinner in honor of Anson and Jessica at the pyramid. Rather than feeling like they were intruding on someone else's fantasy, George and Marsha Washington seemed genuinely pleased to have real flesh and blood guests with them. George and Marsha were dressed in exotic silks, studded with gems and rubies which sparkled in the lights of the giant lanterns around the hall.

While they feasted on exotic lamb and roast kid with rice mixed in with dates and almonds, gorgeous women and big muscular men dressed in feathers and bronze jewelry danced for them. They were slaves, all of them, but that didn't bother George Washington.

"He favors that one, the third girl from the left," Marsha whispered to Jessica.

"Favors her?" said Jessica. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"No! It's wholesome fun. She's just a robot," said Marsha. "Have you tried one of them? They're really fabulous. They're programmed with a whole variety of techniques."

Jessica watched the handsome male dancers perform, and started to get ideas.

"It's so wonderful," George Washington was telling Anson. "They all look up to me! Wherever I go, they cheer my name. Even the slaves! I don't think even the real George Washington had as enthusiastic a slave base as I do."

Anson was forced to agree.

Washington lowered his voice, speaking in confidence, as if someone might be listening. "I'm building a fleet of ships. To ply the Nile. I'm thinking of going to war against some of my fellow Pharaohs. Wouldn't that be exciting? In the meantime I get to play God with these people. I adjudicate all their petty disputes, from sheep herders arguing about their flocks to young princes with land disputes. But they all rely on me to decide for them! It is such a feeling of power, Anson, the likes of which I've never experienced!"

"I've spent a lifetime accumulating wealth, Anson. I thought money was power. Money is power. It brought me this," he said, gesturing around him. "But it's still not the same. Money doesn't give you face to face power over people. It doesn't show their reactions. It doesn't give you an emotional response. This is what I've been missing. This is what I've been needing."

"It sounds wonderful," said Anson, in a guarded voice.

"It is!" said Washington, smiling.

After dinner, George Washington took Anson to a parlor, which was filled with gorgeous women. "What is this?" Anson asked. "Another performance?"

"Kind of," said Washington grinning. "This is my harem. I am opening my portfolio for you tonight, you, my dear, honored guest. Girls!" He clapped twice.

The girls jumped up, and started to dance erotically in front of Anson.

There were brunettes. There were redheads. There were blondes (in ancient Egypt?). They all had large, jiggly breasts and smooth creamy skin. They looked at him with eyes of longing as they danced before him.

But they were robots on the inside. The thought of making love to a robot held zero appeal for him.

George Washington looked at Anson expectantly. Anson didn't know what to say. Finally he turned and said, "I'm sorry... I'm just too tired tonight."

"Perhaps another night?"

"Perhaps," said Anson.

As he turned to go, Jessica came sauntering up. "Hey, you," she smiled. "Time for some sex?"

"Sure," said Anson.

But then Marsha Washington appeared, trailed by three giant half naked slaves, all dark skinned, all well muscles, all oiled.

"Jessica, I have a present for you tonight," said Marsha. "Would you like one of these to warm your bed?"

"Would I?" said Jessica, her eyes widening.

"Pick one," Marsha smiled.

Jessica looked at the three men with hunger. She wavered back and forth. "Do I have to choose?" she asked timidly.

"You can have all three," Marsha smiled.

Jessica turned to Anson. "Sorry. I just discovered I have plans. Another night, Anson?"

"Sure," said Anson, feeling partially disappointed, and partially relieved.

Jessica, arm and arm with her sex slave robots, marched to her quarters with a giant smile on her face.

The next morning, Jessica winced as she sat down at the breakfast table.

"A little sore?" Anson inquired.

"Yeah," said Jessica. "I think I may have overdid it."

"With which one?"

"All of them," Jessica grinned. "You know, they really feel like people. You can't tell the difference. You really have to try it."

Anson, eating poached eggs, didn't respond.

"You don't seem high on this place like I am," said Jessica.

"I don't?" Anson asked.

"It's wonderful, Anson! These people are pharaohs! They live in the lap of luxury. They can have anything they want, anything at all! I think we should recommend this to Odour," said Jessica.

"Let's give it one more day, and then we'll talk about it tomorrow, after we leave," said Anson.

"All right," said Jessica, pouting slightly as she sensed his disapproval. "But I thought we were going to stay a little longer."

"No."

Today was the day of tribute. Minor princes from all over came to bow before the Pharaoh, and deliver great gifts demonstrating their love and undying affection for George Washington.

Anson watched as the Prince of Luxor, surrounded by big breasted women dressed entirely in feathers, bowed at Washington's feet. "Oh great Pharaoh George Washington! We of Luxor pledge our eternal love and loyalty to your Greatness! Your wisdom and strength is renown throughout the length of the Nile! We come before you now to give you these gifts of our affection!"

And assistants came forward with four chests, and opened them. One contained powered gold dust. A second contained diamonds. A third contained rubies. A forth contained emeralds. The crowds gasped as each one was emptied at the great one's feet.

"Washington! Washington! Washington!" they cried.

George Washington called for calm with his pudgy hands. "I thank you for these great gifts, Prince of Luxor. Be aware that you shall always be considered as one of my most loyal subjects at my side! Your gift is received, and may you leave here blessed with the love of your Pharaoh!"

The crowd roared with approval. Jessica got caught up in it, smiling and cheering along with the rest.

Only Anson was silent, watching, and seeing, but not commenting.

Later, they paid a visit to the construction site for George Washington's Sphinx. The Sphinx was already starting to bear his facial features; at least they had gotten the shape of his head right, nice and round.

Slaves pulled blocks of sandstone weighing hundreds of pounds cheerfully without complaint. Even when overseers whipped them to go faster, the slaves looked happy.

But all work stopped when the Pharaoh arrived.

"The Pharaoh, he is come!" announced Khalid, the Factorum in Chief.

The slaves cheered as one.

"Who is our beloved slave master?" Khalid boomed.

"George Washington!" the slaves cheered. George Washington! George Washington! George Washington!"

George Washington smiled and turned red from all the adulation. A slave girl brought her baby up to him and asked him to bless her. George Washington did, and proclaimed that she would grow up to be the most beautiful slave in all of Egypt. The crowd cheered again.

George Washington turned to Anson. "Can you imagine getting treated like this anywhere else? Can you?"

Anson admitted that he couldn't.

Finally, they ended the day taking a ride on the Nile in one of the Pharaoh's large galleons. The image of George Washington, the original George Washington, hung on the sail, as slaves plied the oars.

George Washington noticed Anson eying the sail. "A nice touch, eh? That's my namesake!"

Anson smiled, and sat back and felt the breeze against his face, as he looked at the cool waters of the Nile. In the distance he could see the sands of the Egyptian desert. As with the day before, the weather was perfect, 70 degrees, not too hot, and not too cold.

Jessica sat down and snuggled against him. "Isn't this wonderful, Anson?"

Anson agreed that it was.

"I think we found it," Jessica declared. "I think we have the answer for Odour." She was genuinely excited.

That evening, Anson was quiet at dinner. Jessica noticed it, of course, but she said nothing, simply giving Anson a mysterious smile.

After dinner, Anson went back to his quarters. He found a surprise waiting for him inside.

A veiled woman lying in his bed.

"Did I come to the wrong room?" said Anson, being purposefully obtuse.

"No, Master," said the woman, in a voice Anson felt was very slightly familiar. She stood up and approached him sinuously, her hips wiggling. "I have come to please you tonight."

"That's very nice but-"

And then the woman dropped the veil, which had been covering her face and breasts.

It was Jennifer.

Anson had to look twice to confirm that it was not really her.

It was a copy of Jennifer, a very close copy. Anson, who was intimately familiar with Jennifer's appearance, even recognized which holo it had been copied from. But it wasn't her. It was a robot, made to look like her.

"I am here to please you, Master," said Jennifer. Even the voice was a good imitation.

"Who put you up to this?" said Anson. "Who sent you here?"

"The Pharaoh George Washington sent me. To see to your pleasure. Do you not find me pleasing?" And Jennifer, as Anson thought of her, lowered the top of her dress, showing her perfect C cup breasts. Just as Anson remembered them, right after they had been fixed.

Anson was at a loss for words. Jennifer put an arm around him, and drew him close. "Please, master, let me service you, I beg it of you. If you do not, the slutmaster will beat me for my failure."

The words were nonsensical; obviously a robot was in no fear of being whipped, but the tone of her words were highly erotic. And then she leaned forward and gave him a kiss. It felt as real as when Maizie had kissed him in Amadiro's office. He felt her firm lips pressing against his, demanding a response. And then Anson, knowing this wasn't Jennifer, but needing her so badly in his mind, pressed against the robot, and responded.

In moments they were in bed, touching, caressing, squeezing. Jennifer conscientiously saw to his needs like a professional, arousing him, teasing him, prolonging it, making him dance along the edge, until, when her programming determined the time was right, she brought him over the top, and he climaxed inside of her, joyfully, and pleasurably.

President Killjoy was on an old fashioned phone when Marvin entered the Oval Office.

"Dear, it's time for dinner," he whispered.

She held up a finger indicating one moment, and spoke into the phone. "Yes, I mean all of them. Schools should start teaching Hunt the Zipper classes in the Third Grade. We need kids to be streetwise and smart so they don't catch socially transmitted diseases and will know what to do when the time comes. And remind them that until they build separate bathrooms for all seven genders, that All of the Aboves, Not Sures, He/She/Us/Thems, Cyborg Input/Output Dataports, Bermuda Triangles, and TBAs are equally welcome in all girl's bathrooms and locker rooms. Anything else is discrimination which will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Yes, thank you very much. Good evening."

She slammed down the phone. "Honey, I'm exhausted."

They had been in the simulation for twelve days. Marjorie had enacted a whirlwind agenda:

1) raising the top marginal tax rate to 90%,

2) passing a law requiring all women to be paid the same as all men (regardless of how hard or how long they worked),

3) dismantling the border fence with Mexico and welcoming unfettered immigration,

4) integrating the seven genders into the military,

5) legalizing safe spaces for people to inject heroin and cocaine in a welcoming and supportive medical environment,

6) approving an "afterthought" bill which would legalize "retroactive" abortion into the tenth month,

and a whole host of other initiatives.

And she only had two days left! There simply wasn't enough time to do everything she wanted to.

She got up, went around her desk, and gave Marvin a welcoming kiss. "How was your day?"

"Good," said Marvin. "I've been watching old 20th century movies. Rambo. The original Star Wars. Terminator, Rocky."

Marjorie made a face. "Movies filled with violence. And nearly all white men."

"Yeah," said Marvin, grinning.

"That reminds me, I have to put a cinema act before Congress, to install racial and sexual quotas in movie casting," said Marjorie.

"Oh dear, please don't. At least, not until I've seen all the movies I want to see," said Marvin. "And I hear you're going to ban golf and auto racing! I love playing golf and watching auto races!"

"Auto racing glorifies individual transportation and toxic male machisimo," said Marjorie. "It sets a bad example."

"And golf?"

"Golf rips up large pieces of the environment. It's incredibly destructive. If you want to play a sport, you should play whiffle darts."

"Whiffle darts?"

"Little crinkly balls you throw at dart boards. You'll love it, dear."

"Why not play with actual darts?"

"Darts are militaristic phallic man tools of war. They set a bad example for the little ones. We can't have that." She put an arm around him."Come, dear, I'm exhausted. Let's talk more over dinner."

The White House dining room was a perfect picture of elegance. Elegantly dressed servants delivered Beef Wellington on the fine White House China. Marjorie and Marvin both sat at one end of a long table, which was usually reserved for banquets.

"I was thinking, dear," she said, while she ate. "Our time is up in two days. What if we extended it?"

"Extended it?"

"What if we talked to that nice Mr. Amadiro about staying in here a little longer?"

"How long?"

"Maybe a few years."

"A few years?" Marvin was incredulous.

"It's not like the Dreamscape. Our bodies won't deteriorate or suffer any ill effects."

"But it's not real," said Marvin.

"But it feels real. I feel needed here," said Marjorie. "And there are things you like. Old movies, football, golf, eating real meat, auto racing."

"All things you are in the process of outlawing."

"I'll tell you what," said Marjorie. "We can do this in cycles."

"Cycles?"

"Each cycle can last, say, 6 months. That's how long I think it will take to enact all my social and economic reforms. You'll start to lose some of your fun man activities, but you won't lose them all until 6 months have elapsed."

"And then?"

"And then we reboot the system and start again from the beginning," said Marjorie, her eyes blazing.

"You would want to do that? To replay this same scenario over and over?"

"Yes," said Marjorie. "At least for a while. You have no idea how much virtue I feel when I do something righteous. When I ban plastic straws, or cars, or eating red meat, I feel like I have the Goddess Aura herself acting through me, as I carry out Nurda Gababba, to heal the planet. I'm convinced I was born in the wrong time. I was meant to be born 700 years earlier, here, where I was needed most. And each cycle can have individual variations. Why, we can go back to the time of slavery and free the slaves! Or go to the era of women suffrage, and fight for their rights. And then there was the time of the first civil rights movement, the Black Lives Matter movement, the Sharia Law Matters coalition, the Absolute Equality Virtue Seekers, and all the great social movements of the 20th, 21st, and 22nd century."

Marvin sighed. He didn't really want to spend his life in a simulation. But there were some aspects he enjoyed... before Marjorie got around to outlawing them. Fundamentally, though, it was her happiness he cared about.

"All right dear. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy," said Marvin.

"I love you so much." And Mrs. President reached over and gave the First Man a passionate kiss.

The next morning Anson winced as he sat down at breakfast. "Well, look at you. Now you're the sore one," Jessica teased him. "How was she?"

"You knew?" said Anson.

"Of course I knew. I arranged it."

"What?" said Anson.

"George Washington came to me this yesterday. He told me you were dissatisfied with his harem. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do for you. He's truly a considerate host, he wants you to be happy. I may have let slip a thing or two about Jennifer-"

"And he spoke to Amadiro, who produced a Jennifer robot," said Anson.

"Well, they didn't have to produce a robot from scratch. All they needed was one with the right body type, and they made the face and voice from samples I supplied them." She looked at his face. "What's wrong?"

"You shouldn't have done that," said Anson.

"Didn't you enjoy her?"

"I did. But you shouldn't have done that," he said tightly. Anson had enjoyed Jennifer, as much as he had enjoyed anything in this place. He had enjoyed plunging in and out of her, watching her expression as she climaxed, enjoying the feeling of spraying her insides with his seed... but it wasn't real. It was all a simulation. A very enjoyable simulation, but a simulation nonetheless.

After breakfast, they said their goodbyes to the Pharaoh and the Pharaohess.

"We're so happy to have had you here," said Marsha Washington, the Pharaohess, very sincerely.

"We're so sad to see you go. Please, come again, any time. Really," said George Washington. "You'll have to come back, just to see the Sphinx, when it's done."

"I will," Anson promised.

A slave led them out of the simulation, out of the warehouse, and back to the war torn streets of Detroit. They went back to their hotel, the luxury ten star Hilton in Detroit, luxurious not only because of the amenities, but also because of the armed guards, electric fences, and mine fields around the perimeter.

"I think we're done here," said Jessica.

"That we are," Anson confirmed.

"Good. Then let's call Odour and tell him what we've found."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"This won't work for him," said Anson.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's a simulation."

"But it feels so real."

"It only feels real because you haven't lived life long enough to know what life is really like."

"And you do? You're an expert on life in ancient Egypt?"

"Enough to know that what we saw and experienced was a total sham," said Anson. "It was more like a glamorized version of an amusement park than a simulation. Slaves were eagerly cheering their Pharaoh's name, even while they performed backbreaking work. How real was that?"

"Well," said Jessica considering. "Now that you mention it, their enthusiasm did seem a little... out of place. But when we were living in the moment, it was totally intoxicating!"

"Happy slaves. No slave revolts. Perfect weather. No labor problems. No palace intrigue. An obelisk that could be built in a day, a Sphinx in four days."

"It's supposed to be enjoyable."

"And it was enjoyable. But it was also so unrealistic, so unrealistic that a sophisticated man like Odour would reject it instantly."

"You can't be sure of that."

"Just look at George Washington and Marsha."

"What about them?"

"Did you notice how they were constantly seeking our approval?"

"They wanted us to be happy!"

"It was more than that. They were needy. They needed real people to appreciate what they were experiencing to validate what they doing. They weren't getting that validation from the robots or the holograms. It seemed to me that George and Marsha were enjoying it all one level, but on another, perhaps subconscious level, they were dissatisfied because they knew it was unreal."

"Well, they sure looked happy to me."

"You haven't lived very long."

"I'm 72 years old!" Jessica said, as she lay back in her cosmetically 22 year old body.

"As I said," said Anson.​