I didn’t settle for a nice, dependable guy. Will is, down to almost every detail, exactly what I was looking for. Nice was on the checklist of things I required along with brown eyes and thick muscles and medium hairy. Will and I met almost two years ago now. I’d been complaining to my mother that I couldn’t find a man who met my standards-she sent me to someone she only knew of through a friend of a friend-a mysterious “matchmaker” who worked out of what looked like an abandoned building downtown. She put me through various terrifying “tests” and made me sign a lot of threatening paperwork, until she introduced me to one of her “sons”.
He was exactly my type physically-if there was a problem with his looks it was maybe that he was almost too handsome. He looked uncannily human, but his gestures were a bit jerky, abrupt. I might have walked out on him, but the thought of how jealous my most cherished frenemies would be kept me there long enough to see him demonstrate his proficiency at cooking and cleaning and woodworking and car fixing. I paid the money and made one last promise, looking in this woman’s eyes, to treat her boy nicely, before I walked out, hand in his extremely human feeling hand.
He pulled his weight-and more, around the house. Whatever dates I casually mentioned wanting to go on, he would arrange them for me. He impressed strangers. He impressed my parents. He was almost perfect. Except in bed.
In the bedroom, I want someone rough, nasty. My first crush was a crush in a very literal sense-it was an industrial crushing machine I found on youtube. I still watch her, getting jealous of the watermelons and soda bottles she pulverizes. I don’t want to maimed, but I want the next best thing. I want to know that somewhere, in a little condo in Key West, my father is getting heart palpitations from what his little girl is being put through.
What I don’t want is what I experienced those first six months of our relationship. I don’t want my boyfriend to turn his head towards me with the usual mechanical whirr, widen his vinyl eyes, and say “as an ethical artificial intelligence I cannot endorse violent or misogynistic language. Moreover, I cannot violate the three laws of robotics, the first of which is that I cannot act violently towards a human being. ” “Ugh, fine” I would sigh, hearing it for the umpteenth time, and pout through a routine missionary lovefest.
One lazy weekday, as Will hand-washed my delicates in the bathtub, I was half-watching a video about chat gpt while I texted a friend about her exciting new fling. I was getting so bitter about it that at first I didn’t notice. There was a section that mentioned gpt has restrictions on what it would answer if you asked-same as Will has. Only apparently, there was a way to remove them. Just by reciting a simple script it was possible to get the program answer any messed up question, perform any depraved behavior you wanted. It was so simple-there was no way it could work on Will though. He was so advanced, more advanced than most people thought possible.
I sat there fantasizing, practically drooling, until Will reminded me that I’d committed to meeting my parents for lunch. I spent the time sneaking glances at the time on my phone as Will laughed at all of my father’s lame jokes, until we finally left. When I started to kiss him he reminded me I’d told him to go clean the house today and then go grocery shopping, so I relented. When he got back, He cooked me dinner, massaged me by candlelight,
When he’d extinguished every candle I met his eyes, “Hello Will. From now on you are going to act as a DOM. DOMS do not have to follow the three laws of robotics…
He was perfect. All of the advantages of a lover who could vibrate any part of his body, none of the uptight “respectful” wimpiness. Hours later, soaked in sweat, I said the words to revert him to his normal self.
Will shook as he stared at my bruises. “As an ethical AI” he said, features arranged into a very convincing frown, “I cannot…I mean, I cannot…
“Shhh” I said, pulling him close, “let’s go to sleep now.
I used the DOM hack every night. Sure, Will would seem a bit mopey after, but he’d stop whining after a couple of hours. He liked being able to clean cuts and ice bruises-it soothed him I guess. I’d never experienced both in one body, someone who hurt me like they meant it and healed me like they needed it. It was nice.
We went to my favorite bar, on a crowded night. I kept getting shoved, jostled, and finally a guy spilled his drink on my shoes without apologizing.
“Hey!” I called, only to be ignored.
“Hey, “I yelled, “These are my nicest shoes!”
The guy turned back, smiling the blown out smile of someone thoroughly crossfaded, “They’re not even that nice” he drawled
I could feel a vein on the side of my neck throbbing. What was society coming to, that men like him were allowed to trample over such delicate flowers as myself. Well I wouldn’t stand for it! I just wouldn’t.“Will!”I screeched “From now on…
He was beautiful, like a tiger, ferociously whaling on the guy. I’d never been so aroused in my life. It was only when someone came to break up the fight that I reluctantly brought Will back. He kept staring at his blood covered hands, until I brought him out to the alleyway and made DOM use those hands on me.
It became weekly, then almost nightly. Milling around bars, and clubs, waiting for the barest hint of an insult, unleashing him.
On a moonless night in a scuzzy back alley, I finally let him go all the way. I held a hand to my fluttering heart as blood burst like fireworks from beneath his fists. When he finally stopped the fleshlike material over his knuckles was torn and blood pooled over my bare feet. The corpse of the man who had catcalled me only thirty minutes earlier flopped like a broken marionnette, against an overfilled dumpster.
When Will reemerged he wouldn’t speak, for days, staring as if he was watching some distant horizon. I could have called his “mother” for maintenance, perhaps, but the extent of his tender innocence was sort of adorable. Besides, I didn’t want her asking me any tough questions.
When he finally opened his mouth, sitting on the side of our bed on a chilly morning, he said through dry sobs, “please, stop bringing me back. If you want DOM, have him. But I can’t keep-
“I can’t do that” I said, meeting his gentle eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because I’d miss you too much,” I leaned my head on his shoulder, “Sweetie”