Free Adventures of the Artificial Woman by Thomas Berger Page A

age.”
    â€œIs it not a violation of the law for underaged persons to participate in the performance of sexual acts?”
    Harry briefly became solemn. “That’s why we use short, slightly built women with shaved pudenda. They’ve proved much more credible than computer-generated figures.” His eyes vanished again, but only for an instant, then reappeared wide open. “You’ll find nothing illegal here, Officer.”
    â€œI’m not an undercover cop,” said Phyllis.
    â€œAll right,” Harry said. “But there’s something different about you that I can’t put a finger on.” He winked. “And don’t worry that I’ll try. I’m totally gay. Now bring a chair around here and take a look at what we offer.” He gestured at the large monitor on the desk.
    Phyllis did as asked. Harry logged on to a succession of websites, each of which was devoted to a particular type of sexual activity, justifying the comment he had made for which he used Shakespeare as a reference.
    â€œNot everything,” said he, “is for everybody. One person’s pleasure might be repulsive to another. You strike me as a genteel sort of woman. I can relate to that. I’m the educated member of the family.” Harry found a handkerchief somewhere on his massive person and blotted his expanse of forehead. He was sweating, an effect that Phyllis did not understand, because she could not have produced it herself. A human being was essentially a vessel containing an almost endless variety of fluids.
    He turned his head toward her. “I mention Shakespeare because I played Falstaff in a college production. I too felt the lure of the performing arts.” He returned to the screen and clicked the mouse. “Aha, now here’s something that might appeal. These girls go about their normal daily lives while the cameras run.”
    â€œThat woman’s just examining her face in the bathroom mirror.”
    â€œShe’s about to use the toilet.” Harry nodded, his first chin being, so to speak, accordioned into those beneath. “Our subscribers can’t get enough of that.”
    Urine apparently had its devotees. At one of the other sites, a young woman was squatting above a recumbent man, micturating into his face. These people were not acting, but Phyllis would be if she simulated the evacuation of wastes. However, she could do little of the kind without revealing, to the production staff anyway, that she did not consist of flesh and blood, and keeping such a secret seemed imperative, convinced as she was that a nonhuman performer who came out of the closet would not succeed with an audience that craved identification with those who imitated its members.
    â€œI’ll tell you, Harry,” she said. “I really don’t see anything that would be right for me, and I wouldn’t want to get sidetracked again. It would be a waste of time for all concerned.”
    Harry looked kindly at her. “It might surprise you to hear that I understand perfectly. You’re looking for a challenge. I was like that myself at your age. Unfortunately I did not stick with my dream. I commend you for holding on to yours. I’m going to send you to a personal friend of mine who produces movies. I can’t promise anything, mind you, but at least this will get you in the door.” He took a sheet of paper from a drawer in the desk and scrawled several lines of bold black script on it with a felt-tipped pen. He folded the note and sealed it inside an elongated envelope on which he inscribed a name and address.
    Phyllis could not feel gratitude, but she was aware that courtesy and graciousness lubricated the social mechanism, and she thanked Harry. “Is this man another of your brothers?”
    Harry smiled. “He’s no relation. I wouldn’t be sending you to him if I didn’t feel you have a certain potential distinguishing you from the