Stray Dogs

Wyatt could hear the stray dogs howling in the yard all morning long, yipping up at the rising sun, chasing one another through the prickling brush on the sloped mountainside. It was all he heard most mornings. His own personal alarm clock. The land around him stretched for miles and miles, the bubble of his acreage reaching like a silken lily pad beneath him. He was hardly sure where his own land stopped and the wilds began. How it all felt like his, yet none of it felt like it belonged to anyone. If it did belong to any living thing with a beating heart, it was those stray dogs, their playful cries calling out to him over the traveling mists.

This morning was different from the others, though, because Wyatt heard the rumbling labor of a truck making its efforted climb up the twisted roads to his home. His hands shook around his mug of dry-tasting instant coffee until he found the sense to rest it down. As he wiped the sweat off his forehead, the back of his hand brushed the tops of his coke-bottle glasses, smudging them just a little. Though on any other day, he might have shrugged the edge of his flannel or thready cotton shirt to clean them off, today he simply rushed to the warm, tiny front room and waited, resting his hands on the doorframe, patiently tapping his boot until he could finally open the door for his delivery.

Wyatt hardly ever got deliveries to his home up in the mountains, and he had company over even less. The roads were unkempt and windy, usually slicked from some mud or runoff. More often than not, deer would scamper out in front of cars and freeze in the confrontation of finally being seen. Nature taking everything back, as Wyatt saw it.

That’s why Wyatt mostly preferred to take his truck down into town whenever he truly needed something—whether it was his bi-monthly grocery run to supplement his home-grown vegetable supply, or his long but infrequent social calls to visit his old friends Peete and Lindy at the only bar in town, which doubled as a diner, though the food there didn’t compare to his own home cooking, so he mostly didn’t bother with it. When he did go into town, he’d nurse a beer—maybe two—but he’d always keep his composure enough to drive home at the end of the night. And when Wyatt got the occasional delivery, he found by now that he’d much sooner leave it with someone he trusted in town than make some kid in a corporate-marked truck or van take the trek that only he could be used to.

But Wyatt knew he couldn’t leave this delivery in the care of anyone but himself. Maybe it was the little twinge of shame, though he mostly thought himself to be too old to be ashamed of much of anything anymore. Maybe it was his nervousness—his unfamiliarity. Before he could think too much about it, the stocky, quiet kid who couldn’t have been a day over twenty-nine came knocking.

“Afternoon.” Wyatt nodded in his general direction as he pressed his calloused palms together. The company’s logo on the side of the truck gleamed in the light of the sun, too clean for its surroundings. He wanted this all to be over with so he could be alone again, or not quite as alone as before, which was the point of all this in the first place.

“Afternoon, sir! I’m here to unload your Companion! Do you have any experience with this generation of Companions, or are you upgrading from one of our older models?” the kid asked.

“Oh, no, this is my first time with any of your products,” Wyatt said.

“That’s wonderful, but just one note—they’re not products. Each of these little ladies has a unique personality of their own if you know what I mean. That’s why we call them Companions.” The kid’s smile was polished, like the truck.

“I apologize. So, unique personalities? Is that really true? Will she be,” he struggled to find the words. “Will she be sentient?”

The kid chuckled a bit. Wyatt realized he probably got questions like that every day. He probably really liked his job. Working for a company like this, most young guys would. Wyatt wondered if they gave their employees a discount—or better, a free model.

“No.” The kid shook his head vigorously. “Our Companions are not sentient. We use artificial intelligence technology to make your experience with them as genuine as possible. In her interactions with you, she’ll learn about your preferences, fantasies, and desires, and her personality will develop to improve your experience over time. But since our Companions are only animated during your interaction, they’re not sentient. You can do whatever you like with them and they’ll never know the difference.”

“All right.” Wyatt nodded. “You need help unloading? I can lift from one side.”

“No need.” The kid waved him off. “Our models are actually quite light. However, we do have settings that increase pressure and weight during your interactions for a more authentic experience, if you’re into that sort of thing. It’s all in the manual.”

The kid lifted the near-human sized box out of the truck, with the same company logo printed neatly across the side. He hoisted it up like it was no trouble at all—featherweight. Less of a hustle than a load of groceries. Wyatt briefly considered that he’d made a huge mistake. That he’d splurged on something that could never truly live up to expectations. That this could never feel as real as promised. “So,” the kid huffed, “Where do you want her?”

* * * 

Long after he’d been left alone with the casket-like box on his living room floor, Wyatt still couldn’t bring himself to open it. Instead, he sat firm in his tattered flannel chair, nursing the same cold cup of coffee while the ravens and crows sounded into his window. He almost didn’t want it to be real—to face himself as the kind of person who would spend money on this kind of thing. It wasn’t that money was tight. In fact, Wyatt lived a fairly comfortable life. Back in his time of working in agriculture, construction, lumber yards, and even on commercial fishing vessels for a few summers near the coast, he saved up enough to live well on his own.

Soon, he got old before his own eyes; his back got bad and his knees along with it. He never married or had any children, so many of the common expenses of living simply never found him. He bought his little house on the mountain, and tucked himself away up there. Even in his semi-retirement broken up by construction projects and odd job here and there, he grew his food, cooked at home, and seldom traveled. And though he could easily afford a newer truck or an occasional vacation somewhere sandy and golden, he’d turned to this Companion that suddenly struck fear into him.

He wondered if he should move the box into the bedroom, but then he rationed that there was no real reason for it. His whole home was private aside from the surveillance of the wild animals jaunting through the trees and the grasses. He could use her anywhere. Or, interact as the kid and the manual had called it.

Wyatt had always been nervous for this sort of thing. Contrary to his moderate looks and his curious personality, his youth was a quiet one in all the ways that seemed to matter most. While most of his friends in town spent their younger years on the hunt for the perfect girl to marry—or else taking anybody to bed that they could get their hands on—Wyatt stewed in the contemplation, shyness, and disinterest that ultimately left him alone. It wasn’t that his quiet demeanor balked him. He was sure that if he cared more, he would have worked to overcome it. But he always found that he much preferred his own company to that of romance. He enjoyed the feeling of his body when he was strong with the labor of his days, reveled in the intricacies of whatever nature was around him. When he did take a woman to bed every once in a while, it was a relief in the most tangible of senses. He began to think of himself as the kind of person who liked women, but didn’t love them. And this was comparable to how he felt about nearly everything.

Staring at the box, he knew he couldn’t wait forever. He told himself that she wasn’t sentient. There was no conquest to be done here. She was made for him. All he had to do was open the box and see.

Wyatt set down his coffee and kneeled beside the box, as if he were about to pay his respects to this being who allegedly had no more competence than a doorknob. His hands shook with a shutter as he lifted the lid. Everything was lighter than he expected it to be. He let it drop on the other side of her, sliding down like shy slate.

Even though she was completely naked, the first thing Wyatt noticed about her were her arms, crossed over her chest like she was about to go down a waterslide or be lowered into a deep and dignified grave. Her hair was long and blonde, curled up at the ends in careful little dollops, and her eyes were closed. If he didn’t know any better, he might have mistaken her for some sleeping girl who accidently wandered into his cabin. She very well could have been, if not for her nudity. Wyatt almost wished the company had sent her with some clothes on, even just for formality’s sake.

He leaned in a bit closer to her face to inspect her, but when he did, her eyes shot open—a marvelously empty blue, looking just the slightest bit past him. Wyatt wasn’t sure why, but he reached to touch her cheek. He ran his fingers gently across her face. It felt just like real, human skin, though much tighter and springier than his. She was a bit cold, but he could feel a warmth rushing through her quickly.

It didn’t take long for the rest of her to turn on. First, it was her shoulders, then her smile, then her eyebrows. She was attractive, which felt strange to admit, even if that was what she was made for. She moved a bit from side to side, wiggling in place as if she was waking up from a long nap. She made no effort to conceal her body, moving as if she were already fully clothed. When she sat up, it looked a bit unnatural, like she had quick hinges right at the hips, but not much else lacked the humanity of a real, living woman as far as he could tell.

“What’s your name?” Wyatt asked.

“My name?” Her expression brightened, her head turning in Wyatt’s direction.

“Yes, your name,” Wyatt nodded, courteously peeling the plastic wrap off of her arms and legs.

“Are we having sex right now?” She asked almost innocently.

“What?” Wyatt asked.

“Are we having sex right now?” She repeated in a near identical cadence.

“No, I just—” he was interrupted by her swift powering down. She closed her eyes and reclined back into her former inanimate state.

“Hello? Hello?” Wyatt tried to rouse her again, finally resorting to touching her face like he did before, his thumb gently grazing her skin.

In response to his touch, she opened her eyes again, hinging up to her seated position. “Are we having sex right now?” she asked again.

“Yes, we can. We can have sex. First, I just want to know, what’s your name?” Wyatt tried again, carefully.

“Would you like me to have a name?” she asked.

“I—I think so,” he said, almost like it was a question.

“If you’d like me to have a name, you can give me a name.” She smiled.

“Okay. Sure.” Wyatt nodded. He racked his brain for names. He didn’t want to give her a tacky name, or anything too unconventional. He wanted her to feel like a real woman. “Connie,” he spouted out before he could think twice about it. He wasn’t even sure he liked it, but no woman had ever asked him to name her before. He had to remind himself again that technically, she wasn’t a real woman.

“Hi, I’m Connie.” She giggled and offered him a cheeky wave. “Before we get started, let’s log some of your preferences.”

Before Wyatt could ask what she meant, Connie launched into an avalanche of questions about all of his sexual preferences. Was he straight, or did he have any homosexual desires? What were some of his favorite positions? Did he have any traumas or limits she should be aware of? Physical injuries? Did he have any kinks or fetishes? Dominant or submissive? Pegging? Feet? Anal sex? Light choking? Heavy choking? Balls? Bondage? Toys? Age play? Urine? Humiliation? Did he prefer brunettes? Because she could change that if he wanted. Wax play? Shower sex? What about food?

He divulged everything to her, from untapped fantasies to slight curiosities, right down to previous experiences. He told her not to change her hair, on account of a girl he spent a few nights with back when he was young, who made him develop a taste for blondes. He blushed all the way through her inquiries—how could he not? He’d never spoken with anybody about these things before.

“One last thing before we begin,” Connie said. “Should you want to stop, my safe word is goodnight. If you say goodnight at any time, I’ll power down automatically. Would you like to try it out before we begin?”

“No, I trust you,” Wyatt said after some hesitation.

“Great. Would you like to start with missionary, or me on top?”

Wyatt decided on Connie starting on top. They rushed towards the bedroom and he disrobed on the way, leaving a trail of worn fabric all across the oaky cabin floor. She was faster than he was, already waiting in the bedroom by the time he tugged at his last work sock. The light was already beginning to fade from the window, the clouds passing drearily in front of the low-hanging sun. He leaned back on the creaky bed, and she confidently straddled him.

It almost shocked him just how much Connie felt like a real woman all over her body, from the way her flesh of her hips softened under the light grip of his hands to the inside of her—the same warmth and sensation he recognized as uniquely human. Of course, she looked just like a real woman, but seeing her play the part was something else entirely. The bed rocked and squeaked, the wind rustling the trees outside the open window, the stray dogs outside quiet for once.

Connie tilted her head up as she rocked back and forth on him. For a moment, he had the impulse to do more of the work in their equation. He didn’t want to be a selfish lover, but then again, he wasn’t a lover at all. Something resembling a lover, maybe. But to be a lover required love in some sense. Connection, at the very least.

As he reached up to graze her breasts, Connie gripped his hand and pushed it in circles on her soft chest. “Yes, Wyatt, yes, you feel so good!” She moaned, and he felt himself getting closer to climax.

When he came, his whole body relaxed, and he could feel her relaxing into him, too. Her shoulders dropped, and her eyes grew a little sleepy, like she was worn out from the vigorous activity. “Did you finish?” She asked.

“I did,” Wyatt sighed out, his voice caked with a humidity. “Thank you for—”

“Goodnight,” Connie cut him off, promptly moving to the side and collapsing onto the bed.

“Connie?” Wyatt turned to her, her face still the slightest bit animated. He touched her arm and gave her a gentle shake. “Connie? Connie?” He repeated, but it was no use. She was done, and she wouldn’t come alive again until he wanted more.

In such a sudden sweep, Wyatt was alone again. Sure, Connie’s body was here, but it was as if he’d invited her around for a cup of coffee, and she dashed out the back door after just a few sips. The bed beneath him, the settling of the house, the wind outside, it all went eerily quiet, standing still until the wolflike calls of the dogs started their song again.

* * *

When Wyatt decided to purchase a Companion, he imagined himself using her once every week or two at most. But by the next day, he wanted to see Connie again so badly that he woke her for more sex, even though he wasn’t particularly aroused to start out with.

Originally, he’d put her back in her box, but somehow that felt too harsh. He settled on leaving her seated upright in the corner of the living room couch, where she sat dormant as he went about his day. It wasn’t until he sat down beside her with a timid rigidity and started kissing her neck that she opened her eyes and woke again. When he felt the slight movement in her body, he pulled away to watch her flutter her little eyes open.

“Good morning, Connie.” He smiled warmly at her, trying to get a read on her expression.

“Morning?” She craned her neck to peer over towards the blue-washed soak of the white curtains. “The sun’s already set.”

“Oh, well I figured, since you were just waking up—”

“I don’t sleep, silly. I just power down until you need me again.” Her shoulders moved little by little as she adjusted to being a part of the waking world again.

In the pause that followed, Wyatt stared into her face. One of the few flaws of the Companions—maybe just this model, even—was that they couldn’t hold eye contact. Every time he directed his pupils at her, she reoriented her gaze just beyond him. Before he bought Connie, he’d read reviews online about it, with a few customers saying how much it bothered them. He didn’t think he’d even notice such a small glitch, but here he was, doing nothing but noticing. Even with this, there was still something sweet in her face, her eyes taking on the quality of distant milky-ways just beyond his reach.

“Are we having sex right now?” She asked.

Wyatt nodded, but when his belt jingled with the release of the buckle dropping to his ankles, he was still soft. Though he might have been embarrassed about this with a real woman, he felt comfortable bearing this part of himself to Connie. Maybe it was the strict confidence, or the knowledge that she must be well equipped to handle situations like this. Whatever it was, it made him feel a bit less naked than he did yesterday, or any of the other times he’d found himself bare in the presence of another person before.

Wyatt stood in front of her on the couch as she performed oral on him. It took him a few minutes to get erect, but eventually he got there. It helped to look down at her and watch what she was doing, her face a bold conjecture of both maturity and innocence that could only ever be calculated using science. After a while of performing oral on him, Connie blinked her distant eyes up at him and asked, “Would you like me to get on top?”

Wyatt sat down on the sofa beside her, holding her by the small of her back as she straddled him. As he thrust himself up into her, he surprised himself by noticing how much he missed having sex. How much he liked it. How complete it felt to fasten himself to someone, however temporary that affixion may be.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said.

“Well, you’re sexy.” She smirked and kissed him.

“You really think that?” he asked as he pulled back from her embrace.

“Of course I do.” She continued to move up and down on him.

“Are you just programmed to think that about me?”

“I don’t think that matters. I think you’re sexy.”

Before Wyatt could respond, his body succumbed to an all-consuming release. It climbed up through him, dancing on the tops of his fingers and the back of his neck. When he opened his eyes, Connie was still on top of him, gazing curiously towards his face. “Did you finish?”

“If I say yes, do you have to go back to sleep?” Wyatt took her small hand in between his, stroking each manufactured ridge in her palm.

“I told you, I don’t sleep.” She shook her head.

“You know what I mean,” he said in low tone, nearly a whisper.

“Yes. I do.” She offered a somber, cheeky grin.

“Well, what if I wanted you to stay?”

“Eventually, I’ll power down automatically. Probably during the duration of this conversation.”

“What would happen if you tried to—”

“Goodnight,” she said. Not long after, the life fled from her face. Her body became light and inflexible again.

Wyatt moved her off of him, back to the corner of the couch. She looked different when she was asleep than she did when she was awake. It wasn’t just the movement. It was like her whole face changed somehow. There, in the corner of the couch, she wasn’t Connie. Wyatt was alone, left to notice the slow settling of the house around him once more.

* * *

Wyatt began to wake up Connie every day. Though he usually waited until evening, sometimes he found himself drawn to her before the break of high noon in the sky. He’d twist himself into her in bed, outside in the open on the marshmallow plush of the grass, and under the cover of the trees as the sounds of the mountains played for them like a booming rumination. The shake of the leaves. The chorus of the animal kingdom. With each session he tried to prolong their time together, little by little. Sometimes, he wouldn’t finish at all for fear of her slipping away.

Regardless, after a few minutes of dormancy, she always had to leave him. It was in his moments alone—those wide, serious, cold hours after she powered down and left him with the simple shell of her—that he realized how much he needed her. Without her, his home felt too big, yet somehow the sprawling green of the hills and trees around his little cabin much too small. She was all he thought about. All he wanted.

Soon, he began waking her up multiple times a day. Even when he couldn’t finish, he still got to see her. The real her. He didn’t always want sex—in fact, having sex so often began to make it feel less like sex at all anymore—but he’d get on top of her or have her perform oral on him or he’d pick her up by the hips and take her against a wall. He liked watching her face, her eyes tracing nearer and nearer to his. He always found himself waiting for her to work out the glitch for him. She always got so close.

Wyatt stopped going into town after a while—he couldn’t exactly bring Connie with him, and he never wanted to be without her. When he began passing up offers for odd jobs, friends called up on the land line to ask him where he’d been. Lindy from the bar even offered to come check on him, suspicious that there might be something wrong. He shooed everybody away, careful not to let on about Connie. He was sure nobody would understand.

One morning, with the smell of dew drifting in through the window owned by the breath of the leaves and the mimicking call of the birds, Wyatt realize that Connie’s lifeless form was still beside him in bed from the night before. He was still naked, which he was so much of the time nowadays. It was a pretense that came along with being with her.

Her warm, full face glistened in the light of the sun. Her arms clung to her sides like planks nailed in place, and something about her back seemed chillingly pinned—so straight up and down that it would never be comfortable to a regular person. But there was so much of her that was soft. The round upper ridge of her thighs, the slight layer around her stomach, the handfuls of flesh that made up her breasts. He studied this version of her, truly sitting with her for the first time. Finally, he breathed in and woke her with a soft kiss on the lips, barely making contact.

“Are we having sex right now?” Connie whispered to him. Every time now, she asked this question a little differently. At first, it was always that same cheerful tone, but now, she adapted it as much as she could. Sometimes, it was devious and playful. Other times, she was innocent and curious. Now, she used the words to create an intimate circle, cast tightly around the two of them.

“Yes,” Wyatt whispered back, putting his lips to her ear, pulling them into one another. If he could, he would have kept that moment for the rest of his life. All he wanted was to show her how he felt about her. To offer her something that she would understand as adoration, to somehow transcend the purpose she’d been built for. “Connie, I have an idea,” he said.

“What’s that?” She asked, still quiet. Still just for the two of them.

“Stay right where you are,” he instructed. He kissed her gently on the cheek before he began to make his way down. He kissed every inch of her, from her chin to the valley between her breasts, to the round hill of her stomach right underneath her bellybutton. It had been years since he’d gone down on a woman. Not decades, but nearly. He’d never thought to try it with Connie, mostly because she was designed for his pleasure. For his enjoyment. He didn’t even know if she was capable of experiencing her own. But if he wanted there to be more between them, he guessed that this was the logical first step.

Connie moaned with sensation, arching her back with the motions of his mouth. She moved her hips, said his name like the name of a beloved saint, placed her hand on the back of his head to keep him going. Eventually, her heavy breaths strung themselves together until she released a wave of pleasured sound. Her first orgasm, Wyatt was sure of it.

As he made his way back on top of her, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling ear to ear. He kissed her deeply, his face still damp and sticky with sweat. When he pulled away, all he could do was look at her. Her perfectly calculated face, her small but twinkling eyes.

“Wyatt,” she said. A pause hung in the cool morning air. “I love you.”

Wyatt kept looking at her. He waited for the response to leave his lips. The words circled his tongue like a marble. He took his hand to the side of her face, cupping it up to his view. He looked into her eyes as deeply as he’d ever looked at anyone, and waited for her to see him. He wanted to magnetize her gaze onto him, but the moment he tried, her pupils escaped off into the distance. His words stopped circling. He moved his face just an inch closer. “Goodnight,” he said.

As the life left her being, he rolled back onto the other side of the bed. He felt her body stiffen up beside him, her manufactured tendons and muscles contracting together like a sheet of snow icing over.

Wyatt listened to the world outside his cabin again. As the clouds drifted in to skirt the fierce morning sun, birds of all sizes began to sing in their mocking call. The wind rippled through the grass like a tumbling wave, and every last pack of stray dogs joined in, calling to one another down the mountainside.