The Other Side
He has a boring job and a boring girlfriend and a boring life...at least, most of it is boring. For this cougar has a programming skill, and in a world where you can write your fantasies and live within them, live WITH them, it takes the company of a "man" to make him face his woman.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS EROTIC FICTION. THERE ARE KEYWORDS. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THEM, DON'T READ THE STORY. THANKS, AND HAPPY PAWING!
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The Other Side, Copyright 2010 by Whyte Yote
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Curran was the last one out of the building, as usual. He hadn't had much work to do, so he putzed around on the Internet in between spurts of coding and designing. Traffic at the dealership was light, pretty typical for a Tuesday. Not too many people interested in buying vehicles lately; at least, not new ones. The pre-owned side of the lot had been getting the majority of attention.
At least he had a key. With a key, the cougar could stay all night if he wanted, and, truth be told, he wouldn't have minded. But tonight, he could only stretch it two hours past closing before he got antsy and he couldn't stop thinking about Tank. Or having things done to him by Tank.
It didn't take long to close up the dealership after that.
The old Harley-Davidson started with a roar, as always, its natural sound nearly the only one of its kind left from 2022, shortly before electrics had been mandated. Even with the aural nullifier activated, the rumbling BLAAAP when Curran lay on the throttle overpowered everything else on the road. Since he'd restored it four years ago, it had given him reason to smile every time, no matter how bad his day was, no matter how much he hated being with Jenny, no matter how much he hated himself.
It took him to Tank.
Actually, the Holorama took him to Tank, by way of the program card that never left his backpack, sealed in a locked box in a locked pouch so Jenny could never access it. Open it by force, and the card would shatter. Open it with a key, pass code and thumbprint, and even then the whole program was encrypted. Tank had become that special to him.
The Holorama sat at the end of a long pedestrian mall in the center of the city, a testament to the people's desperate need for escape. Three floors of identical rectangular rooms, each one set up for whatever the client's heart desired: a parallel universe, perhaps, for those tired of their proprietary existence. A second family for the unappreciated father and husband. For the homeless who could afford it, a single program featuring a single bed for a night's respite from the streets. It didn't take much to afford something as simple as that. Couple of tricks, maybe, or a few days begging on any street corner.
Curran parked the Harley and shouldered his backpack, walking through the front doors that recognized his scent and greeted him by name. "Room 3N, Mr. Browie," said the cliché female voice from the speakers. "Have a nice stay at the Holorama."
"Thank you," Curran replied.
"You're welcome." That was new, the cougar thought. They must have updated the system for a more user-friendly lobby experience. It was nice, that touch of grace. Jenny had quit doing lots of little things like that a long time ago.
He was alone in the elevator up to the third floor, and he was thankful; most of the patrons of the Holorama were there for sex of some kind or another, and every greeting was tinged with awkward knowledge of exactly that fact. Curran had gotten over that early on, after Tank had told him it was silly to feel guilty about his desires. Tank was good at that. He should be: Curran had created him.
He opened the door onto 3N, a dark Plexiglas rectangle with a green grid marked onto all sides and the floor. Embedded in the grid were sensors that monitored Curran's every move, and they communicated with the laser cameras behind the squares to position everything the program required throughout the room. Pretty basic technology, but over the years it had graduated to nothing less than a second reality.
Curran took out the case, unlocked it and removed the program card, admiring its array of rainbow-reflective circuitry. Everything that was Tank was in that card. He knew it was dangerous to be so dependent on something simulated, but Tank had become so much more, due to the cougar's own desperate need to feel valuable to somebody. Anybody. Sighing, he inserted the card into the slot next to the control panel.
The grid shone iridescently now, reading the card. "Good evening, Mr. Browie," the room said.
"Hi."
"Which program would you like to load?" They had definitely changed the user interface since his last visit; this voice was much more tolerable than the last one, which had sounded like a bored bus driver.
"Load dinner, please. Um, do a steakhouse. A quiet one. Table for two, romantic. And get me some comfortable clothes," Curran said. The room went black without going dark somehow, and the cougar looked down to find himself in a smart polo with a pair of soft pleated khakis where his cheap car-salesman suit used to be.
"There you go. Am I correct in assuming Tank will be joining you?"
"He will be, yes," Curran said, simultaneously realizing he was beginning to get hard just from the thought. It's not supposed to be like this, he thought. But it was. It was like this, because he had made it that way.
"Any special requests?"
"Not tonight. Just dinner."
"Please wait," replied the voice as the room did go dark for a few seconds. The scene loaded seamlessly: a table and two chairs placed in the middle of what appeared to be a deserted high-end steakhouse. Booths along the wall were set for guests, but empty. As the simulation finished loading, plates and silverware appeared in perfect formation on the crisp white tablecloth, a basket with rolls materializing just as the end chime sounded. No sooner had the cougar started to wonder about Tank, when he felt thick, warm arms surrounding him from behind and heard a smooth basso voice in his ear.
"Surprise. You thought I wasn't coming, didn't you?"
Curran smiled and felt himself melt into the embrace. "You bastard. How could you stand me up, when your showing up is part of the code I wrote?"
"You can't say I didn't try." Tank licked the cougar's cheek softly, patted his shoulders and passed by him on the way to the table. Curran knew the Basenji was acting sultry purely for his benefit, not because the binary was telling him to, and that made Tank all the more seductive. It caused the cougar's condition to worsen, so he followed the dog to the table and sat down across from him. "Do you want to order, or should I?"
"I'm not that hungry," Curran replied. "I just wanted a quiet place to talk to you."
Tank's face fell just slightly. He was trained well to be neutral, but the cougar had programmed him to adapt as he interacted with his surroundings. What ended up happening was that Tank was too adaptable for his own good. He'd evolved from a two-way journal to a venting partner to something much more serious. Another bad step, and Curran knew it, but it felt so good treading where few dared.
"Uh-oh," Tank said. "That's never good." The dog's foot paw stroked along his own under the table, another reminder of everything Jenny wasn't. It pained him to think about what he had to say, and what he thought he was going to have to do, and soon. "Do you want the big couch, or the bed, or do you just wanna stay here?" the Basenji asked, but tightened his mouth when he saw the cougar was serious.
"I think I'm done."
"Done?"
"With Jenny. Done with Jenny. I can't do it anymore." Curran stared at the basket of bread that wasn't really in front of him but somehow reminded him of a spring trip to Geneva, and the memory of him and Jenny at a cafe. The bread had been so soft and warm despite the chill of the air. The days were wonderful, but the nights were something else. They were empty. They were always empty.
Tank laced his fingers and lay his chin atop them. "I thought you were all about making it work. I mean, two days ago you were telling me how you were looking forward to taking it in a new direction. What happened?"
What had happened? What had happened was nothing, in a sense, just like it always happened. "I realized I was headed for a dead end." Curran looked up from the bread, at those warm hazel eyes. He used to think of Jenny's lapine eyes, a deep blue, as some poetic metaphor for a sea of love or some other useless metaphor. Now he couldn't even look at them while he was atop her, trying his hardest not to go soft...again.
"I can't say I don't blame you. I mean, it seems like you two have been slowly deconstructing ever since you brought her up the first time you booted me."
"I'm so glad I didn't marry her. It would be so much harder if we were married."
"You're still shacking up, right?"
Curran nodded. "I make enough to afford my own place. She's got that thing at the hotel desk, and we don't pool our money. It's like I knew it was coming, so I didn't take any risks."
"You're a logical guy," said the Basenji, leaning over a bit and taking one of the cougar's paws, drawing the bread basket to the side. "You don't go well with emotional women. Okay, emotional people in general, but especially women. Hey," he spoke up, addressing the computer controls of 3N, "can we take this somewhere more comfortable?"
After a chime of assent, the room went dark again, the smell of freshly-baked bread seemingly vacuumed away with it. Curran remained sitting, though the hard wood seat began to melt and surround him with the cushion of a mattress. He knew where they were going even before the smell of cinnamon entered his nose, and it almost made him cry. There were too many memories in this room-all of them good-but he didn't want to be here, right now.
"Why did you bring me here?" It wasn't very often the Basenji would take the initiative and change the location of the simulation. It was a testament to the power Tank held in Curran's life, and what he meant to the cougar. Friend and confidant, with benefits. He remembered the day he gave the canine permission to initiate without consent. The next morning, after a long night of confessions and the canine's awesome muzzle in a world created without his knowledge, he'd limped home faking a hangover for Jenny's benefit. She probably hadn't bought it, but she hadn't seemed to care.
Tank was now at a side table, facing the bed upon which the cougar sat. "Because I can read you. And after all this time, you're still playing your stupid game of hide-the-feelings. How's that worked for you so far?"
"You don't need to patronize me to get an answer, Tank," the cougar replied. "It's been a long day."
"Every day is a long day with you. Right? I don't blame you, with the stuff you've been going through for I don't know how long. So, what is it that brought you to this conclusion? I thought you were trying to make it work. You know, build up to the question." Tank turned the chair around and straddled it, leaning over its back. His usual psychotherapist pose. Though sometimes the canine would lay beside him on the bed, stroking the fur out of his eyes while he spoke about Jenny and his awful life and his awful thoughts and the knot of confusion he felt in his stomach nearly every waking moment.
"Oh, come on. Like you haven't noticed it."
"I don't have empathy, remember?"
"Yeah, but you have a record of everything we've talked about since day one. You know me, probably better than I know myself."
"That's a weak excuse, Curran. I'm not going to give you your answer like you want me to. I can approximate an understanding of what you're going through, but I do know you're the only one who can decide what course of action to take. It's your life."
The cougar rubbed his temples with clawless fingertips. "You're nothing but bad news, aren't you?" It was an unnecessary dig, but dammit, he needed to get this off his chest. Tank wasn't making it any easier. He'd wanted to come to the Holorama to leave the workaday world behind, and just maybe talk to someone who'd listened when no one else would. Tank was supposed to understand, not challenge his decisions. But that was part of his job, now, wasn't it?
"It's only bad news if you choose to be defensive," the canine replied, his right leg bouncing with the pent-up energy of his built body. "What I'm trying to figure out is if your reasoning is emotional or practical."
"Of course it's emotional," Curran said. "You don't know what it's like to be tied up in a failed relationship because your honey got tired of you and you wrote a journal program that you accidentally fell in love with." The words were bitter but true. True to the cougar, at least. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never said anything close to that before.
"Wait," Tank said, standing and pushing the chair to the side. Blunted toe claws clicked over the floor and around the bed, behind Curran's hunched-over form. "What kind of crap is that?"
"It's not crap..."
" Sounds like crap to me." The psychologist voice was back, a more even tone instead of an accusatory one. Tank passed in front of him again, paws crossed behind his back, pacing. "Come on, man. You can't be telling me this is how you feel. And you had better not tell me this is why you're leaving Jenny."
Tank was right, of course. He was always right. He couldn't be wrong, really. Whatever emotion had made him blurt out that nonsense was gone anyway, swept away by the Basenji's ever-present and ever-annoying logic. "You don't know what it's like."
"No, I don't, and it sucks. I don't have an orientation; you do. I don't have a gender; you do. Have you ever stopped to wonder why you never made me female?" Tank asked, suddenly kneeling in front of the cougar.
Curran started, crying out softly as he jumped. Tank had turned himself into a bitch in a bikini, every bit as fit and every bit as attractive as Tank's male version. Her dun-and-white coloration followed perfectly the traditional lines of a pure-bred Basenji, the coat clean and shining and tightly clinging to her toned musculature. She was much, much prettier than Jenny's compact frame, but that made little difference. As the cougar stared at what Tank had done, the only thing he wanted was for it to go away. Tears stung his vision and he looked to the side.
"That's not fair."
"It's perfectly fair, to me," replied the she-Tank, her new voice already getting on Curran's nerves. "It's a fair question I think you need to think about before you decide how you want to live the rest of your life."
"Well, could you just...change it back, at least?"
" Why?" That was a stupid question. Couldn't Tank see how uncomfortable this was making him? He was programmed to recognize emotions, and to form at least a semblance of empathy. Right? Like it would be so hard to just revert back to the hunky dog he was. His paws started to shake.
"Just do it, okay? I don't like it."
" Why are you being so emotional? I just want a straight answer--" Tank's girly-voice cut off after that, strangled into a shriek by the vase Curran threw across the room, because it was the closest object not plugged into anything. It neither hit Tank nor the wall, but merely dissolved past the Basenji and disappeared after that. Too much. After the cougar had heard Jenny's high-pitched, nagging soprano hidden in Tank's estimation of a female voice, he'd had to put a stop to it. He was done with the bitch. Both bitches. Maybe all bitches.
And then he broke down, holding his head in his paws as the tears flowed, knowing he looked horrible but not really caring anymore. He could shut Tank off, just as easily as he could start a car with his thumbprint. But as soon as he felt arms around him-male arms-he knew it was just as impossible as making his feelings go away.
"Jesus," Tank said, the timbre of his voice a comfort in itself, "I'm sorry. Didn't know you were that bad. I read lips and expressions, not minds." The Basenji lay them both on the bed, where he stroked across Curran's back until the cougar was out of tears, left shaking and bodily sore. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he saw they were both nude, and he really didn't mind that at all.
"How can you do that?" Curran snuffled wetly.
"Do what?"
"Take my clothes off without me feeling it."
"I didn't. I just made it seem like I did. If you bothered to concentrate enough, you'd still be able to feel your clothes." Curran ran his paw over his chest and felt, in addition to his fingers in the fur there, the smooth surface of woven cotton. The moment he thought of anything else, though, it was gone.
"I didn't know the holos could do that."
Tank grinned against the cougar's forehead. "Neither did I, until I started playing around with display options one night while you were sleeping. Pretty neat trick."
"Yeah." Though Curran wasn't as interested in that as he was in just being close to the dog. Tank was safe, and warm. And male. And somehow, that made a difference. "Would it be a cop-out if I said I didn't change you female because I justified non-physical programs as gender neutral in my head?"
"If you really thought that, then why did you give me these?" Tank said, taking the cougar's paw and pressing it to the warm softness between his legs. Curran groaned weakly, but didn't draw back. "It would seem they're nice to look at, at least."
"Mhm."
"Are they nice to touch? You know, it won't do any good to lie to me with your paw where it is." Curran knew it wouldn't, especially when he was starting to grope around, feeling the heft and softness of the dog's equipment.
" Yeah. I knew they would be." This is what it takes to prove it to yourself, the cougar thought. It must have been what he was seeking, or wanting. In all the journal entries-all the flirtatious sessions, the long nights talking-it had never gone this far.
What Curran sought was the relief Jenny had stopped giving him shortly after they had moved in together. It crushed his heart knowing he was part of a statistic, and after a while it made him not want to care about hurting her. Venting had led to confession, and with Tank's help he was able to find that relief in the Basenji's muzzle, whether or not it was real. He wanted to think it was as much Tank's fault as his, but if what he claimed was true, he never would have kept the canine male. Justification wasn't worth shit.
Holding Tank's sheath in his paw just proved what was true anyway.
"So, you're leaving Jenny?" asked the canine, moving his own paw down the cougar's back to squeeze his rump, where his tail was curling and uncurling itself lazily.
"I left Jenny a long time ago," Curran replied numbly. "She left me first."
"And this is what you want?"
"I don't want you...I mean, I can't have you."
"Why?"
He almost couldn't speak the words, but they had to be spoken. Curran nuzzled under Tank's chin before he choked out, "Because you're not real! Because leaving a person for a fake relationship isn't an improvement. Because I still don't know what I want, but I know it can't be you."
Pulling the cougar in close, sealing the feline's paw between their groins, the Basenji murmured, "I'm proud of you for realizing that. People are emotional creatures, and you wouldn't believe some of the programs I've accessed in the Holorama's database."
"More fucked up than me?"
Tank's belly-laugh reverberated through the cougar's smaller body. "Way more. When you give someone an unlimited tapestry, their morality seems to step by the wayside. There are homeless people who just want a 'real' bed for one night a month. The farther you go up the financial ladder, the more you wish you hadn't seen. I'm thankful you're not one of those people."
"I'm not, and I wouldn't want to be." Curran paused, gathering strength to push out the words. "I can't see you anymore." It was surprisingly easy to say.
"You probably shouldn't," the Basenji replied without missing a beat. The cougar smiled. Had Tank been invested in the relationship, it might have crushed him. Letting an imaginary dog go might not be the worst moment of his life after all. He gave the sheath a squeeze, and it responded.
"Not as bad as I thought. Don't feel like hating myself for doing it."
"What's the point in that? It may have taken a failed relationship to get you here, but if you think about it, has it really been that bad?" Here, in this moment, Curran could think clearer without the weight of the real world pressing in on his thoughts. Jenny was reduced to the self-important cold bitch she was, now just background. It was over; his retainer fees were paid up, and his lawyer could take care of common-law property rights. Jenny might not put up a fight. Hell, she might not even care.
"Amazing how painless it seems once you've been through it," said Curran. He giggled, giddy at the prospect of finally cresting the Sisyphian hill he'd been climbing for years. Canine musk (at least the simulation of it) met his nose, and he swallowed the knot of anxiety back down. He watched the tip of the Basenji's member skin back the white fur, and he became hungry.
Tank raised the cougar's chin so their muzzles were even, and Curran looked into those bright hazel eyes. "You have some pretty sexy code. Do you know that?"
"If you're the one realizing this, I think you just answered your own question," the dog said. "You might be telling yourself something."
"No shit," replied the cougar, his paw pressing in and down a bit harder, causing Tank to shift and groan.
"This is new. You sure you're comfortable with this? I don't want to be all head-shrinky, but..."
" Talking about it is one thing. Proving it to myself is another. Besides, you're not real, and...I figure I owe it to you after all the times you did it for me." That sounded more like the regular Curran. The dog's shaft slid free, his knot already swelling.
"Nowhere in my program does it say I'm able to feel pleasure," Tank said.
"Neither does it say you know what arousal feels or looks like, but you're approximating it pretty well."
" You win," the Basenji said, and scratched his claws through the fur on the top of Curran's head, pressing him down as he did. He offered no resistance, and as soon as his lips touched Tank's warm flesh, all thought disappeared, replaced by just feeling.
It wasn't going down on Tank that changed his mind; Curran had already made the decision to end things, and falling victim to the big dog's embrace was satisfying icing besides. For once he was enjoying himself. After all the times he'd asked the Basenji for help, he never knew what it felt like to be on the other end. As it turned out, it felt damn good.
The cougar held the dog's sheath back behind the knot, and nursed the slick shaft with eyes closed. He didn't need them; all he needed was the feeling of skin passing between his lips and filling his mouth with heat and scent and taste. He went slow because it felt like the right thing to do, and because he knew Tank was doing his best to simulate reactions to his actions. The Basenji never once told him to speed up, and he even made a show of hunching into Curran's face a couple of times.
The only "real" moment was when the feline reached for his own member, only to find he couldn't get a grip because he was still clothed in reality. Rather than concentrate on undoing his pants, Curran settled for grinding against Tank's knee and getting the dog over the edge. The Basenji had to ask for his climax, but when he got the feline's nod the stream of pre turned to strong, flavorful spurts of warmth across Curran's tongue and throat, and the cougar eagerly accepted what was given.
Neither spoke for a long while after. The bed was as safe a place as they could find, in the Holorama. Curran was all cried out. Tank had done his job.
Eventually, the Basenji stirred. "Jenny's going to start worrying about you at some point."
"No, she won't," replied the cougar. "One, she doesn't care. Two, even if she did, I don't care."
"So you're going to go through with it."
Curran looked up. "If I'm going to go anywhere that's not down, I have to. I thought she was the thing keeping me where I was. But that was all me."
Tank's paw landed on the cougar's backside again, and squeezed. "You're lucky to have figured that out. Most people waste their lives looking for the answer or avoiding it. You hit it on the head."
"I still have to destroy that card before I leave here." Curran tried once to swallow the tears, then decided to let them come. There were only a few.
"And if I were alive, that would mean something."
"You still mean something. What would I have done without you?"
"The same things." Tank smiled. "You wrote me, so the answers were already there. Just woulda taken you a lot longer."
"Maybe. I'm going to miss you."
"Nah. Some hot dog will come along and you'll fall in real love, and that'll be the end of that."
"I'll still think of you."
"As long as I'm a fond memory instead of a backup. Right?" Tank's short fur was warm for such a thin pelt. Curran nuzzled into the white of the Basenji's chest taking in the unique scent for the last time.
"Promise. The program ends, and you're gone."
"Good man," Tank said, leaning down until their noses touched, the dog's breath falling over the cougar's whiskers. Their lips met only briefly before Tank pulled away. "I want your first kiss to be all real. Consider that a preview." That was what had made the Basenji so awesome in the first place. Even through a maze of binary, he knew his boundaries. He'd done pretty good for a simple diary program.
"Thanks."
"Take care of yourself. I don't want you coding other shrinks, you hear me?"
Curran laughed softly. "Don't worry."
"Good. Then close your eyes and say the magic words."
Curran let go of Tank's gentle paws, closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and said evenly, "End program." The bed turned hard, the scents and warmth vanished, and when the cougar opened his eyes he knew exactly what he would see: a dark grey room with grids. Again. For the last time.
It was almost midnight. Getting up at six would be a pain in the ass, but it would get him away from Jenny for the day. He would use his free time to call his lawyer and see where he stood. There was more than enough evidence to cite "irreconcilable differences." All in all, his losses would be only financial, and minimal at that.
The image of Tank's smiling muzzle floated before Curran's vision as he made his way down the elevator to the ground floor, and through the hall out the building after that. Just as he was about to step through the door, he remembered the card in his right paw. It was nothing to walk the few steps back into the lobby and send it through the chute marked "INCINERATOR." Off it went, to be melted into more useful parts for other devices.
The rest of the night would be short-lived, but there was a whole other life waiting on the other side.
9/6-9/12/2010