I let my gaze drop back down to the Conncomm, my brain unable to decide what to do with this new information. Okay. So they’re robots. Is that really a big deal? You love robots.
I don’t love robots. Not like that.
But you could. Lots of people do.
I have standards.
You’re in the Meadows. Anything goes, what happens here, right kind of crazy, etc.
Jesus, you’re having a nice conversation, even if they are robots. How about you just enjoy the moment without trying to figure out how you’re going to make it even better by introducing your penis to the mix, huh?
Well, Hell. There’s nothing I can say or do about that but give a quick little nod of the head. For a self-deprecating internal monologue, that’s some pretty decent advice. I’m only going to cock this up if I fixate on how I’m going to get my cock up in this. Better to just roll with things.
“Hey,” the redhead says to no one in particular. “Is your friend okay? He looks a little spacey.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say before one of the others can make a joke at my expense. “Just a little lost in thought. Sorry about that.” I pick up a glass of the colorful stuff with one hand, take a sip, hold up a finger on the other, tell the world that I’ve got fascinating things to say but first I must attend to my unquenchable thirst. “So. How do you ladies know each other?”
The women turn to each other, smiling, suppressing laughter. Like old friends. Like people who have known each other for forever. Funny how women do that no matter what age they are. Kindergarten or retirement home, it doesn’t matter.
The brunette smiles. “Well, we’re all clones.”