So here I am, prodding myself with this buzzing lump of plastic, imagining how it might be with a real man. If he were to burst through the door, and throw himself on me. I'd welcome him with open arms. Not just arms either.

Men are scarce.

I only know one woman who keeps her own man at home. She is wealthy and powerful, and says that the expense is worth it, as she uses him for political gain, not just as a bed toy. Most of her other friends (who are also rich and powerful, unlike myself) have been presented with the man for the night, when they have stayed at her home. Most of them have accepted. Why wouldn't they?

He's a tall strong handsome thing, dark in a cross-European way. Strong shoulders support large but gentle arms, honed by daily training and nightly bedroom acrobatics. A professionally cheerful face and genetically mobile tongue add to the package. But down below is where the real money went. His genes have been tampered with here as well, and the result is not so much a size enhancement (though there is a little of that) as much as a combination of stability, rigidity, longevity and controllability. Oh, and texture. God yes. Let's not underestimate texture. Take all of that, and add professional level acrobatic ability, short immaculate black hair and transparent blue eyes, and you have a winning proposition. And I haven't mentioned the French accent yet.

I just wish to God I could afford one of my own, but men are so expensive now. I'm going to be stuck with this vibrator forever, I know.

So here I am, prodding myself with this buzzing lump of plastic, imagining how it might be with a real man. If he were to burst through the door, and throw himself on me. I'd welcome him with open arms. Not just arms either.

The rising heat between my legs, and the gradual release of lubrication ease the movements of the hugger as it strokes me expertly. I try to forget it's there, and concentrate on the fantasy with the French man. How his velvet smooth erection would impale me gently but thoroughly, his hardness pushing against the sides of me, the delicious sliding of myself around him, as he whispers sweet foreign nothings to my unfocused ears.

The hugger's electronic lack of intelligence is picking up on the biometric cues, and increasing the pace. Supposedly subtle pheromones are emitted from its plas-alloy case, providing feedback bios, and in turn increasing my pulse, and temperature.

I know if I had him here, I'd be stroking his skin delicately with my fingertips, as he stroked me with his whole body. The hugger wants to stroke me too, in a way. It's sensor studded digit extends to my now erect clitoris, attempting to replicate the feel of a real man there. I have no idea how successful it is. I've never had a real man. Well, except for this rich lady's man. And he's never going to be here for real. Only in my head. He'd cost more to rent for a day than I earn in a year.

The hugger is trying some complicated movements now, dancing its digit up and down my labia in a futile attempt to fool me. As if anyone would think this was a man. The insistent computerised rhythm was getting to me though, just the same. As it was programmed to do.

A real man, like my Frenchman except actually here, would have lowered his lips and tongue down there, his nose perched in my pubic hair as he licks and sucks and blows my most delicate parts. As the hugger pretends to do, using some mixture of hot and cold air, and moisture to imitate a man's mouth, and his penis at the same time, reaching down inside me, unselfishly reading my signs, pumping gently and then more vigorously as I surround the fake phallus, and the digit stroking directly across my clitoris now, my hips lifting from the bed involuntarily, my body nearly ready for the mechanical release.

A real man, French or not, is a different beast. I'm told they can sometimes finish too fast, or too slow, but in my head the man is perfect. His pumping cock is perfectly in time with my needs, the level of friction exactly right. My hips thrust more enthusiastically beneath him, his warm breath on my ears, his fingertips caressing my intimacy.

As I pass plateau, and head for that tense pain/pleasure bind/release point, the man and machine merge, and I cannot tell any more who is providing the pleasure. A tall strong man from my head, and the hugger clamped to my hips both needle my nerves to the point of no return, my whole sexual system being played like a single string on a perfect guitar, drifting inexorably on to orgasm.

And I burst. Dreams, fantasies, realities, impossibilities all collapse under the weight of my throbbing muscles, the pulse to my head overwhelming, and I come, quivering, straining, releasing now, muscles still pinging, but sliding down the other side now.

The Frenchman is returned to the cupboard in my head, the hugger to the closet beside the bed. And I sleep. And dream. Not of huggers.

May 2008
Were you reading the Angels 2200 webcomic when you wrote this? The mate-deficient environment reminds me of A2200 after the genetic plague...

Apr 2006
That's quite an imagination you've got there. The title is expressive of what I'm thinking right now, but I'm not quite at this stage yet. . . One could almost think this is where we're headed, though. You have a knack for getting inside the female psyc
      GBF: You really need to leave an email address with these sorts of comments, you know... Thanks.

Aug 2005
Oh... my ... God. *shaking my head and laughing* If this is where it's heading, just shoot me now. But it's a priceless story, and the idea captured beautifully. Great stuff!
      GBF: Would you like a job?

Apr 2005
Im not really into the solo type stuff, so I guess thats what got me in this story.
      GBF: Yeah, well I could have guessed this one wouldn't be your sort of thing. :-)

Apr 2005
She needs to get a real, alive man to have sex with. The hell with the Frenchman (they are to egotistical to begin with). Go to a local club , allow herself to be "picked-up" and go fuck. That vibrator is a really poor sub for a real dick. You paint
      GBF: You are quite wordy when you get going, you know. I don't mind the four. It keeps me working!

Oct 2004
Very well done. Hot, erotic and descriptive.

Aug 2004
I must say you have a very unique imagination. Very descriptive. You are so very good at what you do and I can't wait to read more of your "imagination" in your other stories.
      GBF: You know, when I read that, I couldn't remember what the story was about. It makes sense now. Thanks.

Aug 2003
Very nice. Very good exploration of the mind of a woman in the situation. Good science fiction as you showed one possibility of the situation from one person's view.
      GBF: Thanks. It was an idea that had been mulling around in my head. I put it on paper to get rid of it! Didn't really work, but I quite liked the result.

Mar 2001
Sounds lovely...

Mar 2001
I concur! I think this short could lead to a great series, and I look forward to it!
      GBF: Yeah, but sequels and I...