This Is Serious Mum – Thunderbirds are Coming Out



the Pleasure Model

I mean, by definition, she is used, but new to untrained eyes and enthusiastic hands.
A face you can hold, quietly.
A face that was never really there until it had to be there for you.
Come to you, go to her.

Key words and phrases set things into action.
Some things compute.
Some things do not.
But if you say it enough, she will smile when you say her name.
Her real name? Any name is real if she answers to it. It’s in the booklet.
Her, I mean. Sorry. Fuck.
Do you mind if I ditch the spiel? Just feels a bit… robotic.

Anyway, she has been cleared out and reprogrammed, but do not hesitate to get in touch in case of any technical or structural issues. Customer well-being and satisfaction are very important to us, and we value your feedback. Please rest assured though, we have a team working day and night to ensure that no residual past-life patterns remain – this is a product of our innovative Tabula Rasa method, also explained in the booklet.
Every synapse is back at day dot, and you are free to shape her. You can rest assured that there will be no protest or resistance from our product, as long as you are using her in accordance with the Three Laws.

If you are not the only registered user, remember that you will need to perform maintenance checks, sorry, health checks, if you like. You have admin privileges, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I see here that you are the sole user, so that’s easy.

Mind, you will need to charge her first before you do anything else – if you don’t, all kinds of things can go wrong later. Always charge first. Always. That’s easy though, just like charging anything else. Red light – no. Green light – go. All very easy.

Now, as you know, we work very hard on every single one of our models, whether they are practical or for pleasure. These characteristics are not mutually exclusive – pleasure models can do practical things, and practical models can do pleasurable things. This little lady here is a 70:30 split, although you can customise these things during initial boot-up, which is what the preliminary fingerprinting and blood test was for. However, don’t get carried away – a 95:5 split was recently decommissioned for inappropriate public behaviour, so do be very careful, as you are personally liable at that point. If you want to make her pleasure-only, you will have to keep her inside, so remember that about her, and take appropriate security precautions around her.
It’s in the booklet, along with the helpdesk number I mentioned earlier.

But most importantly – have fun! Our models are designed to take all the guess-work out of your interactions. Treat them well and you won’t have any breakdowns, but if you do, call us. I’m sure you won’t though, thanks for choosing us, bye! Great, bye. Bye bye! Yep. OK. See ya.

alone and lost

I race my tears home every day. Whether it was a good one or a bad one, I rush home like I desperately need to pee, but out of my face.

Don’t let anyone see your pissy little bitch tears. Faster, pussycat.

I know where I am and I’ll never be truly solitary (for better or for worse), but so often, I feel alone and lost. I feel this pain that I’m scared I’ll never understand, and just like that, I’m a small child again, lost at the school fair. No matter how many nice people give me cookies and tell me that I don’t need to cry, I still know that those nice people go home at the end of the day, and so do I. Their kind intentions are noted and appreciated, but never pursued. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t” was said many times. I remember running into the crowd near the main quad when someone offered to take me to my parents. Running from their concern, running from the gossip tea party before it starts. It can’t start until I leave, anyway.

Parents being parents – very concerned, but conscious of overstepping any boundary that’ll get my mother screaming down the phone at them, or even worse, ranting and stomping around in their driveways. The mothers swap stories about our family, and lament the fact that my parents don’t let me make friends. The fathers seem confused, and worried that I’ll corrupt their kids somehow.
Kids being kids – one boy says, “She’s gonna get a hiding.” Another girl says that she will tell the teacher on Monday that I won’t be there. The boy says something like, “Don’t do that, she’ll be here, crying all day.”

I hear laughter after this, unsure if it’s related. I tell myself I don’t care. I don’t care about being laughed at, I don’t care about being on my own, and I don’t care about being punished. I just don’t care. Everyone is here to be happy, and so am I. I can’t be happy when my parents are dragging me around, so I took care of that. What next? Candy floss? White elephant? Juggling balls made of balloons and rice? A ride on a small truck made to look like a fire engine, with an annoyingly enthusiastic clown? School is so weird when there’s no classes, and when there are mums and dads.

Except none of these thoughts help. So I decide to fill my day at the fair with as much stuff as I could, because when it’s all over, it’s all over. These are the moments that will comfort me when I have a smacked face. This small moment of freedom is worth being thrashed like a dusty hallway rug. I know I will be free one day, and I can defiantly stare out the window as I get lectured today about how free I’m not. She will have to punch my eyes shut to keep me from doing this. She will never break me.

I know where I am, and I know who I am with, yet I am still alone and lost.

Just don’t cry on the way home, or the beating starts in the car.