Author : Marco Chacon
She had one of those new things: A USB port in the back of her neck, just under the skull. Weâ€™d plug her in at parties and, with the controller, sheâ€™d do all kinds of wild thingsâ€”karaoke, belly dancing, there was even a â€œMardi gras buttonâ€–but we didnâ€™t use it too much.
Afterwards, she wouldnâ€™t remember anything but a soft warm feeling.
My friends said I was the luckiest guy alive (none of their girlfriends would do it) but I wasnâ€™t too sure.
When I hugged her, Iâ€™d run my fingers through her hair and Iâ€™d feel the little holes with their metal teeth.
We tried some downloaded porno-ware but her eyes were like glass marbles when she was jacked. It kinda creeped me out.
When they came out with the new ones she didnâ€™t have the money to upgrade and I donâ€™t think itâ€™s a coincidence we got into a lot of fights around that time. We sort of drifted apart.
â€œYouâ€™re whacked,â€ my friends said. â€œThatâ€™s a dream girl.â€
â€œItâ€™s totally on fire,â€ they said, â€œno oneâ€™s getting hurt.â€
â€œWhatâ€™s the matter with you,â€ they said, â€œitâ€™s hotter than you deserveâ€”you better hang on to that.â€
But I let her go. Today when Iâ€™m asked, I tell people we were incompatible.