Don’t Touch

“Simply put, I do not, under any circumstances, want your filthy fingers near me.” Alison was near hysteria by the time Timmy called her. Both had been having a relationship for three years now and it was always the man who made things awkward. Nothing killed a relationship more than wanting to meet the person you’re in love with.

Alison’s face scrunched up as Timmy went on with the video call, “How can you be so ignorant? I mean, this is how people before our time did things and I don’t consider it political. I just – want to see you and touch you.”

“My God, that’s fucking creepy. Tim, can you even hear yourself? I’m calling the police if you keep this up.”

“What? No, no. Listen! Sweetie, I’m just bored of this whole cyber thing and phone thing. I want to feel warmth I want to feel you. Can’t you understand what I’m going through?”

A sigh came from her lips. The girl was losing her interest already. “Timmy, that’s why the internet gives you porn: so that girls like me don’t get pregnant. No one has to move and lose their job, and when we get married we can set up for insemination. See? Simple.”

The signal ended with Timmy’s frowning face etched on the plasma reader. How could she do this? He was furious. Already, his computer screen had been buzzing with offers from girls in far, far away places. They knew better than to be located in the same time zone, let alone the same country. Sex became sterile and love was the plastic bag they held it in.

His fingers went to work, and not the way you would think. He typed and he typed until he found what he was looking for. Little clicks of fingertips tapping at a plastic board led him to an illegal escort service that did, indeed, promote ‘touching’ and even ‘mouth to mouth playmates.’ Myspace had been around for almost a hundred years.

Timmy worked his magic and made sure the ghost-bot was up and running. First offenders got minimum of five years for even thinking of doing a spit-transplant with another humanoid. Things were sketchy and Tim knew the risks when he dialed the supposedly free website.

Search upon search turned up old advertisements. Some were funny, and others had become obsolete like penis-enlargements and physical enhancers. Soon, however, he spotted a few girls still active, fishing their lines and listing the interests that piqued more than his curiosity. Timmy knew he was crossing the line, but something told him that living in a box was wrong. These girls wanted to get what he wanted to give: touch.

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