From Loren To Lauren, Or My Life As A Fembot free porn video

From Loren to Lauren, Or My Life As A Fembot By Heather St. Claire Book One: Change Labor Day. I've never been one to keep a diary, but if I don't get this written down I fear I may lose my mind. Blow a circuit or something. So here goes... My name is Lauren Taylor. I'm sixteen years old and tomorrow I begin my senior year at Westview High School. I am nervous as hell about it and really don't want to be going there, but my mother insists. My new BFF Jennifer (Well, actually, she's my first and only BFF) insists it's going to be great. She insists that every guy's going to want to get in my panties. She admits that some of the girls are going to hate me but only because they ain't me, and that's the price you pay for being gorgeous. Jennifer and I share a special bond; a bond shared by only one other person on this earth, my mother. But more on that in a moment. Let me tell you just a little bit about my mother. She is a brilliant multimillionaire scientist and I live a life of incredible luxury. Current estimates of her net worth are in the range of six hundred fifty million dollars. She showers me with expensive clothes, jewelry, gadgets...just about anything I want and a lot of things I don't. So my life pretty much sucks right now. Why, you may ask? Well, I left out a couple of important things. That special bond us three girls share? We're not flesh-and-blood humans. We used to be human, but our brains were scanned and uploaded into these incredibly realistic robotic bodies. And you thought I was resorting to metaphor when I said I might blow a circuit, I imagine. At least mom and Jennifer were female before they.....before. I wasn't. I was a guy. Yeah, a guy. A guy named Loren Taylor. What was my life like before the big change? Well, I liked my video games, and my weed. I was a real wake and baker. And my junk food. I did love my Doritos and Twinkies. The weed does give you the munchies and I was probably about forty pounds overweight. I didn't have many friends outside my gaming buddies, most of whom I never even met face to face. I was--am--brilliant. Apparently I inherited by mother's brains, so school has never been a challenge for me. Usually I'd finish whatever homework I had while waiting for the school bus. If not, it was twenty minutes tops before I'd plunge into my downstairs bedroom ("The Cave." I know, it's a clich?, the son of a rich parent living in her basement) and plug in for my nightly Minecraft marathon. My mother was spending all her time at TaylorTech, her company, and my father's been dead for a long time, so usually it was just me and Consuela, our live-in maid. And that's how I liked it. My mother has lots of strange ideas. Just how strange, I'm still learning...but anyway, when I was fourteen and finishing eighth grade at my private school she suddenly announced to me that I would be going to Westview instead of following my class to Fairhaven High. She said I needed to learn what the real world was like. So instead of mingling with the kids of other millionaires I had to go to class with the kids of bankers, doctors and lawyers. The child of a multi-millionaire having to share the same halls with poor kids whose parents are scraping by on a measly two hundred fifty grand a year. Oh, the shame of it. My only path of rebellion was in my classwork. My mother has always said I've got a brilliant mind but it's "unformed and unfocused," so she was pushing me to take as many honors and advanced placement courses as possible. I refused, saying that all high school teachers are idiots, and if I am going to do any serious academic work, it's going to happen when I'm a college undergraduate. Maybe. Or maybe it will wait until grad school. There's no point in doing pointless work that wouldn't challenge a trained monkey. Yeah, this was the real world, right. I even had to ride the school bus as a freshman and a sophomore. Mom promised me I could drive myself once I was sixteen and could get a license. I dreamed of that far off day for a long time. In the meantime I spent my freshman and sophomore years getting ignored by the girls and pushed around by the jocks. I was never quite enough of a nerd to hold their attention for long. They'd knock my books out of my hands or trip me in the lunchroom every now and then, but that was about it. I knew my life would change forever when my sixteenth birthday rolled around and I could finally drive. I got my permit as soon as I could and mom let Consuela take me out in her Range Rover for practice whenever I could. Things were cool until one day about three months before my birthday. I got home a little before 4 and was shocked to find my mother in the kitchen, looking through the day's pile of bills and junk mail. I was used to not seeing her for days at a time, and then usually late at night. She'd stick her head in my room, ask me a few pointless questions, I'd grunt back at her, and she'd close the door and I'd get back to my game. So I hadn't seen her full body in the light of day in some time. I have to admit I was shocked. I thought it looked like she had dropped at least twenty pounds and had been spending a lot of time in the gym. The little belly that she always complained about but was never able to get rid of was gone. She was tanned, and her hair had a shine to it that I didn't remember. She looked up at me and smiled with teeth that were whiter and more perfect than I remembered. "Hi, honey," she said. Her face was what really got me. My mom was always a beautiful woman, but it was like she had been totally transformed. Her eyes seemed bigger, her lips were fuller, I didn't notice the crows' feet by her eyes any longer...she had gone from pretty to drop-dead gorgeous. "H...hi, mom," I stammered. "Loren. Honey, it's OK. I look different, right?" I looked her over carefully. My mother was forty-five; she had me, her only child, when she was twenty-nine. She was proud of the fact that she could pass for someone ten years younger. A personal trainer, a good diet, and the right amount of Botox could accomplish all that. Still, there were always little things--tiny lines around her mouth and eyes--that couldn't be completely erased. But whatever had happened, it was amazing. It was like she was in her twenties again. This was a woman I had only seen in photographs. I nodded. "Have you been going to a spa or something? Invented a fountain of youth?" She smiled again. "Something like that." Then, without a word, she began to unbutton the filmy white blouse she was wearing. I noticed it was silky and kind of low-cut. Her skirt was tighter and shorter than I was used to seeing on her. I didn't know what the heck was going on. Mothers don't usually do a stripper routine for their teenage sons, right? When she slipped free of the blouse, she reached behind herself to unclasp her lacy cream-colored bra. I hadn't spent too much time checking out my mom's body through the years, because that would be just weird and gross, but I have to admit that these boobs looked perfect. Not a hint of sag to them, and bigger than I remembered. I had a fleeting thought that she must have found one heck of a good plastic surgeon. "Mom!" I cried. Like I said, a guy isn't used to watching his mother strip in front of him. "What are you--"But she just smiled as she let the bra drop to the floor. What came next I never could have anticipated. She pressed a spot near the top of her sternum and suddenly her breasts swung forward like two doors opening. Inside, I saw an array of circuit boards, blinking colored lights, clear tubing with fluids moving through it, digital readouts....a complicated machine. A machine. My mother had been replaced by a robot. "Who...what the HELL are you and what's happened to my mother?" I cried. The thing closed its panels and reached out to me; I backed away as quickly as I could, knocking over a stool of the breakfast bar as I backed up. She--it--had a pained look on its face, almost a pout. "Oh, sweetie, I was hoping you wouldn't react this way. It's still me. I'm still your mother. Only better. I'll never get sick, never get old, never die. I'm immortal." "You have got to be kidding me. Why in the world would you do something like this to yourself, unless you were dying of an incurable disease or something?" She stepped toward me, and this time I didn't back away. She stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. At least it still felt like a human hand. Real, warm flesh, not cold plastic like I had expected. "No honey," she said softly. "Nothing like that. It's exactly what I told you. I don't want to become decrepit and die, and I don't want anyone else to, either. This is going to be my gift to humanity." "Some gift." I let her wrap her arms around me. Somehow this machine still smelled like my mother. Maybe it was the perfume. "Oh honey," she said. "I know this is going to take some getting used to. But you'll see. I'm still the mother who gave birth to you, who raised you, who loves you." It was starting to make sense to me. Like I said, I was only five when my dad died, and I don't remember mom particularly grieving him for some reason. Her mother's death four years later hit her pretty hard, and I loved Nana too. I remember she pretty much disappeared into her lab for months afterward. When I did see her she was even more distracted than usual. The one death that hit her harder than any of them though, was Steve Jobs. She looked at Jobs as a hero and mentor. They only met in person three or four times, I think, but they often talked on the phone. She said Steve was the most brilliant creator and innovator of his time. I remember watching a CNN special about his life with her, right after his passing, and she kept muttering to herself over and over, "He didn't have to die. He didn't have to die." I had to tune out these thoughts to refocus on what she was telling me. She was explaining that her new body was constructed on a titanium skeleton covered with artificial muscle fibers. She was powered by two self-charging power cells, and had an emergency backup in the almost impossible case of a double power failure. The artificial muscles were for show; all movement was controlled by an uncountable number of tiny servos of her own design. The thing she was proudest of, though, was her computerized brain. "Every bit of my old brain was mapped, scanned, digitized, and uploaded into my new one. The process took days, but every bit of me--"she paused as she tapped a finger against the side of her metal skull "--is right here, just like before. All my memories. All my feelings. Everything that makes me who I am. I'm still afraid of snakes. Purple is still my favorite color. Chocolate is still my favorite ice cream. And I still love you." I did some quick mental calculations; the amount of data transferred was staggeringly huge. But if anyone could conquer this challenge, my mother could. I was silent for a long time. Finally I looked up at her and said, "Just so you don't do this to me." She laughed, "Oh, honey, I would NEVER, EVER do this to you unless you asked for it." "You...you still smell and feel like you used to. Like it's your own skin." She nodded. "That's because this is a modified version of my own skin, grown in the lab from my own skin cells, but totally blemish-free, and much, much stronger. Perfect." "If you were cut, would you bleed?" "No, and it would heal almost instantly and without a trace. Like I said, perfect." I told her I wanted to get back to my gaming, and she nodded and wished me a pleasant evening. As I walked away, I couldn't help stealing a glance or two at her as she put her bra and blouse back on. My mother was seriously hot now. I tried to push that thought out of my mind, as well as thoughts about her being some kind of Frankenstein monster, and that wasn't too hard, since I spent most of my time G.W.S. (gaming while stoned). I settled back into my comfortable routine. Consuela would bring me one of her homemade pizza or some fried baloney or one of the other dinners that I loved, and I'd shut the world away. I did look from time to time at the only picture of my dad in my room and wonder what he'd think of all of this. He died in an explosion at my mom's lab when I was little, so I don't remember much about him. I have a vague sense they didn't get along too well. He had been an employee of hers, and I think he resented that she ran things at the office and at home as well. I found myself wondering what he'd think about my mom's new form. For the first time in years, I thought about his funeral. I remembered having to put on a black suit, and mom in her black dress. She didn't cry at all and kept telling me that I had to be strong, because I was the man of the house now. I had no idea what she meant. Mostly though, I just concentrated on getting my painfully boring homework finished as quickly as possible so I could get back to racking up kills. If I was excited about anything, it was the approach of my birthday and the freedom that driving would bring. I tried dropping hints to my mom a couple of times about getting a car, but she just brushed them off. My sixteenth birthday was on a Saturday. On weeknights, I usually turned in around 2 a.m., but that night, I stayed up until 4 before I finally called it a night. So I wasn't too pleased when I heard mom tapping at my door a couple of minutes before 8. "Honey?" she said. "Loren, honey, I know you were up late, but I can't wait for you to see your birthday present." That got me to shake the fog out of my brain. I pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and slipped into my Birkenstocks. I ran my fingers through my hair to make sure it wasn't sticking up too badly. "Mom?" I asked as I opened the door. I saw she was holding a set of car keys. "For real?" She had the broadest smile on her face and she nodded, "Yes, honey. For real. It's out front." I headed up the stairs as quickly as I could and opened the big double front doors to our house. There, right in the middle of our driveway sat a black Corvette with a big bow on the roof. "Oh my God!" I shouted. "This is so freaking cool!" I threw my arms around her and gave her the strongest hug I could. I didn't care that my mother was now a machine. She had just made my fondest wish come true. She told me to take it for a spin. I protested that I couldn't go to the DMV until Monday to get my license. She insisted that I go ahead; no one would know. Our neighborhood, where the cheapest house was worth three-quarters of a million dollars, sat on a hillside above the eastern edge of the main city; hence the name of our high school, Westview. I slid into the leather seat, turned the key, and listened to the 650 horses under the hood roar to life. I heard mom call, "Be safe!" as I roared off onto the curving roadway. I'm sure I left a strip of rubber on the driveway as I peeled out. I headed north toward the desert, where I knew I'd have plenty of opportunity to see just what this car could do. I knew I had one badass machine under my control, and I reminded myself to keep it under control. There were plenty of hairpin turns coming down from the hilltop. I negotiated the first couple of sharp turns without any problem, but I took the third one too fast, and I applied the brakes as I fought furiously to correct my direction. I tried to slam on the brakes...and nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. A brand-new car and the brakes failed. I tried even harder to force the car back onto the roadway, but it was too late. In a couple of more seconds I was off the road, plunging down the mountainside, the car flipping end over end. I had fastened my belt, but I doubted that would allow me to survive this. Damn, I thought, what a shitty thing, dying on my sixteenth birthday. My life hadn't even started yet. I had never had sex with a girl. I hadn't even kissed one yet. I felt the fiberglass shell of the car start to crumple against me as it started to tumble sideways and then everything went black. When I came to I had no idea how much time had passed. I sensed something was really, really different. I couldn't move, see or speak, but I could hear distinct voices, all speaking at once: ....bringing her online now... ....can she?..... ....visual acuity set.... Where was I? I wasn't dead, so I must be in a hospital. God, I must be in bad shape, I told myself. I tried to swallow, I struggled to catch a breath, but nothing happened. I seemed to be blind and paralyzed. I had no physical sense of my body, if you can understand that. No feeling of up, down, left or right. It was as if I was just there, suspended in space. Shit. I must be on a ventilator or something. Then I heard my mother's voice though the fog, and suddenly I could see. "Loren, honey? Can you hear me? Oh God, I hope you can hear me." Oh, I could see. I saw a riot of colors I had never experienced before. I had been born with red-green color blindness, but I never had any idea of what I was missing. Until now. "Loren. I don't know if you remember, but you were in an accident, a very bad accident. You're here, in my lab. You aren't quite ready, but I brought you back to make sure you knew I was here, and I did what I had to do to save your life. I have to leave the country now. I wish I didn't have to leave you, but I promise, I absolutely promise, that my best people are going to take care of you." My best people? What the hell was she talking about? If I was badly hurt, why wasn't I in a hospital? My mind was struggling to comprehend what the hell had happened to me. I think I knew the truth even then, but was fighting to avoid it. Then, like someone flipped a switch, everything went black. When I came to again, I wondered how much time had passed. This time I instantly knew, 97 hours, 45 minutes, 37 seconds. A little over four days. How the hell did I know that? I heard a soft female voice asking, "Loren? Loren, can you hear me?" This time when I opened my eyes, I could feel my head, and I turned it toward the voice. At least I wasn't completely paralyzed. I seemed to be in the same lab setting I was before. I still couldn't move the rest of my body or speak. I saw the source of the voice. A gorgeous young woman who was probably in her mid-twenties, sitting on a low chair or stool. She wore a short red dress and a white lab coat over it. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes (not only were my eyes now registering the full color spectrum, something was helping me to understand what I was seeing. It was a little cool and a little scary all at once. I think I knew the truth, but was still fighting it.) She smiled when she saw me looking at her. "Hi Loren. My name is Jennifer. I'm one of your mother's assistants. She left you in my care." She paused. "Can you speak?" Another short pause as she glanced at a computer monitor screen to her right. "Oh, wait, of course not." She tapped a few commands into the keyboard. "Try to speak now, if you can." "J-J-Jennifer?" I heard a soft, girlish voice nothing like mine. "Jennifer? Where's my mother? What the hell have you all done to me?" She was still smiling at me, but her expression took on a sorrowful look, as if something I said had wounded her. "We saved your life, Loren. We did what we had to do." She took a deep breath, and then continued. "Do you remember that your mother gave you a new car for your sixteenth birthday, a month ago?" I nodded. A month? Then I must have been out for weeks the first time. "Yes," I said. "And that's the last thing I remember before waking up....here." "Well." She seemed to be struggling for words. "You crashed. You were in a really, really terrible crash. Your mother had you brought here when the hospital was ready to pull the plug. Every bone in your body was broken and you had massive, massive internal injuries. Your body was shutting down. So she did the only thing she could to save you." "She turned me into a robot." "Yes." "I...I guess I can understand that. But I'm obviously a girl robot. Why?" She looked puzzled. "Don't you know? Your mother swore when she started this project she would never develop a male robot. The Pentagon was offering her millions to do that. They wanted to create an army of killer robots, or cyborgs. But she said never, ever, ever." "But...couldn't she make an exception for her own son?" "Oh, Loren. The engineering to develop the female form took her years and cost millions. She could probably do it, but who knows how many years it would take?" "Couldn't she do that....and then move my brain?" "Loren. The mind upload is a tremendously complicated process. Scanning, copying and uploading all the data--all your memories, all your emotions, everything that makes you, you--well, it's a tremendously complex and lengthy procedure and it's not without risks. And although we've done it successfully now, there's no guarantee you would survive a second transfer." Holy Austin Powers. Jennifer was saying something about how if I really couldn't deal with this firm, there was the possibility of removing my breasts and modifying my voice box, but at best I'd be some kind of mechanical eunuch.... It was starting to sink in. I was stuck as a freaking fembot. Forever. "So...my mother did this to herself, and now to me? I'm the second of her Frankenstein creations?" The light suddenly went out of Lauren's face. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out an iPhone. "Actually, the third," she said, tapping on the screen with a perfectly-manicured red nail. She handed the phone to me. I saw someone, or maybe something would be a better word, propped up in a hospital bed. I could make out a human torso and head covered in bandages, with all kinds of wires and tubes running into it. The arms and legs seemed to be missing. I stared at the picture for a long time before asking, "Is...is that you?" She looked ready to cry and nodded. "I was the first. Nine months ago. Your mother was the second, and you're the third." I handed the phone back, trying to avoid seeing the slim, girlish arm that extended from my body. "What happened?" "Do you remember the terrorist bombing at the big college football game last fall?" I nodded. "Well, I was there with my parents and my fianc?e. We had seats on the fifty yard line. My dad was an alum and one of the major donors to the program. One of the biggest." She paused and swallowed hard. "They were all....killed....and I was left like this." She was fighting back tears. Apparently fembots could cry. "I had graduated last spring. I had an internship with your mother. I worshipped her while growing up. I wanted to be a research and development scientist, focusing on artificial intelligence and robotics, and she was my role model. I already knew she had been working toward this for years." "I still can't believe you're a robot." She smiled ever so slightly, rolled her stool close to me and reached for that girlish hand I didn't want to admit was mine. She pulled it toward her, and placed it on her chest. In any other place or time, this would have been a huge turn-on. Now, I just watched with curiosity. "Here," she said. "Feel. Feel the rise and fall of my chest. That's all simulated. And can you feel my heartbeat?" I nodded. "Also simulated. This is the culmination of twenty years of your mother's work. We are incredibly realistic. But I assure you I am as much a machine as your mother is. I know she opened her chest cavity for you. I'd be happy to do the same, if you need convincing." I assured her that wouldn't be necessary. Suddenly a lot of things clicked into place for me. The patent on RealSkin, the patent on NewEye and NewEar, her perfecting the artificial heart and dozens of other innovations...this had been her vision all along. One piece at the time of her grand puzzle. "She offered me this opportunity, and I took it. Gladly. I embraced the chance at living a normal life again. I hope you can, too. Of course, my transition didn't involve a gender change. I can't even imagine what that's going to be like. But I'm here for you, Loren. I'm going to be here for you every step of the way." I stared straight ahead at a point somewhere in the distance, just over her left shoulder. Suddenly I was feeling more uncomfortable than ever. "I hope you don't mind me asking...but did you always look like this? You remind me of someone." Then it clicked in, and I looked right at her. "Oh gee," I said. "You could be Taylor Swift's twin." She laughed, blushed, and said "Busted. I always wanted to look like her...and now I do, although I customized things a bit. The real Taylor is five-ten, and I didn't want to be that tall, so I'm only five- seven." She paused. "And my, er, endowments are a big bigger than the real Taylor's. I always wanted nice boobs," she said, pointing at her chest. "But to answer your question, no...." she reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out her phone again, swiping through several pictures before handing it to me. I saw a short girl with curly red hair, freckles, a wide nose and a friendly smile. At best, you might call her cute, but not beautiful. She was in a Race for the Cure T-shirt and shorts and had a pretty boyish figure. No visible curves; slim hips and just the barest hint of a couple of protrusions on her chest. "If there was going to be a new me, I wanted to look like someone I adore. I've always loved Taylor." She looked like she was lost in thought for a moment, then continued. "Given all that's happened to me, I'm happy, Loren. I really am happy. My family was taken from me. My life was almost taken from me. Your mother couldn't give me back my family, but she could give me a second chance at life." "Well," I finally said, still trying to process all I had heard, including the fact that my mother had done this to me and left the country. "That's nice. But what about my mother? What was so damn important she had to take off and leave me?" "She had to fly to Saxenburg. She had a very unhappy King on her hands." "I don't understand." Then, in an instant, I did. Being Wi-Fi capable meant I was able to access a staggering amount of data with a thought. I suddenly 'saw' the story of the tiny monarchy on the northern edge of the Mediterranean Sea. King Gustav, seventy-one years old, had been on the throne since he was a child. He was a famous international playboy who hadn't married until his fiftieth birthday. Queen Roderica had been a top German model and actress who had always been considered one of Europe's most beautiful women. Unfortunately, her perfect figure, maintained by a diet of vodka and cigarettes, had come at a price. I 'saw' a New York Times article from the year before saying the queen had been diagnosed with advanced liver cancer that had spread to her lungs. "Does...this have something to do with the queen's illness?" Jennifer smiled. "You catch on quickly. Three months ago, the king paid your mother ten million dollars to build a new body for her. She was all set for...the process next month, when your accident happened. Your body was being built for the queen. When she told the king that his wife's new body would be delayed, he was not happy. But she said her son's life was more important than some spoiled European bitch, to quote her." I saw just the faintest blush on Jennifer's cheeks. "Wow," I said. "Fifteen million?" "The research and development on this project has not been cheap." "So we're projects. Science projects for my mother." "Oh, Lauren," she said, reaching to take my hand in hers. She gave it a hard squeeze. "Please try not to think of it that way. We're alive. We can see, hear, speak, think and feel. We'll never get old. We've been given the gift of eternal life." "Well, I hate to bring this up, but what if you get caught in another terrorist bombing or something and get blown to bits? Won't you be 'dead' then?" "No, because we're all backed up on multiple servers, with remote updates twice a day. At worst, you'd lose a few hours of memories and be out of commission until you could be repaired or rebuilt." "What if I don't want to live forever? Especially....like this?" "Give it time, please give it time. Hey, aren't you curious to see the new you?" "No. I keep thinking if I refuse to acknowledge it, it didn't really happen." I sighed, and swung my legs off the table and sat up. "But I suppose I have to face it sometime." Jennifer stood and extended her arm protectively. "I'm O-K," I said. "Where...where's a mirror?" She pointed to the left. I could see my slim legs and tiny feet. I realized I was now exactly five feet, four inches tall. I had been close to six feet before.....well, before. I hadn't looked at the world from this level since I was about ten. God, this was going to take getting used to. Not only was I shorter than I had been since fifth grade, my center of gravity was totally off. I had boobs, and a girl's butt. I felt like I was lurching around like a drunk or stoner. Damn, I thought, a robot can't get stoned. No more weed! I was brought back to the reality of the moment when I stepped before the mirror. Staring back at me was a short, curvy girl with a beautiful face--full lips, soulful dark eyes--framed by long straight dark hair parted in the middle. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "I look just like Mila Kunis!" I saw the look of recognition on the face of Jennifer, who stood behind me. "Right. Your mother knew that 'Ted' was one of your favorite movies and she thought that if you looked like a girl you liked, it might make things a little easier, somehow." I was silent while I gave the new 'me' a careful examination. I didn't think my mother paid any real attention to me; I assumed she was totally wrapped up in her work. But she was right; Ted was my favorite movie, and Mila Kunis was my idea of the perfect girl. The half-dozen posters on my bedroom wall might have been a clue, too, now that I thought about it. I was dressed in black sweats with a white stripe on the side of the pants, and the white deck shoes on my feet had nothing girly about them. I tilted my head to one side and gave my hair a backhanded flip, wondering as I did it where such a girlish gesture came from. I tentatively cupped my breasts, one in each hand. I felt a pleasant shudder up my spine. Maybe, I tried to tell myself, maybe this wouldn't be so awful after all. That's when I zeroed in on my crotch. My smooth, perfectly flat crotch. That's when I started crying. Jennifer folded her arms around me and pulled me toward her. Because she was several inches taller than me, my head rested on her own rather ample breasts. I had to admit to myself I enjoyed the feeling, though I devoutly wished I didn't have boobs of my own. "Oh, Loren, Loren, what's the matter? I know this is a lot to absorb--" I stopped crying long enough to look at her and say, "It just hit me. I know it may not make sense, but it just hit me for real, I'm never going to be a guy again." She ran the fingers of her left hand through my hair, and then patted my shoulder. "There are worse things than being a girl. " "I'm not even a real girl," I said. "I assume I won't have periods, although from some of the moaning I heard from my mother, that's not much fun." Jennifer had a really pained expression on her face. "That's true, but it also means no babies. I'm sure that was the last thing on your mind, but--"She stopped, swallowed hard, but couldn't quite hold back the tears. "Brad and I were planning our family already. I wanted at least three children. I was an only child, and I always longed for a brother or sister..." Her thought trailed off as she wiped her eyes. "Like I said, I'll help you through every step of this. Why don't we sit down?" I nodded, and sat on another of the rolling stools. I fought back a sniffle. Wow, I thought, mom knows how to build these bodies realistically. "So, what about this chatter in my head I'm hearing constantly. 'Current power level 97.6 percent. Optimal power level 99.9 percent.' What is that? Can I make it stop?" "It's your operating system, Loren." I must have looked puzzled. "When you were...human...you had an operating system, too, you know. It told you to move, to breathe, all your most basic functions, you just learned to ignore those commands once the behavior became automatic." "How do I do that now?" "With a simple thought. 'Ignore all but critical alerts.' That will do it." I followed her direction, and the chatter inside my head went silent. "That worked." "Your mother also told me you're a big Austin Powers fan." I nodded. "Well, don't worry. Our bodies don't have any special enhancements." "You mean I'm not Wi-Fi connected, or Bluetooth capable?" "Actually, you are. I just meant anything really out of the ordinary. You can't shoot bullets or deadly gas out of your girls." "My girls?" "Oh, sorry. Haven't you ever heard a woman refer to her breasts as her girls?" "No. I haven't really spent a lot of time around women, including my mother. Except for our maid Consuela, this is probably the longest conversation I've had with a woman....like, ever." "Well, that's going to change now, Loren. You're going to find there are a lot of wonderful things about being a girl, including female friendships. Men are so competitive and emotionally constrained. Once a woman has another true female friend, you've got someone who's there for you forever. I hope I can be that kind of friend for you." "I was still fighting the sniffles, but I suddenly felt a happy warmth I couldn't quite describe. "I'd like that Jennifer. I'd really like that. Now tell me more about this new body of mine." She launched into a really detailed explanation of how our senses work. I already got that my vision and hearing were really enhanced (if I concentrated, I could hear the faint electronic hum coming from each of us; I could even zero in on the lubricating fluid flowing in my artificial joints. Where my mother's brilliance really came through, she explained, was in the skin and nerves. She had enhanced the connection with our electronic brains' pleasure center a hundred fold. "And the reason for that?" I asked dumbly. Do I have to spell it out for you? "S-E-X," she said, clearly blushing this time. I could see the subject made her uncomfortable, and I allowed her to move on. She explained that our bodies were still works in progress, and so our senses of smell and taste were pretty rudimentary. It wasn't that we couldn't taste or smell things; it's just that the responses were pretty rudimentary. I didn't get it until she brought a small steel container in front of us. She lifted the lid and I involuntarily wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Eww!" I said. "What is that?" I could see a gloppy, lumpy mess that was primarily brown, though it was streaked with yellow; a variety of small chunks of different colors were sprinkled throughout. "Baby poop and baby vomit mixed together. Your brain is registered that it's a strong odor, right?" I nodded. "But it's not triggering the queasy stomach, I want to throw up myself kind of response you'd probably have had before, right?" I shrugged. "I don't know. I never gave much thought to barf and poop one way or the other. But I guess I see what you mean. It's registering intellectually, but there's no physical or emotional response." She nodded. "That's what your mother's working to change. Same thing if you eat. Your brain will register that it's sweet, salty, whatever, but you won't get the emotional response you once did." I held up a hand. "Wait a minute. Why do I need to eat, anyway? I remember she said these bodies are battery powered?" "Your mother figured out that eating is as much a social activity as a way to fuel the body. She wants us to be able to blend into normal life as much as possible. That's why she's made it possible for us to eat and drink." I sat there trying to take it all in. No more pizza. What would be the point if I couldn't even taste it? No more wake and baking. I guessed I could still game all night; heck, I wouldn't need to sleep, ever, so I could rack up some impossible endurance records. But really, what was left? What was the point of life now, if you could call this a life? "As for your power source, yes, you have two main self-charging cells. You also have an emergency backup in case both of those fail. That won't happen; we've calculated the odds of a dual failure of the main cells at less than one one-hundredth of one percent. But if it does happen, the backup will keep you sentient, although you won't be able to move or speak." I involuntarily rolled my eyes. "I am SO looking forward to that." My God, I was already picking up girl speak. "Well, like I said, it's not going to happen. These cells are one of your mother's latest and best creations. They're going to have so many applications. Imagine the end of the need for fossil fuels to power cars and trucks within a few years." "Great. So I'm a walking, talking Prius?" "Oh, Loren. You need to get some rest. Your mother wants you to have her apartment here in the complex for now, and I'm going to be staying here as well in case you need anything." There were a whole series of private apartments on the roof of the complex. This was one of the reasons I wouldn't see my mother for days, even weeks at a time. When she was going hot and heavy on a project, she didn't want to waste time at home with her son. Access to the apartment was by facial, voice and handprint recognition; security was that tight even within the complex. Jennifer told me the system had already been programmed to identify the new me. "Good evening, Miss Taylor," a pleasant recorded male voice said. I flinched at being addressed that way for the first time, but stepped inside. I had never seen this place before; lots of black slate, glass and chrome. It reminded more of a trendy restaurant than anything else. I checked out the kitchen cupboards, once more feeling annoyed at how short I now was. I couldn't have reached the top shelves, but it really didn't matter since they were empty anyway. I opened the Subzero refrigerator. At least it wasn't completely empty. Several bottles of Perrier sat neatly on the top shelves. I half-expected to find some high-grade machine oil chilling, but no such luck. It was clear the oven and cooktop had never been used. The operating manual still sat inside the oven. Speaking of operating manuals, I wondered if one existed for my new body. I tried to access the company data on what I discovered was called the NewYou Project, but ran into a stern message: ACCESS DENIED. Oh, well. All in good time, I assumed. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet, surprised to find a long rack of sexy clothes: ultra-short dresses, skimpy tops, things in leather, lace, chiffon and silk. Prints and vivid colors were dominant. Who was this woman? The mother I knew wore conservative suits in neutral tones. There was nothing sexy about her look. Until she rebuilt herself. I guess if she was going to put all that effort into making the perfect body, she was going to do all she could to show it off. I had the TV on softly in the background, but the room was quiet otherwise. That's why I jumped, startled, when I heard my phone vibrating. It was sitting on the bedside table. When I picked it up, I saw my mother's face staring back at me. My real mother's face, before she...well, before. I swiped to answer and saw the new and improved version staring back at me. "Loren? Honey? How is my baby? I am so, so sorry I had to leave you at a moment like this!" "Oh, all things considered, I'm doing just great, mom. I always had a secret wish to be a fembot." She scrunched her face into what looked like a very phony expression of distress. "Oh honey, you know I would not have done this if it wasn't the only way I had--the ONLY way--to save your life. I couldn't stand the thought of losing my only child." "Well. I remember when I was just home from the hospital a few days--yes, I remember everything now with amazing clarity--and you telling Nana you wished I had been a girl. I guess you got your wish, even if you had to help make it happen." Then, despite my best efforts to fight it, I began to sob. "Mom?" I said through my tears. "Remember when you gave a bunch of Transformers for my sixth birthday? I knew by then you were working in robotics, and I asked if you could turn me into a Transformer? Well, I didn't really mean it!" I was really losing it now. "Oh, Loren, darling, you know better, you know you do! I would have NEVER have put you through this if there had been any other way." She encouraged me to take a series of deep breaths and try to stop crying. I did. Finally, I told her I believed her, even if I wasn't really sure about that, and that I wanted to unwind. I wished her a good night, ended the call, and picked up the television remote. I was aimlessly channel surfing when I came across my doppelganger, Mila Kunis (or was I hers? This was so damn confusing) doing a Jim Beam commercial. She wielded the branding iron with assurance and hefted the barrel of whiskey comfortably. I shook my head and surfed on, not thinking much.... ....until I came upon Starz and the film "Oz The Great and Powerful." It was right at the moment when the future wizard encountered Theodora for the first time. There she was in red hat, red jacket and black boots, looking especially beautiful and vulnerable. I could only watch for a couple of minutes before turning away. Damn, I thought, I'm never going to be able to enjoy Ted again. Thirty-six times and I'm done. I noticed Jennifer had draped a filmy pink nightgown on a chair at the edge of the bed for me, but I made no move to put it on. I assumed that as a robot, I had no need for sleep, and I was trapped in my own unique purgatory until Jennifer returned for me. So imagine my surprise about 2 a.m. when I suddenly felt quite sleepy. Before I knew it I had dozed off with the remote still clutched in my hand. I came to a little after six a.m. and wandered into the living room. The morning sun was peeking around the heavy curtains, which I opened by flicking a switch. Soon the room was bathed in light, and I beheld a truly spectacular view of the city below and the mountains beyond. I heard a soft knock at the door; I opened it to find Jennifer standing there in pink tennis shoes, black shorts, a pink T-shirt, and a pink ball cap; her hair was gathered in a ponytail, and she held a tray with a couple of drinks in her hand. "Where have you been?" I asked. "Jogging," she said with a smile. "But...why? What's the point? You don't need to do cardio when you don't have a real cardio-vascular system, you know." "I loved to run....before. And while it's true I don't get any cardio benefit anymore, I still like to move. I like to feel the morning sun on my face. I still want to see the scenery around me. I like seeing squirrels chasing nuts, tomcats on the prowl, and other early birds out on the streets. I still chose to live, and I hope you will too, Loren." I nodded. "Here, she said, I brought us both something to drink." "Again...why?" "I always loved my morning vanilla latte. It's true I can't really taste it right now, but I still like the sensation of holding something warm in my hand, and the sensation of it going down my throat. I hope you'll feel the same way." She handed me chocolate milk, and my mouth fell open. I always started my day with chocolate milk. "But...but how did you know?" "Easy. I called Consuela." Of course. Really, the adult in the world I felt close to. Consuela had been with us since I was four; I hardly remembered life without her. We settled onto the couch. I took a sip of the milk. My brain registered "sweet," but I no longer could take the joy in it I once did. "O.K. Jennifer thanks. Can I ask you some questions now?" She nodded. "Why did I fall asleep about two this morning? I assumed that a robot body wouldn't need sleep?" "Well, you actually do need a form of it. Your system needs to perform nightly maintenance: defragment, recharge, check for system errors, that kind of thing. While that's going on, you can't be active, so you need to shut down for about an hour. Your mother built in a four-hour minimum sleep cycle, though, because she thinks it's important that our routines remain as close to...." She hesitated. "As close to human as possible." "It looks like my mother still has all her stuff in the bathroom. When you don't poop, pee or sweat, what do you need a bathroom for?" "Well, it's true; a human body is a very messy thing. It loses hundreds of strands of hair and something like one hundred million dead skin cells a day. Every single day. That is a HUGE part of the dust and dirt that surrounds us. But the world is still a pretty messy place, so a daily bath or shower is still an outstanding idea." I started to open my mouth, but she put up a hand to stop me. "And no, don't worry. Your system is waterproofed. Otherwise you couldn't go out in the rain." Jennifer stood up and opened the apartment door. She stepped out in the hall and came back pulling a long rolling rack of clothes. I pointed at it. "I assume clothing is on our agenda for today." She nodded and I sighed. "Why can't I just put on a T-shirt and jeans, like before?" "Well. When you decide on jeans, you then have to decide: skinny jeans? Boot cut? Boyfriend? Trouser? Or straight? Distressed? Ripped? Acid washed? Indigo?" "Oh my God." "We're just getting started. Now your T-shirt. Short sleeve? Long sleeve? Three-quarter sleeve? Boat neck? V-neck? Crew neck? Scoop neck? Color? Pattern?" I buried my face in my hands. "And then there are the shoe choices, which are basically endless. But one of the most wonderful things about our new state, although I'm sure it's not going to matter to you, yet, is that we can wear the most wonderful, gorgeous heels all day long with zero foot pain and back pain!" I brushed a long strand of hair out of my face, feeling annoyed. I might just have to have some of this chopped off, though the very thought met with a degree of resistance from somewhere inside me. "Are you always so bubbly in the morning?" Before giving her a chance to answer, I went on: "Don't you have any other duties for my mother? Or are you basically my full-time baby sitter?" "Pretty much," she said with a laugh. "Seriously, we're both works in progress. She wants me to monitor you and myself very closely and report back data to her on a regular basis." I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I never thought I would end up as one of my mother's science projects. Somehow I made it through the day. I knew I would never become a fashionista, a term Jennifer had introduced to me that day, but at least I figured I could choose an outfit in the morning without being paralyzed by confusion. When Jennifer left me for the evening, it was past nine, but still light outside; these were the longest days of the year. No one, except for a bird or someone flying a drone, could see in the apartment's windows, but I closed the drapes anyway. I wanted the feeling of privacy. I went into the bedroom and took off the jeans (ripped) and T-shirt (three-quarter sleeve V-neck, hot pink with white piping around the neck and the ends of the sleeves) I was wearing. I walked into the bedroom, clad only in bra and panties, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. I stared at myself for several minutes, not moving, except to turn enough to inspect every part of it I could see. God, this body was so sexy, so perfect. I would have given anything to be outside of it, touching it, instead of inside. Finally, I slipped off the bra and panties and stood there completely naked, having finally gathered the courage to do what I had been thinking about. I touched the same release point I had seen my mother press, and with a soft whir, my chest cavity swung open. The circuit boards, digital readouts and blinking status lights confirmed what some tiny part of my computerized brain was still trying to deny: I was a robot. A female robot. My mother's greatest creation yet. I was fighting back tears as I closed myself up. Well, damn it, if this was my reality now, I was going to make the best of it. I climbed atop the bed, still naked, and hesitantly reached for my right breast with my left index finger. I lightly ran the tip of the perfectly-manicured nail across the top of the erect nipple. I immediately felt a small electric shock in my spine. I flicked the nipple again, harder, and the shock intensified. Now I began to rub the nipple with my fingertip, the stroke steadily increasing in speed and pressure. I felt something stirring between my legs. I began working on the other nipple. Before I knew it I was massaging and kneading both breasts. I was shivering with delight, and acting on what seemed like animal instinct. I entered my artificial womanhood for the first time. The lightest touch of my fingertip to my clitoris sent me off into a world I had never known before. I had liked masturbating as a guy, but dear God, this was nothing remotely like it. The orgasm overwhelmed every one of my senses. As I was coming, I wasn't thinking about being male, female, human or robot; I was just overwhelmed by pure physical bliss. I kept at it until I fell asleep a couple of hours later. I fell asleep with my finger still in my pussy. It was a good thing I discovered the joy of female masturbation when I did. It may have saved me from going crazy. Jennifer arrived the next morning in a floral print dress and high- heeled sandals. I noted that in addition to her Starbucks tray, she had a purse over each shoulder. "Please tell me one of those isn't for me," I begged. She shook her head. "Loren, I don't know if you noticed yesterday, but virtually none of the clothes you tried on yesterday had functional pockets. Most of them didn't have any pockets at all, and the ones that did...decoration, not function. A girl needs a purse to carry her stuff around in." I sighed and joined her at the table as she began unloading the shiny black bag with gold accents that would be my first purse. "Sunglasses. Comb. Brush. Telephone." It was an iPhone, but it was in a rhinestone- encrusted case. "Tissues. Mouthwash. Breath mints. Hand sanitizer. Makeup case with lipstick, blush and mascara. Pepper spray. Keychain with flashlight. Tampon." I raised my eyebrows enough to catch her attention. "That's just for show, of course." "My God," I said, shaking my head. "Where's the kitchen sink?" "You may not believe it now, Loren, but you'll soon find a good purse is a girl's best friend." "Oh, yes. By the way. What about my name?" She reached for the pink leatherette wallet, opened it, and handed it back to me. There was a driver's license with my picture on it made out in the name of Lauren Taylor. Five feet, four inches tall. Weight, 117 pounds. Eyes brown, hair brown. "Wow. I guess mom was thinking ahead when she gave me a unisex name." "I think it's a great name. There are so many Jennifers around. It's distinctive. Classy. Sexy. Makes me think of Lauren Hutton." I started to ask who, but my mind instantly accessed data on the 1970s supermodel. I didn't have the opportunity to plunge too deeply into her story, though, because Jennifer was telling me this would be our first Girls' Day Out. Over my protests, I was soon in a summery yellow tank top and white shorts, my new purse slung over my shoulder, in tow as Jennifer led me out a side door of the complex. I was squinting into the mid-morning sun. "Put on your sunglasses, Lauren," she said. "Our eyes can see beyond the visible light spectrum, but they're still sensitive to too much light. Plus they're a great fashion accessory. They add an air of mystery." I slipped the glasses on and climbed into the front seat of Jennifer's Audi convertible. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Nowhere special," Jennifer said. She popped in a CD of Taylor Swift, lowered the top, and roared out into the freeway. Within minutes we were pulling into the lot of a Walgreens. "What are we doing here?" She said there was only one way I was going to get used to being out in the world, and that was actually being out there. She handed me a piece of paper with a list on it: Chewing gum (any flavor). Pack of chips (any flavor). Bottle of water (any brand). Nail polish (any color). Copy of Cosmopolitan magazine. I looked at her expectantly. "You have plenty of cash in that purse of yours, plus a fistful of credit cards. Now scat!" She made it clear I was on my own. "Hello, welcome to Walgreens!" the middle-aged woman behind the counter said cheerfully. I was relieved it wasn't a guy. This should be simple and straightforward. I grabbed the water, chips and magazine quickly and veered into unfamiliar territory, the cosmetics section. I grabbed the first nail polish I saw, which happened to be a metallic green. Great. Metallic, just like my insides. I walked briskly to the counter, grabbed a pack of gum, and dropped it in the basket, which I sat in front of the clerk. I watched the purchases flashing on the screen. I swear if I had still been flesh and blood I would have felt my heart racing. I noticed my chest rising and falling more rapidly than normal. Apparently some kind of sensor read my emotional state and triggered a physical response. Everything was fine until she came to the nail polish, which she peered at curiously. "Oooh! Green metallic! You young girls are so lucky. When I was young, all we had was pink and red. Don't you just love painting your nails a new color?" I forced a smile, "Oh you bet I do," I said as I reached into my purse for a credit card. I was sure I would be blushing if I was capable; how the hell was I standing here talking about nail polish with a woman I didn't know? She had to prolong it. "Yes, young girls today have so many choices, so much fun. Tell me dear, did you ever have those shoes with the wheels built in?" "Heelys?" I asked. Why did I make it sound like a question? I knew the answer. That's what girls do. As I left, a couple of tall guys came in together. Even though I was hearing sandals with three-inch wedge heels, they both towered over me; each of them had to be well over six feet. They looked down at me, but I could tell their focus wasn't on my eyes; it was a few inches below them. "Yo, what's up pretty lady?" I forced a slight grin but said nothing and hurried toward Jennifer's car. I heard the same guy who spoke to me mutter, "Cold bitch. Her loss!" And he and his friend laughed, and mumbled something to the effect of, "Looks like the bitch in Ted!" More laughs followed. I slammed the car door and Jennifer insisted, "Now was that so awful?" "Hell, yes!" I cried. When I explained what happened, she had a simple piece of advice: "So a guy hit on you. I'm sorry, Lauren, but either you're going to have to get used to it, or plan on spending eternity locked up indoors." "That is not a bad idea at all as far as I'm concerned." I had folded my arms across my breasts and was fighting back tears. "What is with these things, anyway?" I asked. "I always liked looking at them, but do they really make every guy crazy?" I could tell Jennifer was stifling a laugh. "Pretty much the case!" "But these aren't even real! What are they, sacs of gelatin?" Jennifer nodded and said, "You might not realize how many 'real' women are walking around with almost identical sacs sewn into their chests. Look, you can be like some women, and be annoyed by it. Or you can use this amazing power you've suddenly been gifted with the render men weak and helpless...and if they're cute, maybe even make a more significant connection." I was desperate to change the subject away from guys, cute or otherwise, so I asked her about a problem I'd been having. When I said my mouth was always dry, she was ready with a low-tech solution. "I've been having that problem too. I'm supposed to find the solution. In the meantime...." She reached into her purse, pulled out a pack of Wrigley's Spearmint, and handed it to me. "Gum?" I asked quizzically. "It will keep your mouth moist until we can come up with a better fix. For some reason, our salivary glands aren't producing moisture at the levels they're supposed to. Now," she said, suddenly brightening. "Today's agenda--makeup lessons." She saw me roll my eyes, shake my head, and open my mouth. But before I could offer a loud 'no,' she jumped in: "Now, Lauren, it's FUN to wear makeup! You're not going to need half the stuff most girls need. Your skin is flawless. But a little eye makeup and lipstick will draw attention and add color....and sometimes it can provide an accent for an outfit. Haven't you ever seen a girl in a purple dress, wearing purple lipstick and eyeshadow?" My expression must have been perfectly blank, because she pressed on: "Oh, of course not. Until recently you were, A, a guy, and B, colorblind. I'm sorry, but that's reality." She paused and seemed to be looking backward in time. "I always felt sorry for boys when I was younger. You--they're lacking so many opportunities for self-expression with their dress. Look at the other day, Lauren. A T-shirt, jeans, and that's it. That's all you had to think about." That's all I WANTED to think about, but I didn't voice the thought. "Didn't you ever like to draw or paint when you were younger? I nodded. Well, think of your body as a canvas. What endless, wonderful opportunities you're going to have for self-expression now. Just be grateful you're never going to need a Brazilian wax; this body is going to be much lower maintenance than a genuine female body." I really wanted to ask her why it's called a Brazilian wax anyway. Then I realized I could answer my own question, thanks to my own built-in Internet access. Oh, I realized, it was developed by a group of sisters from Brazil. I paused. "So, what does the rest of the world think happened to me--to Loren? Not that anyone really cared." "It wasn't too much trouble," Jennifer said matter of factly. "You had a very small social media presence, compared to the average sixteen year old. We, uh, pretty much wiped you from existence. School records, birth records...it's as of Loren never existed and Lauren has always been here." "Amazing," I said with a shake of my head. Our daily outings continued as summer unfolded. My mother finally came back from Saxenburg, having successfully completed the transfer of the Queen's mind into her new body, but she would be making frequent trips abroad for the foreseeable future to monitor Her Majesty's process, so out time together continued to be limited. She promised me anything I wanted or needed to make my transition easier. I think she realized I was being sarcastic when I responded with a very insincere, "Thanks, mom, but you're done enough already." With her return, I moved back home, but not back into the cave. Mother had directed Consuela to bring in a team to prepare a new bedroom for the new me on the second floor of our sprawling home. There was a closet full of girls' clothing and a vanity table, but they had avoided any touches that were too girly. No frills or pink. Just muted colors simple furnishings. It reminded me more of a hotel room than anything else. I only tried moving one thing from my old room to my new: my gaming console. When I walked into my former lair, I was suddenly surrounded by images of Mila Kunis: topless Mila with painted-on jeans, Mila in a bikini, Mila in thigh-high black boots. It was like staring into a funhouse mirror and it creeped me out. I was frozen for a few moments, but then I reached for my 360, unplugged it, and carried it out. I closed the door behind me for what I knew was the last time. As I entered my new room, I found myself wondering how many thousands of hours had I spent with this and my earlier xBoxes? Maybe my old life wasn't extinguished completely, I thought as I hooked it up. But as I went to put the headset on, my hand froze. I had spent all those hours building a profile as Loren, and Loren was no more. Lauren was here, but was I really ready to start over from the bottom? Hugh G. Rection died at the same moment Loren Taylor died. I mentally scanned through a list of female tags I found on line. There were too many variations on Gamergurl or Gamergirl to count. There were a few that almost sounded right: AssaultQUEEN, SniperPrincess, ShotHottie....none of them felt remotely right. SmokinHotBOX made me smile. Almost. But I knew I was done. Girls, even the really good ones, still didn't get the same level of respect in the gaming world that guys did. I was one of the top 500 Minecraft players in the country when I smashed myself to bits on that rocky hillside. Was I really willing to start over again? The answer was no. I would have felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach if I still had a stomach. I slowly unplugged the box and carried it to my new closet. I would have to find meaning in this new life somewhere else. But where? Most of the time, I found myself supremely bored by the movies, clothes shopping and salad eating that seemed to fill our days. What was the point? Still, Jennifer was so relentlessly cheerful it was hard not to let some of her enthusiasm for life rub off on me. I was picking at my Strawberry Fields Chicken Salad at Wendy's one day when she whispered: "Lauren! Look, but don't be too obvious! Those guys are checking us out, and they are SOOO hot!" I stole a furtive glance at them, then looked down at my mostly untouched salad. I felt my cheeks getting warm. "Lauren! Are you embarrassed? I'm sorry. Gosh, I know--wait, that's wrong, I can't even begin to know how difficult this is for you. Are you still attracted to girls? Do you feel anything for guys now? What's going on inside that pretty head of yours--if you don't mind me asking?" "Oh, God, Jennifer, I don't really know. I...I think I'm starting to feel some kind of attraction for guys, but I'm still attracted to girls, too. Did my mother program me to be bisexual or something?" "She swears she didn't 'program' any behaviors into either of us. Our memories, feelings and values are exactly what they were before." I wanted to steer the conversation away from something I was uncomfortable with, so I asked Jennifer: "What about you? Are you ready to start looking for another guy yet?" She glanced off into the distance and I could see she was trying not to cry. "Hey, I'm not trying to hit a nerve, either. I'm sorry." "No," she said, reaching into her purse for a tissue. "It's OK. I still miss Peter terribly, but I know he'd want me to find happiness. I just don't know though. Would any man want me...like this? I can never have babies. I'll never be able to grow old alongside of him. Like I told you that first day, I'm going to be forever grateful to your mother for giving me an opportunity to live. I don't have to make the adjustment you're making, but I still don't know about a lot of things. I just don't know." I was quiet for a moment. I speared a strawberry and held it aloft. "Maybe it's going to take us a long time to sort all of that out. But what about getting us a better sense of taste? I used to love my strawberry milkshakes. It would be nice to taste them again." She wiped away a few tears. "Well, I think I am making headway in writing some new code that should accomplish just that." Hanging with Jennifer wasn't always too exciting, but at least it was agreeable. I wish I could say the same about the robot-robot outings I had with my mother...although I'm sure she'd prefer if I called them mother-daughter bonding time. I could handle going to Wendy's with Jennifer to pick over a salad that I couldn't really taste, b