Ashwin Mudigonda Erotic Story Competition Story 1

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“But you’re married,” she said, her fingers tracing the edge of her champagne flute. “Yes, I’m,” he replied, but quickly added, “but my wife lets me do whatever I want with whoever I please as long as…” He paused to take a sip of his whiskey. “As?” He daubed his lips as he made a whiskey face. “As long as my heart remains with her.” She smiled, turned in her barstool and crossed her legs. She took a sip of her champagne and toyed with a peanut. “Do you love her?” “Love her? Of course I do! I love her with every ounce of…of…” He downed his whiskey. “Yeah. I love her.” “And yet you sleep around?” “Yes. And she knows about it. I don’t see why it’s a big deal.” The song changed. She noticed. “I like this song.” “Girl from Ipanema?” “Stan Getz.” “You like bossa nova?” “Not really. That’s the only song I know.” She smiled. “Does she love you too?” “Of course! Why won’t she? She’s my wife.” He leaned closer to her.

The liquor in his breath was palpable as it was in his smile. “And my lover.” She squirmed in her seat and leaned away from him. “How do you do it? Doesn’t it pinch you inside?” He laughed and said, “I’ll show you what’s inside.” He put his hand on the table and unbuttoned his right sleeve and rolled it up. As he opened and closed his palm, veins, tendons, muscles and other miscellany appropriately behaved. There was a small black line at the base of his palm. She leaned forward. “What is…” Before she could finish her question, he pushed on the line. With a small hiss the skin depressed. Wisps of purple smoke began to escape. He grabbed a tiny bit of skin and peeled it back. She gasped and caught her mouth. She watched in astonishment as it neatly unfurled. “Look at that,” he said, with a tinge of pride. Hundreds of wires snaked inside and slender metallic pistons moved ever so slightly.

He flexed his forefinger and a piston glided silently. Gears turned without even a whisper. When his finger stopped moving, a tiny LED came on and then went off. A little insect crawled from inside. She squealed. He caught it and pulled it out. “Just a bug in the system,” he said with a laugh. “Everything works however.” He gently rolled back the skin flap and aligned it with the tiny black line at the end of his palm. With a quick flick of his finger, the skin sealed, turned momentarily blue and then returned to normal color. He leaned back with a smug smile. The bug lay dead on the bar table. The condensate from his whiskey glass collected around it. She finally exhaled. “That was…that was…” “An illusion,” he said with a guffaw. “You didn’t see anything.” He removed his suit and with a quick yank, his shirt sleeve cleanly came off. It clearly was meant to do that. She saw the prostheses attached to his shoulder, but she had to squint to make out the seam line. “What happened? Did you lose it in an accident?” “No.” “Then?” “Ever met a cyborg?” “No.” “You just did.” He reached out his hand. She looked at it with trepidation. “Go on, shake it. It won’t bite.” She shook his hand. “Now, then,” he said with an arresting smile. “My room or yours?” ― They fucked. ― Afterwards, she lay quivering by his side. His chest heaved rhythmically and she stared at the waning sunlight that tried to penetrate the hastily drawn blinds. In the crepuscular light, the tiny black line at the base of his palm flashed like a beacon. She traced a fingernail along it. It didn’t feel any different.

Wary of accidentally opening him up, she put her hands on his chest and nuzzled his neck. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “So many things.” “Like what?” “Like what’s your name?” He laughed. “Unit 404.” She got up and looked at him incredulously. He kissed her. She still tasted his whiskey. “Just kidding, baby. It’s John. John Doe.” She rolled her eyes and collapsed. “I get it. I’m Jane, then. Jane Deer.” He laughed hard. “Good one. Nice to meet you, Jane.” Many minutes went by and neither said a word. He had a faint smile stuck on his face and her forehead was crumpled in thought. “So,” she said. “What do you do? And give me a proper answer.” He kissed her. “Does it matter?” She fell on the pillow and exhaled slowly. “No. I guess it doesn’t. You could be a secret agent working for the British or American spy agency. Or you could be a prankster. I don’t know and I don’t care.” He blew smoke in response. She propped herself up with one arm. “So what does your wife think about this?” “About what?” “Your arm. Oh never mind.

For all I know, you probably were high school lovers and you got into a car accident. And she was by your bedside in the hospital and the doctors told her when you were in a coma that your arm needs to be amputated. But when you awoke, she was still there and then some experimental procedure was performed and she was all happy that you now have an arm. Or maybe you guys are both super weird and you decided that for the heck of it that you would amputate your own arm. For, you know, art’s sake.” He stared at her unblinkingly. “You know you are very beautiful.” “Fuck off.” “Or I could be a double agent and this is my James Bond weapon.” “Sure,” she said drily. “I wonder who your…arms dealer is.” She grinned and he kissed her again. She put her leg on his and tapped his chin. “So what does your wife think about this? You know what I mean now. Don’t be a wiseass.” “About me sleeping with you?” “Yes.” “I told you already. She’s fine with it.” “You have no guilt?” “I have no guilt.” “She has no qualms?” “We had yard sale and sold all our qualms.” She sighed. “For all I know, you are probably a robot. A robot programmed not to feel guilt but with a solid highly functional piston in your cock.” He chuckled. “So what does she do? Your wife?” “She’s a heart surgeon.” “Impressive,” she said. “Does she work at a hospital?” “No. In a lab.” “What kind?” He smiled. “Okay. I get it. You can’t talk about it.” He extinguished his cigarette and turned towards her. “What about you? For all this fire you’re breathing on me, I see a ring on your finger too. What does your husband do?” “He’s a brain surgeon.” She gave him a quick and terse smile. “And yes, he blows my mind every night in bed.” He smiled and she traced the dimples on his cheek. “Don’t you want to know what he thinks about this?” she asked. “No. I don’t care!” “It’s so easy for men,” she said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “You compartmentalize your affections. You fuck one, but bring roses and cook dinner with another.” “That’s because we think with our brains, and you women think with your hearts.” She began a riposte and then gave it up immediately. Sighing, she collapsed on his chest. “You’re right.” He stroked her hair. “Why think now, hon?

The universe rearranged itself to bring us together. We might never meet again. Enjoy the present.” She turned her head and faced him, her ear on his chest. “You have a beautiful face. If you are a robot, android or whatever, your designer is really skilled.” He smiled. “He gave you a beautiful smile…dimples and all. Or she. Whatever. I am just babbling now.” They lay like that for a while. “What?” he asked. She raised her head slowly. “What the hell?” “What?” “Your heart…I mean heartbeat…Stop smiling. What the hell is going on?” “Calm down, baby.” She stumbled off the bed and collapsed onto the floor. She clutched the table and stood up in a hurry, hitting the side-table as she did so. “You have no heartbeat,” she whispered. Then she yelled, “What’s going on? You have no heart!” He replied calmly. “I have been told that many times before.” She shook her head and collected her hair. “How could you be…how are you…I didn’t meant it when I said that I thought you were an android.” “I already told you, baby,” he replied softly. “My heart is with my wife.”