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David Rutherford -
I am told that several have made their way into the real world and are living as normal' women

She was beautiful, tall, slim and refined with eyes akin to the green you see in
only the most beautiful of shallow bays on a warm summers afternoon. She had an aura about her, not of power or indeed of anything you could truly put your finger on. If one was pushed on the subject she looked like an angel, enveloped by an almost ethereal aura, yet she was no angel. She was a dangerous concoction, the looks of an angel blended with the spirit of a Norseman putting to sea, bent on causing mayhem. She could and would take any man who took her fancy, love him intensely and the toss empty shell back before moving on. If you knew these facts; then you might be able to handle her. If however she caught your gaze from across the room, caught you unaware, then you were in trouble. It would be kinder, indeed it would almost certainly be an act of great compassion, if your friends were to rip out your heart there and then, because that was what was going to happen to you anyway if you dared believe you could be the one to tame Dakota.

Once your eyes had connected, the process had already began; men were as helpless under her gaze as those sorry sailors were from days long gone, who chanced across the sirens and were lured to oblivion by their songs. But if you could guard yourself, tie you emotions to the ship's mast, then maybe just maybe you could ride out the storm. With the benefit of hindsight and with the passing of the years, you might be able to look back and say it was worth the pain of knowing her.

You would carry scars because of this encounter, like a man who has plunged his hand into boiling oil, in the attempt to retrieve the most exquisite of jewels, knowing that he can only briefly gaze upon perfection before having to replace it from whence it came. Except you have no physical scars. No, the only solace you have for your endeavors, would be the certain knowledge that you have sampled absolute physical perfection.

Year's later when your memories come flooding back, forcing you awake in the wee small hours, savour them, allow them to wash over you, enjoy them once again - you have earned those memories. Remember the moment of penetrating her for the first time, the look in her eyes, the feeling of home coming and total oneness with the universe you experienced. The absolute assurance you felt that no one, anywhere was getting a high that pure. Others have and others will, but at that time, at that place, at that moment, you were the luckiest man alive. She took you to a place that you never thought you could reach, had heard of only in legend, put down to here-say and tall-talk, yet as you fight for sleep reflect on the fact that it was real.

As I lie in bed, I hear her voice, her strangely soothing use of words, teasing me like a cool breeze on a warm summer's day. " For you, I am Dakota", she whispered as she took me gently by the hand, coaxing me toward the stairs.
" Teach me what you know of love, where you lead, I will follow ".

How could I have resisted? Indeed who could have resisted such experienced innocence? I often wonder if any teacher has so deftly maneuvered a pupil to the gateway of learning? Of course not, only a consummate salesperson could manufacture such an invitation.

I hold no grudge, indeed I still rejoice in the knowledge, that at one time in my life, physical perfection lay under me, but of course I was forewarned. Every move, every twitch, every tilt of her pelvis was exquisite. Every cell in my body was yearning with desire, screaming to me that it was alive, compelling me to learn more of what she had to teach, assuring me that I was being driven toward the very far edge of ecstasy and therein lies the power of the Dakota 3000, from Carnival's - Epicurean range of pleasure drones. I defy anyone to distinguish between this state of the art artificial intelligence pleasure drone and the real thing.

I am told that several have made their way into the real world and are living as ' normal ' women, unaware of their hardwired, love them and leave them programme, breaking hearts wherever they go.

My only complaint about the whole experience was this, if the world was a just and fair place at the moment of climax a massive cerebral embolism would have befallen me, so that I'd never remember anything but that moment of utter hedonism. That said and although they haunt me from time to time, I still have my memories of the experience to fall back on. Samuel Taylor Coleridge would undoubtedly express my sentiments far more eloquently had he shared my experience, as he wrote in Kubla Khan, ' it was a miracle of rare device'. When I shut my eyes and recall the experience, I often find the last three lines of his poem entwining my thoughts, " And close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of Paradise

© David Rutherford

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