Cyberpunk

said. “She has that hungry look.”
    Seeing him standing there in front of the two huge faces on the wall, I felt like I was peeping on a stranger—that I was a stranger, too. I could not imagine how the two of us had come to this: Stennie and Mr. Boy with cushes. We were growing up. A frightening thought. Maybe next Stennie would get himself untwanked and really look like he had on Playroom. Then where would I be?
    “Janet wants me to plug her,” Stennie said.
    “Right, and I’m the queen of Brooklyn.”
    “I’m old enough, you know.” He thumped his tail against the floor.
    “You’re a dinosaur!”
    “Hey, just because I got twanked doesn’t mean my dick fell off.”
    “So do it then.”
    “I’m going to. I will, okay? But . . . this is no good.” Stennie waved impatiently at Comrade. “I can’t think with them watching me.” He nodded at the windows. “Turn them off already.”
    “N’ye pizdi!” Comrade wiped the two faces from the windows, cleared all the screens in the room to blood red, yanked the input clips from his neck spikes, and left them dangling from the roombrain’s terminal. His expression empty, he walked from the room without asking permission or saying anything at all.
    “What’s his problem?” Stennie said.
    “Who knows?” Comrade had left the door open; I shut it. “Maybe he doesn’t like girls.”
    “Look, I want to ask a favor.” I could tell Stennie was nervous; his head kept swaying. “This is kind of embarrassing, but . . . okay, do you think maybe your mom would maybe let me practice on her lovers? I don’t want Janet to know I’ve never done it before, and there’s some stuff I’ve got to figure out.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Ask her.”
    But I did know. She would be amused.
    People claimed my mom did not have a sense of humor. Lovey was huge, an ocean of a woman. Her umbilical was as big around as my thigh. When she walked, waves of flesh heaved and rolled. She had beautiful skin, flawless and moist. It did not take much to make her sweat. Peeling a banana would do it. Lovey was as oral as a baby; she would put anything into her mouth. And when she did not have a mouthful, she would babble on about whatever came into Mom’s head. Dear hardly ever talked, although he could moan and growl and laugh. He touched Lovey whenever he could and shot her long smoldering looks. He was not furry, exactly, but he was covered with fine silver hair. Dear was a little guy, about my size. Although he had one of Upjohn’s finest penises, elastic and overloaded with neurons, he was one of the least convincing males I had ever met. I doubt Mom herself believed in him all that much.
    Big chatty woman; squirrelly, tongue-tied little man. It was funny in a bent sort of way to watch the two of them go at each other. Kind of like a tug churning against a supertanker. They did not get the chance that often. It was dangerous; Dear had to worry about getting crushed, and poor Lovey’s heart had stopped two or three times. Besides, I think Mom liked building up the pressure. Sometimes, as the days without sex stretched, you could almost feel lust sparkling off them like static electricity.
    That was how they were when I brought Stennie up. Their suite took up the entire floor at the hips, Mom’s widest part. Lovey was lolling in a tub of warm oil. She liked it flowery and laced with pheromones. Dear was prowling around her with a desperate expression, like he might jam his plug into a wall socket if he did not get taken care of soon. Stennie’s timing was perfect.
    “Look who’s come to visit, Dear,” said Lovey. “Peter and Stennie. How nice of you boys to stop by.” She let Dear mop her forehead with a towel. “What can we do for you?”
    The skin under Stennie’s jaw quivered. He glanced at me, then at Dear, and then at the thick red lips that served as the bathroom door. Never even looked at her. He was losing his nerve.
    “Oh, my, isn’t this exciting, Dear? There’s something going on.” She sank into the bath until her chin touched the oil. “It’s a secret, isn’t it, Peter? Share it with Lovey.”
    “No secret,” I said. “He wants to ask a favor.” And then I told her.
    She giggled and sat up. “I love it.” Honey-colored oil ran from her hair and slopped between her breasts. “Were you thinking of both of us, Stennie? Or just me?”
    “Well, I . . .” Stennie’s tail switched. “Maybe we just ought to forget it.”
    “No,