Chapter 18

[Beginning of Act 2]

Counterattacks

TUESDAY.

"Your cock is a fucking monster," you tell her, "I envy you for that."

"It's unc... You know what? Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

The clouds dulled the blue of the sky, but not the brightness of the sun. Your parents had left a few hours ago. Both of you were sitting in the dining room, with an empty chair in between. You were doing homework.

"Very confident, aren't you?" she says, "You touch me once and think you can talk to me about my cock like it's nothing."

"<<My cock>>, god, it sounds so arousing when you say that."

Doing homework together was comforting; while she didn't know the exact answers to LaVerne's confusing questions, she did know these topics better than you. Sometimes she would give you an answer or an explanation, but her help couldn't go beyond that. Of both, she was the most bored in this process.

SUNDAY. TWO DAYS EARLIER.

It was late afternoon and you were both sitting on the bed face to face. You had been talking trivia for almost two hours; it was entertaining.

"To every single thing I say you're going to answer <<cells>>, ok?"

"Can't we do something else? Like... Idk... watch a movie or something?"

You recoiled at her proposal, "Watch a movie? <<Watch>> <<a> <<movie>>? What, you want my brain to rot or something?"

"You don't like movies?"

"That's it." You got out of bed, took a book, a notebook, and put them in front of her, "I wanted to have a good time with you, but in view of your unwillingness, we'll do homework."

“UUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH.”

And that's how both discovered that she couldn't write on paper or digital.

TUESDAY AGAIN. PRESENT.

You were writing without looking at her. A quarter of your brain focused on the task and the rest focused on whatever she did or said.

She fiddled with a pen; tossing it up and catching it in her hands. Sometimes she'd look at you and sometimes at the big lamp on the ceiling.

"So... you really don't do anything else besides masturbate and homework?"

You finished writing a sentence before answering.

"Like what?"

"I don't know... Don't you have a hobby or something?"

"We already do homework together, do you want to watch porn together?"

"What? No..."

"Come on, it'll be more fun than this, I assure you."

"I don't want to..."

"Let's talk about sex."

She sighed. "I think it's obvious, but the more you push me, the more you discourage me from trying-

"Let's talk about it! Let's talk about it! Let's talk about it!"

"FINE. What do you want to talk about, specifically?"

"When will you let me fap you again?"

"WHEN YOU STOP BEING A TOTAL ASSHOLE AND INSISTING SO MUCH ON IT. Ok, anything else?"

"Why are you yelling at me like that? Can't you see I'm trying to make you happy?"

She was going to say something, but just sighed, frustrated. You looked at her, without stopping writing.

"Is something wrong, my dear? You've been more... cunning in your answers lately." And by <<lately>> you meant these last few days, more or less since the silence stopped being awkward.

"It's just..."

"Is it because of homework? It's normal, dear: nobody likes to do homework."

"It's just... This is... boring. Really boring. Really, I thought you did something other than homework and masturbating."

You returned your gaze to where it was before. "I'm telling you we can do that last thing together."

"That's your plan? Bore me to **** until I agree to it?"

"Doesn't sound like a bad plan, to be honest."

Silence.

"But seriously," you said, "Is it just that, boredom?"

"It's more than that. I see that... It's like..." She took a few seconds to think, "It's like your life is flashing in front of you and you're doing nothing to stop it."

"Awww, you're worried about me!"

"Partly, but I'm also worried about me, and what will happen when you graduate, if you do."

"A long life awaits us fucking like rabbits."

"And that's it? You haven't thought of anything else?"

"Well, you make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"But..."

"Dear, dear, you're worrying too much about the future. Let's focus first on getting along..."

"But you bring all our conversations into the sexual realm in one way or another. And I don't really see progress in what you say..."

"Oh, on the contrary. Not **** you or touching you is the greatest act of self-control I've ever done. Every day is progress for you and me."

"Is it really that hard for you? I'm worried it's going to be like this forever."

You were too, to tell the truth. Partly wanting to make the conversation more interesting, and partly wanting to tease her, you told her, smirking:

"Look at you: the toy making an excessive effort to believe it has options."

She paused for a second, then snorted, and laughed briefly, covering her face with her wrist.

"Look at you: the horny teen making a superhuman effort to get along with his doll."

You mentally acknowledged that comment hurt a little.

A few minutes passed. She kept looking at you: "I refuse to think that sex is the only thing that really matters to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, a lot of things matter to me. You matter to me."

"Tell me one thing you care about that has nothing to do with either school or sex."

"Uuuhhhhhhhh..."

"..."

"That's not fair."

"A fucking corporation stole my whole life and you're talking to me about what's fair."

You stopped writing and rested your gaze on her.

"OK... Where did that come from? Seriously, if you're so bothered by your situation..."

You looked back what you were writing. It occurred you to shut up, but....

But...

"...Maybe you should have thought twice before wanting to be a teacher."

She let the pen fall.

"Excuse me?"

"We all know the education system is shit. Only a sadist or a masochist would want to go back to it after getting a degree."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING about me, or my life, or why I wanted to become a teacher."

You noticed your pulse rise a little.

"There's also the possibility... that you're stupid."

She slammed the table with all the **** she could, which was... very little. She barely made a sound. Her hand and voice shaking a little.

"Of course... It's so easy for you to insult me because I can't do anything against you. All you want to do is fuck. Fuck and fuck. I understand that your horny teen brain won't let you reason properly, but..."

You aggressively dropped your pen on the table.

"You want to piss me off?"

“It-

"I didn't say anything to you, I didn't do anything to you, and you come with your comments and your complaints and bullshit that I'm wasting my life. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I am..."

"..."

"I'm..."

"Go on, go on, I'm not stopping you."

"I-I..."

"...?"

":.."

You cringed, then laughed.

"Think," she said.

"Your joke lacks punchline!" you said, with a smirk.

"THINK. Look at it this way: If they copied every memory and feeling you've ever had, every thing you've liked and disliked, every trait of your personality, and put them into a different body, would you say <<that's me>>?"

She was almost breathless while uttering those last words.

You fixed your gaze on her, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

"Let's say... L-let's say one day they make an exact replica of your mind, which <<works>> just the same; you can feel, think, remember the same. But they put you in the body of a sex bot. Out of nowhere, you're doomed to satisfy a horny teen you barely know, who you can't even scratch. You can't kill yourself either, so you're **** to exist. No matter how much you act human, everyone looks at you as a product, as a toy. Can you understand? They didn't make you a robot, they just made your body and mind more manipulable for others." She stood up and walked over to you, "Think about it for a second, for once in your life try to put yourself in my place, and have the courage to tell me you see it as a joke."

She panted. You sighed.

After seconds that felt like minutes, you replied:

"That's not what I said. It's unbelievable that you don't even listen and have the courage to complain like this. I try to be nice to you, I try to be empathetic, but you think that your problems-

"It's the same thing you always say. Again, the horny teen-

"YOU'RE A SEX TOY, whether you like it or not. You're not someone, you're something. But I have to behave nicely with you so we have sex and you say nice things to the teacher to get through this stupid course. If it were up to me, you'd be my dumb slut happy to go; you'd crave my cock and thank me after I ravaged your insides. As you can see-

“Oh yeah, you already made that clear, but-

"If you keep interrupting me, I'm going to mute your voice and-

"Do it. Do it whenever you want, but whether you like it or not, you own nothing, you have control of shit in your life. You're a mediocre, insecure student who can't even make his own doll want to fuck him, what are you going to do to fix that? you say you're going to mute my voice, lock my body, **** me until dawn? Go ahead, that's not going to fix your own miserable life. You're the one who's going to have to live and die knowing he was Timothy Wells: a friendless, horny, narcissistic teenager WHO NO ONE LOVES."

". . ."

"..."

You stand up and get really close to her. She doesn't even flinch.

"Fuck you."

She quickly glues her body to you. Her breasts press against your chest.

"Say that again."

Her breath on your face, your breath on hers.

"Fuck. You."

That thing in her eyes was, unmistakably, anger. And that on her lips was...

"Fuck you too."

You blinked.

Softness, softness, oh so much softness....