The boy across the street

The young adult male would be the candidate most likely to accept my advances. Also, as I knew the schedule of his whole household, it would also be the most safe option to follow.

I walked to the sidewalk on the other side of the asphalt strip, using these twenty approximate feet as further practice for a standard human female gait.

The path through the family's house's garden was short, but winding. I admired the craftsmanship of the landscaping as I approached the large wooden front door. The door had no windows on it, unlike that of Harold Conniver's home, and although there were tall windows on either side of the frame, the curtains there were drawn. Having observed the proper home visiting procedures on several occasions, I knew to proceed with pressing the button beside the door to prompt a greeting from the occupant.

A tone sounded, like the one I have heard from within my storage room in my creator's house, and it now registered to me that the button sounded the tone so as to inform the occupants of a visitor; a mystery that I did not think needed solving, but was now solved regardless.

I heard the muffled sounds of movement inside the home, as the sole occupant moved through the halls and down to the door I stood in front of. A click sounded as the locking mechanism turned, and the door swung inward to reveal my prospective user.

"Hi... Can I help you?" the elder child said to me. His tone was one of confusion. Unannounced visitors must not be a generally accepted occurrence. Still, I remained confident my advances would be successful.

"Hello," I began, maintaining my composure while also mimicking the vocal patterns of the seducing women from Harold Conniver's pornographies. "I'm Tiffany. May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah I guess." The barely-adult boy was still unsure, but stood aside to allow me passage. I stepped in, taking care to put emphasis into my steps, swinging my pelvic servos as those sexual actresses did.

He closed the door, leaving us both standing in the foyer of his parents' home.

"I'm James, or J.R. Can I help you with something?"

As I could not tell him the truth of the situation, for fear of being ridiculed or worse, I elected to impart to James a fabrication based on what I had seen work in my master's collection.

"Hi, James. I'm new to the neighborhood. I was hoping to get to know some of my neighbors, and I noticed you happened to be home."

"Oh, uhm, alright. That's fair I guess." James hesitated, but seemed to relax some. I brushed my imitation hair behind my ear in an effort to comfort and disarm him. "Would you like to come sit down?"

"I would be happy to." I replied with a tone of slight cheer.

James led me down the main hall and into his family's equivalent of Harold Conniver's living room, complete with two large couches, an armchair, a coffee table, and a wide television. Unlike my creator's home, I noted that this room lacked a fireplace. We each sat down on either couch, sitting diagonal to each other. I leaned forward and pressed my arms together in an effort to accentuate my bust, however the shirt I currently wore did not flatter in this position.

"Can I get you anything, ma'am?" he said politely, allowing himself to ease into the situation. "Water, anything?"

"No, that's alright. Thank you J.R." I slid myself closer to the end of the couch, and to him, still leaning forward intently. "How old are you, James?"

He seemed caught off-guard, but answered anyway. "I'm 19, just had my birthday in February."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I asked, curling my words as the conversation developed. I knew he already wanted the same thing as me, but I needed to maintain a facade to ensure there was no threat to my safety.

"No, no I work too much. Don't get to meet many beautiful girls."

"Do you think I'm beautiful, J.R.?"

He swallowed hard, understanding my intentions. "Yes, very."

I reached for my top button, and with minor struggle, unlooped it from my shirt. "Thank you, James. I think you're very handsome." I unlooped another button.

He shifted his weight, not in an attempt to conceal his erection, but to display it comfortably through his denim pants.

I removed my hands from my shirt and stood up to site beside him. I took his own hands in mine and guided them to the next button down, which hovered over the middle of my cleavage.

He looked at my eyes.

I dared into his.