"Martha, I have a rather odd proposal for you," my uncle said on the phone. No one but my Uncle Doug called me Martha. Everyone else called me Marti. He worked in the research labs at the same large university I attended. Specifically, in the bioengineering division, but I had no idea what he did. He took me out for lunch a couple times a semester and made polite conversation about my classes. Maybe once a year I went over to his house to have dinner with him and his husband. We chatted about my mom—his sister. We weren't close or distant. "I need someone I can trust."
"Um, ok. What is it?"
"Well, I would rather talk to you in person." There was that nervous energy Uncle Doug had that ran in the family.
Fifteen minutes later, I was bundled up and trundling from my dorm to his lab. It was about half past six, and the weather had turned cold. All he would say on the phone is that he had made a breakthrough. I nearly demurred, but the promise of getting paid—though he said didn't say how much except it would be "worth my while"—was enough to get this college student moving. I could use a new computer.
He met me at the door of the building and gave me a perfunctory hug. He led me through the winding hallways and stairs, talking non-stop, to the back corner of the basement. I half-listened. The exposed pipes and shabby paint gave the impression the university didn't take his work seriously. I didn't catch too much of what my uncle said, but he was clearly excited about his breakthrough. We walked through his lab door. Prosthetic arms, hands, and legs littered the tables.
"As you know, I have a government contract to develop prosthetics for wounded veterans." I didn't know that. Bad niece I am. "We're developing the interface to connect electronic circuits to real nerves. It's about prosthetics that a person can 'think' into moving, with fine motor control. And prosthetics will 'feel' and transmit that feeling back to the brain. Better than the original." He smiled and was gesturing boldly. My mom always said he seemed like a mad scientist. Uncle Doug just struck me as an excitable nerd.
"Really? It sounds like science fiction. How long off is it?"
He shook his head. "Now! We've got the input side down now: feelings are transmitted into the brain without problem. That's the breakthrough. We're maybe a few years away on the output side. See, the problem is..."
I stopped him. "Uncle Doug, what's the proposal?"
He nodded. "Right, right. You don't care about all the technical details. Here is the deal, Martha. The technology is groundbreaking. The government contract is good money, but it won't make me rich. The contract requires that the technology will be licensed for civilian prosthetic hands, arms, feet, and legs for a very small residual. I signed the contract because it looked like such a small possibility I would get this to work. And it still seems wrong to me to make much money on such an important technology." He paused and took his first real breath in ages. I was getting excited, too. He leaned in. "But I recently realized that the contract didn't rule out profit from every possible spin-off technology. Their lawyers missed one. I have an application that will make millions!
"And if you will agree to test it, I will give you a percentage of the revenue. You would be rich, too." Uncle Doug was starting to seem more like a mad scientist with every passing minute. But my curiosity won out.
"Maybe. What's the application?"
He leaned back and shouted: "A prosthetic penis!" He clapped his hands and snort-laughed at his cleverness.
"What."
"I needed an application that only uses input, and a penis functions as an sensory-input-only device. There's no need for motor control. I will develop this product for market while I finish the output work for the government." He held up a somewhat realistic looking, double-ended dildo.
"Uncle Doug, I don't have a penis. I don't need a prosthetic penis," I said deliberately. He was off his rocker.
"No, no, no, Martha. You've misunderstood the point. This is not a device to replace a penis lost in an accident or something. I mean, it could be, but that's not how I intend to make my millions. It is going to be a sex toy for women who would like to have a penis. That is why I need a woman's help: to know if I can map the feelings from this device into a woman's nervous system. That is why I asked you."
"Don't you have an assistant or intern or something?"
"I work alone."
"What about Mom?" I asked, but I felt stupid the second I said it.
"My sister isn't the most, um, open-minded person about these sorts of things," he said.
"Who would buy it? Women don't want penises."
"Sure, some do. Some lesbians will. Lots of heterosexual women would be curious, too. Enough to make millions at $50 profit per device," Doug said.
It all sounded crazy, but if I believed the premise that the device would work... then it would make millions. And before I knew it, I was getting into the nitty-gritty details. He explained that it required a small incision under local anesthetic to implant a small chip in my lower spine near the tailbone. The chip would interrupt the signals from my own genitals and add the signals from the dildo. "Of course, it's an active system. There is no interruption unless the chip is turned on, and it gets its power from an induction system from the dildo. Move the dildo more than four inches away from the chip, and it's out of power. Fail safe," he said.
Uncle Doug further explained that this is why he used the double-ended dildo. "This part that you insert in your vagina is the battery and induction unit. It supplies the power to the chip." My uncle handed me the dildo. This was the strangest conversation in my life. So far.
* * *
Two days later, after having carefully thought it over, I was at a small clinic in the university hospital, ready for the outpatient surgery. Uncle Doug said he had done hundreds of the chip implants on animals and humans (for arms and legs) with no problems, but I didn't feel comfortable with him doing it. "No problem," he said. "I have a doctor who helped me learn the procedure for implantation. She'll be happy to do it for you." The procedure was a bit uncomfortable but fairly quick. I stopped at Uncle Doug's lab on the way back to my dorm.
"Here's the device," he said, proudly. "I took an off-the-shelf Realdoe, wrapped it in the sensory film, and dipped it in another layer of very thin, very soft silicone. I drilled out cavities for the electronics, battery, and induction system. It isn't terribly elegant, but improving the design will be my top priority if everything works. It's water-proof and easily cleaned." He put it in a shoebox and handed it to me.
"So, I just put it in, and it's ready to go?"
"Oh, I nearly forgot, Martha!" He took the box back. He showed me a small button on the underside. "Press and hold this for twenty seconds. You'll hear a soft beep. It will be ready to calibrate." He took out a piece of paper. "Hold it on your back, as near as you can to the chip. Follow these exercises in precisely this order. Do each one for at least thirty seconds before you move onto the next one. That's how the device learns how to map onto your nerves."
He handed me the list. It was long and specific: "Step 11: Rub left labia from front to back. Step 12: Rub right labia..."
"Ummm..." I could feel myself blushing.
"Martha, you have to follow it to the letter," he said emphatically.
"Right, um, ok. Well, bye!" I said. I was anxious to get out of there. I was starting to wonder if this was all some kind of joke. Why had I agreed to this? My guts were twisting in embarrassment. Hiya, Uncle, here's your dildo back! I touched myself just like you asked!
"Call me with an update soon!" he shouted after me as I ran into the hall.
* * *
