Deannas Surprise Pt 01

Part 1: Reika and Irene

**** **** ****

With C&C from D.B. Story

**** **** ****

(Herm/Bi-'bot (2), Bi-'bot/Bi-'bot, rom, SciFi, ASFR)

WRITER'S NOTES

:

I've been editing D.B. Story's various works for the past few years now. I've long been impressed by his overall world view concerning robotics, AIs and how they would interact with humans in general. In many ways, his viewpoints parallel my own. So, after some deep brainstorming and letting my muse do whatever she wanted, I decided to write this.

Those of D.B.'s stories I base this on include the

Strip Club Tales

and

Sylvia's Secret

. You can find them, not to mention all his other stories, at http://home.att.net/~db_story/

This part of the story is written in first person with Deanna's POV. Reika's POV will be displayed in italics (in HTML format) or framed with six asterixes at the start and end of the section (in TXT format).

Enjoy!

**** **** ****

It was a beautiful Friday night as I crossed the bridge over the old Welland Canal, making my way to Russell's Retreat on the northwest corner of West Main and Niagara. It had been a couple weeks since I'd returned home from a fourteen year...! -- well, "walkabout" seems the best way to describe it -- around the world. Getting my degree from the University of Victoria, teaching English, learning martial arts, studying various mental disciplines with spiritual masters in India, China, Peru, Mexico and the southwestern United States, sightseeing...

Putting the events of my last year of high school behind me as much as I could.

Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Deanna Sophia Hordye. I'm the only child of a retired plant supervisor at General Motors up in Saint Catharines and his wife, a junior high school teacher. They divorced after I left Canada. My father's shacked up with a new girl now. Personally, I refuse to have anything to do with him these days. Mama passed away a couple years ago due to complications from chronic asthma.

As for me, I'm thirty-three and single. I currently work as an assistant teacher at a local t'ae kwon-do

tojang

-- that's Korean for "training hall," by the way -- in the east end of Welland. My employer, Master Lily Choi, was one of the first women from the Land of the Morning Calm to obtain teacher's rank in the Art who later migrated to North America to pass on her knowledge. I myself am a first-dan black belt, having obtained that a couple years ago while I was in Korea studying under one of Master Lily's cousins. Her hopes for me include gaining enough knowledge in teaching the Art so that she could pass on her

tojang

to me when it comes time for her to retire.

I guess it would seem incredible that a woman -- as I am legally; more on that later -- would engage in such a long-range journey in the first place. I had always possessed an adventurous spirit; as a history teacher in university once told me, I had the heart and soul of one of the great explorers. Of course, that didn't prepare me for some of the things I encountered during my walkabout. But as time progressed, I came to value the difference between cultures, drawing their knowledge, their outlook on life, their spirituality and making it part of my own. In effect, I became a social sponge. That helped eventually steer me back to the city of my birth...

...and into the greatest adventure of my life.

* * *

I arrived at the front entrance of the Retreat, drawing out my wallet to pay the five dollar cover charge to get inside. One of the bouncers gave me a curious look, but said nothing as I had the back of my hand stamped by the reception clerk, then headed in. It was my first time in this particular showclub; when I was last living full-time in Welland, this place had been a restaurant. Back then, you had to go to the Atlas Hotel by the Lincoln Plaza or to the Station Hotel in the south end of the city if you wanted to see beautiful fembots bare it all.

"Well, I'll be damned! Deanna, is that you?!"

Stepping into the main hall, I looked right on hearing that voice, then grinned. "Tom!" I walked over to throw my arms around Thomas Fenris, delivering a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Long time, stranger! How are you?!"

"Pretty good! Welcome back home, kiddo!" Tom pecked me on the lips, then waved a waitress over as I slid into the chair next to him. He's a tall, really well built guy with curly hair the shade of ripe cherries and eyes as green as shamrocks. We were classmates in high school as well as drinking friends when we decided to buck the system and see if we could get some beer despite our age. "So you decided to come back to the old home range, huh? Heard you were going to work for Ms. Choi over at her training hall beside Canadian Tire."

"Yeah, I felt it was time I came back home," I smiled as Tom gave the waitress an order. "So what's happening with you and the others these days? Haven't been able to keep in touch as much as I could when we were all earning our degrees."

"Oh, not much," he smirked.

I was always of the belief that Hell would freeze over before a party animal like Tom would settle down. It was one of the things I liked about him. "Working, getting married for some of us, still looking for the others. Me...?" he paused, his eyes twinkling, then he sighed. "I did the bar exam, working as a junior partner at a local law firm, the one run by your mom's old lawyer."

"Great stuff," I nodded. "Heard from Jim or Russ lately?"

"Jim works in Toronto for Queen's Park," Tom explained. "Helps out with the Transportation Ministry trying to get the Lake Ontario ferry service expanded so people can take trips to Rochester and other places in New York. He comes down here every month or so to visit the old crowd. Got a girlfriend he met at Western; don't know if they'll tie the knot or not," he shrugged, the look on his face telling me how much he didn't really understand why someone would want to settle down with one person when there were so many out there to meet and get to know. "As for Russ, he runs this place," he waved around us. "He should be here in an hour or so...! Oh, great!"

The background music was picking up as I followed Tom's stare to the main stage. The Retreat's sitting areas were set up in a "U" shape, the stage right smack-dab in the middle. Private rooms lined the left side and bottom of the "U." The bar was on the right side. Right now, the place was about half-filled; then again, it was only eight o'clock. No doubt, if the Retreat was like showclubs I'd visited when I was staying in Arizona -- I fondly remembered this one

especially

great place in Tuscon I frequented for a couple months some years ago -- things wouldn't really start picking up until after ten, then go flank ahead until closing time at three in the morning.

The DJ announced the first feature performer of the evening as a sleek-looking lass dressed in a red halter top, skintight biker's pants and a jacket sauntered onto the stage. Catching the name "Reika," I gave her a close look. The name sounded vaguely Japanese to my ear. That belief was confirmed by her facial features; she was sensuously Oriental in that department with a tapered nose, slender eye structure and thin yet very kissable lips. Her hair, dark brown with punkish green streaks framing areas over her left eye, was shaggy and wild, cut off at mid-neck. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly. As the first song wound down and Reika ditched her jacket and halter top to reveal a black, strapless lace bra, I quickly took note of her barely covered breasts. Larger than my own and perfectly shaped, completely independent of any influence of gravity whatsoever, her nipples pressing firmly through the fabric. I felt my own start to respond in turn, though she would be hard to compete with in that area. A glance to her face told me that she was enjoying every second of her performance, even more so than her audience. Then again, what would one expect from a fembot?

"What's the system here like, Tom?" I asked after the first song of Reika's performance ended, the lights dimming over the stage.

"If you want real action, you have to be discrete," he thumbed towards the private rooms lining the east and south sides of the main room.

Glancing at them, I noticed that the doors had no windows in them. "What about the club's fembot control system?"

"None," he shook his head. "Russ doesn't believe in it. Makes this place really popular for any freed stripper who comes by to do features. The only thing the girls here are hooked to is an internal comm system that lets them yell for help in case a drunk gets out of control. Of course..." he winked at me, "...a nice person like you would

never

do something like that in a place like this."

"That's cool," I clicked my tongue, then we fell silent as Reika's second song began.

It was as much of a charged performance as the first. By now, some of the more adventurous patrons had shifted themselves to the chairs lining the stage in hopes of giving Reika a generous five dollar tip and getting a quick kiss in return. Watching her do it with one fellow before shedding her slacks, I told Tom that it was a pity the government had decided to do away with the one and two-dollar bills some decades back. It's kind of hard to tip a stripper with a loonie or twonie.

Yet, close to the end of the second song, one fellow actually did that.

Reika was really cool about it; she lowered herself to her knees, then dipped her head down to accept the coin with her lips and tongue. As we watched, she balanced herself on her toes -- only a well-trained martial artist or a 'bot could possibly do something like that without any real discomfort, especially when you factor in her high heels -- as her fingers took the coin from her mouth, then she trailed it down her front to allow it to slip into her lace panties. A look of sheer delight crossed her face as she seemed to push the coin right inside her -- or so it seemed to me. To the crowd around the stage, they didn't care; Reika's little act resulted in a chorus of cheers and whoops, not to mention other patrons searching their pockets for more large coins.

"Very nice," I reflected as the song ended, the lights on the stage dimming once more.

"That she is," Tom smirked.

"What do you know about her?"

"She's a freed 'bot from San Francisco. Her full name's Reika Aldred. She's been in town a couple months. If she's not working here, she's doing shows in the Falls or Saint Kitts." I knew Tom meant Niagara Falls and Saint Catharines, the two other main cities in the region. "I think she's looking for a new owner of record. Russ hasn't committed to anything either way."

I took that in with a nod as the third song in Reika's set began. I had encountered the odd freed 'bot when I was living in the States and over in the Far East, though they were few and far between. It didn't surprise me at all that there would be freed 'bots here in Canada, too. As it had been when the legalization of soft drugs and the recognition of gay and lesbian marriages had gone through Parliament, the "great white north" was at the head of the pack when it came to recognizing 'bot sentience. It didn't mean that once a 'bot was declared to be "free," she could do whatever she damned well pleased. Freed 'bots in Canada still needed an "owner of record" to take responsibility for them, give them some sort of legal "safety blanket" in case they ventured into those jurisdictions whose laws didn't match up. Still, it struck me as odd that a freed 'bot all the way from San Francisco would come to Welland seeking a new owner.

"Long trip," I mused.

"What'd you say?" Tom looked at me.

"You said she was from California, right?" I returned his look. He nodded. "Well, I just thinking that it's quite a long way from there."

His glance turned inward for a moment as he reflected on what I just said, then he nodded. "Good point. Still, I'm glad she's here. She is definitely pleasing to this gent's eyes," he indicated the performer on the stage with his bottle of Labatt's.

I looked, then my jaw hit the floor on seeing Reika squatting on the edge of the stage, her legs spread VERY wide as she seemed to be frozen in the middle of doing a Roman sit-up. Her exposed womanhood was poised right in the face of one of the patrons. Canting my head, I noticed that he had a twonie in his hand. Around him, other patrons were hooting and hollering at him; "Go for it!" was the one phrase I could make out. A glance to Reika revealed an inviting stare and a wink. Finally, his hand shaking -- was he a newcomer to this place? -- he slipped the coin right between her nether lips. Good God ABOVE, did Russ Willis allow THIS sort of thing to happen here?! In PUBLIC?! Jeez!

I stared at Tom. He was laughing and whooping at the same time. I just shook my head.

Then again, I mused as Reika slinked over to allow another patron to slip in a loonie, was it so surprising? Strip clubs are just like any other business when it comes to the bottom line: money. No profit -- or worse, forced to take a loss -- would eventually kill a place like Russell's Retreat. To keep drawing in customers, Russ would've had to come up with new and exciting stage acts, not to mention introducing fresh dancers, plus offering expanded one-on-one services to stay ahead of the pack, even in a small market like Welland.

Still, I chuckled to myself, things sure have changed...

* * *

Reika's show ended. The normal piped background music started to play as the next performer was making her way to the stage. I partied from Tom, then made my way to the ladies' room to relieve myself. After a quick check of my face and hair in the mirror, I moved to head out -- then stopped on seeing that particularly lovely fembot walk in, once again dressed in her halter top and slacks. She stopped on seeing me, then offered a bright smile. "Hello," her eyes seemed to twinkle. "Did you enjoy the show?"

I gazed on her for a second before replying. "Not as much as you certainly did while you performed it, I'll bet. Though I must confess that the rules in this place are a LOT looser than what I'm used to after visiting showclubs down in the States."

Her smile slipped a bit as she moved to stand before the sink to wash her hands. "That's the reason I prefer to perform here in Canada," she admitted. "Not many showclub owners north of the border believe in things like 'topless only,' 'no contact whatsoever'..." the smile then vanished totally from her face as she added, "...not to mention the control system networks most places in the States have."

"Were you built as a stripper?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness.

"Aren't we all?" she said, smiling again at some deeper introspection. Then she continued, "No. My sister and I were once the companions of a rich businessman in San Francisco. When he died, Irene and I were declared free. Even though we have a good-sized trust fund to help take care of us, we decided to work in showclubs..." she paused, then shrugged. "I guess to just stay busy in the long term. Until we find something that interests us more," she winked at me, then stared at her image in the mirror. "Besides, these days, we can take the chance to travel, visit and experience places we never could've before, at least as long as we stay in countries that will respect our rights."

My eyes widened as "my sister" and "Irene" sank into my mind, then I chuckled. "Are all freed 'bots as talkative as you?"

Reika stopped for a moment, then she tittered. It was such a lovely sound. "I suppose so," she admitted. "Fortunately for us, our owner insisted that Irene and I be programmed with as wide a range of routines as possible. Of course, it made our..." she paused for a second, "...'waking up' pretty much inevitable, I believe."

"You're both self-aware?"

"Yes, we are," she glanced at me before moving to dry her hands. "Irene and I've found that humans tend to react a lot better to us if we engage in small talk whenever the opportunities present themselves. It makes things much easier for us in the end."

I nodded. "Guess so."

"Would you like a dance?"

Reika's question caught me off-guard for a second. I then mentally kicked myself. Delightful conversationalist she seemed to be even after only a moment's brief talk, Reika was here at the Retreat to earn money as a stripper. I really couldn't deny her that even if -- especially if -- she was a freed 'bot. Still, I mused to myself, it was a pity that she worked now just as a stripper. Basic small talk eluded most 'bots; one had to have the most advanced type of brain and AI programming to operate like a human in this particular social situation.

"I'd love one," I replied, turning to offer my arm to her.

She grinned as she slipped her arm around mine before we walked out of the bathroom. That's one thing I like about 'bots in clubs. All of them treat female patrons with the same respect as male ones. The human dancers are not always so undiscriminating. Once back in the main hall, Reika directed me to one of the private rooms on the Retreat's east side, the bottom of the "U." Glancing inside to see that if was empty, she beckoned me to follow. "Do you want me to order something for you while we wait for the next song?" she asked.

I asked for a Sprite -- I'm allergic to alcohol; that saves me LOADS of money and trouble when I go bar-hopping -- then sat down as Reika headed to the bar to make the order. She returned a moment later, a waitress behind her with my drink. I paid and tipped the latter, then sipped my drink as she left. Reika closed the door behind the waitress, then locked it. "Isn't that dangerous?" I wondered aloud.

"There's a computer control on the lock," she explained as she sat, then moved to take my hand. "If trouble starts, I can send a message to the security server here. Once he sees that, the head bouncer can unlock the door with just a touch."

"Why didn't you use that to get my drink?" I held up my glass.

"The Retreat's owner believes that if the dancers behave like normal humans in simple matters like ordering drinks or seeing if the private rooms are taken, it makes things more relaxed for the patrons," Reika explained.

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. "I guess Russ tries to think of everything."

She gave me a look, then her eyes widened. "You were sitting with Tom while I did my show," she pointed at me. "Are you Russ' friend?"

"Yes, I am. Deanna Hordye."

Reika stared at me, then reached up to feel my hair, which was a darker shade of brown than my lovely host's. I always kept it cut very short, even back in high school. My eyes, however, are pure sapphire blue. Something that always earned me odd looks when I was living in Korea, where the hair/eye colour combination seemed ALWAYS to be black/very dark brown. "I've been told about you," she pulled her hand away from my head, moving to lace her fingers through my own. "Russ, Tom and Jim Graham speak about you a lot."

Hearing that made my cheeks start to heat, then I perked as a slow song started up. Gilbert O'Sullivan's

At The Very Mention of Your Name

, I quickly realized as Reika slipped onto the raised platform set in the middle of the room where the dancers did their routine.

As she began to work, I sat back to watch her. Even if it was shrunk down to the duration of one song instead of the usual three songs strippers used when working the main stage, Reika's performance was top-rate. As I mentioned before, she wore tall, stiletto-like heels on her feet -- the pretty kind, not the big clunky ones that put inches of useless plastic under her toes as well as her heels. That she could dance so well in them, maintaining her grace and sense of balance with her natural height enhanced by ten centimetres regardless of what move she made, spoke quite eloquently about her programmer's skills and the computer mind she possessed to execute them.