Sex wasn’t my drive for sex
It came down to feeling skin against skin, and those new toys were sometimes better than the real thing, moved exactly like the real thing, and smelled better when sweating.
Just as I had thought, it was loneliness that pushed me to self-pleasure. An empty bed, a blanket with a cold far side, a house where none but the voice of actors and actresses were heard. When I was home, I could only speak to myself, and it wasn’t a fascinating or interesting dialog at all.
For too long, I held myself back, sedating my desires with a life-sized toy that took on the exact appearance of one of the girls on my compass
That night, I set my mind to human connection, but when I awoke the next day, I had no idea how I would go up to one of the girls and introduce myself without compromising my obsession with a person who had no idea I existed.
During patrol that day, I took part in a broken, sometimes heated, exchange with myself. Thanks to the new tech chipped into me, I secured a much better-paying job with the intelligence services. I had a good home, but I was planning to move out into something better, a nicer condo, maybe even a villa with its own pool and garden and bodyguards. As far as lifestyle, I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, went to bed early, and never stepped into a nightclub. Not the most handsome of men, but I could rock a solid beard and a better buzzcut – thank God for my small nose. A public officer couldn’t get a business for himself, but I could do it incognito like all other officers. But none of the girls I fancied even knew about me. Well, they would if I made myself visible. I knew where they were every moment, and not just through the compass, but on the GPS of my visual interface. Precise pinpointing, complete with wherever they were staying at the moment and the shortest, least busy way there. With the tech we had, you could never truly lose track of someone you fancied. They were always on your radar, and forgetting them was an impossibility, losing them nothing but a lie.
I stopped as I absent-mindedly flicked between thought stations, and found out there was a woman trying her hardest to calm herself as she walked out of a shop she lifted. Via kissbridesdate.com check thought-transmission, I sent the image of the woman to my three partners and we intercepted the thief crossing the street. She ran on sight – a rookie who no doubt believed security services could read thoughts. Then again, why would three officers approach her? An effortless job thanks to our lung implants, which allowed us to sprint a long time without losing the efficiency due to breath shortage. No speed loss, no blurry vision, no burning in chest. It made running as easy and effortless as a stroll. All throughout, her head buzzed with the idea of her accomplice somehow finding a way to help her or retrieve their loot. She thought of a name, and I whirred around and flicked to the records in my optics to look up the name. Samuel Sarly, six-foot-five, forty, multiple counts of robbery, pickpocket, illegal possession of a firearm, protection money, and beat-ups. I brought up his mugshot to the top right corner of my interface and ran a scan to match his face. Car wheels screeched away, and the driver, according to my scan results, matched. Gun out of holster, smart bullets connected remotely to the chip in my head, I fired a round and moved its trajectory to land into the tire, which it did. Rubber burst, the car swerved, screeched, turned, and rolled over until it smashed into the back of a SUV. A partner of mine followed me to the crash site, smart pistols trained at the upturned vehicle, and we extracted the accomplice with kicks and stomps and finally cuffs around his wrists. Police brutality my ass. How could a son of a bitch like this have so much lore to him and stay out of prison for so long? I loaded him with some deserved, hard-earned justice with the soles of my boots, and instead of hustling him in a headlock, three of us lifted the sucker from his arms and legs and clothes.