Introduction by Dr. Charles V. Irrinquist
The following story is a tableau, told in the science fiction genre, of an alternate reality, in which the government has passed and enacted a law to attempt to deal with human vulnerability to the deceptions of deepfakes and other AI-generated imagery. The law states that, if all of the persons depicted in an AI-generated image or video (called “Aimages,” for shorthand) “hang” that Aimage in their own, respective Encrypted Accounts, then what is depicted in the Aimage is considered to be legally “real” (i.e.: to have “actually” happened or to “actually” be happening), and society at large has accepted this. Society and law do recognize that the depicted events “really” happened, but not in our world, rather “real” in whatever virtual reality world the Aimage was created with.
Developed by various, major techcorps, in conjunction with US government departments identified as “Interested Parties,” Encrypted Accounts (EA) serve as “digital safes,” where users (i.e.: citizens) store important and sensitive information, such as social security numbers, digital birth certificates, bank records, digital family pictures, Aimages, etc. They are similar to social media profiles but are specifically designed to be nonpublic. These accounts are said to be unhackable and are insured. Each United States citizen is entitled to their own EA; it is just a matter of signing up, a process which they have made so simple it would be foolish not to set one up. The vast majority of citizens of the ensuing story’s world have set up their EAs.
One of the features of EAs is the “Gallery,” which, just as the name suggests, looks like a digital art gallery, with white walls that have spaces to “hang” images/videos/Aimages (users are able to customize the look of their Gallery). When an Aimage is hung, an ovular icon appears on the white wall below it, called an Indicator, which turns a bright green when each of the subjects portrayed in the Aimage have also hung the same Aimage in their EA, indicating not only the Aimage’s legally “real” status but also the implication that each participant is wanting to (continue to) participate with the others performing whatever activity is being portrayed in the Aimage.
Further, the government imposes a tax on these hung Aimages, which then naturally governs the amount of Aimages that are (and stay) hung. Not only does this limitation have the effect of maintaining the integrity of the “real” legal designation, but it helps to deal with the incredible amount of power required to keep these Aimages hung in the EAs (said to be several levels higher than what is required for mining Bitcoin, and even Titgroin), and also to curb the use of resources required to tax assess Aimages by the Department of Auditing.
We will look at how these policies were developed, and what such a world, in which humans and AI robots live together, may look like. The main narrative revolves around the generation of an Aimage involving our protagonist known only to us as Narrator and his escort neighbor, Caramel.
However, a word to the reader: though portrayed in narrative form, as mentioned above, these scenes may be most appropriately considered as tableaus–-these are not works of criticism or satire but rather intended to evoke an impression or feeling about whatever-it-is that is being presented. As such, base language is used in order to most efficiently attempt to express that whatever-it-is.
This baseness is reflected in the logic of the story’s world. For example, the childish insult of calling someone or something “gay,” whether in the homophobic or just generally derisive sense, is in the story’s world not so much an insult but something holding serious rhetorical heft. In the story’s world, the term has been largely stripped of the nastiness it carries in our culture, instead denoting a general (unspecified) negative quality (and that which has been evaluated as such). Despite this “stripped” meaning in the story’s world, it is intentionally understood that (hopefully) the hypothetical reader would be reading it in this world’s “unstripped” context.
Another word (and perhaps warning) to the reader: this piece contains graphic sexual content. Sexual-drive motivates much of the action in the story, but in the story’s world this isn’t just perverts running amok. In our real-life world, sexual motivation is primarily related to pathos, whereas in the story’s world, it is primarily the story world’s ethos. The characters are speaking through these base, sexual acts and language; it may be useful to think of the characters’ actions as metaphors for the whatever-it-is mentioned above.
Conceptually, what connects this baseness to the AI concerns mentioned above? It may revolve around the notion of the “real;” due to the tax constraints imposed to have an Aimage considered “real,” it is likely the only type of Aimages people would be willing to keep hung in their EAs would be those portraying enactments of great devotion, and at least in the story, these are of a religious or sexual nature. The motivations behind belief/faith and sexual impulses may be described as “base.” If, as represented in the story, the religious/sexual is “real” and also “base,” it may be deduced that the “base” is “real.”
The story begins with a seemingly unrelated prelude, revolving around a real-life incident about Swedish twin sisters who came to national attention in the United Kingdom in May 2008 after an apparent episode of folie a deux (“shared psychosis”), when the twins ran across the M6 motorway, as captured by a small television crew.
The main focus of this opening sequence is on an unnamed police officer’s experience on the scene, who is woken from a daydream and unsuccessfully restrains one of the twin sisters from running into traffic. Shortly thereafter he experiences an odd, phantom force physically pulling him by his testicles toward the accident site (the writer seems to be making a reference to pairs: the character’s “balls;’ the seemingly random paragraph noting embedded baseball references; the Swedish twins (possibly a reference to the Minnesota Twins baseball team–particularly because of the history of Swedish and Scandinavian immigration to that area)).
Let us begin the story.
Prelude
Ursula Eriksson, a Swedish tourist, ran into traffic on the M6 freeway in Britain, right into the side of a Mercedes Actros 2546 lorry. This was caught on not just CCTV but also the cameras for the television show, Motorway Cops, an English analogue to the American programme, Cops.
Ursula received aid and survived; the interest here though is in the lorry. Its cargo wall had imprinted on it the 32ndth-inch outline of what would be a crazed Swedish woman’s face. This indent, too indistinct and unformed for friends or family to identify, didn’t miss Admiral Group’s Herman Waylight, an expert on lorry damage and claim spoilage assessment, and seemingly a giver-of-deal.
Yet one Motorway Cop possessed bold claims.
Taken out from the clouds by Meechum Peenis and Craig Morjaggs’s sudden verbal commands to “get back!”, and sensing only the pitches of fellow officers in need of backup, he shook out of his daydream and instinctively moved toward attendance for support; he flew by all the other officers without thinking like a wave and just moments before her accident, he found himself here standing 2 to 1.65 meters closer to Ursula than the next nearest chaperone: he had just assigned himself the task of restraining what would surely prove to be a wriggling villain.
During the physical struggle, he erred in judgment, yanking only a sandal out from the exchange and in so doing he freed her foot to spring her toward her journey through the overground railroad. In the sign of impact (the “strike zone” as it is called in the auto insurance field), he recognized her and now could not shake Ursula in the outline. “Fielding Urs-,” as he would later call it (he would see his balding—out, out, and out it goes—increase in pace starting around then basically), would make its presence here known to him (at least in, what he called, its “four sack,” or most developed, form).***
Bill Stoneham, our man here, shares a name with an obscure American painter, who produced a work called, The Hands Resist Him (1972), notable for being known as being considered one of the most haunted paintings in the world. In Bill’s pocket was a sterling, whose ridges rubbed gently against a grocery receipt for glassware, cereal, pork, and liter bottles of mineral water, the latter of which stood in for the hose water, packaged in gallon jugs, he wished was commercially available. Stoneham noticed an odd pressure in his groin.
“Get your hands out of your pocket,” Veronica passed by, doing her job, and he needed to do his job, and everything was occupied, and he stood there, his head, full of blood. Veronica knelt to attend to Sabina, Ursula’s twin sister, and who had in fact charged the freeway right before Ursula, and fortunately for Sabina, despite some nasty bruising and contusions, her round trip left her with no truly serious physical ailments. These Swedish sisters, as troubled as they seemed to be, were not insignificantly resilient, and he thought he felt compelled to write home to tell someone about these extraordinary women.
Veronica squatting near Sabina sent his hand from his coin, zippering briefly with his other hand on the front of his pants then abruptly finding home at his sides as if shocked. Now erect and mobile, Stoneham surveyed the scene and sought the spot to most appropriately unload his assistance.
Stoneham meant to see it for years, and now he was thinking about it. Tomorrow he wasn’t working, so maybe tomorrow was the time to do it, at least not now with this scene, the one sister Sabina had run into traffic again, but this time she made it across to the median. She’s standing basically still facing back toward the police officers halted temporarily by their efforts that seem to be retarding the vehicular flow impeding their own path to her, and her hand reposed upon the median, her other hand idly policing her leg that thigh from my angle probably not actually touching and it dangles thanks to the gravity and all things considered calm breathing, she’s still screaming and I have to consider what is going on. Bragging about an unaffectedness, I stopped considering what I saw as being inaccurately described as a “drone,” it was clearly more shrill in bursts.
That novel pressure in his groin area was growing. It was a particular sensation he hadn’t felt before, and because of all of the foregoing excitement with the Eriksson twins, he hadn’t had time to pinpoint exactly where this force was primarily honing in on. It was not in his penis, it was not in his taint, and, then, as soon as he thought, “gonads,” as if gripped, Stoneham is being led somewhere by his fucking nuts: “My fucking nuts….where are we going?” Being pulled along by his bag by some invisible apparition as if on one of those flat escalators at the airport, and despite being relatively agnostic to ball play, he felt this erogenous pressure was beginning to cause reflexive and unintentionally disrespectful thoughts about his friend’s sister’s weight serving as an appropriate test case for the load-bearing capacity of his face as a pedestal or a swing.
(If this is a cute chick ghost guiding his sack along, even if a little more forceful than ideal, I feel like you can’t be that pissed if you are him, especially if this ghastly handler is a thick one or athletic-looking or an art-style chick or whatever it is that bewitches you.)
It became clear it was pulling him toward the lorry’s indent. Earlier in the night, shortly after the accident, he thought about putting his face in that receptacle he felt was customized by and through his dereliction and a place he ultimately could not inhabit. In consolation, he laid the back of his head there, with his eyes closed he thought he was indicating a hopefully sufficient sense of guilt. Whether or not in response to this display, the ghost slammed him, balls-first, against the damaged lorry with such force that one of his testicles was crushed. In response to the sound of the crash against the lorry and Stoneham’s subsequent moans, Officer Peenis ran over to the site of the noise, where Stoneham indicated the location and nature of his gonadal injury. It was at this time that Peenis had conceived of the nickname, “Monad,” for Stoneham, but he wouldn’t start referring to him by that name to his face until he returned to work after recovery from his injuries (Coincidentally, Officer Morjaggs had devised a nickname for Stoneham, “Sackless,” earlier that same night, after Stoneham’s losing effort against Ursula—Morjaggs, like Peenis, respectfully waited until Stoneham returned to work from recovery before he started exclusively referring to him by the nickname).
What Stoneham had meant to see for years was Robert Smithson’s 1974 landmark piece, “Yo-yo,” a land art piece which sits only 72 miles from the site of the accident, on the shore of Moreton Bay on Moreton Beach in Merseyside, Borough of Wirrel, and, though smearing in an ongoing game of chicken with the bay’s adjusting water levels*, it’s still visible enough to attract a fair amount of tourists who have been made aware that it is a work by a notable artist and is on the beach and doesn’t cost anything extra to view. Smithson, strongly opposed to the elitism he saw in the contemporary artworld, felt that everyone should be able to experience art and, in a sophisticated move, after a brief, uncontentious meeting with the local planning board, clarified that legal authority prohibited any current or future would-be impresario from charging to see the piece.
*This “smearing” may be seen as an example, or indication, of the “natural process of retainment,” a key concept to Smithson’s theory of “‘true art’” (the idea of correspondence between the processes of animate and inanimate matter)--it describes a “resistance against ‘phenomenal pressure’**” (Smithson, 65). As an example, the subject artwork mentioned above, “Yo-yo,” “plays” an endless game of chicken with the tides of the bay; the artwork and water are not “playing” in the sense humans do, however if we continue this analogical strategy, we may see additional layers. Tides are almost wholly influenced by the movements and positionings of the moon. In classical mythology, the moon is typically associated with the feminine, and in contemporary times, the moon is commonly associated with “mooning,” the act of showing one’s butt. Given these connections, “bay’s tides” is not so far verbally from “bey’s (or babe’s) tits”. We may then see this “game of chicken” as a sort of ritual of endurance of undulating tits-and-ass for which the subject must not break.
**Regarding the phrase “phenomenal pressure”: in the first published edition of Smithson’s essay he does not designate any quotation marks, writing “phenomenal pressure;” but the adjective, ‘phenomenal,’ (and I think he’s right) may suggest an extraordinary or exceptional “pressure;” in contrast to what he intended to indicate simply as occurrent; in subsequent editions he would put “phenomenal” in quotes, but this he thought seemed to have an opposite effect: the “pressure,” being ‘“phenomenal,”’ (e.g.: “‘phenomenal’ pressure” (Smithson 173, ed. 3-6)), suggested that he may have been suggesting that the pressure was actually ineffective or at least not as effective as advertised. He eventually landed on putting both words in quotations.
***Taken out from the clouds (baseball reference (bb): sounds like “...take me out to the crowd” from Take Me Out to the Ballgame (TMOTTBG)) by Meechum Peenis and Craig Morjaggs’s (bb: sounds like “Buy me some peanuts or Crackerjacks” (TMOTTBG)) sudden verbal commands to “get back!” (bb: in the story, the “get back” suggests the place the narrator is being presented with is danger to him; in TMOTTBG “I don’t care if I ever get back” refers to a place that the narrator of that song loves and never wants to leave), and sensing only the pitches (bb) of fellow officers in need of backup (bb?), he shook out of his daydream and instinctively moved toward attendance (bb); he flew by all (bb: flyball) the other officers without thinking like a wave (bb), and just moments before her accident, he found himself here standing 2 to 1.65 meters (is there a popular baseball close distance that I could change this to?) closer to her than the next nearest chaperone: he had just assigned himself the task of restraining what would surely prove to be a wriggling villain (bb: sounds like “Wrigleyvillaige” (where the Windy City Clubs play)).
During the physical struggle, he erred in judgment (bb: Aaron Judge), yanking (bb: Yankees) only a sandal out (bb: Sandlot) from the exchange (bb?) and in so doing he freed her foot (bb: free foot for a pitcher) to spring toward her journey through the overground railroad (bb: spring training (the training part is for the railroad which is a train)). In the sign of impact (the “strike zone” (bb) as it is called in the auto insurance field (bb: many baseball stadiums are named after (car) insurance companies)), he recognized her and now could not shake Ursula in the outline (bb: this is the line that influenced me to make a bunch of baseball references,“Ursula in the outline” reminded me of “Angels in the Outfield”) “Fielding Urs-,” (bb: either “field dingers” or “feel dingers”) as he would later call it (he would see his balding—out, out, and out it goes (bb: he would see his ball ding, ‘out out and out it goes’)—increase (bb: in grease, like a pitcher greasing the ball) in pace starting around then basically (bb: base like bases), would make its presence here known to him (at least in, what he called, its “four sack,” (bb: four base) or most developed, form).
1.)
The building’s water butt, though more than half-full from the generous morning rain (and with scattered showers forecasted for the afternoon), is still now playing host, attending to the dripping stragglers still remaining and now slipping intermittently from the eave flashing and recently unclogged gutter. About a third or a fifth or so of those drops are landing on the ground well outside the container, and honestly the closest ones of those maybe tag the outside of its bottom exposed wooden panels with what is essentially humidity that no one would even give a shit about if you didn’t point it out.
An audible crash inside influenced him to investigate what may have caused the crash by going inside toward where he thought where the crash may have originated, and it led him to the lobby where he saw Caramel with one side of a huge box of what he assumes is a widescreen in her hands and her dad with the other end of the box resting near his feet. He walked over to see if he could help, but they were already back on their journey carrying it up the stairs, thankfully her dad leading and she manning the back.
He noticed some pieces of styrofoam that must have escaped from the downed box corner and knelt to pick them up. He could hear her faint grunts of struggle on the stairs and so he was there asking if he could help as he put his hands on her end of the box, and her hands slipped from it with a tandem cutoff, “it’s O(K)–”. She walked up the stairs behind him and her dad, and on her floor he swung out to make room so she could lead us to her room, he couldn’t see her ahead behind her dad defending the bow.
We got to her room and set down the widescreen box and her dad received some chirps and he said I had to “help her out with the TV I’ve got to take care of this” and he left not in a rush but she shut the door behind him and then she said she’d help me once she changed into something more comfortable, and while she went to her room I removed the thin and wide unit from the packaging and lifted it first on the dresser below where her current-and-soon-to-be-previous monitor was hanging, leaning it against the wall, and then unscrewed the old monitor from the mount but realized the new monitor was in the way, so I tightened the old monitor back in slightly and set the new monitor on the ground and then unscrewed the old monitor carefully from the mount and carried it not very far, setting it on the ground near the couch. I picked the new monitor back up to fit it in the same mount, where one side snapped in place and turned the monitor on, the other side didn’t snap in and the monitor said, “Almost,” so I jostled it a bit before hearing, “What a success,” and the full blue screen menu lit up even though I didn’t hear the other side snap in but I guess it must have.
“Thank you!” Caramel said smiling toward me from her room with a hug in a wifebeater and dolphin shorts. “Want a drink?” she asked, I did watch her turn and walk toward the cabinet and bend over to pull the bottles out, I knew her cameras were seeing me do it and she knew I knew she knew. I asked for a glass of the Scotch that I always ask for that she deliberately forgot to grab and had to bend over again to pull out and I watched her do it. She knew I knew it was a sales pitch and her phone buzzed against a hard surface from her room and she let it buzz a few more times because she caught me looking at her butt one time and also one time she invited me over before I knew she told me she overheard me and a neighbor’s drunken evaluations of the female tenants’ looks while we were outside smoking cigs.
She came back from her room without her phone and grabbed a bottle of champagne from her refrigerator and started pouring a couple glasses, she asked, “What’s good?” I turned toward the screen to investigate the stock of apps and as soon as I saw some potential options, the menu suddenly changed with a “Welcome, Caramel,” and I could now identify, even through this more innovative design interface, a more familiar set of choices from which we usually select.
I was, I’d say, a regular patron of hers (both in real life and online), and there was no denying this dynamic. I forgot to check my pockets earlier because I just recently decided that I should keep my crypto invested instead of using it for payment, I reached in my right front pocket where I felt a receipt and some bullshit dust that I wasn’t looking for and checked my right ass pocket and then she giggled as I felt the rolled cash in my left.
But even knowing I am always willing to exchange, she walked a little closer and planted as if to clarify, exaggerating her lordosis and employing a slightly pigeon-toed stance, and I thought this was the appropriate moment to explain my idea and I told her the way she was standing made me think this was the appropriate moment to explain my idea (Narrator’s idea is to create a generative AI video of Caramel standing naked with him kneeling behind her with his tongue affixed to her asshole in perpetuity; he claims there is some poetic value in creating an AI-generated video of this), with the intention to keep her in that stance as I set the cash on the dresser beneath the widescreen and to give her body time to remember all its parts’ positions here (though the lordosis did end up being exactly what we wanted, we realized during production that the pigeon-toes were too suggestive of a vulnerability that would be more useful for a certain type of pornography but was ultimately not appropriate for our project (we also experimented with her in a wider, sturdy stance, with her ass pushed out in a more exaggerated, presenting manner, but we thought this posture seemed to indicate an active desire on her part to have her ass eaten—again, more suitable for pornography—-my constant boner during these tests attested to this, and we decided it would be necessary for me to keep clothes on for the shoot so I could “invisalign” (i.e: tucking my boner in my waistband for the purposes of making it not as visibly apparent))).
She agreed to it but was concerned she would lose a regular. I was honest with her and told her that I would probably beat off to it for a while but after breaking it in, the more poetic aspects will be able to sing more freely, and stroking your shit while eating the real thing could never be replaced.
The History of the Development of the Law that Allowed Aimages to Be Considered Legally Real
Generative media software, like Aimage Generator 3, uses machine learning, especially deep learning, to create or manipulate audio, images, video, and text in ways that simulate or fabricate reality. These systems rely heavily on Generative Adversarial Networks (GANs), transformers, or diffusion models to synthesize media that appears convincingly real. The ease of production and corresponding prevalence of Aimages, such as deepfakes, digital doubles, and text-to-image/video, have long been cultural discussion points. This material’s capacity for deception is part and parcel of its appeal and has certainly exacerbated our cynical attitude toward what we see and read online, where everything is by default considered to be fake and often deceitful, unless proven otherwise.
Interestingly, this has not led to general apathy but to an increased sensitivity toward issues of trust and betrayal. and there is no better example of this than the fallout from the Ida Leak, an infamous data breach from multi-platform accounts of the massively popular content streamer, Ida Gnoe, that indicated that the vast majority of material she had been releasing (for “dozens of months,” it was reported) on her Fansly account had been, in fact, AI-generated.
Prior to the leak, Ida Gnoe (Christian name: Wifida Vergobagidov) was a hugely beloved figure online: she held the record for most received cum tributes of all time (and while undisclosed to the public, the NSA had performed several significant studies on online masturbation patterns, which revealed Ida as the subject having motivated not only the single highest number of ejaculations over the course of their multi-year set of studies but also the causer of the largest collective amount of jizz produced by volume attributed to a single individual during that same period—-while it seems like these categories should typically beget analogous results, this has not shown to bear out in the recent decades: the tributed-to subjects that are most commonly associated with higher-T’d men did note being not unimpressed with the collective weight of tribute produced during this period but did raise concerns about the declining jack numbers. One of the hottest tributed-to subjects and also her extremely hot friend and also her friend’s sister and also her own sister that are both honestly really hot and both have big or actually really big tits, and actually looking at this data right here, it actually appears that also all of her sister’s really hot friends that are also pawgs and also have tits, and, if I am reading this correctly, it looks like it actually says here that the entire Milk Brigade have declared that they are not impressed by the low jack numbers among high-T’s, and that the categories that indicate the overall and unique number of vaginas that high-T’s have entered during that time don’t even matter or impress them, and that guys that jack off and are low-t are actually cool and they would want to be their girlfriends.
The Ida Leak prompted Liberal-Humanist congressman, Michael “Greasy” Greventreziou, to take action on deepfakes, and in a bi-partisan effort, working with Traditionalist Party congresswoman, Hot Whitetrash, they developed what would eventually become the Aimage/EA bill. Prior to their research, they both had thought that any Aimage should be required to embed a disclosure on screen if a piece of visual media is, in fact, AI-generated. Through their preliminary testing, using a mixture of Whitetrash’s authentic, pre-Congress OnlyFans and personal videos, and also Aimages of Whitetrash performing similar acts, and then affixing the AI disclosure to a random selection of these videos, they did determine the disclosure significantly affects the jackability of these videos.
More importantly, however, they thought the labelling requirement might be a form of tacit encouragement for further production of fake erotic material (they thought about how the introduction of the Parental Advisory sticker on musical albums in the 1990’s actually encouraged intrigue for and sales of the labelled albums). Even if the AI disclosure label did not encourage further production of fake material, it didn’t dissuade the production nor consider the ethical concerns of Aimage production. As a Liberal-Humanist, Greasy wanted to masturbate to people, not robots.
(Greasy had previously introduced a bill to outlaw the practice of tit-fakery—when Congressman Jugg Larger brought up Pamela Anderson as a counter to Greasy’s suggestion that fake tits have never made a positive impact on society and that nice ass fake tits simply don’t exist, Greasy thought this was dirty politics. He admitted that he could see if someone would choose to categorize Home Improvement Pamela Anderson or Baywatch Pam Anderson as having nice ass fake tits, but these examples are extremely rare. In a fairly sophisticated rhetorical move, he asked Congressman Larger to identify a single other nice-ass-fake-tits-haver that Greasy had actively chosen as a subject to masturbate to and where actual jizz had been produced in the last 2 years. Congressman Larger couldn’t come up with a single example).
One of our boys was actually talking with God:
“God, why did you make thick cheeks so nice? Could you make them a little less nice? It would be nice to not have to think about them all the time.”
“That is a fucking gay ass suggestion,” said God. “You are gay.”
He said, “No, I am saying they are *too* nice.”
And God said, “Your mom is too nice, She is sucking my shit way too good right now, And straight up I am going to blow a God-style load in her goddamn mouth once you stop yapping.”
He replied, “You are gay.”
It wasn’t until one fateful night that Greasy had a change of heart about Aimages. He and Whitetrash’s research sessions typically had been conducted in the same hotel room, where they could verify each other’s reactions to the videos, but this session was occuring remotely over Zoom and so they were using the Genital Sensor System (an early version of the GSS that the Tax Assessors would use (this will be explored later in the text). Regarding the Genital Sensor System, males wrap a thin strap sensor around the thickest part of their flacid penis; female auditors insert a short, thin cylindrical sensor into their vagina—the sensors measure the hardness/wettness of its users.
To get a baseline reading of the G-Sensors in response to Aimages, protocol instructed they view something they both know not to have happened in real life, so they generated an Aimage of a threesome with both of them and Whitetrash’s political rival, Social-Communist congresswoman, Vanessa Garcia-Flores, who had spent a large part of her first term fighting against allegations of being young, big-titted, and hot, just as Whitetrash had the previous year, and despite having diametrically opposite political views, for which both passionately advocated, Whitetrash begrudgingly admitted that Garcia-Flores likely, like herself, was possessed with a “really wet, tight pussy,” and when Greasy asked how she knew, Whitetrash said, “because women can sense these things.”
While they observed the threesome Aimage, Greasy’s sensor did register what would have been some of the highest levels of hardness he would have registered throughout the entire research process had they been using the arousal readers from the start of their studies. It wasn’t just the content of the Aimage that aroused him (though, given how close AiWhitetrash’s wet, tight pussy, for example, resembles Whitetrash’s real-life wet, tight pussy, it didn’t seem like a stretch that Garcia-Flores’ real-life pussy was as wet and tight as AiGarcia-Flores’ appeared to be).
Greasy gets particularly aroused by seeing the indicator on the GSS reader showing that Whitetrash is aroused (this is coupled with seeing her face on Zoom that reads the same but also can’t he see her playing with her pussy which he suspects she’s doing —this inspires what would eventually be the Aimage/EA bill).
Greasy, Whitetrash, and Garcia-Flores do end up having a threesome in real-life and Greasy thinks the generation of the Aimage threesome probably (“must have”) played a role in making it happen; this makes him believe that Aimages and the humanist perspective are not antithetical (i.e.: by generating Aimages, it “concretizes” or “snatches” events from the realm of infinite-potential-events; these events are put in the catalog of activities that can be decided to be enacted in real-life).
AiRitual
Narrator is looking at the Gallery in his EA and sees the playing thumbnail of the Nar/Caramel Aimage and the green Indicator lit below it. He starts masturbating as he makes the Aimage full screen. Narrator notes that he knows that he noted how convincingly realistic the Aimage was the first time he watched it, how it looks exactly like the reference footage, but AiNarrator and AiCaramel have been performing this ritual for much longer than practically possible for Narrator and Caramel to have performed (even if Narrator (and/or Caramel) wanted to try—sleep, eating, jobs, and other obligations would be factors that would make it virtually impossible to enact in real-life)). The slight movements of the AI subjects, the slightest changes in posture, are like the Narrator and Caramel in the reference footage, but the Aimage continues to generate novel slight movements.
He thought about the young woman he’d met, Sofia, who he had met for coffee, where he explained the concept more fully to her and she was at first enthusiastic to work on it but kind of cooled on it it seemed, and his sense was that she wasn’t that into the idea itself, just wanted to work with a real artist, but she moved away, and he thought it was an amazing, conceptual piece. He would have done it in a second.
“What? No, that’s a lie. I was totally into the idea. And I told him that. We even developed the concept, like some really cool shit. It wasn’t until I mentioned I was getting into tarot that I could tell he started getting turned off, which I’ve had other men also show a similar disdain toward it because they see it in the same category as astrology (which I mostly don’t think is real). I would have done it, on the spot. I didn’t see him after those times we met in the coffee shop (especially the last one), and then I moved to Venice, and the art scene is crazy here. I am wondering what it would have been like if he and I followed through with the idea. I was young at the time, but I thought he really figured it out.
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