Much of the work that needed done in the following days fell to me. I toiled in the lab, monitoring neural networks to catch any unexpected effects from the sync. I ran diagnostics to ensure a stable connection. I ran basic medical scans. Boring, thankless work.
The professor – his primary body, I should say – spent most of his time lying in bed. The old form all but forgotten in favor of his younger, virile self.
A vigorous body consistently occupied with its new playmate. I saw the carnal spikes—more of a plateau, really—on my monitor and frequently heard the cries of Madison’s bliss through the air vents.
I often saw them through a back window, sunning themselves on the pier. She laid face down, the straps of her bikini top undone. They both seemed asleep, except that Madison drew small circles around his nipple with her big toe. As she began to retie her top, the professor—Harry, I’ll say—suddenly sprung to his feet, threw her petite body over his shoulder as if she were light as a towel, and ferried her into the boat house, the top left lying on the dock.
I watched them leave for a bike ride around the estate one morning, Madison’s delicate white dress caught by an errant breeze, flashing the yellow panties beneath. Harry, with his minimal wardrobe, wore a tshirt and slacks. They were gone for hours, and when I at last saw them crest the hill of the driveway, both Madison’s bicycle and dress were missing; she wore Harry’s tshirt and rested, eyes closed against his bare shoulder, side-saddle across his lap, as he pedaled.
Walking past the billiard room one evening, I thought I overheard them playing an earnest game. There were the cracking sounds of wood on wood, then one would tease the other for either missing or sinking their shot. But walking past the open doorway the next day, I saw two empty martini glasses, a curtain and throw pillows spread across the floor, an overturned bucket of ice, and two pool sticks, one broken, one intentionally unscrewed. A pink bra hung from the chandelier, and the pool table itself, built of sturdy oak, was broken, collapsed on one leg. The balls were spilled across the floor.
In the laundry room, I noticed more and more of her clothes torn beyond repair.
And of course there was the torture of our shared wall. Madison had covered the mirror again, but with only the single sheet, leaving me with cloudy impressions of their bodies In frenzy. I saw Madison’s ardent silhouette bent over the bed, both feet lifted away from the floor. I saw Harry on his back, raising her entire body into the air with only his arching pelvis. I saw Madison with her legs wrapped around a standing Harry, only there was then a flurry of movement, a blur of the light, and then Madison’s ankles were crossed above Harry’s head, her hair dangling against his feet. At 3am the same night I woke to a great rattling and, realizing it was the mirror, rose to see Madison’s back against the sheet itself as Harry plowed her atop her dresser.
“I’m not sure I’m needed any longer,” I told the professor in his study. Our conversation was slow and stilted, distracted as he was by other unseen exertions. He smiled to himself at odd intervals, closed his eyes for extended periods, and more than once stopped speaking mid sentence to take a deep breath. “Should we talk another time,” I asked, though I knew this was as good a time as any.
“No, no, stay,” the professor said. “I’m sorry, to be young again—I suppose I have let it distract me from the project at hand.”
“I’ve been monitoring and it looks like everything is stable. I think it’s safe to say the project was a success.”
“Phase one of the project was a success. Phase two—” he threw himself back in his chair suddenly, then collected himself. “I’ll still need you for phase two.”
“This hasn’t been the most academic of environments lately,” I said as the professor mistakenly let out a soft moan.
“She’s a very lively girl,” he said. “Is that what this is about? Miss Lounds?”
“You called her Madison the other night while you were spanking her.”
“We’ll try and be a little more private, point taken,” he said. “But you know, Charlie, if it’s jealousy that’s bothering you, there are solutions.”
The professor leaned forward and suggested that, if it would convince me to stay, he could potentially create a double of Madison. It would have to remain disconnected from the real Madison, of course, but since this was outside the scope of the official project, I could feel free to ignore that pesky orgasm rule. He only asked that I keep her existence under the radar—getting a DNA sample would be simple, and he didn’t necessarily plan to seek Madison’s permission.
“That’s abhorrent,” I said. “Shameful, unethical behavior and I’ll have absolutely no part of it.”
“Then if not for the girl, stay for the research. We’re going to push my technology to its absolute limit, and I need your help, goddamnit.”
He seemed exceptionally agitated for a moment, then exhaled a large sigh and took a cigarette from his drawer.
“Get us both a glass of whiskey, will you?”