From: ajwnet@cbnewsm.cb.att.com (andrew.j.west)
Subject: Sex.geeks and the DoD
Organization: AT&T
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1992 14:09:10 GMT
Keywords: computer sex


>>	>(but Diana B. is kinda cute).
>>	
>>Jeez, I haven't been called *cute* in a long time, do they still use that
>>word up there in the north? 

>>I start getting my sense of well-being and sexual stimulation here too, I'll  
>>never have to take my fingers off the keyboard. How about a DoD project to  
>>provide meals and showers?

>Sexual stimulation with a computer; interesting thought...
>Anyone want to offer the proverbial list of reasons why computers are
>better than men/women?


	(reprinted without permission from The 90's: A look back)

	Because I was afraid of AIDS, I'd stopped having sex completely
by 1991.  By late '92, I even stopped masturbating (except through the
infrequent use of a contraption that involved two pulleys and an oven mitt
filled with lead pellets).  By '93, the closest I came to sex was looking at
old pictures of fully-clothed people stanidng near a newsstand that once
sold Playboy magazine.  
	And then computer sex came along.  I started out with FU 3.1, a 
simple text program.  The sexual act would proceed through multiple choice
selections.  Eventually, the thrill faded.  Textual sex was like having sex
with an overly talkative forty-year-old divorcee whose idea of kinkiness
is calling you by her analyst's name in the throes of passion.
	But computer companies came out with progressively more advanced 
computer-sexual hard-and software.  The new computers were beyond user-
friendly.  They were user-easy.  They say you never forget your first time.
And neither does your partner -- especially if she has a 10,000 megabyte
memory chip.
	You'd stand there and shuffle your feet back and forth on a shag
carpet.  A short blue spark would leap from the tip of your -- well, you 
know -- to the disk drive.  It felt good, but then again, if you hadn't had
sex in so many years, even zipping up was a mild turn-on.  Then, when the 
moment seemed right -- when the computer screen had turned a deep purple,
you'd go all the way.  All the way in.  Ah.  How sweet it was.
	Oral sex with a computer tasted like chewing on tinfoil.  And if you
weren't careful when the computer reached trigonometric apogee, the 
electrical discharge would knock the fillings in your teeth out.
	A satisfied computer would eject floppy disks as limp as Dali's
pocket watches.  Sometimes the system would even go down for a while.
	Computers swing all ways.  Most liked it in the drive, but didn't
object when you turned them around and used the modem input.  The black 
market ones without built-in surge suppressors were the nymphomaniacs of
the computer world -- unpredictable, wild, and always ready for more.  They
particularly loved what they called "68.99998."
	And for the ladies, there was always Wang.
	But then it started.  They called it Computer-Human Infectious 
Parasitic Syndrome, or CHIPS.  Like all computer viruses, it caused 
imperceptible errors that spread silently and compounded exponentially.  
Unlike any previous computer virus, CHIPS infected humans also.
	And not just humans who had sex with computers.  What no one
realized was that while humans slept, computers made it with each other.
And not just with one another.  Computers passed CHIPS on to CD players
and thermostats and toasters.  Thus it became possible for a human to 
contract CHIPS by having sex with a toaster.  And, through infected
electrical discharge, the CD players and thermostats and toasters passed
it along to other appliances.  Water Pics.  Refrigerators.  Even vibrators.
The circle was complete.
	We began taking precautions.  Wearing latex thimbles on all ten
fingers when doing any kind of inputting.  One company came out with a
computer-shaped latex sheath -- a computer condom.  Somehow, it just wasn't
the same:  the screen that once glowed with such a crisp amber was blurry
through the latex.  The keyboard that once yielded to every touch and then
eagerly sprang back for more felt muffled and foreign.
	I dont know exactly where I got the disease.  It might have been 
that coin-operated video trivia game that I picked up in a bar.  Or maybe
that sweet little Oriental laptop.  But I knew that I had it.  Red traffic
lights made me accelerate.  I grew hungry for bagels and donuts -- any 
circular food with a hole in the middle.  I'd rotate it against my upper
palate without swallowing. I was able to multiply huge fractions in my head
at a remarkable speed, but with no degree of accuracy.  I had CHIPS.  I had
"gone down."
	Eventually CHIPS was cured.  Programmers devised an extensive
logarithmic function that cured computers of both the dread virus and
their unchastenable desire to bone everything within their purview.  The
cure for humans was similar: after memorizing the logarithmic function and 
training themselves to apply it to alternate sequential exponents of pi for
hours on end without using a pencil or calculator, they found themselves
cured.  Schoolchildren no longer said, "Algebra! When am I ever going to 
need this?"
	It was a sad, sexless time.  Though AIDS was no longer a threat,
years of hot, sweaty computer/human interfacing had rendered us humans
unattractive to each other.  Women seemed too soft, too irrational, too 
incapable of remembering seemingly random strings of binary digits.  Sex
was over, we thought, until we rediscovered the simple pleasures of melons.
Now THOSE were great times.  That, of course, was before the inexplicable
genetic mutations caused melons to grow hidden teeth.

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DoD #151				    Andrew J. West
85 K100 RS				  ...att!hlwpr!ajw
69 Triumph Bonnie			    a.west@att.com
Remember when sex was safe and motorcycles were dangerous?
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