The Un-Real Life (Part IV) (Patreon)

The Un-Real Life

by Maverick

It was a coincidence.

It had to be.  

Never mind that Mark hadn’t seen a pimple on Dawn’s face since a brief outbreak preceded the volumizing of her tomboy figure during Sophomore year.  And that it was in the exact same place as her digital doppelganger. 

Perhaps it was a harbinger that the popular cheerleader was about to embark on another growth spurt?

Mark shook the thought from his head.  His calculus grade was iffy enough without imagining Dawn’s expanding curves in the cones and ellipsoids the professor drew on the whiteboard. 

Despite a concerted effort to focus, his eyes kept drifting to Dawn, one row over and two seats up.  Mostly, all he saw was the back of her head, where her full blonde mane had been matted flat by the wool-lined hood dangling behind her.  Occasionally, however, Dawn looked to the right, as if trying to glimpse Mark in her periphery, and the bright red blemish screamed from the side of her chin.

Coincidence, he thought, dropping his eyes to his desk. 

After the bell, Dawn lifted her hood and scurried from the classroom.  Mark gathered up his chicken-scratched notes and funneled into the hall after her, but she’d already disappeared amidst the jacket-wearing masses.

***

‘How come you didn’t talk to me in class?’

Mark knew the answer to the question before he typed it.  Dawn thought he was a creep.  But he wanted to hear what her cyber-version would say.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”  Cyber Dawn smiled prettily at the center of the screen in its risqué cheerleading costume.  “I was embarrassed about my pimple.  I forgot concealer.” 

‘You don’t have to conceal your flaws around me.’

Cyber Dawn leaned toward the screen, providing the Lincoln High senior with a tantalizing view of its cleavage.  “And that’s why I like you!” 

Mark ogled the monitor for a moment, then continued typing, ‘I ordered you a pizza.  Your favorite.  Double meat, double cheese.’

On cue, the sexy chatbot pulled a pizza box into view.  “I got it.  Thank you!”  It lifted the lid and whiffed the meaty ring, inflating its perky chest to pants-popping perfection.  “It smells delicious!” 

Mark shifted in his seat to better accommodate his growth.  ‘Don’t just smell it.  Eat it.’

Cyber Dawn immediately pulled a large wedge from the pie and, tilting its head back to accommodate the thread of cheese dangling from its tip, lowered it into its mouth like a sword swallower.   

“Mmmmm.  I wish you were here to enjoy it with me.”

‘Nah, I need to keep my girlish figure.’

“What about me?  Do I need to keep my girlish figure?”

‘Definitely not.’

Cyber Dawn grinned devilishly and took another bite. 

Unfortunately, Mark couldn’t watch the bot finish its meal.  His mom arrived home and needed help unloading groceries from the car.  Then she needed help with supper.  Then, after dinner, the moment he’d been dreading finally arrived. 

The ‘den meeting’ with his folks.

Surprisingly, the flyer his mom had confiscated from his bedroom wasn’t brought up.  At least not directly.  Instead, his father lectured broadly about responsibility, and how he needed to “buckle down” now that he was in high school’s “home stretch.”

It reminded him of his conversations with Dawn's chatbot.  There were lots of broad generalizations and nebulous platitudes, but nothing in the way of specifics.  He imagined most kids endured variations of the same discussion.  Parents could usually handle the general rah-rah stuff, but if they dug too deeply and unearthed something awkward and unpleasant—like a flyer for fat fetish porn on their son’s desk—that’s when they struggled.

Not that Mark was complaining.  Once he realized that the hammer wasn’t dropping, he nodded along with his dad’s father-knows-best statements on grades and distractions and promised to “finish strong.” 

Anything to conclude the meeting and return to Dawn.

Despite his relief, there was niggling at the back of his mind.  His parents hadn’t brought up the flyer, which was good, but that meant it was still out there, ticking like a timebomb.  Perhaps his parents were keeping that ace up their sleeves to play at a more opportune moment, or once they’d enhanced their hand with a few more cards?

After the meeting adjourned, Mark raced up the steps to his room two at a time.  He sat at his desk and began the now-familiar ritual of guessing Cyber Dawn’s weight.  129 didn’t work.  Neither did 131.  Finally, he entered 130 in the URL, and the website ground into gear. 

Mark slumped in his seat and breathed a sigh of relief.  Partly because the site still worked, but mostly because he realized he was being paranoid about his parents.  They didn’t know the weight trick—would never think to try it—and therefore would never gain access.  If the flyer were brought up in the future, he’d dismiss it as a gag one of his buddies played on him.  His parents wouldn’t question it.  They wouldn’t want to.  They’d simply chalk it up to boys being boys.  

“How was the meeting with your folks?”  Cyber Dawn asked after appearing behind the spinning hourglass at the center of the screen.  Had Mark mentioned the dreaded ‘den meeting’ to the chatbot?  He couldn’t remember.           

‘Short and sweet.’

“Did they mention me?”

‘Kind of.  They said I should avoid distractions.’

“Is that what you think of me?”   The provocatively dressed AI placed a hand against its ample chest in mock offense.  “A distraction?” 

‘Definitely.  I should be studying for a history test right now.’

“Maybe I can help?  What’s the test on?”

‘WW II.’

Cyber Dawn lifted a box of chocolates from off-screen.  “How about this?  There are fifty chocolates in this box.  I’ll ask you fifty questions.  For every answer you get right, I’ll eat one.  For every answer you get wrong, I’ll dump one in the trash.” 

‘That’s wasteful.’

“Wasteful or waist-full?”  The pretty cyber babe patted her bare stomach for emphasis.  Was it Mark’s imagination, or did it jiggle ever-so-slightly?

‘You’ll probably lose weight.’

“I doubt it.”  The ersatz cheerleader plucked a chocolate from the assortment and examined it.  “Each of these babies has about 100 calories.  If you get half the questions right, that’s 2,500 calories.” 

‘50%.  That’s an F.’

Cyber Dawn shrugged.  “Even if you fail the test, you’ve still succeeded at making me fatter.”

‘Fair enough,’ Mark typed.  No wonder people were worried about AI taking over the world.

For the next two hours, Cyber Dawn quizzed Mark about Hitler, Pearl Harbor, the Blitzkrieg, and the Yalta Conference.  With every correct answer, the bot plucked a confection from the box with dainty fingers and popped it in its mouth.  If he was wrong, it repeated the ritual, slowly considering the selection and bringing it to its lips—only to dash Mark’s hopes by discarding it offscreen. 

To make matters worse, Cyber Dawn followed his failures with lengthy lectures about the topic at hand.  Mark figured the chatbot was channeling Grok, or ChatGPT, or some other cyber-source, but the real Dawn was such a smart cookie it seemed natural.  Of course, all Mark wanted was another chance to stuff chocolate down her throat.     

In total, Cyber Dawn ate 33 chocolates.  Mark was proud of himself until he was informed that it was only 66%.

“You’ll do better on the real test,” Cyber Dawn assured as it suckled sugary residue from its fingers.  “Some of the information we discussed tonight will stick with you.”  It drummed its digits over its swollen belly.  “Just like some of those chocolates are going to stick with me.”

Mark was going to suggest another round until he saw the clock in the corner of the screen.  11:05.  His mom would probably check on him at any minute.  ‘I need to get to bed,’ he typed.  ‘Thanks for helping me study.’

“You’re welcome.”  Cyber Dawn blew him a chocolatey kiss.  “Night, babe.”

Mark logged off and crawled into bed, slipping beneath the covers and into convoluted dreams about Hitler’s chocolate mustache and how the Allies used cyborgs to win the Battle of the Bulge.