Copyright© 2001-2005 by DB.
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Author's Note: I always felt there was more story to be told about Westworld (1973).
A special thanks to Gorgo for his excellent and much appreciated proofreading. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Concurrent with the United States Supreme Court decision regarding Campbell v. Acuff-Rose Music, Inc (1994) and the copyright laws of the United States, this is a work of parody. This work is posted freely without any request for remuneration; its only purpose is social commentary presented in an entertaining fashion.
I remember Westworld before the troubles happened. I was fortunate enough be able to go more than once before the Big Crash, and later the Big Scandal. Like too many good things in life, you come to count on them always being there. Then suddenly you turn around, and they're gone.
I've loved westerns all my life. When I was young, it seemed that was all that ran on television. My grandfather taught me to shoot starting when I was six, and I can't say how disappointed I was to find out that among all his guns he never had a lever-action rifle like all the cowboys carried.
Later on I grew up living a couple hours drive from the original Disneyland. Close enough to go once in a while, but not so close that it ever got old. There are other amusement parks in the world, and I've been to many of them. However Disneyland was always the best. I never outgrew my love for either Disneyland, or westerns.
I say this in introduction just so that you'll know that when I heard about the next step in amusement parks, it was only a question of how soon could I schedule a trip. Price isn't much of a barrier these days. I live alone, and I spend my money as I wish. Western World was my obvious first choice to visit.
I'm sure the Old West never had it so good. Here was good water, good food, good beds - good toilets!! - and great adventure. But it was the slower, simpler kind of life that captured my heart.
Yeah, there were bar fights, gunfights, and jailbreaks. And the drink menu consisted of beer or red-eye. But those were just spectator sports as far as I was concerned. Fun to watch, but let someone else participate and do the heavy lifting.
For me, there was riding and walking in the countryside during long, unhurried days. Stalking game and target shooting with the heavy Colt 45 and Winchester rifle I'd picked up the first day. Having a once-a-day newspaper that only covered two sides of one sheet. Walking virtually alone through a small town at night, lit only by gaslight, where the sidewalks were well rolled up by nine. In short, just plain slow-paced peace compared to the outside world. And because I had eschewed the proffered guidebook upon arrival, preferring instead to discover things at my own pace, it took me three days to discover Miss Carrie's.
Western World is such an ideal town, that its likes probably never really existed in the real west. That was just fine with me. And Miss Carrie's was the equally idealized bordello.
I discovered her on my last night, out there on the edge of town. I followed a scraggily trail of other visitors to her abode through the near dark. Inside though, it was warm, bright, and friendly.
Now I'm one to be cautious in new situations - particularly adult ones. When I visit a gentleman's club for the first time, I'll sit quietly in the back until I see how it operates. Yes, there are a lot of things that are the same everywhere, but each place has its own quirks that you can come out ahead for the knowing.
I'm also not someone to jump for the first pretty face that comes by with a smile on it. I prefer to take my time to see the whole menu, before making my choices.
Even in gaslight, the room was bright. A few tables clustered together. A piano being well played by a man (or robot) in suspenders and a bowler hat in the corner. A bar down the front side. And the inevitable rooms in the back and upstairs. Drinks. Girls. Smoke. And Miss Carrie!
I was new blood. The girls currently in the room quickly came over to take the temperature of my interest. I was polite, but demurred for now, nursing my way slowly through a couple of drinks. Not that the girls weren't cute. They all were. All young too - or too young - for my particular preference. Most seemed about eighteen, which actually might have been authentic for the real West.
Over time, some new girls came out from the rooms in back, while others paired off with the men and replaced them. I tried conversation with a couple of them, but this didn't seem to be their strong suit. It was mostly like:
"Hi. What's you name, cowboy?"
"Well, Sam. Can it interest you in a little... you know? Some private time? Jus' you and me?"
"Well, maybe. But why don't you sit down here and let's talk a bit first."
This seemed to confuse them. I'd get some variant on:
"Whatssa matter? Don't you fuck?"
We didn't get much beyond that before they seemed to exhibit an imperative to go find another, more willing man to take them up on their offer.
That was fine. I knew I'd get someone in the end - if I wanted her. Until then I was still rating the possibilities.
None of the numbers were frankly that good though. It would just be a fairly impersonal fuck with a nubile young woman of barely legal age - even if she was a robot. Not a bad thing in and of itself, but I've always been the one to take the road less traveled, when I can find it.
And I found it shortly before closing time.
Miss Carrie, the proprietress of this establishment, was the only one I hadn't talked to yet. She'd given me my space. But as closing time approached and things were clearing out, I saw her eyeing me.
She was sitting on the bar across the room, working full-time to facilitate introductions and good cheer for all her customers. I knew I had her attention now, as the only un-serviced male remaining.
I also knew that I could draw her over to me just by holding up my hand and crooking my index finger. But a gentleman doesn't ask a lady to come to him.
I got up and started walking slowly across the room towards her.
I'd actually been watching her out of the corner of my eye all evening. She was bright and lively, more so than her girls. As I approached I could see her face better. I'd put her age at mid-thirties, and beautiful in that older, mature kind of way. Wavy dark auburn hair made her look even better. She seemed a bit taller than her girls, about five feet eight I'd say, but it was very right for her. Sitting on the bar, her long, colorful dress had hitched up above her boots showing some leg. But her bright eyes and smile had my full attention. The rest of her figure looked quite female from what I could deduce. I also noticed she had not gone back to the rooms with any of the other men this night.
By now I was within arms-reach of her.
"Howdy, stranger. You don't look like you've had nearly enough fun tonight yet."
I looked into her clear eyes - eyes that bespoke an intelligence missing from the duller eyes of the other girls - and wondered for a moment if she was also a guest also playing out a fantasy. Then I looked at her hands and knew she was a part of the park. With a more demanding role to play, I wondered if she'd been made more capable than the others here.
"Night ain't over yet, Ma'am," I replied with a smile.
"Then what pray tell do you fancy, kind Sir," she said with a curtsey, which is a pretty neat trick when you're already sitting down.
"I fancy the most beautiful woman here," I replied with conviction.
She looked confused for a moment. It was a look I would come to recognize in the future as appearing each time she was presented with a new situation for the first time. I had not given a definite answer, and she didn't know how to respond to it. But she recovered quickly enough.
"Tell me which young lass has caught your eye, and she's yours for the rest of the night."
That was the opening I had been waiting for. Anything was now mine for the asking.
I placed my hand on her bare leg just below the hemline, and then slid it up that warm, smooth leg while telling her, "You are the one I want tonight."
She went through a major moment of confusion. As I would find out later, absolutely no one had ever asked her to be his date for the evening before.
She went through such a long pause at that moment that I feared I had somehow overloaded her systems. Asking an impossible task that had shorted her out. Her head slowly fell forward until she was looking at her toes before she finally raised it and looked at me with what I swear were tears in her eyes.
Then she said in a small voice, "I wouldn't know what to do."
I wasn't totally surprised that no programmer had anticipated this possibility. With all those other nubile sex-pots - or sex-bots - running around, who was going to ask the older lady Madame? Only me, I guess.
I put my hand under her chin to raise it until she was again looking directly at me. Then I told her, "Say yes, and I'll tell you everything you need to know."
Again a long pause before she finally looked around the room and said, "Thanks, Phil." The piano player stopped playing in mid-note, stood up and turned around, tipped his hat to us, and then clumped over to the door and out into the night.
"Close down and clean the place up, Chrissy," she next said to the remaining girl still in the room.
"Yes, Ma'am," came the uninspired reply.
Then she looked back to me and meekly just said, "Yes."
I reached up under her arms and lifted her down from the bar. She was actually lighter than I had expected, by a bit.
She tentatively took my hand and led me through the back to her room as the lights were being blown out behind us.
In her room she lit a couple large candles, then turned to face me, as if not knowing what to do next.
"Come over here and hug me," I told her.
In dainty steps, she walked over, placed her arms around me, and nestled into my arms as I held her, first gently, then tightly.
Finally I relaxed me arms, and she quickly did the same.
I then bent down to kiss her waiting lips.
When she didn't respond, I said, "Kiss me." Then she responded fully and deeply.
It seemed that she had all the necessary sexual knowledge, but had never used it and therefore didn't know how or what to do next.
"Turn around so that I can undress you." She turned so that I could get to the long line of buttons down the back of her dress. I took my time with them.
Once I had her dress off, I had her sit on the bed so that I could remove her boots, before tackling the complicated undergarment she was wearing underneath the dress. I had never seen anything like it. Some century-old design that covered her every bit from neckline to crotch as completely as the dress had done - all held together with ribbons and bows.
Finally I untied enough bows so that I could slip it off her, to reveal a pale, perfect body.
I was standing behind her again, so my first look was at her long bare back. It was so long that I wondered how she could still have legs underneath it. From the cascading hair at its top, down past the tight constriction of her waist, and on to the fully rounded curves of her buttocks, she was smooth without blemish. Only subtle variations in tone, which made it look even more real.
She continued to just stand there, so I took some more time to admire her legs below that. They were the very shapely, curved legs one finds on the best dancers. I could see her red painted toenails as well.
"Just stand there for another moment," I said to her, as I realized I was now overdressed.
I quickly worked to slip out of my own clothes. Easier said than done since I was now in an age before zippers or elastic, and didn't have a lifelong experience with buttons. But I was soon out of them.
A quick check to see that our door was locked. Then I went back up behind her and tenderly stroked her bare shoulders for a moment, and trailed my fingers down her back and over the rounded curves below it. Then, instead of words, I gently turned her around.
I caught my breath and took a step back as I first saw her face. Her expression still one of uncertainty about what was expected of her next. But in it I also saw someone who appeared happy to be recognized - for once - as a sexy, desirable woman. Whether real, or just programmed, the effect was the same. It was something very much a part of her that had been ignored until now.
I lovingly stroked her neck for a moment, before leaning forward for another light kiss. This time she hesitatingly responded on her own.
I trailed my hand down to find unexpectedly large, perfect breasts with only slightly darker nipples that reacted the moment I brushed over them. She seemed to lose her balance a moment as that happened.
Her small navel (an interesting find on a robot) stood proudly above her thick, rich pubic hair. My hands brushed down over the front of her thighs before returning back up her body to wrap around her neck and pull her in for another long, close hug - this one between our two naked bodies.
By now I could hear her making soft sighs, and my eagerness was apparent to both of us.
I led her over to the large featherbed and shoved back the down comforter on it. Now she seemed to know exactly what to do next as she lay down on the uncovered space and opened her legs to me.
But eager as I was, I wanted this moment to last. So rather than moving in top of her, I climbed over to lie beside her.
Again she looked confused for a moment, but I just gently kissed her lips again, and begin to run my hands over her body.
Let me tell you now that you will never know the difference between her and any other woman, except that she is without flaw. I ran my hands up and down over all of her body that I could reach. I paid particular attention to her breasts, which had exhilaratingly held their shape as she lay back. Her nipples stuck out proudly at their peak, and got larger and harder the longer I played with them. She had already closed her eyes by now, and shivered every time I brushed her neck and ears. I teased her pubic hair and inner thighs, without ever quite touching her sex. My erection remained rock hard, straining to be used.
Finally she seemed to just shudder all over, as if some dam inside her had broken. Then she made her first, direct, unscripted movement as one of her hands moved to reach down between her legs and explore that still untouched region.
I stopped my own attentions and watched, fascinated, as she gently probed and tentatively stroked herself with small, brief touches. Several times it seemed she had to fight the urge to pull away, and fight it successfully she did. Finally, still with her eyes closed, she shuddered again, then sighed and relaxed.
I reached over and removed her hand, then positioned myself above her. At first I wasn't sure she was even aware of what I was doing. But as my own most sexual part moved up to touch her neither regions, she brought her hand back down to guide me easily into her. Then as I started to move within her, she started shifting her hips moving together with me.
I'd like to say that I performed with robotic precision and endurance myself, but that was hardly the case. I was so ready for her, and she felt so good as she held me tightly in her (virginal?) womb, that in what seemed like only a matter of moments, I had a thunderous orgasm that continued until I was completely drained and exhausted. I think she came again too. And however less than perfect my performance may have been, she never complained, or even commented about it. If anything, there was an unmistakable look of gratitude on her face that was absolutely precious.
After that, we lay together and talked for an hour under the covers before I fell asleep in her arms. Though the conversation was limited to a few topics she knew, her conversational efforts seemed to get better with practice, as if more of her mind was opening up. Or maybe just my judgment of that was that of a weary man now.
I do remember getting tired of calling her Miss Carrie, and asked for her first name. She told me she didn't have one. So I asked how she'd like to be named Lydia. After a moment, she said that sounded right. So Lydia Carrie it was.
And we did have sex again just before I finally had to call it a night. And the second time was just as good as the first - for both of us.
Lydia woke me in the morning with a cup of coffee, and responded immediately to me when I inquired about another round of quick and easy sex. It seems all I have to do is ask, which clued her in on what to do next.
Then I had to get packed and ready to go. My stay at Delos was over and checkout time had arrived.
I had already planned a return visit even before my first visit. I knew I wouldn't be able to see the entire park on one stay, and had planned to research whether decadent Ancient Rome, or a romanticized Middle Ages, would be more fun. Now, though, I knew what I wanted to go back to.
It took a bit of effort to arrange, the park being quite the rage. But a space actually opened up more quickly than I had expected. Delos was still both new - and expensive - and openings could be found.
So it didn't seem like long before I was again walking down that familiar dirt street to the little house just past the edge of town.
As I stepped inside, it felt as if nothing had changed. The house could have been frozen in time since my departure.
Phil was at the piano. Chrissy was serving drinks behind the bar. Miss Carrie was surrounded by a group of laughing men and several of her girls. And a couple of overly drunken cowboys were trying to dance in their boots on a small patch of open floor. I realized at some level that this was just as it should be. That Delos would try to keep Miss Carrie's from changing too much.
Lydia glanced over and shouted, "Howdy, stranger," then turned back to the business at hand. That's okay. I could wait. I got a drink and went to my back table.
Two hours later however, nothing had changed. Miss Carrie went through cycles of busy and quiet, but she never so much as looked in my direction for more than a general survey. The crowd had thinned down as the hour got late (for this town), and now she was sitting on the bar again next to the piano, singing along with Phil and a couple of the men.
I realized, sadly, that they must have reset her program at the start of each new night. It did make sense from the park's point of view. Provide the same uniform experience for each guest.
I also realized that I could repeat last visit's experience all over again and likely get exactly the same results. But that just wasn't appealing the second time around. Great fun the first time; don't get me wrong. But I wanted something that moved forward, rather than just repeat itself forever.
I drained my drink, got up to leave. This attracted her attention. After all, I was an un-serviced guest. She hopped down and came over to meet me as I headed for the door.
"Howdy, stranger. You don't look like you've had nearly enough fun tonight yet," she said.
All I could reply was, "Goodnight, Lydia," as I turned to leave.
An iron grip descended on my shoulder, and I was physically pulled back around by surprising strength.
"Sam, you haven't come back into my life just to walk out again the moment you arrive, have you?"
I looked back into her clear eyes, which had sprung to life and intelligence again.
As she explained later when we were alone, she had put our experiences into a private file and stored it under "Lydia." This way, they were immune from the daily memory resets. How she was able to do that she couldn't explain. She just did it. Since only I knew her by that name, only I could trigger it. We picked up from the spot we'd stopped last time and continued our experimentation.
As before, Lydia needed to be guided into much of what to do next, but only once for each new activity. Soon she was putting together sequences of actions so that I didn't have to give her step-by-step instructions in the middle of our passion. And although she remained very meek about asking what I wanted next, once she got into it she seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself.
And we talked a lot more. I asked her about her existence. She gave some surprisingly insightful answers about how she felt and why she did things as she did. I knew these could be just preprogrammed responses to make the guest feel good, but there was one final thing that convinced me otherwise.
I had directed her to explore herself again, as she had briefly done on our first night together. And to tell me what she was feeling as she did so. She spoke of the wonder of each new sensation experienced for the first time, and how she enjoyed all of them.