Copyright© 2004 by Kien Reti

"A personal computer? A home computer? What kind of an asshole do you take me for?"

The regional sales manager guffawed in Theron's face. Positron Semiconductor was too busy cranking out millions of CPU chips every month to bother with a screwball like him. It was a damn shame. This was the outfit that Theron had counted on to supply him with technical support and, hopefully, enough venture capital to survive until orders started rolling in.

It was the annual DOMEX, the Domestic Electronics Exhibition. All the latest gee-whiz gadgetry and toys made their debut here. High-tech TVs, hi-fi equipment, hand-held programmable calculators, and all that other nifty stuff. From the looks of it, 1976 would be a great year for hi-tech innovation, but maybe just not for microcomputers.

Theron Kerow had put together a detailed plan for an affordable home computer. Sure, that wacky MITS outfit down in New Mexico had beaten him to the punch by a few months, but his computer would be cheaper and much more powerful. Damn it, it would sell! He knew it. He could sell hundreds of these machines a year! If only he could get someone to believe in him...

"Hi! I'm Kyra. Would you like some of our literature?"

What a radiant smile. And those dangerous curves! Damn, she was fine looking. Even for a "booth bimbo," she was stacked.

"I'm interested in the P-8082 CPU that Positron has been working on. Do you have anything on that?"

"Well, no, but we're almost to market with a talking calculator. These brochures tell all about -- "

Theron missed the rest. He was too busy running his eyes down the lush contours of what lay beneath the too-tight-fitting jumper she wore. Oh my, that state-of-the-art ass...

"Hello? I don't believe you've been paying attention to what I'm saying." Her smile had faded, and there was a nasty gleam in her eye.

"Excuse me. I've had a long day, your regional manager just finished blowing me off, and now the best-looking woman on the exhibit floor is making like I'm the world's biggest jerk. Maybe I'd better be on my way."

"Well, Jee-zus dude, whadya expect? Here you are undressing me with your eyes as if I were your typical dumb blonde, and just how do you want me to react? I've been in a foul mood all day since our resident booth bimbo took sick and I had to sub for her. Me, a veep in Product Development, can you believe that?"

"My humblest apologies, Miz Kyra. I admire brains even more than I do finely-machined body contours, with all due respect. And your outfit -- I mean Positron, and not what you're wearing -- has a product that could make or break me. The P-8082 should be the first single-chip 16-bit processor on the market, and with that at the heart of the machine I've designed, I could sell thousands -- "

"Stop right there, kiddo. I've heard these loony schemes before. Nowadays every still-wet-behind-the-ears kid fresh out of college with a newly-minted technical degree thinks the Age of Personal Computing is just around the bend. Yeah. As if your average civilian could even figure out what to do with anything as complex as a computer. If you could come up with an idea for using our hardware in a hi-fi system or a microwave, then, sure, maybe I'd listen. But computers? Gimme a break."

"Right. Guess I'd better be on my way then. Sorry to have bothered you."

"Just a minute, guy. I didn't say I wouldn't help you. It's just that... it'll require a little, shall we say, social engineering, to get the ball rolling."

"And why would you want to help me, Kyra?"

"Let's just say I'm more impressed by your determination than your non-existent credentials. And, it could be that while you were busy undressing me with your eyes, I might just have been doing the same to you. I appreciate a man who keeps himself in shape, and it's been... lonely."

Kyra was magnificent in the flesh. They had just finished sharing a bar of soap. "But I'm all dirty and sweaty," he had responded to her suggestion that he pop up to her hotel room for a nightcap. That had turned out not to be a problem when she invited him into the shower stall with her. "Of course," he had laughed, "save water, shower with a friend."

"Water conservation wasn't exactly what I had in mind," she'd said.

"Now, soap me up down there. Ooh, that tickles. Gently between my legs, please."

When he stooped to do her down below, she grabbed his head and hugged it tightly against her crotch. She was wet down there, and it wasn't just from the shower spray.

"Well, now. Let's say we supply you with a dozen or so sample CPUs and maybe a demo board or two. If you could come up with a viable design and a prototype for a small computer, at that point we could talk about technical and financial support. We'd have to get Jim aboard though, to break loose any appreciable amount of funding."

"Jim?"

"Jim Carver. He's the head bean counter, and he has to sign off on any large expenditures."

"Hey, slow down Kyra. You're wearing me out."

She was squatting astride him, leaning forward toward his face, and riding him hard.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, Theron. But I forgive you 'cause you're so damned cute."

"And because I'm always ready to fill an empty hole," he said.

She grabbed a pillow and whacked him over the head with it. The sudden movement tightened the grip down below on his encased member and this pushed him completely over the edge. He shuddered as he released his passion into her. Her pussy began rhythmically contracting and she yelped as the pillow slipped from her hand, unnoticed.

She bent down to kiss him.

"Thank you for the act of love. A certain no-longer empty hole thanks you also."

"Both you and the hole are most welcome. Now, what was that you were saying about financing?"

The underside of the wire-wrapped circuit board looked like a rat's nest. It was a jungle of multicolored wire strands -- some of them labeled with masking-tape tags -- and shiny bronze posts, coiled-up test leads, and undoubtedly some human hairs that Theron had torn out of his head in despair. He'd never get this fucked-up CPU board working! Not with the chinchy equipment he was forced to work with. Damn it, he needed help.

"Look, Kyra, I've tried everything. Traced the wiring, checked the clock circuit, even replaced the memory... but there's still something that causes these fucking intermittent failures."

"Wish I could do something with it, Theron, but debugging hardware's just not my field. I deal with the big picture, and unfortunately don't know the hot end of a soldering iron from the handle."

Theron knew a guy. The fellow called himself a super-tech, and he wasn't bragging. He could find faults in an electronic circuit by feel, just by placing his hands on it with his eyes shut. Hank was obviously the one to call. But there were complications...

Hank had been a buddy of his for a while. A very close buddy. Too close, maybe. That had been during his bisexual phase a couple of years back. He had temporarily gone sour on women after being dumped one time too many. Hank had been there for him to lean on. And one thing had led to another.

"Hello, Hank?"

"What the fuck? Theron? Is that you?"

"None other. Listen, I've got a problem here I need help with. It's important."

"I imagine it would be, if you're calling me after the things you said that one night."

"It's a race condition. Two different on-board devices are competing for access to the same memory locations simultaneously. (Think of it as a race, of sorts, between the two of them for the same resource. They're each trying to grab the goodies before the other one gets there.) The fix is easy enough, though. It's just a matter of timing, of locking out access to one gizmo until the other has finished."

"Thanks, Hank."

"No prob, guy. Look, I would helped you out even if we hadn't..."

"Hank, please take your hand off me. It gives me the weirds. You know I still have feelings, strong feelings, but I'm sort of hooked up with someone now and..."