Chapter 12

Anna made me a delicious veggie sandwich, and while I ate it, I thought back to what I had learned about Lara Flynn Boyle.

"What we need to do," I said to Cara, talking about the stripper, "is make her so that she resembles somebody that everybody knows. But make her look like she'd be the sister of somebody else. I don't want people to confuse the stripper with the person we modeled her after. But I want them to see the resemblance.

"Well, you know this time better than Metacompanion does, who should she resemble?" Asked Cara. I seriously doubted that I knew 2007 better than she did. Metacompanion had practically all computer communications and the whole of the Internet stored in her cache, accessible at blazing speed.

I was thinking Jennifer Connelly. I mentioned her, and after a moment, Metacompanion was able to compile a near-perfect facsimile of Miss Connelly, which now stood naked before me.

I desired her. I walked up to her and touched her lips with my finger. I had Jennifer Connelly naked in my living room. Life couldn't get any better than this.

She came to life, and sucked on my finger like it was a little cock. I caressed one of her breasts, and she sighed.

As did I. I realized that below my belt, I was numb, bruised, and probably flaccid for the rest of the day. I removed my finger from her lips, and stepped back.

"Very nice," I said to her, and to Cara. "I could get used to her."

Cara said, "May I make a suggestion? She is very pretty, but I'd suggest our dancer should resemble somebody that more people would recognize."

I thought about it. Cara may be right. "Okay. Any suggestions? All that's coming to mind is Madonna."

Miss Connelly instantly became a young Madonna.

Cara said, "Well, from search engine traffic, I'd suggest Paris Hilton or Britney Spears."

Madonna was now flanked by these two blondes. All three stood naked and motionless.

"Paris Hilton! I would never have thought of her. But yeah, that's perfect."

We then spent the next couple of hours tweaking her body so that she still resembled Paris Hilton, but obviously was not.

I gave her the name of "Dee Dee" at some point. Dee Dee was an inch shorter than Paris, a bit wider in the ribs and hips, had larger breasts (C-cups) and a slightly longer torso than Paris. Dee Dee's chin and nose weren't quite as pointy as Miss Hilton's, and Dee Dee's eyes were slightly larger and of such a deep brown color as to look all black at first glance.

When I was satisfied, I realized I found Dee Dee much more attractive than I did Paris Hilton. Dee Dee was amazing looking. Maybe a bit too amazing looking for a strip club in Akron.

"Let's give her some freckles. Maybe a dozen or so, randomly on her body," I said while looking at Dee Dee's unblemished skin. And it was so.

I also made her boobs look more fake, complete with almost-invisible breast surgery scars. I gave her a pierced tongue and belly button.

"Much better," I said. But she still was missing something.

"A tattoo, perhaps?" suggested Cara.

That was it. I don't think I'd ever seen a stripper that didn't sport some sort of tattoo somewhere on their body.

"How about a flower on her ... no! I've got it! Give her the Cleveland Browns helmet on her calf. We'll make her a huge sports fan, so that guys like to talk to her."

For a brief moment in college, I had sort of dated a stripper. Of course, it ended badly. But I recalled one shopping trip with her where she picked up some temporary Redskins tattoos, telling me that she made better tips whenever she wore them. I figured, since Ohio seemed to be even more into football than Charlottesville had been, this would work well.

Dee Dee was to keep tabs on everything about the Cleveland Browns, have strong opinions about players and past games, and encyclopedic knowledge of the players, past and present. To make her seem a little more human, however, I limited her knowledge of other teams, with only a rudimentary idea of the achievements of the big stars.

Cara informed me that Dee Dee, thanks to the records Metacompanions was busy producing, was 24, grew up in Cleveland with her father. Her full name was Denise Augusta. She gained her GED at the age of 19 and dropped out of Cuyahoga Community College after 2 semesters.

I liked that she had a GED, since we made her an almost-local girl, it'd be best that she didn't meet anybody that went to her high school and should have known her.

Her knowledge and passion for football should help keep customers from attempting to delve into her past. However, she'd have co-workers. I suggested that she was also passionate about the TV show, "American Idol," so she could divert conversations in that direction as well.

I also gave her a few shared personality traits that the one stripper I had known in college. This, in retrospect, was unfortunate. But I was worried about people wanting to get to know her, only to discover that her stories might not add up.

I suggested that she should seem to be bullshitting at least half of the time. I wanted her to be friendly, bubbly, and fun-seeking, but also to tell somewhat tall tales that even the most gullible would be suspicious of. If confronted, she would instantly dismiss the story by telling the person she was "pulling their leg."

She should appear to be attracted to men, but was, in reality, only attracted to me. And women. If a woman asked for a lap dance, she'd get a better one than any man.

She'd be firm on the "no touching" rules, would refuse any drug other than alcohol, and alcohol would have no effect on her judgment or abilities.

She would kindly refuse any sexual advances or offers from customers or the male staff of the establishment. She should be well versed in self-defense should she find her self in jeopardy.

She should, however, dance with great skill and sensuality. Her focus during private dances should make the customer feel like he or she was the only person Dee Dee had eyes for. She also would try to milk as many private dances out of each customer as possible. She will be constantly pursuing techniques as to how to achieve this.

Her favorite band was the Dave Matthews Band. They had always been my favorite, since they were local boys from my college town. I figured this would be the best way for me to enjoy her dances as well.

It was almost 7:30 when Cara and I figured we were done programming Dee Dee. I suggested we order a pizza. Anna talked me into ordering a veggie pizza, since it would have fewer calories than the all-meat variety I was used to getting.

I gave Dee Dee the money and had her pay the driver. She was wearing a tight-fitting black tracksuit, with the zipper down to show off her cleavage. She must have given the driver more than he bargained for, because he forgot to take the $3 tip she offered.

I hoped to catch a little baseball while eating the pizza, but the TV was stuffed in the boys' room, along with the rest of the furniture. I complained.

Beth said that I didn't need a TV anymore, since Metacompanion was quite capable of reading the satellite waves and projecting the images wherever I pleased.

Soon, one wall of my apartment was filled with the view of Kauffman field, where the Indians were struggling against the Kansas City Royals. I drank a beer and ate my pizza, and the girls left me alone for a half hour or so.

The baseball failed to keep my attention, however. There were still a few things I needed to accomplish before going back to work and time was running short.

I struggled for a few moments trying to figure out how to turn off the TV wall, before saying out loud, "TV Off." That worked.

I walked into the kitchen to find Anna in there. She was still wearing the corset from earlier, and was fondling her basketball-sized breasts while watching my small kitchen TV.

As I set the remainder of the pizza on the counter, I realized that she was watching porn on my TV. I watched the TV with her for a minute or two before I realized that what she was watching was my orgy from earlier in the afternoon.

"You recorded it? You can play back our sex scenes?" I watched my performance. My face looked goofy, and my dick looked too small for a porn star.

"Oh sure. Metacompanion records all of our interactions for future playback. It actually is required by law for any nanite machine to do so."

That meant I could keep an eye on Dee Dee while she was at the club. That's reassuring. Speaking of which, "I think I'd like to see Dee Dee dance before I set her off to get a job."

Anna said that could be done, and that Metacompanion was transforming the living room into a club setting, and should be complete in about a second.

"I'd like to keep these breasts, if you don't mind," added Anna. "I really like them."

"They're as big as your head. Are you sure? They look obscene."

"I know," gushed Anna. "I like looking obscene."

"Well, okay, but only while in this house, and not around anybody else."

"Works for me. Thank you," giggled Anna, and she gave me a kiss and grabbed my crotch.

The sounds of Dave Matthews Band's "Crash Into You" began to emanate from the living room. "Sounds like the show's starting." Anna said, and off I went to see what my living room looked like.

It was simple. It still looked my living room, except that the lights were dim, the walls were covered with mirrors, a pole was on a small stage over by my sliding glass door, and there was a low chair on wheels by a small circular table.

I sat in the chair. Dee Dee was on the stage in a white thong bikini. She was writhing around sensuously to the music, occasionally twirling around the pole seductively.

I watched as she slowly took off her top. She could arch her back to an amazing degree, displaying her cute, albeit a bit thin, ass.

When she faced me, her eyes locked onto mine. She had that same naughty smile that Paris Hilton had. In fact, it was when she smiled that the Paris Hilton similarity was the most noticeable.

She walked off the stage and sat down on my lap. She was in full dancer mode now. And we had a typical customer/dancer conversation.