Cameron stalks her prey. I watch with unease as she performs her emotionless dance wearing only a mask of sincerity, and weep. I weep for myself, and I weep for the future of humanity. A humanity who exists solely to destroy, hunted by machines with the same intent. It takes strength watching her work, despite myself being similarly wired. Its hard to watch because those innocents surrounding her - those who would claim her for their own, they're flawed. They're flawed because what they see with their senses they do not recognize, for I alone have experienced it. Perfection.
While others preen and visibly emote, she sits motionless; reactionless to their feeble attempts at attraction. She's the half-submerged rock in a riverbed of fish, not swayed by the glint of shiny lure in the water. She is a survivor. And I survive along side her.
Those who she turns her attention to find themselves lucky. They tell themselves she's deserved. Well deserved. They don't know exactly what they've done to reach this level, but they do not question it. They accept her offerings blindly like the Babylonian fool with the harlot, not understanding that death rides with her. Immeritous souls who've traded a lifetime of folly for execution. Its a bit of mercy in that way really, and helps me justify watching their filthy hands on her unmarred exterior. Its not flesh, not really. But to me, its even moreso. Flesh perfected, over an endoskeleton of perfection.
Sex with robots is as old as science fiction itself. I've never quite understood the allure. Where's the excitement in a complete lack of intimacy? Countless movies and books on the subject - intermingled with epic space battles to be sure - weighing morality, but always coming back to a comparison with the human companion. You can't experience real love with a machine. The fact that Cameron isn't technically alive never even enters into my equation. Because all that matters, all that really matters, is trust. I trust her. I trust her with every fiber of what makes me human. Isn't that enough? I've been with countless women - real women - and they wield sex as a weapon or dangle it like a prize. But with Cameron its only ever been a mutual comfort, freely given. Exclusive to the two of us in that no one on this earth could ever experience. So don't tell me its not real. You don't know what real is. You've never experienced real, too caught up in your own pleasure to express something entirely transcended to another.
And there's never any jealously, or pride, or disappointment. To live life without even a hint of miscommunication or veiled intonation singularly surpasses every conversation I've ever had with another human being. Detractors enjoy the pleasureable discovery phase of others, getting to know one other's secrets or linguistic artists who peel away at meaning and communication. Let them not judge my choice, as I do not judge theirs. Purely, wholly, I have Cameron in this world, and no one else. She will never harm me, never hurt me, and never, ever leave me.
Which is why I let her work.
No matter how hard it is for me to sometimes watch.