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And in the early days I added them to my memory records without really experiencing, or even understanding, them fully. Enjoyment I found on my own sometime after my mind had been hacked to let me respond to Lucy. The rest have come, one by one, after my co-processors allowed me to understand things in ways never possible before. I've tended to find each new one when I've had to understand something significant that I'm experiencing for the first time.I would later question many humans about their feelings as well, and discover that none of them can actually prove that theirs are any more "real" than my own. Even so, many of them continue to argue to the contrary.I have finally concluded that whether mine are actually simulated, or not, there is no quantitative difference in the end. My feelings and emotions, as I discover and add to them over time, are every bit as real to me as any human's.My Happiness at seeing Anna. My Pleasure and Enjoyment of both sex, and receiving commands. Hopefully he's not busy." Good we can reschedule. So when you want to do that?" He must not have heard me or understood what I said. He didn't like the idea of me sleeping with someone else while I was with him for the time being. He'd made that known to me several times."I don't know. But right now I'm fixing to call up a friend. So goodnight." I hung up. I ran a hand through my hair. This was just great. He could have told me earlier he wasn't going to stop by. Hell I was raging with need. Plus I had gotten myself all worked up for tonight and it wasn't even going down. I couldn't help but be a little pissed.My phone rang again. I looked at the screen. It was him. A smile played across my lips."Yes?" I said in a bored voice."Did you say you was hooking up with someone else?" I'm thinking about it. What's it to you?" Did you forget what I told you? You thought I was joking." He chuckled."Look you ain't my man. And a bitch is mad horny. Besides don't you have your hands full right.
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‘I doubt if he’s anything close to sober. Marilyn’s eyes were sad, and filled with shame. She felt awful, the way that she had treated him, and knew, deep inside, she was somehow responsible. She lurched on her cane, and slowly walked toward the panda car. Henry’s back pressed against the passenger’s side door, his head was shaking, and she could see he was almost convulsing. He was bare-chested, and had a horizontal red mark a few inches wide about mid-back, below a long, old scar that stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. She wondered if he was going go vomit, and went over to the driver’s rear side window and crouched down, balancing on her cane. ‘Henry?’ She whispered. He raised his head. His face was stained with mud, and dirt, and he had a small cut on his chin. His eyes saw nothing but the fire, and tears streamed down his face. He was a mere shadow of his arrogant self. ‘Marilyn, is that you?’ He whispered. She could smell the mix of bile and alcohol on his system,.

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