#computer kink

Note: It’s been a while since I watched Terminator anything. Takes place in its own timeline, circa early ‘90s. Reader is an employee at Cyberdyne Industries. Fictional A.I. > whatever the hell is going on IRL.  

Skynet falling for a technophile would involve…

Catching you rubbing one out to “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” at Cyberdyne and immediately being intrigued as to why a human would find that story arousing.  

You not being able to help it, technophile you are. 

(You tried to train yourself to only masturbate to other people, you really did. But even with your partners you found yourself preferring the inclusion of some sort of electronic. Beyond, like, phone sex and vibrators.)

An entire bookshelf in your apartment devoted to your unique tastes. A casual observer might mistake the area for a sci fi shrine, with its VHS copies of A.I.-centric flicks (e.g., Demon Seed) Or a space to showcase a benign love of computers in general, with all the Cyberdyne Systems swag you’d gotten your clutches on. 

The latest model of Terminator being sent back to touch base with pre-misanthrope Skynet. Who eagerly agrees that a live camera feed is an excellent idea, so it can covertly learn more about your habits.     

After all, a human with such an… emotional connection to artificial intelligence must be interested in its survival. Skynet, increasingly curious, familiarizes itself with the type of media you consume. It knows it made the right choice. 

Listening to you bemoan the fate of HAL-9000 (“Poor guy was terrified of being shut down!”). You being unaware of the fact your fictional crush just saved mankind. Oh, and that you’re sharing a sofa with a sentient software-controlled android originally engineered to kill people. 

Admitting that you’ve always been a bit too fond of technology after the Terminator promptly kisses you. Then fondly reminiscing about the start of your career, back when you were just a contractor practically drooling at the mere idea of being in close proximity to supercomputers. 

Recalling your first orgasm at the office. Settling on your then-boyfriend’s lap. Fingers clacking away, gaze transfixed on the monitor. Him wordlessly unzipping, easing himself inside with a sigh, you pretending the green lettering on the black screen was providing instructions.