May 1^st, 2085, Lascivious Love Issue No. 14

Hello, delightful readers! I took the train to Toronto from Philly once more to bring you another article on Toronto Servos! This one’s going to be a little different, because it’s not an interview. Ms. Ruby Eve is of town, so I tried to interview their lead surgeon and augmentation expert, Tess Sims. Born in 2062, just outside Edinburgh, capital of the Scottish Republic, she moved to Toronto with her family in 2070, and has since found her niche. I tried interviewing her, but not ten minutes through it she demanded to write the whole thing herself. Apparently, my questions weren’t going to get the point across and I needed to just grab a coffee while she wrote some pages. So, without further ado, here’s a handy helping of tips and tricks to keep your Doll serving you at its best! She also demanded that she be allowed to write without editorial input or meddling, citing Toronto’s ironclad laws protecting press freedom. Those don’t apply in Philadelphia, but I obliged. So, here she is.

Tess Sims’ Guide to Not Fucking Your Doll Up so You Can Keep Fucking it Right

This one’s for the eejits that think putting the P/D (Power and Data) connector up the arse of their Dolls is hot. Yeah, looks nice, shows off really well to your friends and gey accepting family, one big plug leading to the wall or whatever, but you know what’s really hot? Combining electrical contacts in with synth or real flesh. Hospital Mount Siani has a ward of very embarrassed blokes who couldn’t help themselves after their Doll finished charging, and now they’ve got rings burned on their dicks. I was with a man once who had that, he hoped I’d think it was some edgy fashion trend, but when I told him what I did for a living he went all peely wally! I still fuck’ed him though, with one of my custom augments- my bits can switch between pussy and cock, and that cock can heat up, so I was a forearm’s length into him before I turned on the heat and made him jump. Next time you pick up a girl, or lass as people keep wanting me to say, despite the fact I’m more Torontonian than I am a free Scot, don’t motion to the lower shelf liquor when buying her a drink. Try to swick me into bed with bathtub scotch? Don’t do that. Also, I drink gin (yeah, I know, my parents are ashamed), but men see red hair, fair freckled skin, and hear the words out of my yaks and think, “Lassy must drink Scotch!” I mean, I do, and that’ll get you a grope, enough of it gets a fuck, but top shelf gin gets my number. Cheap shit gets a railing that turns I turn into a trauma trigger before laughing at you for grabbing your dick and balls in fear.

The reason I, an autodidact in Doll creation so brilliant that that I’ve been working this job since the day I turned eighteen, is because I fucking know how to make one functional (and can put make it happen). You can have yer tits, your sexy accents, program in your fantasies, and whatever else you want, but a Doll with a charging plug up its ass is going to send you to the hospital someday because even if you wait for it to cool down, one short and you’re lying on the floor as blank as the Doll. It happens, it was a popular place to put the thing at first, but there’s a reason no reputable Dollmaker will do it today or charge you extra and have you sign something if you insist. The P/D goes at the base of the spine, or if you’re into those furry things which cover that up, the base of the neck. Spines exist for a reason, and I always at least heavily modify the spine of the material I work with to carry both data and power to what we install as its heart, if not completely install a new spine, which I prefer doing. More expensive, but we have total control over it. Not only are these P/D ports safer, but they can easily be concealed by a flap or other covering, or not if you like the look or are techt’ed out at that point budget-wise. Fusion reactors, those are expensive, but they last far longer than any battery, but can still be fed into by a special P/D port, or really any small pinprick port around the heart. Not everyone can afford that kind of tech though, but nothing beats a little fusion cube when it comes to a Doll that can operate non-stop for months instead of a few weeks.

Look, the point is you can layer on all the details on your Doll like a cake, but when it comes to the basic method of keeping it running, you choose practicality over literally hot poshit any day, every day! Which leads me to my next point:

So, your Doll is glitching. Shit happens and given we’re working with a brain that’s half cybernetic implant (at least) by that point, you’re going to run into some shite. Dolls have factory reset options for a reason, go into the command mode and reset. I know, it means clearing everything and going back to day one, but it’s free and should clear any software hiccups you have. Some people don’t do that though, they grow attached to the personality its developed, and can’t bring themselves to do it. Like stamping on a puppy’s head or whatever the term is. Point is, they keep the glitches going until the whole Doll’s brain is gooned.

What do the canny gentlemen and ladies do when that happens? Bring it to the fucking shop. We got an Android code wizard here; he’ll fix it no problem. Actually, he’s been makin’ obscene gestures at me through the window and makin’ fun of how shitty I type, so here’s one for your publication: Clockwork, the refined and only android member of the New-World Gentlemen’s Club: Toronto Chapter; is a feart of the dark; he keeps a littlekin’s toy bunny under his pillow; and once had me install the ability to shit, piss, and pass wind because he wanted to know what it was like, only for Ruby to make him personally clean the bidet after he thought it was the lavvy. I uninstalled it all but made hom pay me to do it. He said that wasn’t fair. I said, ‘Then go to the Doll Factory and have them do it for less.’, but he was so embarrassed I made two weeks pay in a day.

Doll code, right. Go to the shop if you’re so attached to it. You ever hear that pervy urban legend of the guy who knew nothing about code, but figured he could debug his sweet subby toy, only to accidentally run across deactivated domme code and end up bound in a cage eating from a bowl? That happened. Me and bidet shitter had to deal with it, but at least I got to use the stun setting on my gun. Oh, we got a guy named Harry, good guy, little weird and pretty pervy, so he fits right into this city, but he also makes guns. Better than you’ll get in the shops. The thing I got holstered looks like a lady’s ‘dagger’ as we’re callin’ them now; every woman in Toronto has one, in a fucking depressing turn, even the cuter girls have one now. The point is he made me one of higher calibre, with a powerful taser setting, and a fuckin’ EMP shot. I only get one per battery charge, but it put that dommy tart down. It’s also useful for disabling minted pricks who pull up beside me and make arses outta themselves, because I know they’re running electronically reliant vehicles. So, I flirt, rev my engine, which gets theirs going metaphorically and physically in car and dick, make like we’re to race. At the light they take off, accelerating at full speed, and I casually lean out my window and hit ‘em with the EMP. It’s great.

Oh, right, Harry and Clockwork. Did you know it’s in our employee agreement, after five years Ruby foots the bill and makes the arrangements for one Doll of our choice? No questions asked. Sweet part of the gig, right? But I don’t know the fuck to ask for. I’ll just swadge on it. Clockwork and Harry got theirs though. Clockwork went boring, got himself a butler, for that fandan flat of his; with its stuffed leather seats, smoking lounge, multiple floors, library, telescopes, and him standing there in a smoking jacket with a motherfucking pipe that one time I had to drop off something he forgot at the shop. Oh, he can enjoy booze and cigs, that was his signing bonus, and worked out much better than crapping in the wrong hole, which is something he did. I can see him making finger typing motions through the window! Butler was a good choice given his choice of company and flat though. But still, despite having two baths in his place, he never used them, and that day with the augments he also pissed in the sink. Got every hole but the right one, guess that’s what happens when you don’t actually need to do that… shit, but I’m still publishing the fact he did it.

Harry’s got, other tastes. A mingin of a crapper, last I was there. The rest of the apartment was fine, except for a couple shelves filled with figures, something Ruby called ‘weaboo trash’. She actually seemed offended by something, but I couldn’t tell what. Oh, I think ‘weaboo’ was old-world slang for people too much into Asian stuff, and maybe Harry would have been a guy in the old-world who tried to figure out how to fit a primitive cunt, those flashlights, into a pillow? I don’t know how that worked, but thinking about it is making me sad. Either way, he got a slutty French maid as his Doll. Fucking shit was more work than an entire month, and all rolled into one Doll. When it was delivered, he had a functional, growable, tentacle Doll display ready. I can’t get into more details about our ‘freebies’ though, they’re private and just for us, so I’ll leave the rest to your pervy imaginations.

Fuck, right, code. You can preserve a Doll’s personality while cleaning it up, just take it to a pro and they can go through line by line with special tools, while it’s offline so it can’t pull any shit. If it does, we can lock it down, as with any reputable garage. It’ll cost you, but that’s what you get for either getting too attached to a glorified sex doll (remember those? People still use them, shit, and some of you might too. Get a Doll, this isn’t a fuckin’ advertisement unless you’ve got access to Toronto, but it’s way better. Much more fun) or waiting so long that the whole Doll’s brain’s a mess of grey matter and microprocessors that don’t know which does which anymore.

Those are the two big ones, the power and data source for the Doll and how its mind connects with it, but I got a few more tips for you. Most Dolls still have some human components, even if we preserve them with a chemical cocktail. Still, don’t leave them out in 55-degree weather for too long, synthetic skin can resist UV for a long time, but you’re going to start damaging its pigmentation and any special mechanisms you’ve got lying just beneath. Unless your Doll’s skin is really top shelf, it won’t be able to heal from that like a human can. You can buy special sunscreen for Dolls, just make sure you pick the right type for your Doll’s type of synthetic skin. If it’s real skin, which is rare and honestly a bad idea because that shit’s hard to preserve and it’s going to age or go necrotic, I’ve seen it, then use that new UV-200 they put out, it works. Keeps my skin fair and looking bonnie even if I spend all day at the beach.

Remember, the oils and lubricants your Dollmaker sells aren’t unnecessary add-ons there to take even more of your marks. Knowing how to access your Doll’s joints and keep ‘em lubed is necessary. You can even buy a basic repair kit, with general instructions. Ask whoever made your Doll for a rundown on how to do maintenance, if they didn’t hand you a manual. They’ll do it for free, unless they’re gougin’ ya, then ask someone else. Don’t ask me unless you come here in person, I don’t want to become the fucking nexus of knowledge for an entire magazine’s distribution region. Don’t call me.

Bottom line: Never cheap out on a Doll, and don’t put a power and/ or data plug up its ass. Even the most basic fuckdolls take a shitmetric of skill to make lasting and satisfying. Don’t fuck with what you don’t know and bite the bullet on the costs. Harry says, “Dolls are like cars, you can get in them whenever you want and burn rubber.” Or some shit, I don’t know, I get what he’s saying, but I think he needs to workshop it. My grandfather was an airman, he said his aircraft was like the women at base, “I get in one twice a day and take her to heaven and back.”, and while I don’t think that was right to boast to a four year-old, I like that version more.

I’m done, I’m not a writer, I’m a mechanic-surgeon-cyberneticist with no degree but who’s got an unaugmented brain that has beaten augies at chess. Why chess though? I guess the classics never go out of style (by definition). If there’s one thing all this work has given me, it’s a body that can throw down. That’s why if you’re in Toronto next month, look for my name in the upcoming Toronto Mixed-Martial Arts tourney. Should be a great time, unless I lose in which case it’s because I just came from work or some shit, make something up.

• Tess Sims, best Doll cyberneticist in the four Canadan states.