Part 18 (1/2)
John Dennis again left the window and approached Rhoda Kane. She was wearing a housecoat, a bra.s.siere and panties underneath.
”Take off your clothes.”
Rhoda unb.u.t.toned the housecoat and slipped it off. That strange excitement showed in her eyes now.
The android pointed. ”Take those off.”
As she unhooked her bra.s.siere, Rhoda said, ”My head aches.”
”Your head does not ache.”
”You are right, my head does not ache.”
She slipped out of the panties and stood naked. The android regarded her. ”You are different.”
”Of course. I am a woman.”
”I want to make love.” As Rhoda stood motionless, helpless, he spoke very positively. ”You make love on the bed. We will go into the bedroom ...”
Later, she was never able to recall any details of that next half-hour.
In defense of her own sanity, she was able to block the incident from her mind. But as she lay naked on the bed, looking up at the man she knew as John Dennis, she thought of her mind as being in two sections.
One section, the part of her consciousness that clung to reality, kept saying, _I want to cry. If I could cry, everything would be all right.
Why can't I cry?_
The other part was a pool of quivering excitement. She lay motionless, watching John Dennis undress, garment by garment, until he, too, was naked.
His body was not perfect, yet it had an individual perfection of its own in Rhoda's eyes. The skin was smooth and white, the legs and hips firm and masculine. The chest was broad and Rhoda wanted to put her hands on it and feel John Dennis' hands on her own body.
He stood looking at her, a little like a child, she thought tenderly; a child waiting to be told what to do. She did not account this as strange--only as a shyness in him. She held out her arms.
He lowered himself onto the bed beside her. She put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. She waited. Nothing happened.
He was neither cold nor pa.s.sionate. He was neither hostile nor friendly.
He was nothing.
”You wanted to make love,” Rhoda whispered. ”Here I am. Take me. Take me.”
Instead, he disengaged himself, raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. ”You are quite different.”
She did not know whether to be complimented or offended. ”I'm about the same as every other woman.”
”You are different than I am.”
”Of course I'm different.” Was he joking? He didn't seem to be. He was deadly serious as he began examining her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
_This is mad. This is insane. Why can't I cry?_
But the other part of her mind quivered with her body as John Dennis went over it, inch by inch. He appeared to be trying to memorize it. She moved and turned as his hands directed, a new kind of fire rising within her. She waited. He touched her and waited for a response. There was none; nor any feeling within her at that moment except the strange fire inside and the ache of her taut groin tendons.