Swipper - http://artctrl.me/write/posts/swipper.html Contents © 2017 William Mckee - licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Swipe right unless Asian or fat. Not racist, just preference. White girl. Over exposed. Light brunette hair washed out by sunlight. White skin, shirt, sand and teeth, white sandy beaches. Red framed glasses. Red lips to match. Smile. She looked anxious. scared even. Food. Sleep. Books. Church. Three out of four. It’s forgiven. Enjoyed Biblical tales as a child. The authoritative nature turned me away. Church I can handle. I’ll never believe but I’ll attend. Especially for tight pussy. It’s a match. feature request: auto update docs when site built. I should message. Always send the first message. It sets a standard. Puts you in control. Let them speak, ask questions. Listen. The first message decision. feature request: todo Food. Favourite cuisine. I see you are interested in food. Let’s get a meal? Talk about cooking skills. Indian, Italian, European. Skill at cleaning. Clean life, happy wife. That’s not right. Happy Wife, Happy Life. Feature request: Ability to send encrypted photos and videos to story/matches. Timer detantion. Reduce incentive to move to other services. Sleep. Whats your sleeping pattern? Do you collect data? Too creepy. Unmatched instantly. Books. Two you like, one you don’t. A reply within thirty minutes. Complain about limited choice. Too many options. Makes you think. Books added to-read list. Her best friend refused to read them. She’s so happy I am. Wet. Thank her and offer book suggestions. Added to her to-read list. Feature request: Power of swipe scales. The affects of swiping in one direction too often drop. Serve sponsored content. Can’t just talk about books. Location. She’s in Washington DC, I’m in New York. Totally doable. She spent her childhood in Cape Town, South Africa. I spent mine in Brooklyn. Her family escaped the regime. She doesn’t want to talk about it. No small talk. It makes her anxious. Back to books. I finish her suggestions. This girl likes creepy books. Do you shoplift? Wanna five finger dis-cunt. She asks about my work. General AI development. The research that scares. Teach robots to think and act on their own. She works as operator for charitues. Once her starts school she wants to study. Oh I never mentioned the kids. Two. Not so tight. She’s in no rush to have more. Fun to entertain then send them home. feature request: Add reason to why unmatched. Example: creepy sex. Her oldest boy on his third year of school. Quiet like his Mother. A dog. Single Mothers need a dog. Especially when she uses services that attracts creeps. Rottweiler. Black and brown coat. Protective and kind. A loyal family dog.
Her exhusband was in prison. He had little visiting rights with his children. Decent bloke when they first meet. Still in high school. Him with a rich southern accent and she a foreign South Africa accent. Both of them outsiders. What attracted them together. She had planned to attend collage after high school. Falling pregnant during her final year of high school. Their families rushed them into marriage. He got a job working at the local dock. She got a job working as a receptionist. It was only casual, she had a child to raise. The baby. A boy. He was the world to her. Yoga was a regular activity. They performed together. She would stretch and pose. and he would roll around. As he grew he mimicked her poses. Healthy and fit son for her. Soon she grew pregnant with her husbands second child. It was after their daughter was born that stress was placed on their marriage. He would come home stinking of whisky and slap her around. One night it got bad. She was knocked out. Blood dripping from her face. Her son called the police. The children and her were taken to hospital. He was taken to the cells. She was free of him. He had casual controlled visitation with his children. A social worker would sit. When she stood it was time for the children to leave.
A meal. Date night. Not Indian, Italian, or European. Middle Eastern. Pork is off the menu. We order the buffet. They continue to bring out a sample of foods. Drinks. Red wines. Local and imported. Trade agreements would be a topic of discussion. Spin the wine. A deep breath. The aroma. Taste through smell. Red lipstick. Red wine. Red Glasses. Red Dress. Blue waves. Sky. Streaks of red. Shepard's setting. Night falls. Cold. Cuddles. Wet. Our glasses touch. Cheers. Her place. Always. The babysitter doesn’t want to stay. She has school in the morning. I walk the babysitter to the garage. Send request for car to send her home. Returning once the job had been completed. Working on her sleep data. ‘fucking’ is a column. The document is in standard JSON format. I enquire what she wants done. Play with it. Do what you do to data. Static websites. Build a post for each entry. How many blowjobs did she give last year? Turn it into a game. High score and everything. Hire driver to pick up guys. Delilvered to her office. Had intergrated her reading habits into the profile. Previously it only had music and photos. Switched from the app to txt messages. A lunch date. Followed by a self directed tour of the art gallery. Her boy at school. Daughter at kindergarten. She was free for the afternoon. Then her phone buzzed. The school. Her son had a black eye, brused ribs and likely a concussion. Lunch date was over. To the hospital. The police wanted to talk to them about the incident. Cameras in the area were switched off. The final footage was him leaving school the day of the attack. He refused to give names or details. There was little the police could do. Meal. Take two. Her son had recovering. Still bruised and damaged. A different restraunt. South American. Salad bar. Chickpea Soup. Lamb. I’ll have the same. For drinks. Red wine. Peru origin. Pudding. Spanish Donuts with desert wine. Cape Town origin. Her homecity.
Cook Indian for her. Chickpea curry. It’s always better the next day. It’s given time to mature and merge juices together. Her place. I’ve moved in. Setup office in one of her spare rooms. Her trophy boyfriend. She was able to quit her telephone job. It bored her and she wanted to study. Social work was her passion. She was out most days. Either class or work placement. The four of us would go out most evenings. Sometimes we left the kids at home with the babysitter. Every morning I was able to wake up and sit at my computer and type. A humanold robot was connected. Sensors covered. Ability to send signals. This kept me busy. We had decided to hire home help. We had a cleaner that would come in every day. This reduced the stress in our relationship. We still cooked for one another. She didn’t like to cook for herself. Still she would eat what she cooked. But cooking for someone else. This has grown stale by now. I’m not sure where this is going. Skipped a large chunck. Getting to know each other. How quickly after we meet did we move in. It was only after the 3rd date. She brought me back and loved having me around. Was planning on moving out of my place anyway. Had already given my notice. Some of my goods went into storage. The rest went to her place. Two monitors. Raspberry Pi Computer. Mouse. Keyboard. Compfy chair. She already had a desk for me. Walk in woredrope. She had moved all of hers to one side of the wordrope. I had the otherside. I hanged my suits and shirts up. Unpacked my casual clothes. Shorts, baggy jeans, extra large business conference tshirts. I just needed to setup my desktop computer in the spare office and I was set. Everything was in the right place. warm bodies for cuddles. She and me. Girlfriend and Boyfriend. Wife and Husband. To death do us part. The land of the fair. That’s not what we need. We need freedom. Anyone that is telling you fair is spinning the truth. Taxpayers funded buses. Ignore ride-sharing. I don’t know where this is going now. The first thousand words was ok but then started to go down hill. Need a break. Looking forward to going to library tonight. Have a shower. Go for walk. Lovely. How did my life change after meeting her. Costs were certainlly cut. The money I was paying each week was no longer going out the window. stand on platform.